Callum shifted and suddenly his head throbbed. He cringed, grimacing. What the hell happened?
“Come on, Saxon. I know you’re awake. Come. We’re going to have fun as soon as you open your eyes.”
Just then he realized the voice was real. It wasn’t from his dream, nor was it his own inner voice. Curious, he peeked out and—
“Patrice?”
Patrice, the vampire bastard, loomed over him, sneering.
“Hello, Callum, sweetie.”
“Who are you calling fucking sweetie?” Callum grumbled as he scrambled to get up.
But he couldn’t. Callum snapped his head to left and right and found that his wrists were bound to stakes at the sides of his body. He growled and twisted.
“Let me go, you freak.”
Patrice tsked. “It is so unbecoming for an elf to speak such foul language. Even to a half-elf like you.”
Callum glared at him. “The way I speak doesn’t concern you.”