Born, Darkly (Darkly, Madly 1)

Plus, I tried hard to pick the perfect attire for tonight. The black satin will cling to her curves, the purple slip beneath matches the tinted glass beading of the pearl shawl. Reminding me of her scent of lilac. My groin throbs in anticipation.

I yank the dress from the hanger and unzip the back. “Take off your clothes.”

She steps backward. “No.”

“Another two days in the cage, then?”

A laugh tumbles out. “You don’t have that much time.” She crosses her arms. “I might be feverish, but you forget that I’m still your doctor. I can see it in your jumpy muscles. Your anxious movements and hitched breathing. Whatever awaits me outside this cage is far worse than what I suffered inside it. And you know they’re looking for me. They’re getting close, aren’t they?”

Tossing the dress to the floor, I move in. “If you don’t undress, I’ll do it for you. And I’ll make sure to enjoy it.”

Her features steel. “You were kidnapped as a child,” she accuses, taking another step farther back. “That’s why you refused to talk about your parents during sessions.”

I stop in front of her. “Mind games are for later.” I lunge for her, giving her a second to react and turn before I wrap my arms around her waist.

She’s too weak to put up much of a struggle. I wrestle her to the floor and onto her back, pinning her wrists beneath my knees. “I was hoping we could work in some foreplay before dinner.” She wriggles beneath me as I grip the T-shirt and tear it down the middle.

“You’re sick—”

“We’ve already established that, too.” I ease up to get to her sweats.

Her hand slips away. Before I can recover it, she brandishes a fork. “You can dine with the devil, you evil bastard.”

The fork lodges in my stomach, plunged beneath my rib cage, the way she once stabbed another man who dared to lock her in a cage. I laugh at the irony as I clutch the utensil.

She uses her knees to shove me off, then crawls toward the door, getting to her feet when she clears the cell.

I roll over and brace myself. Gritting my teeth, I yank the fork free. My hand comes away with red, my shirt absorbing the blood. I palm the wound. It’s painful, but not fatal.

I’m following her trail through the hallway when I hear her scream. It doesn’t take long to locate her. She’s sprawled out on the floor, her foot hung on a tripwire.

I grab the back of her pants and lift her off the wire before I roll her over and straddle her legs. “I’m going to assume you meant to miss vital organs.”

She spits in my face, and I love the way the motion makes her tits bounce.

I run my tongue over my bottom lip, tasting her. Then closing my hands around her neck, I lean down. “Sweet dreams, London.” I squeeze.

Her gasps for air pulse against my fingers. Her nails claw at my hands. I watch her eyes bead with red as the vessels burst from the pressure. When her hands fall away, I strangle harder and press my lips to hers, tasting her shallow pleas before she fades.

27

Darkness

London

Panic flares the moment consciousness snatches me back to the world.

I don’t open my eyes. I keep them sealed as I plead for that peaceful oblivion to return—that blissful nothingness. But just as he stole the world away, he forces me back, waving smelling salts under my nose.

I turn my head away, groggy. “Why can’t I move?”

My voice is hoarse, my throat raw and neck tender. A wave of nausea rolls through my stomach. I can’t move my head without pain shooting across my shoulders. “You choked me. Why didn’t you just kill me?”

I hear a scraping sound, then as I dare to open my eyes, Grayson is seated beside me.

As my vision clears, so do the rest of my senses. We’re under a veranda, the evening crisp with the taste of fresh mountain air. The glow of draped lights fills the space, keeping the darkness beyond my gaze. The scent of food hits me, making my mouth water and stomach pang with hunger. Then I notice the lack of feeling in my limbs, and fright startles me coherent.

“The string wasn’t a part of the original design,” Grayson says, reaching for a tumbler of water. “But I couldn’t resist the symbolism.”