Brand had spoken of the men going mad, but it was Darius himself who was in danger of madness. He pushed a hand through his hair. Leaving Grace had not helped him in any way; the image of her atop his bed refused to leave his mind. He realized he was as calm as he would ever be where that woman was concerned. Which meant not calm at all. Best to deal with her now, before his craving for her increased.
Stroking the two medallions he wore, he followed the path his gaze had taken until he stood poised at the doorway. She would give him the answers he wanted, he thought determinedly, and he would act as a Guardian. Not a man, not a beast. But a Guardian.
Resolved, he released the medallions and the doors opened.
CHAPTER FIVE
NO HINGES SQUEAKED. In fact, not a single sound emerged. Yet one moment the bedroom doors were closed and the next, the two panels were sliding open.
Grace stood to the left, unseen and hidden by the shadows cast by the thick ivory. When Darius stepped past her, his feet tangled in the sheet--aka trip cord.
He propelled forward with a grunt.
The moment he hit the ground, Grace jumped onto his back, using it as a springboard, and raced into the hall. Her head whipped from side to side as she searched for the right direction. Neither appeared better than the other, so she ran. She didn't get far before strong male hands latched on to her forearms and jerked her to a halt. Suddenly she was heaved onto Darius's shoulder, too shocked to protest as she was carried back to his room. Once there, he slid her down his body. She stilled, feeling the buttery softness of his shirt and the heat of his skin past her clothes. Their bodies were so close she even felt the ripple of his muscles.
Without releasing her, he somehow caused the doors to slam together, blocking her only exit. She watched, her gaze widening. Breath froze in her lungs as failure loomed around her. No. No! In a mere two seconds, he'd snatched away her best chance for freedom.
"You will not be leaving this place," he said without a hint of anger, only determination. And regret? "Why are you not in my bed, woman?"
Overwhelmed by her failure, she whispered, "What do you plan to do with me?"
Silence.
"What do you plan to do with me?" she cried.
"I know what I should do," he said, his voice now a low growl that vibrated with anger, "but I do not yet know what I will do."
"I have friends," she said. "Family. They'll never rest until they find me. Hurting me will only earn you their wrath."
There was a concentrated hesitation, then, "And what if I do not hurt you?" he asked so softly she barely heard him. "What if I only offer you pleasure?"
Had the callused surface of his palms not brushed her forearms, she might have been frightened by his words. Now she was oddly enthralled. Every fantasy she'd ever created rushed through her mind. Naked, writhing bodies--on the floor, against a wall, inside an airplane. Her cheeks fused with heat. What if I only offer you pleasure? She didn't answer him. Couldn't.
He answered for her. "No matter what I offer you, there is nothing you or anyone else can do about it." His voice hardened, losing its sensual edge. "You are in my home, in my personal chambers, and I will do whatever I want. No matter what you say."
With such a dire warning ringing in her ears, she snapped from whatever spell he'd woven and called upon her terrorist training from flight school. SING, she inwardly chanted. Solar plexus, instep, nose, groin. Spinning, she elbowed him in the solar plexus, then slammed her foot into his instep. She swung back around and shoved her fist into his cold, unemotional face. Her knuckles collided with his cheek instead of his nose, and she cried out in pain.
He didn't flinch. He didn't even bother to grab her wrist to prevent her from doing it again.
So she did.
She drew back her other arm and let it fly. On impact, she experienced a repeat of the first punch. Throbbing pain for her, smug amusement for him. No, not amusement, she realized. The blue of his eyes was too cold and hollow to hold any type of emotion.
He arched a brow. "Fighting me will only cause you hurt."
Her gaze slitted, incredulous, clashing with his. After everything she'd endured these past two days, Grace's temper and frustration erupted full force. "What about you?" She jerked her knee up, hard and fast, gaining a direct hit between his legs. Groin: the last section of her training.
A slight breath whooshed from his lips as he hunched over and squeezed his eyes shut.
