Page 11 of Nocturn

It was wrong to take comfort from him. So very wrong. Even worse was that the shaking of my hands lessened. Something in me went quiet in his arms.

Muscle under my palm moved. Hard and unyielding. His breathing had not changed with me in his arms. He hoisted me higher, sliding his arm lower on my thighs, avoiding my aching bottom. I peeked up at him. A few strands of tawny hair rested against his pale forehead.

He saved me from being raped.

It was only for his gain, but I did not care. He saved me from being raped. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking, and it was difficult to hold my head up. I let it fall onto his arm, and clenched the soft linen under-tunic.

I clutched onto him like he was my only lifeline and not the cause of my ultimate demise.

CHAPTER FOUR

Warlord

Iswayed in his arms as he ascended to another level of his domain in an unhurried glide. Potent power hummed from the ancient Warlord. I inclined my head to peer up at him. At his hard, smooth jaw and the planes of his high, aristocratic cheekbones.

The scent of earthiness, the copper tinge of blood, and leather clung to him like a second skin. Sapphire droplets splattered across his cheek and melted into the fibers of his ivory tunic.

Twice desperation drove me into attempting an escape, and twice I had failed. Both escape attempts were foolish and rash. I was not a fool . . . but also not a fighter. Even if I wanted to fight, physical strength eluded me.

Compose yourself, Amara.

I inhaled a gust of breath and slowly let it out. I repeated the act, filling my lungs until they could not expand any more, then exhaled in a steady stream. Escape was futile. First, I needed to learn the lay of the Kingdom. To learn him. His habits and temperament. Then I had to have a plan, not an act of desperation.

He reached the landing. An iron staircase sat at the end of the long hall, and he headed toward it. The Warlord’s breath didn’t stutter despite the distance he’d hauled me. He climbed the steps with an easy glide.

My pulse began to slow into a steady rhythm, no longer threatening to drag me under the wave.

Understanding an opponent was key. Perhaps getting him to understand me would garner my freedom. I was willing to try anything.

At the top of the stairs, a chamber was open. Iron bars criss-crossed the pane from one wall to the other, allowing sunlight to beam onto the bed. The big bed had soft-looking furs laid across the end of it. Iron bars stretched up from each corner of the base frame and arched upwards.

He kept walking past, through the rounded archway, and across the polished tile. As we rounded into a new chamber, the rush of water falling from the spout grew louder. Lady Drusilla leaned over the end of the bath, quickly straightening when she caught sight of us.

He dropped me to my feet, and I could not keep balanced. I gripped the edge of his tunic, bunching it in a fist. He whipped his head toward me, eyes narrowed. The intensity of his gaze stole my breath.

He looked pointedly at my hands, and I ripped myself away from him.

“Your bath is prepared,” Lady Drusilla announced and curtsied. “Shall I send your maids or your feeders to bathe you?” She shuffled past.

“I will have my Vessel tend to me,” he announced.

Lady Drusilla hesitated at the entrance, darting a look at me, then bowed her head. “Yes, my lord.”

My lord . . . His Highness . . . so many titles.

She left, and I returned my focus to him. He studied me with those intense eyes framed by thick eyelashes that were a few shades darker than his hair.

“Disrobe me.”

A flash of groping hands invaded my memory, bringing with it a swell of nausea.

“I . . .”

He took hold of my face with a single hand that engulfed my jaw and stopped me from flinching away.

“Do not mistake me, Vessel,” he breathed, his cold breath puffing against my lips. “I am not a haven for you.”

He kept digging his fingertips into my cheeks until tears gathered. He finally let me go, shoving me away. My knees buckled, but I managed to regain my balance.