GAHRYE
Gahrye hadn't really slept, though hours after he went to bed on the couch he'd reached that place where the world was fading and he was drawing into himself.
Until he heard them.
First, Elia, her voice high and desperate. Then Reth, calling to her. The adrenalin rush sucked him out of the half-sleep void and his eyes opened to the darkened cave, the arm of the couch under his head, and the rhythmic joy of the voices in the bedchamber.
The thick, rock walls of the cave were a mercy. He couldn't hear everything. But he could hear enough.
He was immediately slammed with the memories of his own mate—her head thrown back and throat bared, her body prickling under his hands, writhing. Her voice in his ear.
