The Blackwell Claim
His brain went dark, processing nothing but the lingering, humming electricity in his nerves.
"Shit!"
The snarl from Gideon wasn't one of pleasure. It was a warning.
Timothy tried to blink, but his eyelids were lead. A heavy, wet thump hit the marble floor. More snarling followed—the sound of a fight, not a fuck.
Kan tensed under him, his hands snapping from Timothy’s hips to the edge of the chair. "Motherfucker—" Kan’s body twitched, his muscles locking up in a way that wasn't natural.