Chapter Sixty Seven

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Some time later . . .

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Shamira felt like she'd been trampled by a heard of bulls when she finally regained consciousness. It hurt to move, breathe, or even think. The memories . . . the god-awful memories . . . they came back in a wave, along with an intense, smothering fear. She remembered the twenty-four hours of hell she had experienced at the hands of that elf. She remembered drinking his foul blood after disemboweling him. She remembered a young were in chains, and then . . . she remembered fire. Then Renata. In the back of her mind, she had heard a sweet, beautiful voice, and then that voice had cried out in horrible, horrible agony.

It took an act of sheer will to open her eyes, finding herself in a dark room. Had Jonas found her? No, Renata had. Her eyes adjusted, and she found herself in a pitch-black room that would have challenged the senses of even the most perceptive vampire,