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The fire poker fell from her hand, her eyelids flickering.
She dropped, collapsing straight down, her body crumpling onto itself.
Reiner stood, his breath still seething, staring at her inert form on the floor for a long minute. Waiting for her to move.
Surely she was playing at a ruse.
Another minute.
He set her dagger onto the top of the chest of drawers, far out of her reach, then approached her, kicking the fire poker away from her. He nudged her ribcage with his boot.
No reaction.
He dropped, balancing on his heels, and brushed back the moist blond hair from her face. Grabbing her chin, he shifted her head, turning her face to him. Dead weight.
Back to the sleeping angel.
Angel asleep. Demon awake.
He sighed and stood.
For a long moment he stared down at her.
Just as he was about to turn and walk out the door, his legs bent on their own accord and he slipped his left arm behind her back and his right under her knees. He lifted her, carrying her to the bed, and he set her on the rosy silk coverlet.
Fully intending to leave, he stepped away from the bed but then glanced at her one more time. Her left arm, still encased in the long kidskin glove, had landed unnaturally folded under her back.
That would eventually hurt.
With a sigh, he stepped back to the bed and settled her arm naturally alongside her torso, decidedly averting his gaze from her nipples peeking through the still wet fabric across her bodice.
With a sneer of disgust at his own action of mercy, he abruptly turned from her, grabbing the dagger off the chest and the iron poker from the floor before stalking to the door.
He’d be getting his answers from her soon enough.
One way or another.
{ Chapter 3 }
A dream.
A dream she was not at home in Vinehill. Somewhere far away. Indescribable. Anger coursing through her. Anger. Rage. And then a man out of nowhere. Jacob? Lachlan? No. Not her brothers.
The dark-haired man walked toward her, a dagger in his hand. Her dagger. How did he get her dagger?
Torrie’s voice in her ear. Crying. Screaming. Begging her for help. Begging her to kill her. Sloane spun in a circle, searching for her cousin. Searching for a way to squelch her suffering.
A full circle and she again faced the man with her dagger morphing in and out of focus.
A dream slipping away.
She cracked her eyes open. Darkness. Darkness all around her. Stuffy air, almost suffocating.
Her eyes opened wider. No, not complete darkness. Slivers of moonlight eked in through the window. Coals glowed orange in a fireplace across the room.
Coals that should be on the opposite side of her.
She reached up, feeling the headboard above her. She wasn’t upside down in bed.
