What if he is a creature of the Abyss? How else could he see me through my invisibility?
The rattling stops, and after two heartbeats, she is about to double-check the door when it slams open.
She screams so loud her throat burns.
Skull Mask stands in the outline of the whiteness blanketing the world. Those broad shoulders heave under his cloak, blending into the darkness of the cabin. He takes reactive, thumping steps across the floor toward her exhausted and beaten form on the bed.
“Stay back!” She orders with what little strength remains.
She jumps to her feet and stands in his path. “Prince Sigvid Thordsson will have your head. Or skull. Or whatever is in there!”
The hooded figure does pause its pursuit only to bark out a deep, terrifying laugh that leaves her trembling.
“Sigvid, help me,” she whispers, rolling up her left sleeve and revealing the scar carved into her left arm.
“See!” She shrieks.
Skull Mask must know the current Guardian if she uncovered him in the Guardian crypt.
“He has marked me. That means you can’t touch me.”
The beast grips her marked arm, and her heart stops beating. A gloved hand rises to grip the jaw of the skull. When the mask lifts, she briefly sees a beard with two braids.
The look is popular among the bearded folks of Toftlund. It could be anyone. Without proper lighting, the shade of his hair is impossible to discern.
His tongue slithers out from underneath the mask to lick the outline of the scars along her skin. The tip of his tongue tingles the wetness between her legs.
Goddess, why does fear elicit such a response in me?
When the tip of his tongue finishes tracing the final letter, he snatches both her arms and binds her wrists behind her back with a rope he pulls from inside his black cloak.
The rough yet tender machinations are reminiscent of Sigvid. Is this him? Her Beast?
A greater terror rocks her body like a boulder struck her.
Oh, Goddess, what if this isnothim?
“Stop! Sigvid will not stand for this!” She thrashes against her bindings, horrified by what the masked man has in store, and determined that he will show himself.
Another dark laugh erupts from the skull. He tugs her gown until the material gathers at her waist and exposes her undergarments. She watches in disdain as he removes them, taking a moment to inhale her scent of fear and arousal with a growl.
She kicks and screams for help, but a leather belt tightens around her mouth, silencing her to mumbles. As he fastens the strap at the backof her hair, she can feel gloved fingers gently twisting around her curls in a manner that vaguely reminds her of her Prince.
The reassurance of her attacker is brief, although not enough to make her relax.
While holding apart her ankles, Skull Mask continues to peer eerily at her. One of his gloved hands leaves its position to lift on the mask just as he dives down between her legs and devours her lips with his devilish tongue.
His warm, swirling flesh feels sinful, striking right along her most sensitive area and tugging her toward a path to release she is not prepared to give.
Again, she tries to kick him away, but his grip is unyielding as he continues to strike her bundle of nerves until she descends into a waterfall of lust.
No, this is not Sigvid! But what do I owe him that he is tearing me up inside?
Guilt settles into her gut like a rock, flushing her with accusations.
How dare she feel this pleasure!
Has Sigvid not remained loyal? But in what sense?
