State of Grace (Resurrection) (8 page)

I let out a muffled shriek of fear and outrage, and was roughly shaken for my trouble
, his hands digging painfully into my upper arms. My teeth rattled and my neck hurt with the force of it and I hoped I wasn’t going to have a whiplash from this. The man stopped shaking me and I was grateful I wasn’t crushed up against him anymore. I tipped my sore neck back and looked up at my captor as I drew in a breath to scream. His face was contorted into a snarl, and I caught a glimpse of white canine teeth, sharply pointed and very, very long. I recognised him the same instant that he recognised me and I let out a breath in a silent whoosh. Screaming would do me no good at all.

‘Tu!’ he exclaimed, almost letti
ng go of me in surprise. I tried to twist from his grasp, turning to run but he tightened his grip on me. I was going to have some impressive bruises if he kept that up, so I gave in and held still, acknowledging his vastly superior strength, biding my time.

‘Two, what?’ I gasped, staring at his mouth in shock. As I watched, the canines disappeared, and I briefly wondered if my over-burdened brain
had imagined them. His face was perfectly normal, just a hint of surprise lingering in his expression. He let go of one arm and put a finger to his lips, narrowing his eyes at me until he was certain I would keep quiet. Satisfied, he let go of my other arm then whirled, grabbing my wrist so swiftly I was almost pulled off balance, my feet scrabbling frantically in an effort to stay upright. He barked out a sharp command and dragged me up the stairs. His grip was like steel and I had no choice but to follow him, my ankles banging painfully on the stone as I tried to keep up.

I was breathless and becoming
more than a little cross at this swift flight upwards, when we reached a landing with a dark, stone corridor leading away from it. The steps continued onwards up into blackness, and I was glad when he pulled me behind him along the passageway. I didn’t like the look of those stairs. He towed me down to the far end of the corridor, and stopped when he came to the last door, a sturdy wooden affair with a large wrought iron ring on one side. He turned it and the door opened slowly. I expected a creepy, creaking noise, but it opened soundlessly. I think I might have been disappointed.

He glanced back to make sure I stayed silent, and reassured that I was, he poked his head through the opening. His shoulders and then the rest of him quickly followed and he yanked me in after him, shutting the door firmly once I was safely inside.

I looked around curiously, half of me hoping that he had rescued me and half of me wondering if there was another way out. Just in case. A bed dominated the room, covered in thick fabric and – was that fur? Yuk. Rugs covered the floor (a welcome relief to my freezing feet) and draped down the stone hewn walls, and a fire burned in the hearth. Candles in wall sconces lit the room flickering in the draft from the recently opened door, and several large wooden chests were dotted around, shoved up against the walls. The room was deliciously warm and snug, despite its size.

Now
I had had a chance to orientate myself I became very aware of him. He was leaning casually against the door, legs crossed at the ankle, and arms folded across his broad chest. He was wearing what I thought of as breeches, soft, calf length boots and a white tunic, belted at the waist and open at the throat. He looked like a pirate, and his black shoulder length hair did nothing to dispel that image.

He returned my stare
sardonically, a small smile playing about his mouth. His eyes locked on to mine for a second then deliberately, insolently, dropped down the length of me. I watched his face. His smile widened as he reached my breasts; he obviously liked what he saw. When his gaze took in my extremely naked cleft, he grunted in surprise.

Acutely aware
I had no clothes on, I backed up against the bed, my knees suddenly giving out and I sat down abruptly. I grabbed at one of the furs and draped it over my front. He chuckled softly, his eyes meeting mine again, his expression thoughtful.

‘Eryes.’
There was that strange word again and he accurately read my unspoken question.

‘Eryres,’ he repeated. His voice was
both mellow and rough, soft, yet harsh, and oh, so sweet. The sound of him made the hairs on my neck rise up and I shivered. Before I could blink he had moved and was standing right in front of me, although looming would be a more accurate description.

I gulped. His nearness was totally disconcerting and my heart thumped
, and suddenly I felt quite warm. His eyes bored into my body and I could swear he could see through the thick, soft fur to what was underneath. Get a grip, Grace, I admonished, what is the worst he can do? and then I found I didn’t want to explore that thought any further as I remembered the fear I had felt both times we had ‘met’ before. There was something infinitely dangerous about this man, and that danger was disturbingly attractive.

At the sight of the bulge in his breeches, I suddenly knew exactly what he could do. And a part of me wished he would do just that. I swallowed convulsively and trembled as his hand reached out to cup my chin. I was seriously worried.
Everything about him was alluring, yet at the same time every instinct was screaming at me to run, to get as far away from him as was humanly possible. It was an organic, intuitive fear, and for all of the allure this man exuded my innate response to him was to flee, to put as much distance between me and his diabolical charms as possible, yet at the same time I was inexplicably drawn to him, in the same way that the high places drew me, the yawning, beckoning, sucking drops enticing me to fall into them, to let myself go…

‘Who are you?’ I breathed. ‘What do you want?’ I fought the impulse to dissolve into hysterical giggles. It was pretty clear what he wanted. He answered me, but again I couldn’t understand him. He was speaking a language that sounded a lot like French, but not quite; the accent and cadence were familiar to my high school French, but I couldn’t make out the individual words. I think I got the gist of his questions, though. He appeared to be asking the same thing.

