Page 23 of Silent Lucidity

She washis. And he would protect her from anyone,anything, until his dying breath.

Five

Abella’s head throbbed; the pain pulsed from her temples to encompass her entire skull, amplified by every beat of her heart. She’d never had a headache this severe, not even after she’d overindulged at her first college party.

Groaning, she pulled her knees to her chest to curl into a tight ball, but she stopped abruptly when she remembered the wounds on her back. Any move to stretch her back muscles over the last week had agitated the angry bruises left by the electrolash, producing intense pain. Yet there was no tightness now, no discomfort—not even a twinge. All she felt was the caress of a cool, soft sheet against the bare skin of her back.

Bare skin?

Abella frowned, lifted her head, and opened her eyes, blinking against the light until her vision cleared. A wholly unfamiliar room greeted her. It was a little larger than her bedchamber in the manor, its practicality and absence of decoration in harsh contrast to Cullion’s tendency toward gaudiness. Several rectangular panels on the ceiling, which was the same dull gray as the walls, provided the dim white light filling the room.

The furnishings were minimal, utilitarian, unconcerned with aesthetic appeal. It seemed like the studio apartment of a man who was never home, the kind of man who slept and ate only because those things were necessary to fuel his body.

Brows low, Abella sat up. The movement brought on a wave of dizziness; she winced and pressed a hand to her head as though the gesture could steady her. The blanket fell to her lap, baring her breasts, and her frown deepened.

Where the hell was she?

And where the hell were her clothes? She never slept naked.

The click of a latch called her attention to the door across from the foot of the bed. She looked up, and her breath caught in her throat.Hestood in the doorway, wearing only a pair of black pants, his damp silver hair hanging about his bare shoulders.

Everything returned to her in a rush—she remembered being released from the isolation chamber, being bathed and prepared for an audience with Cullion when this scarred stranger entered in her room. She remembered…blood.

Cullion’sblood.

The air fled her lungs as she stared at the stranger, who stared at her in turn. His eyes dipped, reminding her suddenly of her nudity.

Cheeks flushing, she gathered the blanket and pulled it over her chest, clutching it there. His gaze returned to hers, pupils dilating to swallow a little more of his silver irises, and even though her breasts were no longer on display, her nipples hardened as though he’d physically stroked them.

She tightened her fingers around the blanket. “Is he…really dead? Cullion?”

The stranger nodded. Her heart fluttered as he stepped closer.

“It’s over?” she asked. “I’m free?”

He moved closer still, his toned muscles rippling beneath his pale gray skin, his eyes intense.

“Um…my name is Abella. What’s yours?”

The stranger paused at the foot of the bed; for a moment, she thought he’d finally reply to her, that she’d finally hear his voice. Instead, he placed his hands on the bed, climbed atop it, and crawled toward her.

Her breath quickened, and she scooted back, keeping a tight hold on the blanket. “What…what are you doing?”

He moved with the surety and grace of a stalking panther, shrinking the distance between them until he was close enough for her to feel his heat, to feel his weight pull the bedding taut over her bare thighs. He leaned over Abella, caging her between his arms, and dipped his head to press his lips against her neck. He drew in a slow, deep breath. A growl rumbled from him, and his claws flexed on the bedding.

The shocking feel of his lips on her skin sent a thrill straight to Abella’s core. The sensation was so powerful, so frightening, that she panicked. She placed her hands against his chest and pushed; he was startlingly solid and heavy.

A look of surprise crossed his face as he tumbled over the edge of the bed, landing on the floor with a loud thump. Abella scrambled off the other side of the bed, dragging the blanket along to keep herself covered, and backed away.

The stranger rose slowly and turned to face her; his expression was unreadable.

She had a sense that he’d moved with deliberate slowness; she’d seen how quickly he could move back in the manor and had no doubt he could’ve been across the bed, arms banded around her, before she’d even gained her feet if he’d wanted to.

“Did you steal me from Cullion just to make meyourslave?” she asked, glaring at him. “Because I won’t be. I will not spend even one more day as someone’s property.”

The fire in his eyes never dwindled; it burned perpetually, burned forher. One corner of his mouth tilted up.

“Did you hear me?” Abella demanded, anger overcoming her good sense—she had no leverage in this situation, no power, no leeway to dictate the terms of their relationship. “I won’t be your slave, or your whore!”

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