Grace never wailed, never even gasped as the whip flayed her soft, delicate skin.James was shackled to Leticia’s bed. He hadn’t marked Grace as he’d wished, but he was somehow attuned to her in a way he challenged he had ever been attuned to another. He should not have been able to concentrate on her, particularly since he’d been battling a burning desire for her—her body, her blood, her everything, and all other thoughts had become dazed and trivial in comparison.Now, he felt the wrath. He was furious. There was so much resentment, and every bit of it was leveled at the wardens.They had hauled Grace along the elegant hallway filled with paintings of the master sorcerer and the mistress and their daughters, down the winding stairs with dim velvet carpeting, and to the outrageous banqueting room. Though Grace was no longer in the chamber, James saw her still. As if their psyches were somehow connected. She fought the entire way. Only when they bent her over the dining table, her fac
The wardens had touched her, damaging Grace. They would perish. Badly. By the time James finished with them, they would possibly thank him for killing them. All he had to do was free himself. And he would. Nothing would halt him. Not now, not anymore. "Soon" had at last appeared. Being a pureblood ancient vampire, as Grace had called him, was not going to aid him; James admitted that now. Still, his eagerness intensified, stirring with the scorn, the burn of that possessiveness. He would reach her by grit alone; he would protect her. No matter what he had to do. His gaze wandered to the wrist cuffs and dwindled. Without his thumbs, his hands would slide right through. He didn’t have to think about it. Goodbye, thumbs. Biting his tongue against the anguish he knew was to come, he banged his hands, thumbs out, into the headboard. Crunch. The bones broke with that very first punch. He sucked in a breath, but, like Grace, he did not mumble a sound. Punch, punch. Each new hit caused ev
They paid Grace no heed. One of the guards headed toward the entryway, where other guards were pouring inside to escape the beast, but he didn’t make it outside the room. Not alive. There was a blur of movement, then blood was squirting, a headless body falling. From the corner of her eye, Grace spotted James. He was a mess, covered in blood, limping, his arms hanging at his sides. His fangs were bared in a fearsome, crimson scowl, and she knew. He was the animal. Thank God. Some of the tension drained from Grace. Somehow, some way, he’d managed to escape. His plan to destroy the people who lived inside this palace was well under way. Before, she’d thought there would be survivors. Now, not so much. James barreled into another guard, his shoulder slamming into the man’s middle and knocking him backward. The guard propelled into another, the one with the whip. The two fell to the floor. James slashed into the whipper’s neck and shook, a demon with his first meal in months. Screams…
They traveled for hours—or so it seemed—though they never managed to exit the forest. James suspected they were going in circles, his doom in the center. Just when he would think they’d made progress, he would spy the glittering palace rooftop. A rooftop of the fortress was famous for, the shingles consisted only of slaves tears. No matter what he tried, he could not alter his path. Fail. The word the mother sorceress had used. Go ahead. Try. Fail. The bitch had used her magic on him as promised, James' realized. But what spell had she used? Unless he figured it out, he could not fight its power. Even as the question and answer formed in his mind, a sharp lance of pain jetted through him. He gnashed his teeth. At least the guards never caught his trail. Even when the magical shield around him evaporated in a puff of smoke. Magic he wasn’t sure how he’d wielded. He knew only that the mother sorceress had constructed a shield of her own, and he had instantly known how to do the same.
Such a strong reaction, when she’d had no cause to worry. And yet, that worry pleased him. James liked her concern. Liked what it meant. Already Grace cared. This mortal cared. “I’ve been thinking,” she said, nibbling on her bottom lip. James stomach clenched at the sight of her teeth, doing what he wanted to do. “Something you enjoy.” He placed his throbbing hands over hers, preventing her from drawing away. “Yes, well.” Grace tongue emerged, swiping where she’d bitten. “We’ve been going in circles, which means Levy her mother told the truth. You are cursed to remain in Nork.” The sight of her tongue did far more damage to his control than the sight of her teeth. How easy it would be to lean down, lick, sample, savor. Not until she heals. Another reminder. Also, not until she begs. You promised. “I know,” he said more harshly than he’d intended. “Oh.” Her nose scrunched adorably, easing the sting of his self-directed anger. “Well, you could have told me. I’ve worried, expecting
Grace woke up slowly, feeling as though her consciousness had been transported somewhere far away and tranquil, only to be returned to her body like a feather carried gently on the breeze. Maybe it was a dream. A long, sweet dream... a peace she hadn’t known for months. She stretched a little on the futon, her bare legs rasping against the terry-cloth of her bathrobe and the soft crush of a blanket that covered her from chin to toe. She snuggled deeper into the pleasant warmth, sighing, and the sound of her own breath startled her. No noise. No blaring music or chattering television, even though she couldn’t sleep – could hardly function – without them. Her eyes snapped open and she waited for the psychic assault to hit her. But there was only silence. Dear Lord. Seconds passed, then a full minute or more... and there was only blessed, wondrous silence. ‘Sleep well?’ That voice... James... The deep male voice carried from across the apartment somewhere. She smelled toast browning
That occurrence was never far from Grace’s mind. After viewing herself in the bedroom unconscious on the video surveillance captured by James’ men, Grace had dissolved in one of the apartment’s many corridors. She was in shock and denial. It had been James who’d found her unconscious in the bed, not minding his wound and bloodied self. She was wet, muddy, and almost lifeless. Incredibly, it had been James who had rescued her from the clutches of death, biting his wrist and giving her his own blood. He had been on her side day and night. He never left her side. She had embarrassed herself with tears that wouldn’t end, but he’d let her spill them all. James had let her weep when the news of her grandmother’s death reached her, and even more astonishingly, he’d let her crumble against him, holding her through her grief in silence. With his strong arms wrapped around her, he held Grace together when she felt like she was being torn into pieces by her anguish. Her grandmother was attacked
Relief washed over Grace like a balm. She closed her eyes, feeling hot tears well up behind her lids. It took her a moment to compose herself enough to look at James again, and when she did, she found that gem-delicate gaze fixed hard on her. She wiped at the tears that streaked her cheeks, embarrassed that the warrior should see her break down. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be so emotional. There’s just this... hole in my heart. My grandmother was the only family I ever had, and now that she is gone. I…’ She trailed off, unable to describe how empty she felt. ‘I just... ache.’ She didn't even notice that she was not speaking loudly and that she was talking to him telepathically. ‘It will pass.’ His voice was crisp and flat, like a slap to the face. ‘How can you say that?’ ‘Because it’s true. Grief is a useless emotion. The sooner you figure that out, the better off you’ll be.’ Grace gaped at him, appalled. ‘What about love?’ ‘What about it?’ ‘Haven’t you ever lost someone you lo