The scream cut through the storm.

Liam's hand was on his door before his mind finished processing the sound — Elena's voice, raw and desperate, coming from down the hall. He was already moving, barefoot on the cold tile, his boxer briefs the only thing he'd pulled on after the third drink had made his skin too hot for sheets.

Another scream echoed through the house as he took the stairs three at a time — higher this time. He rounded the corner, his bare feet slapping against the floor, as he arrived at the door to her room.

He covered the remaining distance in three strides, his hand flat against the wood, and pushed. The door swung inward.

The scent hit him first.

Thick. Sweet. Wrong. It clung to the air, floral and heavy, with a heat that didn't belong in the room. His body recognized it before his mind did.

Then he saw them.

His eyes adjusted slowly to the faint glow coming through the window. At first, he could make out only the rumpled sheets and two figures tangled together on the bed. Then the shapes resolved, and he recognized them.

Lisa Chen was bent over Elena's hips, her face buried between Elena's thighs, her fingers working themselves from behind in quick, wet strokes. Her ass was in the air, her other hand gripping Elena's hip hard enough to leave marks, and she didn't stop when the door swung open. Didn't falter or seem to care.

Elena was beneath her, head thrown back, mouth open, her body arched and trembling. The sheets were tangled around her legs, her skin flushed pink, and for one frozen second Liam's brain short-circuited on the image — on the wet sound of Lisa's mouth, on the way Elena's fingers were twisted in the sheets, on the wrongness of it and the heat of it and the question that slammed into him before anything else.

Since when did Elena—

He'd done his homework. He knew Lisa swung both ways. He'd factored that into the dinner, into the way he'd let her drink and laugh and fill the space between him and Elena. But Elena. Elena with her lack of experience and complete ignorance of any of this.

Then Elena's eyes found him.

She looked over Lisa's bent back, over the curve of her spine and the spread of her legs, and her gaze was wrong. Unfocused. Glazed. Her pupils were blown wide, swallowing the green of her irises, and there was a slackness to her face that didn't belong there.

"Mr. Thorn." Her voice was hazy, slurred. "You're here."

She said it like she'd been waiting for him. Like this was normal. Like Lisa wasn't still moving between her legs, her tongue working in steady strokes while Elena's hips rocked against her mouth.

Recognition hit him cold.

Eros.

"Enough!" He crossed the distance in three steps, his hands finding Lisa's shoulders and pulling her back. She was slippery — sweat-slick, hot-skinned — and she made a sound of protest, a low, animal noise that turned into a growl as he dragged her away from Elena's body.

"No—" Elena's voice cracked, her hips lifting, chasing the contact that had been pulled away. "No, please, I was so close—"

"Elena. Look at me."

She didn't. Her hands were reaching for Lisa, her body twisting on the sheets, and Liam saw the flush on her chest, the way her nipples were peaked and dark, the slick shine on her inner thighs. He saw the desperation in her movements, the way she couldn't stop moving, couldn't stop wanting.

He grabbed her chin. Gently. Forced her eyes to his.

"Look at me."

Her pupils were blown. Her skin was too warm. And her gaze — it slid off his like water, like she couldn't hold onto a single thought long enough to make it stick.

"Elena." He said her name more loudly this time. "Do you know where you are?"

"Your house," she breathed. "Your bed. You said I was beautiful." Her hand came up, clumsy, and landed on his chest, gently over the bandaged wound. "You said you'd thank me."

He caught her wrist before she could slide it lower.

Behind him, Lisa was on her knees on the floor, her fingers still moving between her legs. Her head was lolling, her eyes half-closed, and she was murmuring something in a language he didn't recognize.

Eros. Definitely Eros.

His expression didn't change, but his jaw tightened slightly as he took in the scene. He forced himself to remain still, pushing the anger aside long enough to assess how far the drug had taken hold.

“Stay.” He said it to both of them, though he knew neither was likely to hear him, much less understand the command in their current state. He was already moving toward the bathroom, his hands finding the faucet, the drain plug, and the shower handle almost automatically.

We need cold water. Fast. Cold would break the feedback loop, slow the metabolism, and bring them back to themselves before their bodies gave out.

He jammed the plug into the tub drain and twisted the faucet. The water hit the porcelain in a hard, hissing stream, cold enough to turn his own knuckles white when he tested it. Then he stepped into the shower and did the same, the spray hitting the tile and steaming for a moment before the cold settled in.

He was back in the bedroom in seconds.

Lisa was still on the floor, slumped sideways, her hand finally still, her breathing ragged. He bent, scooped her up—she was lighter than he'd expected—and carried her to the tub. He set her down in the shallow water with a quick, abrupt motion, one hand steadying her until she was seated. The cold hit her skin, and she gasped. Her eyes flew open, her body jerking at the shock.

“Stay,” he commanded again, and this time he knew she heard him. Her pupils contracted, and her breath came in short, sharp bursts as the cold water began to take effect. She was already shivering when he released his grip and stepped back.

He returned to the room to find Elena still on the bed, curled onto her side with her knees drawn up and her hands pressed between her thighs as though she were trying to hold onto the sensation. Her eyes were closed, and her lips moved silently, forming words he couldn't hear.

He quickly crossed to her, and when he bent to pick her up, the movement pulled at the bandages beneath his shoulder. A dull ache spread through the wound and down his side, but he pushed through it. Elena didn't resist. Her body folded into his, her head dropping against his shoulder, her breath hot and ragged against his neck.

“I've got you,” he said. The words came out before he could stop them.

He carried her into the bathroom, pushed the shower door open with his shoulder, and stepped into the spray. The cold hit him like a fist. He'd braced for it, but it still stole his breath, locking his muscles and making his teeth clench. Water streamed over his shoulders, chest, and back, soaking the bandages wrapped around his forearm and ribs. The fabric clung to his skin, turning translucent in places, but he barely noticed. His attention remained on Elena.

She screamed, a sharp, short sound that broke into a gasp as her body arched against him. Her fingers dug into his arms hard enough to leave crescents, and one hand caught the edge of the bandages around his forearm, bunching the damp fabric against healing skin. Pain flared through him, sharp and immediate, but he ignored it and kept his hold on her.

She was shaking, her teeth chattering as the cold water took hold. Her legs gave way beneath her, and Liam tightened his grip to keep her upright. He held her against him while she trembled, waiting for the worst of the drug's effects to pass.

“I know,” he said, his voice rough. “I know. It'll pass.”

The water ran over her hair and face, washing across her skin as the flush slowly faded. The tension in her jaw began to loosen, and her breathing steadied as her eyes gradually came back into focus. She blinked several times before looking at him, then down at herself and finally at the water pooling around their feet.

“Liam?”

Her voice was small and confused. She was shivering so hard that the word came out broken, almost lost beneath the sound of the water.

“I'm here,” he said. “You're okay. You're going to be okay.”

She looked at him again, and this time her eyes seemed to focus. She recognized him. He could see it happen—the confusion giving way to awareness as she took in his face, his arms around her, the shower, the cold water running over them.

“What—” Her teeth chattered. “What happened?”

He didn't answer. There was no point in trying to explain while she was still shaking this badly. He tightened his hold on her and kept her beneath the cold spray, waiting for her breathing to settle.

A quiet sob came from the tub. Lisa sat curled in on herself, shivering in the shallow water.