Impatience threaded his distant tones, and just for an instant, he sounded like his old self. Maybe I was just being paranoid.
Maybe I should just wait for Azriel . . .
Damn it, no. I couldn't keep relying on him to keep me safe. Sooner or later, he would leave, but I was stuck with Hunter long term. If I wanted to survive her post-Azriel, then I had better not start jumping at shadows the minute he wasn't at my back.
Still, it was with a whole lot of trepidation that I continued to move into the darkness. "Jak, I can't see a goddamn thing in here. Can't you at least use the flashlight app on your phone?"
I'd certainly be using mine if the damn thing hadn't decided to die on me.
"No." He paused. "Take three steps to your right, then five to the left. Watch the table—"
I crashed into said table and bit back another curse. "Warning me a little earlier might have been handy."
"Sorry."
There was little amusement in his voice, and again I frowned. This whole thing felt decidedly off . . .
"Almost there," he added. "Just one more step."
I hesitated, then cursed myself for doing so. Jak wouldn't harm me. Bed me—given half a chance—yes, but not harm. Not only did he need me to get his story, but he was well aware just how thick and fast trouble in the form of Uncle Rhoan would hit him if he in any way caused me damage—physical or emotional.
I took that step.
Realized almost instantly it was the wrong thing to do when something grabbed me and held me.
But that something wasn't flesh and blood but rather magic. I had one moment to wonder what the hell—who the hell—had me this time and even less time to fear; then thought was torn away and I knew no more.
Waking was a slow process and felt rather like the tedious climb to awareness that often accompanied a heavy alcohol binge. Thanks to our faster metabolic rate, it was harder for werewolves to get drunk than humans, but it was certainly possible if you applied yourself well enough. I had on several occasions, generally when I'd stupidly embarked on a drinking contest with Liana and Ronan, Riley's two eldest. But at least I'd had the pleasurable buzz of consuming all that alcohol first. There was none of that joy here, just the sick queasiness and thick head that generally hit after consumption had well and truly finished.