She raced to the door and began clawing at the seam. "Open, damn you," she railed at the exit. "Please. Just open."
"You do not look capable of such a deed," Darius said, his voice strained. "But I will not underestimate you again."
She never heard him move, but suddenly he was there, his arms braced next to her temples, his hot breath on her neck. She didn't try to fight him this time. What good would that do? He'd already proved he did not react (much) to physical pain.
"Please," she said. "Just let me go." Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. From fear, she assured herself, not from the sensual strength of his body so close to her own.
"I cannot."
"Yes, you can." She twisted, facing him, and shoved him backward. The impact, though slight, caused him to trip once more on the sheet. He took her down with him and when he hit, he rolled them over and pinned her.
Automatically she reached up to push him away from her. But her fingers caught in his shirt, causing the neckline to gape. Both of the medallions he wore sprang free and one of them plopped against her nose. She gasped. Which one belonged to Alex? The one with the glowing eyes?
What did it matter? she thought then. She'd come here with a medallion, and she was leaving with one.
Determination thudded like a drum inside her chest. To distract him, she screamed with all the power her lungs allowed. She flailed her legs and wrapped her sore hands around his neck, as if she meant to choke him. She hurriedly worked one of the clasps, and when she felt it unlatch, she jerked her hands down and shoved the chain into her pocket. She gave another ear-piercing scream to cover her satisfaction.
"Calm down," he said, his features pinched.
"Bite me." She screamed again.
When she quieted, he said, "I would be most upset if you damaged my ears."
Upset? He would be most upset. Not infuriated, not lost in a rage. Simply mildly upset. Somehow, with this man, that seemed all the more frightening than out-of-control fury. With a deep, shuddering breath, she relaxed into the floor. After all, she had what she wanted, and fighting him did nothing more than press their bodies together, as he was fond of reminding her.
His brows winged up, and he blinked, broadcasting his shock at her easy compliance.
"That easily?" he asked, suspicious.
"I know when I'm beaten."
Darius used her stillness to his advantage and allowed more of his muscled weight to settle atop her. He braced her wrists above her head--something he obviously liked to do, since it was the third time he'd done it to her--causing her back to arch and her breasts to lift for his view.
"You wish for me to bite you?" he asked, dead serious.
Briefly she experienced confusion. Then she realized what he meant. Oh, my God. She had told him to bite her. Something dark and hot twisted in her stomach, something she had no business feeling for this man. An image of his straight white teeth sinking into her body and taking a little nibble filled her line of vision. Erotic and sexual; except...
If he were a vampire, she'd just given him an open invitation to make her his next meal.
"I didn't mean it literally," she managed to squeak out. "It's just a figure of speech." With barely a pause, she added, "Please. Get off me." He smelled so good, so masculine, like the sun, the earth and the sea, and she was sucking in great gulps of that scent as if it were the key to her survival. He was beyond dangerous. "Please," she said again.
"Too much do I like where I am."
Those words echoed in her mind with such clarity her body
offered a reply: I like where you are, too. She ran her teeth over her bottom lip. How did he do this? How did he make her feel strangely captivated and oddly entranced, yet fearful at the same time? He was quite possibly a bloodsucking vampire. He was also so sexy he made her mouth water. Made her ache in places she'd thought dead from disuse. Made her crave and fantasize and hunger.
Get a hold of yourself, Grace. Only an idiot would lust after a man of questionable origins and even more questionable motives.
What did he want from her? She studied his face, but found no hint of his intentions. His features were completely blank. Her gaze probed deeper, taking in the scar that slashed down his cheek, raised and puckered, interrupting the flow of his dark eyebrows. This close, she noticed the slant to his nose, as if it had been broken one too many times.
He was darkly seductive. Dangerous, her mind repeated.
That's it, she realized reproachfully. That's why I'm so attracted to him. I'm a danger junkie.
