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I peered into the cup and smelled a soothing aroma. “What is it?”
“It’s a Petrus concoction. Your headache will be gone as soon as you finish.”
I sipped, expecting a bland medicinal broth. It was pleasantly herbed and tasty.
Kol stared into the yellow flames. I studied him over the rim of the mug, the throbbing in my head fading as he had promised.
This man. This man—hidden behind an icy wall, behind a façade to keep the world at bay—no longer aggravated or annoyed me. He intrigued me, lured me. Rather than let Lorian take me to a hospital, he insisted on taking care of me himself. Why? I wanted answers. I wanted to know more of the man behind the frozen exterior.
“So why did you bring me here? Why not Lorian’s?”
Still staring into the fire, he didn’t answer. I’m not sure he heard me at all. There was a rushing noise close by, other than the hissing flames.
“That can’t be rain. Unless you live south of Gladium. But you work mostly in Drakos for the Morgon Guard, so that can’t be.”
He took the mug from my hand and set it aside, holding out his arm. “Come. I’ll show you.”
Curling my fingers around his forearm, I let him lead me just in case I decided to have another dizzy spell and fall on my face again in humiliation. I hadn’t noticed the opening in the wall to the left of the hearth. The hall was dark, but pale light shone up ahead. As we drew closer to another archway, the rushing water grew louder, the cold more intense. Stepping out of the opening, I was instantly hit with a fine, misty spray and icy wind. I sucked in a quick breath. We stood on a ledge twelve feet deep and thirty feet wide where nothing but a cascade of water curtained the aperture. By the faint light on the other side, I could tell the moon was still up.
“A waterfall!” The rushing-water noise drowned out my voice. “You live behind a waterfall?”
“Good camouflage.” He didn’t have to yell. His deep tenor reached me easily.
Peering up at him, the rushing water reflected a soft pattern on his face. The harsh planes seemed gentler. His eyes roved down to my bare legs, which trembled from the draft, his shirt stopping at my knees. Glittering pools of silver met my gaze. My breath hitched. As if caught in a vise, I couldn’t look away. He didn’t pretend nonchalance as he drank me in—my hair, cheeks, lips, eyes. Rather, he revealed open hunger—the look of a man who knew what he wanted, who was used to getting what he wanted, who would demand my submission if it so pleased him. And the sad part? I knew I’d submit. In less than a heartbeat. Not of my own volition. It was like my body was ensnared by a mystical web, resonating with his on an undeniable level. I couldn’t figure it out. Did the marking give him some control over me?
He lifted a hand, then brushed his fingertips across my cheek, sliding down my jaw to my parted lips, grazing with unimaginable softness for such a man. Pulse pounding in my throat at the thought of being helpless beneath him like before, I let go of his arm. He dropped his hand and blinked slowly, breaking the spell.
“You need to sleep,” was his command. Before I could take a step, he swept me in his arms and carried me back into his house.
“I can walk. I’m not an invalid.”
He grunted, holding me tighter. I blew out a frustrated breath. But the truth was, this felt good. The woodsy, wintry smell of him filled my senses, drawing me in, wrapping me in sensual unrest. Why? Because he’d marked me with his scent? Was I now hooked on him like a drug addict needed a fix? I closed my eyes, willing the sudden arousal washing over me to be gone. No such luck.
He set me on his bed and pulled up the covers.
“Why did you bring me here?”
He blew out the candle on the side-table. “Get some rest.”
He left me, snuggled in his warm bed with my question unanswered and my wayward thoughts wreaking havoc on my frustrated body. I stared at the shadows dancing on the domed ceiling for a long time and finally drifted to sleep, heedless of the darkness waiting for me there.
Chapter Thirteen
Iwas chained to a stone slab on my back, arms and legs stretched outward, naked. Cold, damp air wrapped me in shivering fear. Borgus materialized from smoke and shadow near my feet, a lascivious grin stretching his mouth into a grotesque mask. With the tip of one finger, he started at my ankle, slid up my calf, crossed behind my knee, and grazed along my inner thigh.
“No!” I protested, unable to move an inch.
“No?” He continued up my thigh and over my pelvic bone, making circles on my abdomen. “That wasn’t what you said in the club.”
“I lied. I don’t want you. I don’t want this. I don’t want to die!”
His finger left my skin. His sickening black-eyed gaze finished the trail up my torso to my breasts to meet my terrified eyes.
“You’re not for me, lovely Moira. You’re for someone special.”
“Who?”
His mouth and eye twitched as he evaporated into wispy smoke.
