Brand, the one who had grabbed her, rubbed his jaw and smiled at her with genuine amusement. "Did you bring any friends, little whore? I do not think I want to share you with the others."
As he spoke, "the others" began tightening the circle around her. She felt like a slab of beef at a barbecue for the starving. Literally. All they needed to make the meal complete was a knife, a fork and an extra large bottle of easy-squeeze ketchup.
"I want her first," the warrior with the thickest shoulders said.
"You can't have her first. You owe me a favor, and I'm collecting. She's mine. You can have her when I'm done."
"Both of you can shut up," the most beautiful of the group said-the one who'd polished his hatchet. "I have a feeling the little whore will want me first. Women like this face of mine."
"No, I don't and no, you can't have me first," Grace announced. "No one can have me. I am not a whore!"
The man with the tattoo on his jaw grinned at her suggestively. "If you don't want to be our bedmate, you can be our meal."
She gasped, moving in circles to avoid their outstretched hands. Threaten them, scare them . "I taste sour," she rushed out. "I've been known to cause major heartburn."
Their grins widened.
"Acid reflux is serious. It can cause cancer of the esophagus. It can erode your stomach lining!"
Closer, closer they came.
"I belong to Darius!" she rushed out next, grasping at any frenzied thought her mind produced.
Each of them ground to a halt.
"What did you say?" Brand asked, giving her a blistering frown.
She gulped. Perhaps claiming Darius as her lover hadn't been such a good idea. He could have a wife-why did she suddenly want to destroy something?-and these men could be said wife's brothers. "I, uh, said I belong to Darius?" The words flowed out as more of a question than a statement.
"That's impossible." Brand's frown became a vehement scowl, and his gaze bore into her, inspecting, taking her measure for a different scale than he'd previously used. "Our king would not claim a woman such as you for his own."
King? A woman such as her? Did they think she was good enough to eat for dinner, good enough to whore for them, but not good enough to belong to their precious leader, Darius? Well, that offended her on every level.
She couldn't be any more irrational, she knew, and blamed her overwrought emotions. They'd run the gamut today and were no longer hers to command. She'd always been emotional, but usually controlled her impulses.
"Is he married?" she demanded.
"No."
"Then yes," she said, not taking the time to analyze her relief, "he would welcome a woman such as me. In fact, he's expecting me back. I'd better be going. You know how upset he gets when someone's late." Nervous laugh.
Brand didn't let her pass. He continued to study her with unnerving intensity. What was he searching for? And what did he see?
Suddenly he grinned, a grin that spread and lit his entire face. He was extremely handsome, but he wasn't Darius. "I believe she speaks the truth, men," he said. "Look at the love mark on her neck."
Quick as a snap, Grace brought her hand up to her neck. Her cheeks warmed. Had Darius given her a hickey? She was struck first by shock, then by an unexpected, unwanted and ridiculous surge of pleasure. She'd never had a hickey before.
What's wrong with me ? Jolting into motion, Grace shoved her way past Brand, past the others. They let her go without protest. She sprinted down the hallway, fully expecting them to follow. She heard no footsteps, and a quick glance behind her showed she was alone. When she reached the fork inside the bathing area, she trudged around the opening on the left. A salty breeze bit her in the face. She prayed she'd made the right decision this time.
She hadn't.
At the end, she found herself in a large dining hall. Darius was there, sitting at an enormous table, his eyes focused on the far wall of windows as if he were in deep thought. A heavy air of sadness enveloped him. He looked so lost and alone. Grace felt herself freezing, felt her muscles locking in place.
He must have sensed her, or smelled her, or something , because his gaze abruptly leveled on her, widening with puzzlement, then narrowing with ire. "Grace."
"Stay where you are," she said.
He growled low in his throat and sprang up, a panther ready to strike. And like a panther, he leapt over the table, coming straight toward her. She glanced around wildly. A side-table rested next to her, decorated with a multitude of breakable items. She swiped them to the ground, causing vases and bowls to shatter and sprinkle glass in every direction. Perhaps that would slow him, perhaps not. Either way, she pivoted on her heel and bolted.
Arms pumping frantically, shoes thumping into the ebony, she snaked the corner and rushed through the final hallway. She didn't have to glance back to know Darius was closing in on her. His footsteps resonated in her ears. His fury bored intense, determined flames into her back.
At the end of the corridor, she spied a downward spiraling staircase. She quickened her speed. How close was she to victory? How close to failure?
"Get back here, Grace," he called.
Her only response was the shallowness of her breathing.
"I'll come after you. I'll not rest until I find you."
"I'm tired of your threats," she growled, throwing the words over her shoulder.
"No more threatening," he promised.
"Doesn't matter." Faster and faster, she pounded down the stairs.
"You don't understand."
At the bottom of the last step, she spied the opening to a cave. And there, just ahead, the mist swirled, calling to her, beckoning. Home , her mind shouted. Almost home .
"Grace!"
With one backward glance in his direction, she hurdled herself into the fog.
Instantly her world spun out of control, and she lost the solid anchor beneath her feet. Dizziness assaulted her; nausea churned arduously in her stomach. Round and round she plunged and spun, so jerkily, so erratically the dragon medallion tore from her neck. Screeching, she reached out and tried to scoop the chain into her hands.
"Nooo," she cried when it danced out of reach. But in the next instant, she forgot all about the necklace. Stars winked in every direction, so bright and blinding she squeezed her eyelids closed. Grace flailed her arms and legs; she was more scared this time than before. What if she landed in a place more terrifying than the last? What if she didn't land at all, but remained in this enigmatic pit of nonexistence?
Loud screams resounded, piercing her ears, but one stood out from the others: a deep male voice that continually bellowed her name.
CHAPTER 7
Once she regained her sense of stability, Grace crawled through the cave. Warm, humid air brushed her skin, thawing her inside and out. Following flashes of light, she soon emerged from the rocky exit. Familiar sounds of the Amazon welcomed her: the screech of howler monkeys, the incessant drone of insects, the hurried rush of a river. Utterly relieved, she jackknifed to her feet. Her knees almost gave out, but she forced herself to move forward, to put distance between this world and the other.
As she ran, the backdrop of sounds tapered to quiet. Sunlight faded, leaving a horrendous darkness. Then, rain burst from the sky, pelting and soaking her. Under the weight of the water and darkness, she was forced to seek shelter beneath a nearby bush. Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up .
Finally the rain ended and she popped up, once again dashing through the forest. Gnarled tree limbs reached out, clawing at her face, slapping at her arms and legs, splashing remaining raindrops into her eyes. She wiped them away and kept moving, never breaking stride.