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Yes, he has an impressive backside, but your abductor is currently holding a knife.
Right.
White-knuckled, I brandished the candlestick and prepared to launch my attack, checking on my Curse, which was still fast asleep, rendering it useless for the time being.
“Enjoying the view, love?” he asked, his deep voice playful. Sensual. Like a lover’s caress. His fingers casually lifted a carrot and placed it on the wooden cutting board.
“Where am I?” I demanded, buying time as I formed a plan.
“Safe and sound,” he purred, his knife skills making quick work of the carrot.
“That’s not what I asked,” I said through gritted teeth.
“You, Little Goddess—” He turned, and his dark, obsidian, lose-your-soul eyes drifted up to me. “—are in the not-so-grand city of Norwood.”
My eyes widened . . . I had seenthoseeyes before. The distinctive color of them clawed in my memory. He was the cloaked male from the Cleansing. The one that had sped up the flames, ending the girl’s life.
Although he had not strapped her to that pyre, he had still assisted in her death.
Screw a plan. My fight-or-flight reflex kicked in and I launched the candlestick at his head as I leapt down the stairs. A waft of magic tinged the air, and the brass holder was knocked off course, sliding to the floor before it came to a skidded stop.
“Try not to harm the goods.” He motioned to himself and his wickedly stacked abs. He winked—the audacity of this man.
“You’re deranged,” I hissed, utilizing the table as a barrier between him and me.
“Only on Sundays.” He brandished a wicked smile—the kind that ended a virgin’s reign.
Lucky for me, I wasn’t one.
“I’ll be happy to baptize you,” I said, reaching down for my Curse but finding the water beast still sound asleep. I growled, eyes searching for some other weapon.
“Has the kitten lost her claws?” he mused, watching me as I eyed a wooden bowl filled with apples. “Perhaps I can help her find them again.” He placed the knife on the table, two fingers pressed against the handle as he slid it my way. A faint smirk toyed at his full mouth as he turned that sleek, muscular back towards me and continued his cooking.
I plucked the knife from the table. Oh, he was sick, thinking he could lure me into some false sense of security by giving me a weapon. I wasn’t biting, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t use it.
I tore around the table, my boots pounding against the floor as I launched at him.
Unfathomably quick, he swung around, his large hand shackling my wrist. I looked up, and then up some more . . . Gods, he was tall, like unreasonably tall. He peered down at me, those dark orbs raking me over. A shiver ran the length of my spine. Ignoring it, I sent my free hand sailing into his stomach, my knuckles groaning upon impact. It felt like I had punched a brick wall. He strengthened his grip on my wrist, forcing me to let go of the knife. It clamored against the ground. With his foot, he slid it to the side, his gaze never leaving mine.
“I’m growing bored of this. Are you done?” he asked—a cat playing with his food. I could practically see his invisible tail swishing from side to side in anticipation as he waited to devour me. Bored, my ass. He was enjoying this . . . the deranged bastard.
“Hardly.” I brought my knee up, targeting his manhood, but his hand deflected the blow. He caught the back of my leg and tugged it upwards, pressing my thigh against the side of his leg—the position . . . intimate.
My inner goddess poked her head up—I shoved the traitor back down.
He leaned in closer, his breath drifting along my neck, his voice so deep I could feel it rumble all the way down to my core. “Are you done now?”
I answered him by ramming my skull into his, my teeth chattering in response. He let go of my leg, his hand massaging his head. My vision blurred and I stumbled back, but not before I threw a few more shots in his direction—they were sloppy, but I felt a sense of satisfaction when I landed one of the blows. He grabbed my hands, utilized his leg to take out the backs of my knees, and brought me crashing down. His massive body straddled mine, his hand cuffing my wrists above my head.
He peered at me through those thick, black lashes, his sinful voice in my ear. “I can think of adozenother things I’d rather do with you on your back.” He parted his lips, his tongue pressed against the bottom row of his teeth as his gaze slowly dropped—brushing over my lips, lingering on my neck. Suddenly, he released my captive wrists and raised to his feet, the mere height of him rendering me dumbfounded.
“Shall we start over?” He extended one tattooed forearm corded in thick veins and heavy muscle, offering his hand adorned with black and silver rings. “Von.”
I glared at his oversized mitt, despised it . . . I took it.
But I didn’t give him my name.
“As fun as that was,Sage, I would like to get back to supper,” he said, a casual nod towards the cut-up vegetables.
