Between himself and Dayne, they'd killed most of the remaining werecat tribe. Dayne had used magic while Anthony had snapped necks, as well as sampled a few for himself. He listened as Dayne chanted and the sky opened to let rain pour down, dampening the flames and making his passage to the center of the circle safe.
“It's safe now,” Dayne called from inside the circle.
Anthony rolled his eyes. He wanted to say, No shit, but the retort died a quick death on his lips as he took in the dark-haired beauty chained to the stone slab. A feral grin lit his face when he recognized the captive as Greta from the bookstore.
He ignored the bickering between Dayne and the man who'd taken her for sacrifice. The life was slipping from Dayne's true love as Anthony looked on.
She was dressed in a long white gown, though she wasn't a virgin, and they were at least a thousand miles from the nearest convenient volcano. Thin cuts marred her otherwise perfect tan flesh, and he could feel the power pulsing out of her. He'd wanted her blood for a long time now.
“Looks like I get a taste after all,” he said with a leer.
“Oh, this is a great plan. Vampires are entirely untrustworthy. He'll take too much.”
Anthony turned and raised a brow at the villain of the piece. Dayne had trapped him in a band of energy, but he wouldn't shut the hell up.
“Shut the hell up,” Dayne said. Then to Anthony, “Do it.”
As if he had to be invited. Nothing could keep him from the therian's potent blood flowing out under the full moon.
Dayne went to one side of the altar and held Greta's hand, whispering words of reassurance that the big bad wolf wouldn't kill her. Anthony could hear bits of dialogue but ignored it, too lost reveling in his own good fortune.