She shivered. From the cold? he wondered. Or from a turbulent desire similar to his own? Her nipples were pebbled against his ribs, erotically abrading, and as he watched her nibble her soft bottom lip, the arousal he felt for her became a storm. A desperate, wild storm. A storm so intense it was like a supernatural entity. His dragon’s blood flowed to his shaft, hot and consuming.
His lips curled into a self-disparaging smile. The moment he realized he was actually smiling, he frowned. How his men would have laughed to crown this dainty creature the winner of their wager. Yet he couldn’t seem to make himself care. He’d never felt anything so perfect, so right.
His captive blinked up, and their gazes collided. Had white-hot sparks of awareness visibly enveloped them at that moment he would not have been surprised.
This woman is your enemy, he reminded himself, gritting his teeth and shifting his hips so that his erection remained a safe distance away.
“The mind is open, the ears will hear,” he bit out. “Understand we do, apart or near. My words are yours—your words are mine. This I speak. This I bind. From this moment, through all of time.”
Still watching her, he said, “Do you understand my words now?”
“Yes. I—I do.” Her eyes widened, darkening with renewed flecks of alarm. Her mouth opened and closed several times as she struggled to form a coherent rejoinder. “How?” was all she could manage. Her voice was strained. Then, she added more strongly, “How?”
“I cast a spell of comprehension over your mind.”
“Spell? No, no. That’s not possible.” She shook her head. “I speak three languages, and I had to work hard to learn every one of them. What did you do to me? What did you do to my brain?”
“I have already explained that to you.”
“Don’t tell me the truth, then.” She laughed, the sound emerging desperate rather than humorous. “None of this matters, anyway. Tomorrow morning I’ll wake up and discover this was all a horrible nightmare.”
No, she wouldn’t, he thought, hating himself more at that moment than ever before. Tomorrow’s dawning she would not wake at all. “You should not have come here, woman,” he said. “Do you care nothing for your life?”
“Is that a threat?” She fought against his hold. “Let me go.”
“Cease your struggles. Your actions merely press your body deeper into mine.”
She immediately stilled.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
“I’m an American citizen, and I know my rights. You can’t keep me here against my will.”
“I can do anything I like.”
All color drained from her face because there was no denying the truth of his words.
To prolong her demise like this is cruel, his mind shouted. Close your eyes and strike.
Once again his mind and body acted as separate entities. He found himself releasing her and stepping backward. She leapt away from him as if he were a bloodsucking vampire or a hideously misshapen Formorian.
He focused all of his might on her destruction, looking anywhere except her enigmatic, sea-colored eyes, thinking of anything except her fierce, admirable spirit. Her shirt was torn and gaped down the middle, revealing the hint of two perfect breasts encased in pale pink lace. Another spark of desire flared inside him. Until his gaze locked on the two sets of rubied eyes that hung in the valley of her breasts.
His breath snagged as he studied the ornament more intently. Surely that was not…could not be…
But it was.
A frown cemented his features, and his fingers fisted so tightly his bones almost snapped. How had this woman come to possess such a sacred talisman? The gods awarded every dragon warrior a Ra-Dracus, a Dragon’s Fire, upon reaching manhood, and a warrior never removed his gift, not for any reason save death. The markings etched at the base of this one were familiar to him, but he could not recall exactly to whom it belonged.
Not this woman, that much he knew. She was not a dragon, nor was she a child of Atlantis.
His frown deepened. Ironically the very oath that commanded him to harm her also compelled him to keep her alive until she explained how and why she had the medallion. Reaching out, he attempted to remove it from her neck. She slapped his palm and scampered backward.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she demanded.
“Give me the medallion.”
She didn’t cower at his hard tone as most would have done. Nor did she jump to obey. No, she returned his gaze with unflinching courage. Or stupidity. She remained firmly in place now, hands at her side.
“Don’t come any closer,” she told him.
“You wear the mark of a dragon,” he continued. “And you, woman, are no dragon. Give me the medallion.”
“The only thing I’ll give you is an ass-kicking, you rotten thief. Stay back.”
He leveled her with a resolute gaze. She was defensive and fearful. Not a good combination when trying to obtain answers. He almost sighed. “I am called Darius,” he said. “Does that ease your fears?”
“No, no it doesn’t.” Contrary to her words, her muscles relaxed slightly. “My brother gave me this necklace. It’s my only link to him these days, and I’m not giving it up.”
Darius worried a hand down his face. “What is your name?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“What is your name?” he repeated. “Do not forget who holds the sword.”
“Grace Carlyle,” she reluctantly supplied.
“Where is your brother now, Grace Carlyle?” Her name floated easily from his tongue. Too easily. “I wish to speak with him.”
“I don’t know where he is.”
And she did not like that she did not know, he realized, studying the worry in her eyes. “No matter,” he said. “The medallion does not belong to him, either. It belongs to a dragon, and I will have it back.”
