Page 40 of The Soul of a Rogue

His fingers landed on her brow and the hand he had clamped onto her chest pinned her onto his lap. “Elle, shhh, we’re alone. No one is here.”

Rune.

She gasped a breath. Another. Rune holding her down.

Rune. Not Howard. Rune.

Her eyes closed, the panic that had set fire to her veins rolling through her, dissipating.

“Elle, open your eyes again.”

Her eyes cracked to find Rune’s stare hard on her. Even as the softness of his voice wrapped her in security, the set of his face, the look in his copper-green eyes—was pure murder. He was going to murder someone.

She hoped it wasn’t her. She couldn’t take another strangulation.

Rune’s right hand gently moved up from the expanse of her chest and went to her throat, his fingertips the wisp of a feather over the hot, throbbing areas of her neck. “Who did this to you? Who was here?”

She stared at his eyes, at the fury in them. She shook her head.

His lips pulled into a tight line. “Are you shaking your head because you’re not going to tell me or because your neck hurts too much to talk?”

She forced air up her throat, ignoring the burning that it caused. “Both.”

He sighed, shaking his head as his look went upward, his lips pursing in raging exasperation. “Elle—”

She lifted a hand to his chest to interrupt him. “No.”

He didn’t look down at her.

With a heave, she rolled onto her side away from him and his hand instantly set between her shoulder blades, helping her into a sitting position. For a moment, her head wavered, going light, almost sending her back into blackness.

Rune’s hand pressed into her back, supporting her against falling.

“Hell, Elle.”

He moved to his knees, his left arm slipping around her back while his right slid under her legs and he lifted her up, standing and then depositing her on the settee.

She leaned back into the cushions, her right forearm long atop the soft curved arm of the settee. Her eyes closed for long seconds as she concentrated on the air moving up and down her raw throat—concentrated on staying conscious.

Something cool nudged into her fingers on the arm of the settee and she opened her eyes. Rune had set a glass of brandy into her hand.

She looked up at him, her eyebrows raised.

“It will soothe your throat.” His right cheek lifted in a weak smile. “Or at least numb the pain of it.”

A weak nod, and she lifted the tumbler to her lips. Daggers sliced down her throat as she swallowed. He’d better be right about numbing the pain. She took another swallow, more liquid this time in order to speed the numbing.

He walked over to the sideboard and poured another glass, swallowing the whole of it in one tilt of his head. He refilled it, then moved to her, pulling a wingback chair from in front of the fireplace and setting it before her. After placing his glass down on the side table, he sat, leaning forward with his forearms resting on his thighs, his stare fixed on her.

It was to be an interrogation, then.

She stifled a sigh, taking another sip of the brandy and forcing it down her throat.

“What happened, Elle?”

Avoiding his stare, she looked out the window at the largest oak in the front line of the woods. “An old friend appeared at my door.”

“Friend?”

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