"Wh-what are you doing?" she demanded.
"Give me the medallion."
She didn't cower at his hard tone as most would have done. Nor did she jump to obey. No, she returned his gaze with unflinching courage. Or stupidity. She remained firmly in place, hands at her side.
"Don't come any closer," she told him.
"You wear the mark of a dragon," he continued. "And you, woman, are no dragon. Give me the medallion."
"The only thing I'll give you is an ass-kicking, you rotten thief. Stay back."
He leveled her with a resolute gaze. She was defensive and fearful. Not a good combination when trying to obtain answers. He almost sighed. "I am called Darius," he said. "Does that ease your fears?"
"No, no it doesn't" Contrary to her words, her muscles relaxed slightly. "My brother gave me this necklace. It's my only link to him right now, and I'm not giving it up."
Darius worried a hand down his face. "What is your name?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"What is your name?" he repeated. "Do not forget who holds the sword."
"Grace Carlyle," she reluctantly supplied.
"Where is your brother now, Grace Carlyle?" Her name floated easily from his tongue. Too easily. "I wish to speak with him."
"I don't know where he is."
And she did not like that she did not know, he realized, studying the worry in her eyes. "No matter," he said. "The medallion does not belong to him, either. It belongs to a dragon, and I will have it back."
She studied him for a long, silent moment, then offered him a sunny if brittle smile. "You're right. You can have it. I just need a moment to take it off." She raised her arms as if she meant to do as she'd claimed-take it off. But in the next instant, she darted forward until she stood poised at the mist's entrance. His arm snaked out and jerked her back into the hard circle of his body. She gasped on impact.
Had his reflexes not been so quick, he would have lost her.
"You dare defy me?" he said, perplexed. As leader of this palace, he was used to having his every command obeyed. That this woman opposed him was shocking, yet somehow added to her appeal.
"Let me go!"
He held steady. "Struggling is pointless and merely delays what must be done."
"What must be done?" Instead of calming, she beat her pointy little elbows into his stomach. "What the hell must be done?"
He whirled her around and used one of his hands as a shackle, locking her against him, chest to chest, hardness to softness.
"Be still!" he shouted. Then blinked. Shouted? Yes, he'd actually raised his voice.
Amazingly enough, she stilled. Her breath came shallow and fast. Amid the growing quiet, he began to hear the beat of her heart, a staccato rhythm that reverberated in his ears. Their gazes narrowed on each other and looking away proved impossible. Minutes ticked by unnoticed.
"Please," she at last whispered, and he wasn't sure if she was asking him to release her or hold her more tightly.
He used his free hand to smooth up the velvety soft expanse of her neck, then gently flick her hair out of the way. The heat of her beckoned him to linger, and he fought the urge to glide his hands across her every feminine peak and hollow, from the plumpness of her breasts, to the slight roundness of her stomach. From the exotic slope of her legs, to the hot wetness of her center.
Was she the kind of woman who could accept and return the barbarity of his passion? Or would she find him more than she could handle?
The thought jarred him, and he gave a brutal shake of his head to dislodge it. Whether she could handle him or not didn't matter. He wasn't going to bed this woman.
And yet…
He easily imagined Grace naked and in his bed, her body splayed for his view. Her arms open and waiting for him. She would smile slowly, seductively, and he would climb just as slowly atop her, dance his tongue over every delectable inch of her, enjoy her languidly-or let her enjoy him-until they both collapsed.
The fantasy caused his desire to intermingle with tenderness, each sensation sparking off the other as they raced through him.
Desire he could tolerate. Tenderness he could not.
For years he'd tried to suppress his physical needs, but he'd learned that was impossible. So he'd begun to allow himself the occasional woman, taking and pleasing them hard and fast, then leaving them quickly afterward. He didn't kiss, didn't savor. Just took them with a total absorption that often left his chosen bedmate exhausted and reeling.
He needed that same absorption now, only channeled differently. He needed to distance himself from Grace's appeal. With that firmly rooted in his mind, he hurriedly unhooked the chain's clasp from around her neck, though he was careful not to bruise her.
"Give that back," she demanded, pulling against his hold. "It's mine."
"No. It is mine."
Her expression turned venomous.
Without removing his gaze from her, Darius secured the medallion around his own neck, causing it to clang against the other Ra-Dracus. "I have many questions for you, and I expect you to answer every one," he told her. "If you utter a single untruth, you will regret it. Is that clear?"
A strangled breath slipped past her lips.
"Do you understand?" he reiterated.
Wide-eyed, she nodded slowly.
"Then we will begin. You told me you want to give the medallion back to your brother. Why? What does he plan to do with it?"
"I-I don't know."
Did she lie? The angelic cast of her features suggested no untruth had ever passed from her lips. Thinking of her lips brought his gaze to them. They were plump lips. Lips made for a man's pleasure. He ran his hand down his face, unsure what to believe, but knowing he should not imagine those lips slipping up and down his shaft, her red hair spilling over his thighs.
"Where did he acquire it?" Darius ground out.
"I don't know," she said hollowly.
"From who did he acquire it?"
"His boss."
His boss… Darius's jaw ticked. That meant there were more surface dwellers involved. "How long has the chain been in your possession?"
She closed her eyes for a moment, silently counting the days. "A little over a week."
"Do you know what it is? Or what it does?"
"It does nothing," she said, her brow furrowed. "It's just a necklace. A piece of jewelry."
He regarded her intently, studying, gauging. "How, then, did you find the mist?"
She pushed out a breath. "I don't know, okay. I was walking around that damn jungle. I was hot and tired and hungry. I discovered an underground spring, stumbled upon the cave and crawled inside."
"Did anyone enter the cave with you?"
"No."
"Are you certain?"
She glared up at him, daring him to do what he would. "Yes, damn it. I'm certain. I was alone out there."
"If you have lied… " He allowed his threat to hang in the air unsaid.
"I told you the truth," she snapped.
Had she? He honestly didn't know. He only knew that he wanted to believe every word she uttered. He was too captivated by her beauty. Too entranced by her scent. He should kill her here and now, but he couldn't bring himself to hurt her. Not yet. Not until he'd had time and distance to put her in proper perspective.
I'm a fool , he thought. Darius grabbed her by the waist and hoisted her over his shoulder. She began kicking immediately, and her nails raked down his back.
"Put me down, you Neanderthalic bastard!" Her shrieks echoed in his ears. "I answered your questions. You have to let me go."
"Perhaps a little time in my chamber will make those answers of yours improve. Surely you can do better than 'I don't know.'"
"Improve? Improve! If I'd given you different answers, I would have been lying."
"We shall see."
He strode up the cave stairs and into the palace above. She continued to squirm and kick, and he continued to hold her firmly with his arms. He was careful to avoid his men as he carried her to his chamber. Once there, he tossed her atop the velvet covered mattress and tied her flailing arms and legs to the posts. Seeing her splayed on his bed made him sweat and ache. Made him rock-hard. Gods, he couldn't deal with her now, not when she looked so… eatable. Without another glance in her direction, he turned and strode into the hall. The door closed behind him of its own accord.