She studied him for a long, silent moment, then offered him a sunny if brittle smile. “You’re right. You can have it. I just need a moment to take it off.” She raised her arms as if she meant to do as she’d claimed—take it off. But in the next instant, she darted forward until she stood poised at the mist’s entrance. His arm snaked out and jerked her back into the hard circle of his body. She gasped on impact.
Had his reflexes not been so quick, he would have lost her.
“You dare defy me?” he said, perplexed. As leader of this palace, he was used to having his every command obeyed. Well, before today and his army’s game. That this woman opposed him was shocking, yet somehow added to her appeal. She was not a warrior and had no defense against him.
“Let me go!”
He held steady. “Struggling is pointless and merely delays what must be done.”
“What must be done?” Instead of calming, she beat her pointy little elbows into his stomach. “What the hell must be done?”
He whirled her around and used one of his hands as a shackle, locking her against him, chest to chest, hardness to softness.
“Be still!” he shouted. Then blinked. Shouted? Yes, he’d actually raised his voice.
Amazingly enough, she stilled. Her breath came shallow and fast. Amid the growing quiet, he began to hear the beat of her heart, a staccato rhythm that reverberated in his ears. Their gazes narrowed on each other and looking away proved impossible. Minutes ticked by unnoticed.
“Please,” she at last whispered, and he wasn’t sure if she was asking him to release her or hold her more tightly.
He used his free hand to smooth up the velvety soft expanse of her neck, then gently flick her hair out of the way. The heat of her beckoned him to linger, and he fought the urge to glide his hands across her every feminine peak and hollow, from the plumpness of her breasts, to the slight roundness of her stomach. From the exotic slope of her legs, to the hot wetness of her center.
Was she the kind of woman who could accept and return his animal passion? Or would she find him more than she could handle?
The thought jarred hi
m, and he gave a brutal shake of his head to dislodge it. Whether she could handle him or not didn’t matter. He wasn’t going to bed this woman.
And yet…
He easily imagined Grace naked and in his bed, her body splayed for his view. Her arms open and waiting for him. She would smile slowly, seductively, and he would inch his way atop her, graze his tongue over every curve and hollow, enjoy her as he’d never enjoyed another—or let her enjoy him—until they both collapsed.
The fantasy caused his desire to intermingle with tenderness, each sensation sparking off the other as they raced through him.
Desire he could tolerate. Tenderness he could not.
For years he’d tried to suppress his physical needs, but he’d learned that was impossible. So he’d begun to allow himself the occasional woman, taking them hard and fast, then leaving them quickly afterward. He didn’t kiss, didn’t savor. Just took them with utter detachment, an easily forgettable coupling.
He needed that same detachment now, which meant he needed to ignore Grace’s appeal. With that firmly rooted in his mind, he hurriedly unhooked the chain’s clasp from around her neck, though he was careful not to bruise her.
“Give that back,” she demanded, pulling against his hold. “It’s mine.”
“No. It is mine.”
Her expression turned venomous.
Without removing his gaze from her, Darius secured the medallion around his own neck, causing it to clang against the other Ra-Dracus. “I have many questions for you, and I expect you to answer every one,” he told her. “If you utter a single untruth, you will regret it. Is that clear?”
A strangled breath slipped past her lips.
“Do you understand?” he reiterated.
Wide-eyed, she nodded slowly.
“Then we will begin. You told me you want to give the medallion back to your brother. Why? What does he plan to do with it?”
“I—I don’t know.”
Did she lie? The angelic cast of her features suggested no untruth had ever passed from her lips. Thinking of her lips brought his gaze to them. They were plump lips. Lips made for a man’s pleasure. He ran his hand down his face, unsure what to believe, but knowing he should not imagine those lips slipping up and down his shaft, her red hair spilling over his thighs.
“Where did he acquire it?” Darius ground out.
“I don’t know,” she said hollowly.
“From who did he acquire it?”
“His boss.”
His boss… Darius’s jaw ticked. That meant there were more surface dwellers involved. “How long has the chain been in your possession?”
She closed her eyes for a moment, silently counting the days. “A little over a week.”
“Do you know what it is? Or what it does?”
“It does nothing,” she said, her brow furrowed. “It’s just a necklace. A piece of jewelry.”
He regarded her intently, studying, gauging. “How, then, did you find the mist?”
She pushed out a breath. “I don’t know, okay. I was walking around that damn jungle. I was hot and tired and hungry. I discovered an underground spring, stumbled upon the cave and crawled inside.”
“Did anyone enter the cave with you?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
She glared up at him, daring him to do what he would. “Yes, damn it. I’m certain. I was alone out there.”
“If you have lied…” He allowed his threat to hang in the air unsaid.
“I told you the truth,” she snapped.
Had she? He honestly didn’t know. He only knew that he wanted to believe every word she uttered. He was too captivated by her beauty. Too entranced by her scent. He should kill her here and now, finally, but still he couldn’t bring himself to hurt her. Not yet. Not until he’d had time and distance to put her in proper perspective.
