Ryland’s harsh features are set like stone as he stares down at me, his hazel eyes full of some threat, some warning. Theo’s eyes are the same brilliant blue-green I remember from the bar, and his charming face slips into a mask of worry and sorrow as he watches me die. Marcus cups my face in both hands, cradling my head as the strength ebbs from my body. Three bloody smears mark his face like war paint, and his grip on me tightens as he lowers his head to mine, his lips brushing my ear. The low, deep rumble of his voice penetrates the fog rising up in my mind. And this time, I hear exactly
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