I shrugged and shook my head. His grip on my face tightened for an instant, then he let me go. I released a breath I hadn’t known I was holding. He stepped back and dropped to his knees so his head was level with mine. A sharp snap and a sudden hiss from the fire made me jump. Every sense was alert to him. Not only was he beautiful to look at and his voice compelling and melodious, his touch sent jolts of yearning through me like electricity. And now I could smell him. He smelt just as delicious as last time; the scent of him made my head spin and I wanted to lean in to him and let him do whatever he wished to me. I fought the compulsion.

He appeared to make a decision.

‘Roman,’ he said, firmly, and pointed at his chest. ‘Eryres,’ he said, and pointed at mine. I understood what he was trying to do.

‘Not Eryres,’ I replied. ‘Grace.’

‘Grace?’

‘Grace,’ I stated.

‘Grace.’ He tested my name on his tongue and nodded sharply, once. Then unexpectedly, he reached for my hand and I felt the feather brush of his lips on the back of it. My pulse soared in response as a surge of sheer desire swept through me. I was breathing hard and my skin tingled where he kissed me.  He chuckled, a dark, sweet sound, as if he was fully aware of my reaction to his touch.

‘Roman,’ he repeated
.

‘Roman.’ It was my turn to nod. 
I tried hard not to giggle again nervously; this was so much like ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’.

His eyes narrowed and he
dropped my hand, the mood broken and he looked puzzled. I sighed in relief and the tension drained out of me for one brief second, before it flooded back as he whirled to his feet. One instant he was kneeling by the bed, the next he was standing by the door. I hadn’t seen him move.

Footsteps could be heard faintly from the passage and they were getting louder. I stilled, holding my breath anxiously, waiting for a knock on the door, or for someone to walk in; however, the footsteps hal
ted before they reached us, and I could hear muffled voices and the high tinkle of a woman’s laughter. A door opened and closed softly, and the noises ceased.

Roman waited for a moment, one palm flat on the wood, until he
was sure our hiding place wouldn’t be discovered, all the while his eyes never left my face. I wondered if he was worried about me, or about himself. The way he had checked this room was empty before he had pulled me inside suggested he had little more right to it than I did. Did he live here, or was he a guest, or, just as plausible given the way he had been creeping around, was he a burglar?  Whatever the reason, I was glad he wanted to remain hidden; I wasn’t exactly dressed for company, hell, I wasn’t dressed at all. I was reminded of the way his eyes had raked my body and I struggled to ignore the wild beating of my heart and the heat in my belly.

My thoughts must have been visible on my face again, because he smiled knowingly at me. His skin was particularly pale in the dim light and his eyes were startlingly dark. Intensely dark. His hair hung to his shoulders and gleamed in the light from the candles and the fire
, and I thought I would love to get my hands on whatever conditioner he used. Then I realised what a ridiculous thought that was and I stifled yet another giggle. I was definitely going mad: mine was not a normal reaction to the state I was in. I put it down to nerves or the sheer oddity of my dream.

My eyes went irresistibly to his, drawn to them
almost against my will. I couldn’t stop looking at him. His lips parted and I caught a glimpse of teeth and once again, I noticed their sharpness. In the moment it took me to blink he was standing in front of me. I had never seen anyone move so fast and I jerked back in shock, then paused as his arm stretched out slowly, and his hand (God, those fingers were cold) brushed aside the fur. I crossed my legs quickly, but I had not been quick enough. Talk about a Sharon Stone moment! Desire engulfed me once more.

I had never been in a situation more erotic and every particle of me yearned for
his touch. Dark fantasies sparked through my mind and I vaguely hoped this increased libido was not a result of the tumour: no one had mentioned this as one of the symptoms. At the moment my lust was contained within my hallucination, but what if I couldn’t control it? I blushed furiously with mortification, my cheeks reddening with embarrassment.

‘Dieu!’ The word exploded fro
m his mouth. Now that was something I
did
recognise. The noise had broken the mood once again, and I managed to restore some semblance of control and as I did my fear of him returned. Talk about mixed message: the circuits in my brain seemed to be firing in strange and convoluted pathways.

‘Parlez vous Francais?’ I tried out my atro
cious school girl French on him, my voice shaky and high with tension, desperate to make him understand me. If I could maintain a kind of dialogue with him, then hopefully he would be less likely to harm me. On the other hand, perhaps I didn’t want to know what he had in store for me.

He frowned, puzzled, and shook his head. I wasn’t sure whether he was saying that he didn’t understand me, or that he didn’t speak French.

He asked me a question, this time in a different language. I didn’t understand him any better, to my disappointment. I thought it sounded vaguely Italian, but if it was, it had all the passion sucked out of it. He sighed in frustration and tried again. This time the language he used was guttural and harsh, at odds with the silver and honey of his voice.
If I concentrated hard I thought I could make out a word or two, but I gave up in annoyance. This man seemed to speak every language under the sun, except English.

I
shifted on the bed, to get more comfortable, and at the same time trying unobtrusively to pull the fur across my exposed body. The feel of the soft hairs on my skin made me shiver. It didn’t go unnoticed.

He stopped my hand with his, drinking in the parts o
f me that were still uncovered: one breast, a shoulder, most of my stomach and my firmly crossed legs. My tattoo was also in plain sight. He touched it with the tip of one cool finger.