from the house of Jaegar.
And of course, that was what he was—or at least, what he had once been.
She fought not to shudder as she took another careful step forward, and her hand rose
inadvertently to cover her mouth.
His nose was as straight as an arrow, rugged yet nicely refined, and perfect in its
shape and structure. His cheekbones were positively chiseled, as were his jaw and
the slight indentation in his chin. His mouth was set in a harsh, cruel line, almost
contemptuous, even in his sleep, but his lips were firm and well filled out, shapely
in their own right. Vanya drew back in surprise. By all the gods, he was disturbingly
handsome—in the most treacherous type of way. Everything about him screamed danger.
And excitement.
She followed the angles of his face down to his neck, making note of the copper hue
of his skin—and just how was it that a male who lived underground maintained such
a rich complexion? She paused when her gaze traveled to his raised arm, then narrowed
in on the distinct lines of his musculature, all that raw power barely concealed beneath
smooth, unmarred skin. It was surprising to see such raw perfection—not that she had
expected a mass of scars and warts, but still, she felt as if she were staring at
an artist’s rendition of an anatomy chart rather than a ruthless male who had lived
a life of violence and brutality. The various contours of his build were clearly defined
beneath a fine, silken covering, and every striation of his muscles was readily apparent,
as if sculpted by a potter’s hands, into taut, lean tissue.
Sweeping her long, flaxen hair behind her shoulders, Vanya took a cautious step back.
He was dangerous, indeed.
Lethal, without question.
For more reasons than one.
Saber’s spirit radiated around him, and it was a synthesis of fire and lava and dark
swirling smoke. This male had known no gentleness in his life, no mercy or kindness—or
peace. He was simply ash and stone in a flawless, hardened shell. Feeling the sudden
need to draw fresh air, Vanya slowly backed away, picking up her pace as she headed
toward the cell door. She had seen quite enough: an outer beauty concealing an inner
fury. She would conjure her magic once more and slip through the bars undetected,
and then she would quickly retreat—perhaps she would run—back to Napolean’s manse,
where she would, indeed, allow her loved ones to provide the protection they were
offering.
Somehow the fantasy of the male was more glorious, and far safer, than the reality.
As Vanya struggled to remember the words of the incantation she needed to keep her
form fluid and ghost-like, to allow an ethereal transition that would take her safely
through the bars, she all at once heard the most terrifying sound imaginable behind
her: the soft, almost inaudible rustling of a body rising from its slumber, the low
pad of bare feet finding purchase on a stone floor.
And then just like that, Saber was there.
Behind her.
Pushing up against her. His hard, lean body pressing into hers, trapping her against
the bars.
She gasped. And she would have screamed…fought…tried to run, except the most vivid
images from her dream instantly replayed in her mind: I step back in alarm . The creature is fierce, and I know that he will destroy me if I let him. Slowly,
ever so carefully, I begin to retreat. My feet are now bare, and the rocky floor is
rough against my skin, tearing at my flesh and causing me great distress, but I am
too afraid to cry out, les t the vicious beast pounce in response to my fear.
Trying her best to remain calm, she focused on what was happening here and now. By
the measure of his chin against her hair, he was a full head taller than she, perhaps
six-foot-one, give or take an inch, and his breathing was silent and steady, measured
only by the rise and fall of his powerful chest against her much narrower back.
“You must be
And of course, that was what he was—or at least, what he had once been.
She fought not to shudder as she took another careful step forward, and her hand rose
inadvertently to cover her mouth.
His nose was as straight as an arrow, rugged yet nicely refined, and perfect in its
shape and structure. His cheekbones were positively chiseled, as were his jaw and
the slight indentation in his chin. His mouth was set in a harsh, cruel line, almost
contemptuous, even in his sleep, but his lips were firm and well filled out, shapely
in their own right. Vanya drew back in surprise. By all the gods, he was disturbingly
handsome—in the most treacherous type of way. Everything about him screamed danger.
And excitement.
She followed the angles of his face down to his neck, making note of the copper hue
of his skin—and just how was it that a male who lived underground maintained such
a rich complexion? She paused when her gaze traveled to his raised arm, then narrowed
in on the distinct lines of his musculature, all that raw power barely concealed beneath
smooth, unmarred skin. It was surprising to see such raw perfection—not that she had
expected a mass of scars and warts, but still, she felt as if she were staring at
an artist’s rendition of an anatomy chart rather than a ruthless male who had lived
a life of violence and brutality. The various contours of his build were clearly defined
beneath a fine, silken covering, and every striation of his muscles was readily apparent,
as if sculpted by a potter’s hands, into taut, lean tissue.
Sweeping her long, flaxen hair behind her shoulders, Vanya took a cautious step back.
He was dangerous, indeed.
Lethal, without question.
For more reasons than one.
Saber’s spirit radiated around him, and it was a synthesis of fire and lava and dark
swirling smoke. This male had known no gentleness in his life, no mercy or kindness—or
peace. He was simply ash and stone in a flawless, hardened shell. Feeling the sudden
need to draw fresh air, Vanya slowly backed away, picking up her pace as she headed
toward the cell door. She had seen quite enough: an outer beauty concealing an inner
fury. She would conjure her magic once more and slip through the bars undetected,
and then she would quickly retreat—perhaps she would run—back to Napolean’s manse,
where she would, indeed, allow her loved ones to provide the protection they were
offering.
Somehow the fantasy of the male was more glorious, and far safer, than the reality.
As Vanya struggled to remember the words of the incantation she needed to keep her
form fluid and ghost-like, to allow an ethereal transition that would take her safely
through the bars, she all at once heard the most terrifying sound imaginable behind
her: the soft, almost inaudible rustling of a body rising from its slumber, the low
pad of bare feet finding purchase on a stone floor.
And then just like that, Saber was there.
Behind her.
Pushing up against her. His hard, lean body pressing into hers, trapping her against
the bars.
She gasped. And she would have screamed…fought…tried to run, except the most vivid
images from her dream instantly replayed in her mind: I step back in alarm . The creature is fierce, and I know that he will destroy me if I let him. Slowly,
ever so carefully, I begin to retreat. My feet are now bare, and the rocky floor is
rough against my skin, tearing at my flesh and causing me great distress, but I am
too afraid to cry out, les t the vicious beast pounce in response to my fear.
Trying her best to remain calm, she focused on what was happening here and now. By
the measure of his chin against her hair, he was a full head taller than she, perhaps
six-foot-one, give or take an inch, and his breathing was silent and steady, measured
only by the rise and fall of his powerful chest against her much narrower back.
“You must be
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