Burning Dawn. Gena Showalter

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СКАЧАТЬ a sick, twisted way, she kind of...welcomed the abuse, she supposed. After all, she deserved it. Her parents and Bay had been strong and brave. She was a weak coward.

      Why had she lived and not them?

      Why did she continue to live?

      As if you don’t know.

      Her mother’s final words echoed in her mind. Whatever proves necessary, my darling, do it. Survive. Do not allow my sacrifice to be in vain.

      “Woman! Need. Now.” The Sent One once again ripped her from the past. He neared the river...neared her....

      Soon, he would pass by, and the opportunity would be lost....

      Her hand twitched as she debated whether or not to palm the glass shard another prisoner—now gone—had given her. A shard she’d hidden in the fabric of her leather dress, just in case one of the males decided to stop looking at her and start taking. She would have to do something drastic to break through the Sent One’s obsession long enough to capture his attention. Maybe cutting him would do the trick. Maybe not. Maybe it would enrage him, and he would snap her neck with a single flick of his wrist.

      Should she risk punishment? Death?

      Decision time.

      Pro: there was no better time for an escape. Many in the camp were distracted, as King Ardeo—who’d replaced the late Krull—had taken his most trusted men to who-knows-where to hunt Petra, Kendra’s aunt, the Phoenix who had murdered Malta, Krull’s widow and Kendra’s mother and, for a short time, Ardeo’s most beloved concubine.

      Ugh! What a mind-maze of names.

      Ardeo had waited centuries to claim Malta, only to lose her two days later when a jealous Petra stabbed her in her sleep—and, taking a page from Kendra’s How To Be A Psycho book, ate her heart.

      Con: Elin wasn’t in possession of Frost, a new “medication” for immortals, and the only thing capable of diluting Kendra’s poison.

      Pro: she might be able to get some.

      Krull had purchased a handful of cubes right after Kendra’s marriage to Ricker. Kendra now kept them inside a locket she wore at all times.

      If Elin could steal that locket...

      Another pro: never again having to worry about Orson.

      He was away with Ardeo, but when he returned...

      She shuddered as she recalled his parting words to her. “I will have you, halfling, and the way I’ll take you, there’ll be no chance of a babe.”

      Hellmongrel!

      Con: she could die horribly.

      The Sent One was almost in front of her. Any second now...

      If her mother were alive, she would tell Elin to go for it, despite the risk.

      Well, then. Decision made.

      Moving as fast as her reflexes would allow, Elin palmed the shard and swiped the jagged edge across the Sent One’s arm.

      As crimson droplets trickled down his skin, she gagged. Dizziness struck her, and a burning tightness bloomed in her chest.

      Panic...threatening to consume her...already restricting her airways...

      No! Not this time. She focused on her life goals—freedom, money, bakery—breathed in and out with purpose, and the storm passed.

      The Sent One ground to a halt.

      He’s a slave, like me, and I’m his only hope. Heck, he’s my only hope. I can do this. For my family.

      He turned his head, looking at her over the arch of his wing, and she shivered. Curly blond hair innocently framed the face of a born seducer...exquisite, flawless. In contrast, his bedroom eyes were at half-mast, beseeching a female to naughtiness.

      Anything for you...

      Too bad those eyes were so poison-fogged she couldn’t guess their color. Long, spiky lashes of the deepest jet rimmed his lids, and his soft, full lips practically begged for reckless kisses.

      A ring of angry scars circled his neck, and she frowned. Evidence of an injury, no matter how great or small, did not usually remain on an immortal’s flesh. Had someone tried to kill him before he’d been old enough to regenerate?

      Even with the imperfection, he was beautiful. A visual feast. A rare eye candy. A delicacy to be savored. And now I’m struggling to breathe again, drowning, seriously drowning in his utter masculinity, and now in guilt...grief... I haven’t lusted for a man since Bay, my sweet, darling Bay, my husband of only three months, dead now, and I should be ashamed...

      “Female.”

      The smoky voice caught her off guard. What the flip am I doing? Concentrate!

      “What’s your name?” she asked, the words scraping against her throat.

      Scowling, the warrior faced her fully.

      Note to self: gaining his attention is a mistake.

      His expression was all kinds of scary: hot and dark, radiating the evilest of intents. She gulped, expecting to be batted aside like everyone else foolish enough to engage him. But maybe she’d be gutted first.

      Instead, he reached out to pinch a lock of her hair, the dark color an intriguing contrast against the bronze of his skin. His scowl softened. “Pretty.”

      Her rebellious heart hitched into her still-throbbing throat. Another living creature, touching her with no intent to harm...making her tingle...so danged good.

      How starved she had been for some kind of affection, she realized.

      A distant shout jolted him, and he dropped his arm to his side. She swallowed a humiliating whimper. Like an addict, she already wanted more from him. Nothing sexual. Never that. Bay would be her first and last lover. There would be no second chances for her. But she couldn’t help wanting the Sent One’s big, strong hands on her...rubbing her nape, maybe...or massaging her aching shoulders...no, her feet...as a friend! Just a friend.

      A friend with a magnificent body surely chiseled from solid gold.

      Whatever!

      He turned away to resume his stomping, Elin already forgotten. No! She tried to wrap her fingers around his biceps, but couldn’t. He was so large, his muscles so knotted with purpose. But, oh, his skin was deliciously warm and smooth.

      “Please. What’s your name?” she whispered. “Think.”

      Again he paused. His head tilted to the side, as if he gave serious consideration to the question. “I am My Slave.”

      “Wrong. What’s your real name?” The more he reflected on the answer, the faster he would fight his way through the fog. Without the aid of the medication she may or may not be able to steal.

      “My Slave,” СКАЧАТЬ