His Darkest Hunger (Jaguar Warriors 1)

She felt newfound strength begin to pour through her as she sat there in the dark, methodically looking around, trying to find an escape. Her eyes had adjusted to the dim interior, and she slowly lowered her feet to the cold tiles, feeling the shock of them against her bare toes.

Her arms still cradled her side, and her body odor hit her smack in the face. God, she was a mess. She needed out of this place, if not for any reason other than to wash the grime and smell from her body.

Her prison was small but had enough room for a bed, and as her eyes skimmed the far recesses, she smiled at the sight of a toilet and sink. Each step that drew her closer to the sink seemed lighter, more assured, and then she quickly set about washing her face and hands.

Her tummy growled, and Libby tried to remember the last time she’d eaten, but shrugged it off. She would have to worry about that later. After she escaped.

There was no window other than a small insert in the heavy door. And she knew how heavy it was. When the stranger lowered her to the bed, she’d rolled over, pretending sleep, but cringed at the sound of the door locking behind him as he left.

She ran her fingers over the door’s surface and swore when it became evident there was no way she’d be able to budge it an inch. Quickly her mind moved on, and she knew her only chance to escape would be when they came for her.

But she’d have to be smart about it. Take a chance. The right chance.

Libby’s heart leapt to her throat as the handle began to turn.

Someone was there!

She jumped back to the bed, grabbing the blankets around her, her heart thumping rapidly. She inhaled one deep cleansing breath and prayed that whoever it was would believe she was still fast asleep. She turned her back to the door and closed her eyes tightly.

The door swung open, its hinges creaking ever so softly, the sound hanging dully in the air. Libby felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck, and held her breath, forcing it out slowly, mimicking the sounds of sleep. It felt as if a million tiny fingers were running up and down her back, and her body screamed at her to move, to flee. But she held fast.

No footfalls or any other sound heralded the approach of her captor, but she knew someone was there, just inches from her.

Were they going to kill her now?

Panic began to creep through her. She felt hel

pless and exposed to her enemy. She felt the familiar choking sensation weave its way up from her chest, as blackness once more curled around the edges of her brain. But she held on, gritted her teeth and pushed it away.

“Is this a new game, Libby? Did you think you could escape me so easily?”

The low voice fell upon her—a woman’s voice—and she exhaled slowly, not recognizing it. But she could sense that the woman who stood behind her was furious. She could feel it in the quiet words; it colored them with a ferocity that needed no amplification.

Libby’s eyes opened slowly, and she was grateful that she’d successfully fought off the panic attack that would have rendered her helpless.

It was time to face the enemy.

Slowly, she pushed her body from the bed, turning toward the woman, who stood a foot away. The splice of pain that crossed her face did not go unnoticed, but Libby held her own and met the black eyes with a direct stare.

The woman who stood before her was incredibly beautiful, in a way that seemed almost surreal. She had long wavy dark chestnut hair that surrounded delicate features and pale skin. She was clothed from head to toe in black, and though petite, projected a menacing aura.

Her eyes were dark, like round pebbles of onyx dipped in sapphire. And they were staring at her hard, full of malice, dislike, and something else.

When the woman spoke again, Libby jumped, surprised at her harsh words.

“So it’s true, then? You claim to have no memory of who you are and what you’ve done to us?”

The stranger took one step forward until her body was almost touching Libby’s. Her voice dropped an octave and the warmth from her breath caressed Libby’s cheeks. “Did you forget how to talk as well? I see you’ve forgotten how to bathe. I used to be envious of the long blond hair that fell from your head, and now…” Her fingers reached out for a strand that fell down to Libby’s breast. Libby flinched as the fingers drew near, and closed her eyes as the woman tugged softly on the strand. “I see that personal hygiene has fallen by the wayside.”

The woman stepped back, her eyes critical. “As has your fashion sense.”

Libby flushed in embarrassment. The words rang too close to the truth.

“I don’t know you.”

The words slipped from Libby’s mouth, and she immediately wished she could take them back. The woman’s eyes widened and she laughed. The sound was fake and tinny as it echoed against the sterile walls.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Ana, and I can assure you we will be doing everything in our power to enable you to remember exactly who you are. I have a personal interest invested in your memory returning. We all do.”