He caught my wrist before it hit. Fangs glinting, he held my arm. My eyes traveled down the scratch he had cut in me to invoke the amulet. My heart gave a hard pound. A ribbon of blood trailed slowly to my elbow. A drop of red swelled, quivered, and fell to land upon my chest, warm and soft.

My breath was shaking. I stared, waiting. His tension rose, his muscles tightening as he lay atop me. His gaze was fixed to my wrist. Another drop fell, feeling heavy against me.

“No!” I shrieked as a carnal groan slipped from him.

“I see now,” he said, his voice terrifyingly soft, harnessed need pulsing under it. “No wonder Algaliarept took so long finding out what frightens you.” Pinning my arm to the floor, he leaned closer until our noses lay side by side. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. “You’re afraid of desire,” he whispered. “Tell me, little witch, what I want to know or I will slice you open, filling your veins with me, making you my plaything. But I will let you remember your freedom—mine forever.”

“Go to hell.…” I said, terrified.

He eased back to see my face. It was hot where his robe had shifted and his skin touched mine. “I will start here,” he said, pulling my dripping arm to where I could see it.

“No …” I protested. My voice was soft and frightened. I couldn’t help it. I tried to bring my arm closer, but Piscary had it tight. He pulled my arm in a slow controlled motion as I fought to keep it unmoving. My broken arm sent surges of nausea through me as I tried to use it, pushing at him with the strength of a kitten.

“God no, God no!” I screamed, redoubling my struggles as he tilted his head and sent his tongue across my elbow, moaning as he cleaned it, his tongue moving slowly to where the blood flowed freely. If his saliva reached my veins, I would be his. Forever.

I wiggled. I thrashed. The warm wetness of his tongue was replaced with the cool sharpness of teeth, grazing but not piercing.

“Tell me,” he whispered, tilting his head so he could see my eyes, “and I’ll kill you now instead of in a hundred years.”

Nausea bubbled up, mixing with the darkness of insanity. I bucked under him. The fingers of my broken arm found his ear. I tore at them, reaching for his eyes. I fought like an animal, instinct a hazy mist between me and madness.

Piscary’s breath came in a harsh pant as my struggles and pain whipped him into a frenzy of restraint I’d seen in Ivy far too often. “Oh, the hell with it,” he said, his flowing voice cutting through me. “I’m going to drain you. I can find out some other way. I may be dead, but I’m still a man.”

“No!” I shrieked. But it was too late.

Piscary’s lips pulled back. Forcing my bleeding arm to the floor, his head tilted to reach my neck. The haze of pain swelled into ecstasy as he ground his fingers into my broken arm. I screamed into his moan of anticipation.