Whisper trailed after him, head down and body tense as if ready to catch his master if he fell.
I didn’t say a word as Lucien opened the wardrobe, leaned against it for a moment, then reached inside for a floor-length black dressing gown.
His jaw tensed as if it took far more strength than he had to slip the robe over his shoulders, shove his arms into it, and tie the sash around his waist. The luxurious black robe transformed him from a modern-day man into some ancient exotic prince.
Scooting to the edge of his bed, I plucked away my wine-wet shirt and stood.
Raking both hands through his long hair, Lucien turned to face me.
Warily, wearily, his eyes met mine.
The world shrank to just him and me and this room and whatever had just happened between us.
“Are you...okay?” I asked quietly.
“Leave,” he murmured, his voice raspy and tattered.
Moving toward him, questions exploded out of me. “What’s that thing embedded in your chest? What are those cuffs around your wrists? Why do you smell like really potent medicine yet seem to be on death’s doorstep? What—?”
“Once again, your noise is offensive.” His fingers clenched into fists. Straightening to his full impressive height, he stalked toward me, the panther at his side.
I backed up a step.
I couldn’t help it.
The way he moved, the predator guarding him, he couldn’t be real.
Noneof this could be real because I couldn’t understandanyof it.
Couldn’t understand how he could affect me so desperately.
He seemed invincible yet tragically vulnerable. He had the skills to kill those trying to kill him, yet he’d almost died in my arms five minutes ago.
“What the hell is going on?” I demanded, my temper bleeding through common sense. “Tell me—”
“Leave,” he snarled.
“But you’re hurt—”
“GO. AWAY!” He surged toward me, fury in his eyes, teeth bared.
Whisper snarled—at him or me, I couldn’t tell.
My stress levels shot to blackout levels.
My heart palpitated.
My eyesight blinded with white spots.
And I had two choices.
Pass out at his feet.
Or run.
I fled.
* * * * *
