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Chapter Thirty-Four

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Vince stared down at Serena sleeping in his bed. His gut seethed with acid that rose up into his throat.

She didn’t want him. She’d caged him. Rejected him.

He didn’t understand. She was meant for him, he knew it. On the dreamscape his wolf had seen hers, and it had been as if they were in the physical world together. White to his black, yin to his yang. But then she’d had to go and ruin it all.

She hated him. She was going to tell everyone about him. She’d taunted him, locked him in a cage, and he’d seen the truth in her eyes. When she woke up, she was going to ruin the rest of his life. It dawned on him, watching her lovely, sweating face, her hair sticking to her forehead—if she woke up he’d have to do something. Or he’d lose everything.

Suddenly sick, he ran to the bathroom and vomited into the toilet.

He stumbled back, wiping his mouth on the side of his hand and knocking the glass vial of Narcolite off the rim of the solid porcelain sink. He lunged, trying to catch it, but it hit the side of the tub and shattered, the medicine dripping down the side to pool on the stained linoleum.

“Fuck!” He hit the side of the sink. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He’d never been a violent man—that was for those losers who couldn’t control themselves. He’d only been wild on the dreamscape. There, he’d been every fantasy he’d ever wanted to indulge in. And when he’d broken into his father’s dreams and killed the bastard—well, it had been an accident that he’d died in real life.

Vince methodically filled a chipped mug with water and rinsed out his mouth. He’d dreamed of living here with Serena, building a new home together on land his family had held for generations. But the hatred in her eyes had been real, and now, none of that was possible.

He dried his hands, his mind racing through options. He couldn’t kill Serena on the dreamscape. She’d made sure of that by caging him in her dream. He had to do it here, on the mountain. And he knew just the place.