The sharp sound of water slapping flesh jolted something awake.
It was piercing… too cold.
Dante gasped violently, chest heaving as his lungs clawed for air. His eyes shot open, but the world swayed in front of him…blurred, fragmented,as if unreal.
Every breath burned, and his body felt like it had been ripped from the edge of something far worse than sleep or unconsciousness.
The echo of water dripping from his clothes filled the silence.Then came the faint tremor of footsteps, rustling around him.
Dante blinked hard.Something hammered at the back of his head.
His vision slowly steadied enough for the shapes around him to take form…the dungeon walls, oiled torches casting a wavering amber glow… and men all around him.
His own men.
CrimsonMoon guards.
Every single one of them stood with their weapons drawn.
The blades glinted under the torchlight, raised not towards an enemy… but towards him.Their Alpha.
What kind of a fucking illusion was this?
