Page 32 of The Book of Legends
When I cover my mouth to stifle another nervous giggle, his chest rises with a sudden intake of breath, and suddenly, glass shatters. Wine splatters across the floor like blood. I scream, shielding my face as tiny needles of glass graze my skin. The table flips over with a thunderous crash.
Fear knots my stomach in panic. There is no way he could possibly have lifted it. His strength is unmatched. Before I can react, his hands are at my throat, pinning me against the chair.
His grip isn’t tight, but his pupils are gone, replaced by two black voids, endless and consuming. “It’s not funny anymore, is it?”
I shake my head, my throat bobbing against his palm.
“Good.”
Something warm trickles down my cheek. His gaze zeros in on it. His tongue flicks out, running slowly along the cut on my cheek.
I freeze.
His breath is warm against my skin, his touch both gentle and possessive. The softness of his tongue and the intoxicating scent from his skin cause me to whimper. He licks my fucking blood.
“You see what you do to me, Selene?” His voice drops into a whisper. “You make me lose control.”
I bare my teeth. “Fuck you.”
His gaze drops lower.
“You should be afraid of me.”
I am. I look away. “Should I?”
His black demon eyes lift, and I’m sure he can see now that I am afraid of him. He may be human, but there is something in him that isn’t. Something dark and powerful he possesses.
“That’s something you should be, Selene. Afraid. Petrified.”
I glance at my arms; a few tiny pieces of glass haven’t yet broken my skin.
“Don’t move.” He pushes off my chair and heads to the table.
He snaps his fingers. A dwarf runs up with a glass and a couple of items wrapped in leather.
Feeling a tiny trickle on my cheek, I reach up to the side of my head to the cut. It must have opened and started to bleed. “What are you doing?”
He pulls a chair across the stone floor, taking a seat in front of me. “Cleaning up my mess.” He hands me a metal flute, and it’s red wine from the aroma of currants, cherries, and blackberries. I take a generous sip.
He takes it from me and says, “That’s enough. Now, hold still.”
I squeeze my legs together and look straight ahead. There is blood on his bottom lip. A thrill runs down my spine, remembering the feel of his tongue on my skin. “Are you going to let me go?” I ask when he begins to clean me up.
“No.”
I inwardly sigh. “Would you believe me if I told you I don’t know how I got here?”
He carefully inspects my right arm with some sort of tweezers in his hand. “I’m not sure yet.”
“Then let me go.”
“You’ll either die by my hand or out there,” he says in a cold voice. “But I can guarantee you have a better chance of surviving by staying with me.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“No,” he snaps, making me jolt.
“You don’t trust anyone, do you?”
