Marked By Hell
The air around them hummed faintly, bending away from his body, leaving her feeling exposed yet drawn closer.
Malachor stood unmoving. He was naked, his form unyielding, no shadows to soften the sharp angles of his shoulders or the taut muscles of his abdomen.
Elizabeth's breath caught as her gaze followed the path her hand took downward, lingering on the dark trail of hair that led to his groin. Desire coiled in her belly, making her tremble—not from the fever ravaging her body, but from the pull of him, this ancient being who had offered her life in a form she could never have imagined.
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