Chapter 3

Genevieve's nails were anchors in Angelo's skin, the only thing tethering her to the world of the living. Blood, hers and now his, trickled over her pale knuckles.

Angelo whimpered, trying to pull his foot away, but the deep-seated terror of his Mistress was a more powerful chain than her physical grip. He was too afraid to kick her off.

Gilberto, however, was not.

"Get your hands off him!" he roared. A massive leg, corded with muscle, swung back, ready to stomp Genevieve's wrist into the mud.

Genevieve's eyes flashed. There was no time.

She didn't hesitate. In her mind, she yanked on the chaotic threads of the Biological Link, pouring her will into it like gasoline on a fire.

An invisible shockwave of pure agony erupted from her.

The five men connected to her seized up as one.

Kameron, whose link was the deepest, was hit the hardest. It felt like a red-hot poker was being twisted in his brain. A strangled groan escaped his lips and his knees buckled, sending him crashing to the ground. He clutched his head, his sharp features contorted in pain.

Gilberto's kick stopped mid-air. A vise of crushing pain clamped around his heart, forcing the air from his lungs and bending him double.

In the trees, Jameel lost his balance, his wings flapping uselessly as he tumbled from his perch, landing hard on one knee.

Dalvin turned white as a sheet, clutching his chest and gasping for air, his eyes wide with shocked disbelief as he stared at the woman on the ground.

The backlash hit Genevieve like a physical blow. The world swam in a red haze. A sweet, metallic taste flooded her mouth, and she coughed, a spray of bright red blood splattering onto the dark mud.

But she didn't let go of Angelo. The pain, excruciating as it was, made her feel alive. It made her feel sharp.

She lifted her head, her lips stained with blood, and fixed her gaze on the kneeling, agonized form of Kameron. Her voice, though weak, was imbued with the unshakeable authority of a commander on the battlefield.

"You," she rasped. "Carry me. To the cave. Now."

Humiliation and a flash of murderous rage warred in Kameron's eyes. But the Link was absolute. A direct command, fueled by such a violent exertion of will, was impossible to disobey. His body moved before his mind could consent.

He snarled, a low, guttural sound of pure hatred, and staggered to his feet. He stalked towards her, each step a testament to his resistance. He bent down, his movements rough and contemptuous, and hooked one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees. He ripped her from the mud.

The sudden movement tore at her wound. The world went black for a second, but she bit down on the inside of her cheek, forcing herself back from the brink. She didn't make a sound.

Her hand, which had released Angelo, shot up and clenched the fur of Kameron's tunic, holding on for dear life.

As he turned and began the humiliating march back to the cave, Genevieve craned her neck, her gaze finding the hawk-man, Jameel, who was just getting to his feet.

"You," she commanded, her voice a thin thread of sound. "Dry wood. And dry grass. Lots of it. Now."

Jameel's jaw clenched, but the pressure of the Link was undeniable. He gave a stiff, resentful nod and vanished into the trees with a gust of wind.

Gilberto slammed a fist into the ground, his roar of frustration echoing through the clearing. He was helpless.

Dalvin rushed to Angelo's side, helping the still-trembling snake-man to his feet, murmuring soft words of comfort, his eyes filled with a bleak despair.

The cave was a dark, damp maw that smelled of mildew and old sorrow. Kameron didn't slow down. He strode past the main sleeping area, a nest of soft, luxurious furs, and headed for a bare, flat slab of stone at the back of the cave.

Without a word, he dumped her.

Genevieve's back and head cracked against the unyielding rock. The impact sent a jolt of pure agony through her, and she curled instinctively into a ball, a choked gasp escaping her lips.

Kameron stood over her, his chest heaving, a cruel smile finally returning to his face.

"You made it inside," he sneered, his voice dripping with venom. "But you won't live to see the morning."

Genevieve didn't answer. She didn't have the breath or the energy. She forced her body to uncurl, to lie flat on the cold stone. Her hands pressed down hard on her bleeding abdomen.

She just had to hold on. Jameel was coming.

A surgery with no anesthetic, no tools, and no help was about to begin. And she was the only surgeon.