(Please read Theron 1 before moving on to this book)
A stranger washes ashore on a deserted beach.
With no memory of who or what he is, the only clue he has to his identity--the only thing he recalls from his past life--is a single, solitary name:...
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Theron rips his hand from mine, taking any and all comfort away from my needy soul. The shock of such an action has my head spinning in bewilderment and stunning rejection, a dull pain that pulses within my already traumatized heart.
He clutches his head, his face pinched in pure agony. Fear twists my stomach, as his gut-wrenching cries echo throughout the silent auditorium. He falls to his knees and I can do nothing but watch in horror and fascination, praying to my goddess that I am not losing him again.
Down, down, down he shrinks, his clothes pulling away from his massive frame. I gasp as his bones contract and his muscles drawback, spasming and rippling underneath the skin until finally, he has transformed to the body I first fell in love with.
The loose collar of his shirt reveals the tattoo that once sat where my mark should be is gone, replaced by the only thing that needs to rightfully be there: a scar molded by the imprint of my teeth; A sign to all others that Theron is mine.
His breathing comes in quick, deep pants as he regains cognizance and composure.
My breath hitches when his head snaps up—gorgeous brown eyes back once more and locked on Mavina. My heart lurches as I now know exactly what has happened.
Theron is back... and he is pissed.
Needless to say, those eyes do not stay brown for long. Rage and fury roll off him in violent waves, his gaze drenched in a deadly black pigment—a silent vow that blood is to be shed on this day.
Swiftly he sprints towards Mavina. Letting loose a vicious snarl, his lycan bursts forth in mid-stride. Thick, dark maroon hair explodes from his skin, covering his muscular torso in a frightening harbinger of foreshadowing. His legs flex as he leaps forward, radiating power and ferocious strength and leaving deep claw marks ingrained in the wooden stage.
Mavina throws her hands up, intent on shooting Theron with the magical bullets that come from her palms but Theron is fast.
Too fast.
He dodges every strike, her assault hitting the stage, the curtains, the walls—everything but Theron.
Remembering Theon and knowing there is nothing I can do to assist Theron further, I abandon the scene around me and pray Mavina doesn't land a direct hit while I am preoccupied.
Theon is strapped to an altar in the middle of the stage. Deep gorges line the stone around him, waiting patiently to catch his blood and distribute it in the basin at the front. I dare not think too long on the sacrificial dagger that lay on a stand beside him.
Theon exhales in relief, "Mom." I caress his cheeks, trying hard to accept this new, adult version of my son, "Oh, my baby." Beads of sweat pepper his forehead, stress, and anxiety flushing his cheeks and widening his large brown Theron eyes.
