The room was thick with the copper tang of blood, the salt of tears, and the overwhelming musk of Helena's involuntary arousal. The only sounds were the wet, rhythmic friction of Rex's fingers and the broken, mechanical whimpering coming from the woman on the floor.
Helena was no longer a person; she was a nerve ending laid bare, a creature of pure, terrified reaction.
Rex paused his fingers for only a heartbeat, just long enough to savor the sight of her convulsing before he leaned forward. He didn't go to Helena.
Instead, he shifted his attention to Leonidas, who sat paralyzed, his knuckles white where they gripped the edge of the bed, his breathing coming in ragged, horrified gasps.
Rex leaned close to Leonidas's ear, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial purr that cut through Helena's pathetic moans like a scalpel.
"Do you hear that, Leonidas?" he whispered, loud enough for the broken woman on the floor to hear every syllable. "That wet, desperate sound?"
