Sabine worried what this demon would think about her past if it were laid bare for him to see. She didn't want him judging her, or worse pitying her. Her mother used to say, "Gods give me anything but a good man's pity."
Yes, Sabine was anxious, but her muscles were sore, and his body felt so incredibly good against hers. Warm, hard ... safe.
Don't dream . . . don't dream. . . .
Sabine drifted off once more, and then she slept like the dead.
25
Heat it, stroke it, beat and grow it. Rub it, twist it, love and kiss it. . ." Rydstrom shot upright, woken by a woman's eerie
chanting.
He gazed over at Sabine, but she slept still, her eyes darting behind her lids. He was forced to leave her as he sprinted toward the sound.
"Gold is life . . . it is perfection," said the woman. Her laughter followed.
When he seemed to reach the source, he swung his head around.
No one is here. A decoy? Had he been tricked into leaving his female? He charged back to Sabine-
She was sleeping just as he'd left her, with her long lashes against her cheeks. Exhaling a relieved breath, he lowered himself beside her. As he gazed down at her stunning face, he realized that his rage and lust had faded enough so that he could reason once more. But he
could come to no conclusions when it came to Sabine and his confusing emotions.
Last night, his demon nature had demanded revenge, a reprisal to placate his wrath. Yet at the end of the night, the demon in him had ached to see his mate in pain.
He didn't know what to think about her, or about himself. Because he was actually considering breaking his vow for revenge. The one that had sustained him in that dungeon, had kept him from fully succumbing to rage.
He was in an impossible situation. If he gave her another two nights of torment, then he was no better than she'd been to him. But if he didn't, he would break his vow-and again, he'd be no better than she was.
Maybe he should accept her rationale that she'd only denied him for two nights total. . . yes, then he'd only have one remaining.
His gaze narrowed on her long mane of glossy hair. Among her red curls was a strand of shining white that he'd never seen before. He grasped the lock, brushing it between his thumb and forefinger. She'd hidden this- why?
The lock fell, forgotten when his eyes settled on her neck, on the scar that collared her. His lips parted as comprehension came. He clutched her shoulders, yanking her upright to inspect her skin.
"What?" She blinked against the rising sun. "What's wrong now?"
"What is this scar? Some kind of operation?" he asked, graying that it was. "Answer me!"
Her eyes briefly slid closed as if she were embarrassed. "Yes, Rydstrom, an operation."
"You're lying again!"
"No, I'm not," she said, her tone deadened. "It was an involuntary one, intended to amputate my head."
His mouth went dry. "You were young. How old?"
"What does it-"
"How old?" he bellowed, the sound echoing through the nearby canyons.
"Twelve, demon." She met his gaze. "I was twelve years old the day a soldier from the army of good slit my throat from ear to ear."
"Tell me what happened."
"A clan of the Vreken killed my parents. When I fought back, they tried for me. And before you say anything-yes, I did have to fight. You have no idea what they do to children like us."
He shook his head. "The Vrekeners adopt you, take you into their families."
"And separate siblings so their minds are more easily turned. They brainwash the females of our kind to be like theirs-biddable and grave, the exact opposite of our true nature. They brainwash us to think like you!"
"How could you have survived this wound?"
"It doesn't matter. Just that I did."
"You'll tell me!"
She thrashed, but he held her firm. "My sister, Lanthe used to be able to give mystickal commands. I was dead- my heart was still, and there was no blood left in it. But she somehow commanded me to live and to heal."
"Is that why your hair turned white?"
She gazed away. "I won't talk about this any longer." She struggled to get free again. "I don't understand what the big deal is." When he gaped at her, she gave him a look of disgust. "Demon, do you think that was the only time I was murdered?"
No amount of railing would get her to tell him the story of her deaths. The demon didn't deserve to know. He wouldn't understand it, not as he should, because he'd been conditioned to think differently than she'd been.
She glared up at him, and whatever he saw in her expression made him release her.
He ran a hand over his mouth. His appearance was almost back to normal, but he seemed a hair-trigger from turning. "We need to get going," he muttered.
Get going . . . Farther away from Tornin, from her morsus, from her sister. Starting on another intermi-nable day.
Her arms were asleep, pinpricks dancing from her shoulders to her wrists as she clenched and released her fists. Her br**sts were aching, her unfulfilled desire from the night before hitting her body as hard and as alien as an illness.
And she'd slept for at least five hours. That hadn't happened since she was a girl! Which meant for all those hours, she'd been vulnerable, her safety completely in Rydstrom's hands.
She resented that.
"I heard something this morning-a woman chanting," he-said as he doused the remains of the fire. "But when I went to investigate, no one was there."
"I didn't hear anything." Evidently, she'd been dreaming, but she couldn't remember of what. At least he hadn't seen her dream.
"We have to make good time today." As she watched in horror, he took his sword and lopped off the heels of her boots.
"Don't you think it's time you filled me in on the details of our situation?"
"I'm taking you with me to my home in Louisiana." He pulled her up to her feet. When she stood naked to his avid gaze, his jaw clenched, but he didn't touch her.
His manner brisk, he tugged her skirt up her legs. "We have to meet up with refugees who are going off-plane."
"Omort can tell who comes and goes."J
"Not this time."
"You're taking me to one of those illegal portals, aren't you? How long will we be walking?"
"A few more days."
"He'll find us before you can reach it," she said, making a muscle tic in his scarred cheek.
Once he'd redressed her in her metal bustier and | altered boots, she said, "What about my hose and j panties?"