CHAPTER 62

When I see the needle, I finally give in to the panic that has been repressing me for the entire time.

Tyler uses so little effort to hold me pinned that his forearm muscles hardly strain when I try.

I watch Darius struggle, rounding the side of the bed and perching on the edge, his eyes never leaving mine, till he reaches for my bleeding arm.

It's not like he was trying to stop the blood from seeping through the white sheets; he could have just gone for bandages. This is just torment, nothing more.

He remains motionless for a considerable amount of time, observing my arm objectively while I inhale sharply, causing all the muscles in my body to tense.

He lays the thread and needle on the bed next to him.

I guess he's changed his mind, like an idiot. That perhaps something has stopped him—his wolf, the only aspect of him that appears to care whether I live or die.

However, he scowls a little, reaches out to grab my arm, and then yanks the glass shard out with a forceful motion.

I screa