Stygian's Honor by Lora Leigh Page B

that?” she asked Liza.
    And Liza did remember it. The discovery of that bag of bones had literally preceded the nightmares and odd flashes of someone else’s memories.
    A year’s worth of tortured dreams, of waking, screaming, certain she was dying in the flames of the crash, only to have the dream twist, to morph into something far moresinister. It hadn’t been a crash she was burning within. She had been burning from the inside out, restrained to a metal table, screaming for mercy—
    “If you’re ready, we can leave then,” he offered, those blue-black eyes seeming to see straight into her soul as he met her gaze.
    The urge to wipe her palms along the sides of her jeans was nearly overwhelming.
    “Be careful, for God’s sake,” Chelsea called out as Liza stepped from the house. “The last thing I need to do, Liza, is watch you die again.”
    Liza flinched, the reaction nearly strong enough to steal her breath at the memory.
    The overwhelming darkness, the sound of voices, singing—or was it chanting?—and then the feeling of her soul being ripped from the security of her body.
    “Liza.” Stygian was there, one hand gripping her arm, the other going around her waist as she felt her knees threatening to buckle.
    Concern filled his voice as she realized she was gripping the door frame desperately, dragging in hard breaths, her chest tightening in something akin to panic.
    “I’m fine.” Giving her head a hard shake, she forced herself to ignore the fact that he was the only reason she was still on her feet, despite her hold on the heavy wood encasing the door.
    Releasing it, she took each step with deliberate caution, forcing herself to move to the cycle.
    “Are you sure?” Dark, dangerous, his expression appeared more savage than ever before, the planes and angles tightened into sharp relief.
    “Bad memories.” Yet she still couldn’t seem to drag in enough oxygen. “Sorry.”
    “What was she talking about?” The growl in his voice should have been more frightening than sensual.
    Yet, sensual was exactly the reaction it caused.
    “She meant I died for a few minutes,” she admitted. “Claire and I were in a wreck when we were fifteen. The EMTs lost me several times before we reached the hospital.”
    “Chelsea was in the wreck with you, too?” he asked as he led her to the Harley.
    “No, she wasn’t with us,” she said, swallowing tightly. “She was with her father when he received word that we were in the bottom of the canyon. She arrived with him, from what I understand.”
    Chelsea never seemed to remember much of it except the three times she swore she had felt a part of Liza fighting to die.
    She allowed Stygian to hold on to her as he swung a powerful leg over the cycle’s seat before bracing herself on the foot rest and swinging on behind him.
    She had never been on a motorcycle—had she?
    “Helmet.” Lifting one of the two helmets from the handlebars, he handed it to her.
    Fitting it over her head, she then sat silently as he secured the strap before strapping his own in place.
    “We’re linked through com sets in the helmets.” His voice came through the padded helmet, roughened, a male rasp of concern and dangerous interest.
    “Just ignore the screams of terror.” She tried to laugh off her racing heart as she placed her hands tentatively at his hard waist.
    “Here.” Gripping her wrists, he pulled her forward.
    Her breasts pressed against his back in less than a second, the heat of his body sinking through her clothes straight to her nipples and sensitizing them instantly.
    “Hold on tight, sweetheart,” he growled through the link. “Losing you off the back of this bike wouldn’t be the highlight of my day.”
    “It’s not exactly penciled into my bucket list either,” she assured him ruefully as the terror from minutes before began to ease away.
    “We’re in agreement then.”
    As his words trailed off, the beast of a machine turned over and began throbbing