“Bunny.” My name is a prayer on his lips, a promise that flows between us. He touches me then, just a slight brush of his fingertip on mine through the links, but it’s as heavy as it was in the room, packed with need. I hold on to that touch until a hand wraps around my throat. “Fight!” I shriek through my burning vocal cords, yanked away by Marone’s tightened hand.
