I took a lungful of air.
The overwhelming smell of wet dogs flooded my nostrils. When Carlisle said that the Los Angeles Sanctum was under attack, I knew who to blame in an instant. The monster who pretended to be a one-time lover. My blood revolted at the thought of falling for his treachery. I remembered feeling his tongue sliding down my neck. His saliva drenching my skin. His moans piercing my ears.
Vladimir Randall. I shuddered.
“Who could it be?” asked Jason, taking me out of my trance. “I thought the Sanctum was supposed to be a safe house?” His words were both a question and an accusation.
“Who else but the criminal after your asses?” Despite what transpired earlier, Carlisle answered him. I really do not understand men. One minute they were fighting, the next they’re talking