"What did you do to your hands, woman?" he suddenly demanded. His features were no longer blank, but projected a fierceness that was beyond intimidating.
"If I tell you," she said, faltering in the face of that severity, "will you let me go?"
His eyes narrowed, and he brought one of her palms to his mouth. Heated lips seared her flesh before the tip of his tongue flicked out, licking and laving the wounds. Electric currents raced through her arm, and she almost experienced an orgasm right then and there.
"Why are you doing that?" she asked on a breathless moan. Whatever the reason, his actions were utterly suggestive, endearingly sweet, and she gasped at the deliciousness of it. "Stop." But even as she spoke, she prayed he didn't heed her command. Her skin was growing increasingly warm, her nerve-endings increasingly sensitive. A drugging languor floated through her, and God help her, she wanted that tongue to delve further, to explore deeper territory.
"My saliva will heal you," he said, his voice still fierce. But it was a different kind of fierce. More strained, more heated, less angry. "What did you do to your hands?" he asked again.
"I climbed the walls."
He paused. "Why would you do such a thing?"
"I was trying to escape."
"Foolish," he muttered. One of his knees wedged between the juncture of her thighs. The ache in her belly intensified as their legs intertwined.
He exchanged one hand for the other, swirling his tongue along the peaks and hollows, making her aware of all sorts of erotic things. The way his eyes flickered from ice-blue to golden-brown. The way his soft, silky hair fell over his shoulders and tickled her skin.
If he planned to hurt or kill her, surely he wouldn't concern himself with her comfort like this. Surely he would not--
He sucked one of her fingers into his mouth. She moaned and gasped his name. He whorled his tongue around the base. This time, she moaned incoherently and arched up, meshing her nipples into his chest and creating a delicious friction.
"That is better," he said roughly.
Her eyelids fluttered open. His expression taut, he held her hands up for her view. Not a single blemish appeared on the healthy, pink skin.
"But--but--" Confusion overshadowed her pleasure. How was that possible? How was any of this possible? "I don't know what to say."
"Then say nothing."
He could have left her sore and bruised, a punishment for trying to escape, but he hadn't. She didn't understand this man. "Thank you," she said softly.
He nodded, the action stiff. "You are welcome."
"Will you let me up now?" she asked, dreading--anticipating?--his response.
"No." He placed her left palm at her side, but held firm to the right. His fingers continued to caress and trace every line, as if he couldn't stand to break contact. "What did your brother plan to do with the medallion?"
Briefly she considered lying, anything to stop the flood of conflicting desires running rampant. Then, just as briefly, she considered not answering him at all. She knew instinctively, however, that he would not tolerate either from her and that would merely prolong their contact. So she found herself saying, "We've been over this before, and I still don't know. Maybe he wanted to sell it on eBay. Maybe he wanted to keep it for himself, for his private collection."
Darius's brow furrowed. "I don't understand. Explain to me this eBay."
As she expounded on the concept of the online auction, he glowered furiously.
"Why would he do such a thing?" Darius asked, genuinely perplexed. "Selling such an item to a stranger is the epitome of foolishness."
"Where I'm from, people need money to survive. And one way to make money is to sell our possessions."
"We need money here, too, yet we would never barter our most prized possessions. Is your brother too lazy to work for his dinner?"
"I'll have you know he works very hard. And I didn't say he was going to sell it. Only that he might. He's an auction addict."
Darius expelled a sigh and finally released her hand, bracing his palms on either side of her head. "If you mean to confuse me, you are doing a fine job. Why would your brother give you the medallion if he had any desire to sell it?"
"I don't know," she said. "Why do you care?"
In stalwart silence, he watched her, looked past her, then watched her again, his dark thoughts churning behind his eyes. Instead of answering her, he said, "You claim to know nothing, Grace, yet you found the mist. You traveled through. You must know something more, something you haven't told me."
