ra

skin, and listened to the silence. It was a heavy, watchful thing, punctuated only by the crackle of the fire and the

he night, my weary mind finally gave in. I

ghtmares c

glasses at the coronation ball of his ascension to Godfather. And then, the cold, unforgiving steel of a gun barrel pressed right b

nning down a dark corridor of assas

und I was powerless to stop. My body curled in

ga

gh alert. He had been trained to react to any sound out of the ordinary, and the

nstinct was

tion. A di

th the predatory grace of a panther, his bare feet making no sound on the thick r

dark tangle on the white pillows. Her brow was furrowed, her lashes wet. A tear trac

contrast to the sharp-witted, defiant wom

. It felt like annoyance, but it was laced with s

nclear even to himself. To shake her a

n brush her skin, her hand s

fingers clamped around his wrist like a steel vice,

nt rigid. Not from fea

reflex of a trained killer, designed to inflict pain and disarm. He could have easily bro

en, sh

a venomous, dream-soaked whisper

breath

Delivered by a woman who, according to his Syndicate intellig

physical blow. The Calhoun family hadn't sent him a decorative vase to pay of

hest. He was staring at a mystery, a walking contradiction. One moment a queen negotiatin

pull away. Instead, he placed hi

ominance radiate into her grip, sending a subconscious signal to her warring min

ost unset

oiled. Her grip on his wrist loosened, though she didn't let go entirely. The ove

rise and fall of her chest, trapped by the loose

ra

dawn were bleeding through the heavy curt

heat. I felt... grounded. It was the deep, dreaml

my eyes locking onto

r. The real war w