Bane watched her run into the sunlight and couldn’t follow. He needed to explain. Shit, he needed to apologize, then maybe she’d listen to his explanation. Females couldn’t be trusted around Riél. Modesty, self-preservation, reason, all vanished when that bastard walked into a room. It didn’t matter if they were ninety years old, as long as they’d surpassed puberty, they were his prey.

He should’ve explained that instead of acting like an ass. He slammed the front door closed, rattling the house, then proceeded to wear a path between the door and the window.

So, this is what impotence feels like. His stupidity had him trapped in the house while Amaya was out there cursing his existence. He couldn’t say he didn’t deserve it. Hearing Tahariél’s name, nickname, Riél—as if they were lifelong pals, fuck buddies—leave lips he’d kissed, enraged him.

In his mind, Bane saw her the way she was with him—naked, nipples wet from his tongue, legs splayed in preparation for his cock, her gold eyes locked on him—except Tahariél’s arms held her. She writhed from the pleasure he gave her, not Bane.

He scrubbed his hand down his face and moved to the kitchen where breakfast still waited. Feeding her was meant to be a peace offering, the first step in his apology tour for leaving her after having sex. Starting over is how humans put it. Clean slate.

Maybe it was the Cruor affecting his mind. “Hell no,” he snorted at the lie. Either way, he’d use it to take the blame.

Motion sensors beeped. He glanced at the monitor propped next to the coffeemaker. She’d left the house and didn’t stop until she was near the edge of the property. So much for makeup sex. He dumped the remains of breakfast in the trash. He knew enough about women to not leave a mess for her to return to.

His steps slowed and his gaze went to the bay windows in the breakfast nook. Every protective, destructive instinct he possessed fired at the same time.

Something’s wrong. He cast his power outside the confines of the house, straining to contact Amaya.

Pain speared him at the same time he heard her scream. The dishes slid from his fingers and shattered as he grabbed his temples. Gritting his teeth, he followed his first instinct and ripped the curtains and inner shutters away from the window. He punched through the glass and finally the outer shutters. Light poured in.

“Amaya,” he roared as his flesh burned.

Shadows yanked him back to the dim confines of the kitchen. Even though his flesh sizzled, he fought the hold, determined to reach her regardless of the sunlight, until they swallowed him and spit him out in the basement. Like trash, he rolled across the polished floor, and he was on his feet screaming, “Michael! Amaya needs you!” Moments later, she was under attack by something he hadn’t felt since his reprieve from Hell.

“Michael, you have to save her!” He ran back upstairs to the kitchen and skidded to a stop millimeters outside the light field. “Michael! Answer me, you fucking bastard!” The monitor caught his attention. She hadn’t moved from her spot.

Bane snatched the display off the counter. He entered the shadows and exited at the east wall of the basement. He glanced at the monitor to check her position, then tossed the device aside. By the force of his will, he carved through the basement wall and moved mounds of dirt and rocks out of his way. He tunneled beneath the farm, through the earth. Pain radiated through his body. Not his, but hers. He focused his energy on the dirt in front of him, burrowing deeper and deeper. Each additional foot, the presence of the Cruor burgeoned, until its power scratched at his skin, taunting his rage and panic with images of Amaya’s ravished body.

Suddenly, he dropped to his knees, the agony strafing him too much to bear.

“No!” Slumping against the tunnel wall, Bane clutched his chest as if he had a beating heart to piece together. Actually, he did. Unfortunately, it was topside and slowing to an erratic thud.

His gaze lifted to the ceiling. She was there, right above his head. He pushed off the wall and clawed at the roof of the tunnel. Dirt rained. He didn’t stop until blood ran down his arms. Not his black, acidic blood. Red, human blood smeared his hands.

And that smell! Heaven and sunlight. Even if he had forgotten it after millennia away, he would have remembered this particular scent—because he’d basked in its aura only a few days ago.

Bane reached through the remaining barrier separating them, wrapped his arms around soft flesh, and pulled. The ceiling gave way. Everything came tumbling down, into the tunnel: Dirt, Amaya, sunlight—and a Spaun.