By Tawny Taylor
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Extra info for Mark of the Beast
His words were weighty. Someone or something was keeping him from being more specific. But Tarik didn’t give a fuck. “You’ve shifted because of The Season, the urge to mate. I believe it should only happen once a year. ” 35 Tawny Taylor It was all suddenly very clear. The urges he hadn’t been able to deny. The loss of control. The sexual hunger. “You’re afraid of what I might reproduce,” Tarik said. ” He wasn’t about to tell Torborg it might already be too late to protect the gene pool, since the rubber had failed.
At this point he wasn’t sure of much of anything. He pulled into his parking spot, outside of Omega, cut off the engine and fisted his keys. He’d been tempted to call off but decided he needed this—his normal day-to-day life—to keep him grounded. Something powerful pulled him. Something he didn’t understand. He felt that holding onto the life he’d known before was his only hope of holding onto himself, his very soul. He went into the building, smiled at Denise the elderly receptionist-slash-office manager-slash-gofer.
Thick, hinged metal cuffs wrapped around his wrists. The edges ground into his bones when he twisted his 32 Mark of the Beast wrists. Hurt like hell. Between the cuffs and the metal chain connecting them, the rig weighted a lot. Had they expected him to be extra-strong? Did they know about his recent…troubles? The room was empty. Painted the same color as the hallway outside and furnished with a cot, a dresser and a toilet, it looked like a prison cell. One guard stood at the door while the other unlocked the shackles.