Too Dangerous to Desire by Alexandra Benedict Page A

awake. He had to find out what had happened to Evie.
    “Evelyn is with my master,” said Dmitri.
    The nausea in Adam’s belly churned. Evie was with him !
    Brutal images raged through Adam’s already tortured mind: images of Vadik ravishing, then killing Evelyn.
    The grief in Adam’s heart ballooned . . . the rabid fury, too. He flexed his muscles and thrashed de spite the pounding pulses in his head, hoping to break free of the beam.
    “Do you wish to leave?” said Dmitri, his voice heavy with an unfamiliar accent. “Are you dis satisfied with my hospitality? Let me see if I can make you more comfortable.”
    Adam stilled.
    The shadow moved across the room. A low-burning fire dwindled in the hearth . . . or was it a forge? Adam’s vision was still a blur.
    “You caused us a considerable amount of trou ble tonight,” said Dmitri.
    Us? The henchmen?
    “Not nearly enough,” gritted Adam.
    The shadow laughed. He pumped the bellows, feeding the hungry flames now bursting with life.
    Dmitri approached again, a radiant red iron poker in his grip. “My master is a curious man. He would like to know what transpired between you and his fiancée.”
    Adam could better see the villain’s face as his eyes adjusted to the faint light—and he recog nized the devil as the henchman who had stran gled Evelyn.
    Adam spit in the fiend’s face.
    The villain was unperturbed. He wiped his brow and resumed his narrative with cool com posure. “You are a violent man, Adam.” He lifted his eyes, resplendent under the glow of the steam ing iron poker. “It is your name, is it not? It is what she called you?”
    Adam recollected Evelyn’s panicked screams for help. Sweat poured down his back, the burn ing desire to reach her—save her—consuming him.
    The hot iron poker hovered a short distance from Adam’s moist chest. So close, he could feel the heat radiate and blister his skin.
    “I have three comrades nursing wounds,” said Dmitri.
    Adam noted the bruise swelling between the villain’s eyes, the spot where he’d cracked him. “Pity I didn’t do you more damage.”
    The devil rolled the iron poker across the ex panse of Adam’s breast. The fiery metal never touched his flesh—but it came perilously near.
    “I’m afraid I might have to do you more damage if you do not cooperate,” said Dmitri.
    “Then I suppose I have you to thank for this gash in my head?”
    “No, that was my comrade’s doing . . . but you do have me to thank for this.”
    Adam roared at the sweltering contact between his flesh and the burning iron.
    The scoundrel whispered, “That was just a tap.”
    Nausea and dizziness overwhelmed Adam. For a moment, he believed he would black out. But after a few steady breaths, he regained his wits and maintained his senses.
    Teeth gnashing, Adam growled, “I thought you were supposed to make me more comfortable?”
    “Did I say that?” The villain moved the poker steadily across Adam’s chest, a hairbreadth away. “Forgive me. I intended to make myself more com fortable . . . and it gives me great comfort to cause you pain.”
    Adam didn’t doubt the man’s words. His thoughts returned to Evelyn. What horrors she must be suffering! Grief filled him, suffocating him even more. His desire to save the woman was thwarted by chains and a pusillanimous devil!
    The hate inside Adam twisted and burrowed its way into every pocket of his soul, darkening him, bleeding him of goodwill. If he could just wriggle one hand free, he would crush the devil’s throat—and take pleasure in doing it.
    “Shall we begin?” said Dmitri. “My master is a very impatient man.”
    “Fuck your master.”
    Adam let out another howl. Steam sizzled from the blistering wound at his nipple, the stench of burning flesh ghastly.
    “I think you should show my master a little more respect,” the devil warned. “Now tell me, is the woman still untouched?”
    Adam was mute. One wrong word, and he might inadvertently put Evelyn