• Vyktor noticed the gloomy atmosphere and took a step in her direction, ultimately wrapping his smooth forearms about her small waist.
    “I’m sorry about your parents,” he whispered in her ear; his voice startled her for it was very soothing. Sexy, almost. Strike that, definitely sexy.
    Her cheeks blushed a deep burgandy.
    Vyktor held her for what seemed like hours, but her senses were intoxicated with his wafting aroma. Only moments had passed, contrasting immensely with her prior assumption of time progression. Osmund had abandoned the couple for the velvet armchair, the identical book was flipped to a certain page, the same before his previous interruption, and allowed them to stare blankly at the dampened landscape beyond the window’s glass.
    It was not long before Sabrielle craned her neck upward to face his flawless profile. His eyes met hers, a spark of tender passion fluctuated between their interlocked gaze. The gravitational pull enticed the two to grow closer; a blaze of irrevocable desire propelled their instincts further until two lips met. Her mouth parted, reflecting his own labial movement, and the innocent gesture ignited an increasingly intense response. Vyktor dramatically eased his tongue between her plump lips, eventually intruding the interior. At twice the speed he had violated her mouth, he withdrew his tongue and forced his entire body to recoil from hers.
    She stiffened, petrified with both anxiety and self-loathing. What had I done? she thought to herself.
    Sabrielle lethargically acknowledged that Osmund was on his feet as well. She felt out of place, as if she had missed something.
    Vyktor’s posture was incredibly rigid; his jaw was locked in a stern position, revealing his ill at ease emotion. Osmund wore a similar aspect, which frightened the silent woman. She obviated her gaze from him and back to Vyktor. Her sparkling midnight irises were fixated upon his brilliant, golden orbs burning beneath his dark brows. He refused to meet her gaze.
    “Vyktor... I...” she faltered. He hushed her, turning to Osmund. No words were exchanged, but the men knew the other’s thoughts as if they spoke telepathically. They both acted very quickly.
    “He’s here,” Vyktor stated, his tone absent of any feeling. He fleetingly reached out, pulled her into his arms, thus cradling her body, and wrenched open the large sliding glass aside them.
    “You’re not going to–“ she started.
    He faced the open window and answered her question in that instant. He jumped.
    “Osmund!” she shrieked with hysterical alarm as she and Vyktor began to plunge three stories. Her last glimpse of Osmund was replaced with another vivid image; Vyktor absorbed the shock of their descent, alleviating Sabrielle’s state of delirium, but only to be aggressively outdone by something entirely new: Felicus the Maimed.
    The lion-like bulk of a man crouched before them, his piercing crimson gaze violently perforated his dangling auburn mane. His black lips curled into a snarl and his white fangs were no longer concealed. A shudder ran down Sabrielle’s spine.
    “Dammit, Osmund,” Vyktor murmured under his breath as he released her from his firm hold, “you could’ve stalled for just one minute...”
    She barely regained her balance after being forced to stand once more. Vyktor took a deliberate step in front of her, blocking her from Felicus’s line of sight.
    “Vyktor Cael,” Felicus sighed in a haughty fashion, “who’s your friend?”
    Vyktor glanced beyond his adversary, yearning for some manner of escape. There were none and his facade failed to mask his internal emotion. His eyes flickered frantically back at Sabrielle.
    “Are you looking for someone? Could it be Osmund?” Felicus inquired sarcastically.
    Sabrielle inhaled delicately. “What have you done to him?” she demanded, not nearly as ferocious as she had hoped to sound. Vyktor’s grasp on her arm tightened significantly.
    Felicus sneered at her maliciously, “I haven’t done anything... Yet...”
    A groan echoed from the motel, loud enough for those outside to hear; this caused both Vyktor and Sabrielle to urgently survey the door of the building, awaiting Osmund’s exit, no matter the shape he may be in.
    Three burly soldiers, obviously under Felicus’s command, lugged Osmund from the portal and roughly brought him to their leader’s feet. They forced his face into the dirt, then prepared themselves for Felicus’s response. It was a positive reaction.
    “Hmm... Osmund, it’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” Felicus jested, placing his clawed hand upon Osmund’s shoulder, though his face remained buried in the earth.
    Osmund wrenched himself free, stood, then faced the much larger man, glowering as blood trickled from his wrinkled forehead. He did not speak.
    “Well, since I suppose you’re not going to engage in friendly conversation, I’ll just have to cut to the chase...” Felicus replied while shrugging his enormous shoulders. Osmund grunted; at first, Vyktor and Sabrielle did not know of the reason for such an agonizing cringe, but they soon comprehended how much pain their companion was in. They appraised his condition, coming to realization that Felicus had exerted an uppercut with unimaginable velocity upon Osmund’s abdomen. Felicus’s claws raked against Osmund’s entire front side; blood ripped from the wounds, staining the ground below them.