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Feeling run over by a truck, I groan as I scrape together the strength to sit up in the shadowy room. Now I see everything the darkness obscured last night. And my jaw drops. Wow…
His headboard depicts a tale of two lovers romancing one another in the shadow of a hill. It alone must have taken years to carve in such sharp, perfect relief. And the four posts are comprised of wild wolves, howling with their heads tossed back like snarling sentries. They’re so lifelike, I swear they would bite me if I touched them.
Talent like Marrok’s should be celebrated. He should be adored by the art world. If I could get his work in my fledgling gallery, he could put us both on the map.
But he not only lives in solitude, he prizes it. Probably a good thing since he’s convinced he’s immortal and cursed.
As I stand, I wince. Everything between my legs is tender. My nipples sting. My skin throbs in agony. A wave of weakness slams into me.
Grimacing with the effort it takes to raise my wrist, I glance at my watch. Even my eyes hurt. 5:42 a.m. Hopefully, he’s still sound asleep. I pray that being “immortal” doesn’t mean he keeps vampire hours.
As I scoot to the edge of the bed, pain surges again. My legs burn. My stomach churns. The needy clenching between my thighs nearly overpowers all that. But I force myself to keep moving. Now is my best chance to escape.
I stumble out of bed, gasping when cold air hits my skin. My legs threaten to give out. And damn it, I’m naked.
Because Marrok undressed you before he had his wicked way with you, and you put up all the fight of a gnat.
What’s done is done. Dwelling on the past won’t change it. Yada, yada, yada.
The window in the bedroom looks way too narrow for me to fit my ample ass through. It’s demoralizing.
I shuffle across the hardwood floor, each step stabbing needles of agony through my soles. Dizziness muddles my brain. I can’t catch my breath.
Locating the bathroom is cause for celebration, even if the short trip exhausts me. I shut the door and mercifully relieve myself…but the room has no window. A sink, yes. A shower, check. A toilet in the adjoining closet. But no means of escape.
If I want out of here, I’ll have to tiptoe through the great room and probably past Marrok on my way out. I refuse to try that naked. Thankfully, his navy-blue bathrobe hangs on the back of the door.
More of his addicting scent wafts from the garment. Incredibly yummy. I bet he looks great in it, like he does in everything.
Stupid train of thought.
Gingerly, I rise from the toilet. My thighs are sticky with blood and my own juices. Oh, and we didn’t use a freaking condom. Another worry…
I’d love a shower, but that will have to wait. For now, I amble on shaky legs and grab his robe, biting my lip to hold in a cry of pain.
What the hell is the matter with me? I feel as if I’ve come down with the flu times ten.
Moving slower than an arthritic woman on a rainy day, I don the robe, then creep out of the bathroom and into the open kitchen-living area.
Marrok sleeps on the couch between the front door—which requires a key he’s undoubtedly hiding—and the back door. That escape route is my best bet…but I suspect it won’t be easy.
As I hobble toward the exit, I scan the place. Despite being isolated, it’s decked out with a high-tech security alarm, electricity, running water, and every other modern convenience, right down to an electric shaver and a microwave.
But he owns no television. More discouraging, I see no telephone. Even if I could remember where my purse fell, the battery on my phone is dead. So much for calling for help.
Since Bram has not appeared, I assume he’s not coming, and Marrok’s assurance otherwise was a lie. God, how could I have so blindly and recklessly followed the big beast here?
Resisting the urge to cry, then sleep for a decade, I press on, side-eyeing Marrok as he dozes, his head cocked at an awkward angle. His face, even in repose, makes my heart sputter and rattle.
As I sneak past him, my fingers itch to touch him one last time. The rest of my body aches for him so badly.
The pain increases with every step I put between us.
Finally, the exit is within reach, and I brace myself. The damn dizziness returns, mingled with more wretched pain. My head… This is like a hangover, the worst possible case of the flu, vertigo, food poisoning, and my period thrown in for good measure. I fall to my knees. When I think of leaving him, I feel like I’m going to hurl.
But I have to get up, get out.
Drawing a fortifying breath, I reach for the doorknob.