"I know I didn't mean to enter your domain." The faintness of her voice drifted between them. "I know I don't want to be hurt. And I know I want to go home. I just want to go home."
When his features hardened dangerously, she replayed her words through her mind. What could she have possibly said to have such an ominous effect on him?
"Why?" he demanded, the single word lashing from him.
She crinkled her forehead and gazed up at him. "Now you are confusing me."
"Is there a man waiting for you?"
"No." What did that have to do with anything? Unless...surely he wasn't jealous. The prospect amazed her. She was not the kind of woman to inspire any kind of strong emotion in a man. Not lightning-hot lust and certainly not jealousy. "I miss my mom and my aunt, Darius. I miss my brother and my apartment. My furniture. My dad made all of it before he died."
Darius relaxed. "You asked me why I care about the medallion. I do so for my home," he said. "I will do anything to protect it, just as you will do anything to return to yours."
"How can my owning the medallion hurt your home?" she asked. "I don't understand."
"Nor do you need to," he replied. "Where is your brother now?"
Her eyes narrowed, and her chin raised in another show of defiance. "I wouldn't tell you even if I knew."
"I respect your loyalty, and even admire it, but it is to your benefit to tell me whether he traveled through the mist or not."
"I told you this before. I don't know."
"This is getting us nowhere," he said. "What does he look like?"
Pure stubbornness melded the blue and green of her eyes together, creating a churning sea of turquoise. Her lips pursed. Darius could tell she had no plans to answer him.
"This way I can know if I have already killed him," he prompted, though he wasn't sure he would recognize any of his victims if he ever saw them again. Killing was second nature to him, and he barely glanced at them anymore.
"Already--Killed him?" She uttered a strangled gasp. "He's a little over six foot. Red hair. Green eyes."
Since Darius had not seen colors before Grace, the description she'd just given meant nothing. "Does he have any distinguishing marks?"
"I--I--" As she struggled to form her reply, a tremor raked her spine and vibrated into him. Her eyes filled with tears. A lone droplet trickled onto her cheek.
His arm muscles constricted as he fought the need to wipe the moisture away. He watched it glide slowly and fall onto
her collarbone. Her skin was pale, he noticed, too pale.
The woman was deathly afraid.
The clamor of his conscience--something he'd thought long expired--filled his head. He'd threatened this woman, locked her inside a strange room, and fought her to the ground, yet she had retained her fierce spirit. The concept of her brother's death was breaking her as nothing else had been able.
There was a good chance, a very good chance, he had killed her brother. How would she react then? Would those sea-eyes of hers regard him with hatred? Would she vow to spill his blood in vengeance?
"Does he have any distinguishing marks?" Darius asked her again, almost fearing her reply.
"He wears glasses." Her lips and chin trembled. "They're wire-rimmed because he thinks they make him look dig-dignified."
"I know not what these glasses are. Explain."
"Cl-clear, round o-orbs for the eyes." Her trembling had increased so much she had trouble forming her words.
He pushed out a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding. "A man wearing glasses has not entered the mist." He knew this because he would have found the glasses after the head rolled to the ground--and he hadn't. "Your brother is safe." He didn't mention there was a chance Alex could have entered the other portal. Javar's portal.
Grace began to cry in great sobbing howls of relief. "I hadn't wanted to think of the possibility...and when you said...I was so afraid."
Perhaps he should have left her alone just then, but the relief radiating from her acted as an invisible shackle. He couldn't move, didn't want to move. He was jealous that she felt this strongly for another man, no matter that the man was her brother. More than the jealousy, however, he felt possessive. And more than the possessiveness, he felt the need to comfort. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and surround her with his strength, his scent. Wanted her branded by him.
How foolish, he thought darkly.
The love she possessed for her brother was the same he had felt for his sisters. He would have fought to the death to protect them. He would have...His lips curled in a snarl, and he banished that line of thought to a hidden corner of his mind.
Grace pressed her lips together but another sob burst free.