It was the heavy, intoxicating scent of pine and winter, but it was heavily laced with the metallic, iron stench of fresh blood.A massive, towering shadow loomed over the edge of the bed. Dominic had returned. He didn't light a candle; he didn't need to. His molten amber eyes glowed like twin coals in the pitch-black room, pinning her sleeping form to the mattress. His leather armor was splattered with crimson, his large hands stained with the blood of the rebels he had slaughtered at the border. He was a vision of pure, unadulterated death.Slowly, Dominic leaned over her sleeping frame, his massive bulk casting her into total shadow. He lifted a heavy, calloused hand, his rough fingers coated in dry, flaking blood, and gently brushed them against her soft, pale cheek. He trailed his knuckles down the delicate slope of her jaw, lingering heavily over the pulsing vein of her neck, his sharp claws lightly scraping against her skin.The terrifying sensation of co
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