Then he moved. Not charging. Just pushing through every single person in his path, his voice cold and quiet. Every person he ordered to move flinched back a step on instinct. Trembling hands, weak knees, as if an invisible scalpel had been pressed against their throats. By the time he reached me, he was panting, his knees smeared with a large patch of wet moss. His gaze locked onto my face first. Then it plunged like a blade into the back of my neck, into the ring of Kane's fang marks that still hadn't faded. "Sedative. Cervical injection." The words were ground out between clenched teeth. Kane's expression darkened. With one brutal hand, he wrenched down my high collar. My scent gland, that small, pale, hypersensitive patch of skin on the side of my throat, was laid bare to the freezing air.&nbs
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