"Wake up."
The command sliced through the heavy, exhausted sleep.
Yanna gasped, her eyes snapping open in the pitch-black master suite. The air conditioning was a freezing draft against her bare, welted skin. The sudden movement sent a sharp, tearing ache across her back, the deep purple paddle bruises protesting against the friction of the black sheets.
"I am awake, Sovereign," Yanna rasped, her vocal cords shredded, tasting stale blood from her bitten lip.
The bedside lamp clicked on, flooding the left side of the mattress with a harsh, conical beam of yellow light.
Camille sat on the edge of the bed. She was not sleeping. She wore a black silk robe, left open to expose her naked, tattooed torso. Her amber eyes were wide, wired, and completely feral. A heavy glass of amber liquid rested in her hand.
