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So close. He’s closer than ever before, and the blue eyes gazing down at me are magnetizing, a magnetic sky blue, peering between the long ropes of his locks. Crouched over me, his hands planted on the furs on either side of my body, he looks like he’s about to attack.
But he remains still as a statue, only his gaze flickering, moving from my face to my chest and back up—and his scent rolls over me, along with his gaze, making my insides curl with desire.
Oh, Gods…
“Who are you?” I whisper. “Why did you take me? What do you want with me?”
The Drakoryas—another name for the berserkers, apparently—sniffs at me, pale brows drawing together. He growls softly, baring his teeth, and though they’re not blackened like the other berserker’s who came at me earlier, they still look awfully sharp. Bowing his head, he sniffs at my neck and I jerk away.
I make a small sound, pressing my back to the furs as if I can sink into them and disappear. He scares me as much as he arouses me. There’s something about him, about the breadth of his shoulders and chest, the hard line of his jaw, the sharp blue gaze and that air of wildness about him that excites me almost as much as his spicy scent.
With another soft growl, he sits back on his heels, then jumps to his feet and stalks toward the exit of the cave.
He’s going to leave me alone here? For some reason, the thought frightens me more.
“Wait!” I sit up, curling an arm around my aching middle. “Is this your home? Is this where you live?”
He stops at the entrance, bracing one hand on the rock wall, tilting his head to the side as if listening, the way Finnen often does. He really is tall, definitely at least as tall as Taj and Finnen. He’s not wearing breeches under the leather and fur girdle he has on—I wonder if he has any sort of undergarment below or… nothing?—and above his short leather boots, his legs are thick with muscle and sinew.
“Do you even speak?” I ask. “Do you understand what I’m saying? Or do you just growl at people and smash things?”
He takes a step outside the cave—and I get up hastily, stagger toward him.
“Don’t go, don’t leave me here! I can’t stand not knowing what is going on, what you want from me. Please…” And his scent rolls over me again as he turns back around, my core tightening, tightening until I drop back to my knees, barely feeling the bone-jarring impact. “Ow. It hurts.”
He’s beside me in a flash. He grabs me, pushes me down on the pallet, on the furs that smell like him, and the texture sends shivers through me. His big hands hold me down as I try to curl around the pain, and he growls, showing off those sharp teeth again.
“What are you doing?” I breathe.
He’s wedged between my legs again, pressing me down with the weight of his body, and when he starts tearing at my clothes, I slap at his hands. He doesn’t seem to take notice and fear collides with panic, making me bite and struggle.
“Get off me! You brute! Get off!”
But as his scent winds around me tighter, I grab his shoulders and try to pull him down to me. Goddess, my body is fighting my mind, and I want him, need him to kiss me, bite me, take me, spread me—
“Where?” he asks, and it takes me a long moment to realize he has actually spoken, his voice rusty as if he hasn’t been using it much, the word not much more than a growl.
I still, staring up at him, at his blue eyes with their light silver flecks. “What? Where what?”
“Hurt. Where?”
I’m staring at him, open-mouthed. “You do speak the common tongue. Why didn’t you say so? Why—?”
“Hurt. Where!”
“Okay, okay. Sheesh.” I’m too stunned to care about the pain right now but I plant a hand on his chest—hard and muscular under the furs—then shove a little. “It’s my belly.”
“Belly.”
“Yes.” When he lifts himself a little, giving me some room, I place my hand on my belly. “Here, see?”
“Belly,” he growls, glaring down at my body as if it offended him. “Pain.”
“Yeah.” Well, he can speak, though it seems it’s only a few words. “Pain. What is your name? You do have a name, right?”
“You in pain,” he says mulishly, and look at that, he’s strung three words together.
“Yes, I am. My name is Ariadne. What’s yours? What’s—?”