I’m a fool, he thought. Darius grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She began kicking immediately, and her nails raked down his back.
“Put me down, you Neanderthal!” Her shrieks echoed in his ears. “I answered your questions. You have to let me go.”
“Perhaps a little time in my chamber will make those answers of yours improve. Surely you can do better than ‘I don’t know.’”
“Improve? Improve! If I’d given you different answers, I would have been lying.”
“We shall see.”
He strode up the cave stairs and into the palace above. She continued to squirm and kick, and he continued to hold her firmly with his arms. He was careful to avoid his men as he carried her to his chamber. Once there, he tossed her atop the velvet covered mattress and tied her flailing arms and legs to the posts. Seeing her splayed on his bed made him sweat and ache. Made him rock-hard. He couldn’t deal with her now, not when she looked so…eatable. Without another glance in her direction, he turned and strode into the hall. The door closed behind him of its own accord.
Sooner or later, the woman would have to die…by his own hand.
CHAPTER FOUR
ALONE IN THE ROOM, Grace tugged and squirmed until she freed her wrists. She untied the knots at her ankles and jerked upright. Alex had tied her up many times when they’d been children, so escaping seemed like child’s play. Besides that, her captor had not tied the knots that tight. As if he’d been afraid to hurt her. She dragged in a shaky breath as her gaze darted throughout the spacious interior, taking in every detail. Other than the gloriously soft bed she sprawled upon, a tiered ivory chest was the only other furnishing. Colors…so many colors glistened from the jagged walls like rainbow shards trapped in onyx. There was a cream and marble hearth, unlit and pristine. The only exit was a door with no handle.
Where the hell am I? she wondered, panic rising.
Fear and adrenaline pounded furiously through her blood. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford an impregnable security system. She fisted her hands on the sapphire velvet coverlet as another thought invaded her mind. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford to kidnap and torture an innocent woman with no consequences.
Shooting to her feet, she tried to fight past her fear. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. She just needed to find a way out of here. Before he returned. She raced to the door, clawing at the tiny seam. When that didn’t work, she pushed, trying to force the doors to split down the middle. The thick ivory remained firmly in place, refusing to budge even a little. She expelled a frustrated screech. She should have expected no different. Like he’d make escape that easy.
What was she going to do?
There were no windows to crawl through. And the ceiling…she glanced upward and gasped. The ceiling was comprised of layered crystal prisms, the source of the room’s light. A thin crack stretched across the middle from one end to the other, giving way to a spectacular view of swirling, turquoise liquid. Yet the liquid didn’t drip through. Fish and other sea creatures—those were not mermaids, she assured herself—swam playfully through the water.
I’m underwater. Underwater! She banged her fists against the door. “Let me out of here, damn you!”
No response was forthcoming.
“This is illegal. If you don’t let me out, you’ll be arrested. I swear you will. You’ll go to prison and be forced to have intimate relations with a man named Butch. Let. Me. Out.”
Again, no response. Her punches slowed, then stopped altogether. She rested her cheek against the coolness of the door. Where the hell am I? she wondered once more.
Something tugged at her memory…something she had read. A book or a magazine, or… Alex’s journal! she realized. The bottom dropped from her stomach, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the full implication hit her. Her brother had written about a doorway from earth to Atlantis, a portal surrounded by mist. Her mouth formed an O as a section of his text invaded her mind, clicking in place like the piece of a puzzle. Atlantis was not the home of extraordinary people, but of atrocious creatures found only in nig
htmares. A place for mistakes.
Her knees weakened and her stomach clenched. Turning, placing her back to the door, she sank to the cold, hard ground. It was true. She had traveled through the mist. She was in Atlantis. The land of horrors.
Let this be a dream, a dream I’ll awaken from any moment. I promise I won’t complain about anything ever again. I’ll be content.
I have to get out of here. She’d wanted danger and fulfillment, yes, but not this. Never this. En route to Brazil, she’d imagined how intrepid she would feel helping Alex, how accomplished she would feel proving or disproving such a well-loved myth.
Well, she’d just proved it—and she felt anything but accomplished.
“Atlantis,” she whispered brokenly, staring over at the bed. The comforter appeared quilted from glass, yet she knew exactly how soft it was. She was in Atlantis, home of minotaurs, Formorians, werewolves and vampires. And so many more creatures her brother hadn’t been able to name them all. Her stomach gave another painful clench.
Just what type of creature was her captor?
She searched her memory. Minotaurs were half bull and half human. While he may have acted like a bull, he had not possessed the physical characteristics of one. Formorians were one-armed and one-legged creatures. Again, he didn’t qualify. Could he be a werewolf or a vampire? Yet neither of those seemed right, either.
With his dragon tattoos, he seemed more like, well, a dragon. Could that be right? Didn’t dragons have scales, a tail and wings? Perhaps he was the only human here. Or perhaps he was a male nymph, a creature so sexual, so potent and virile, he could not be released into human society. That certainly explained her hopelessly powerful reaction to him.
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