J. Geissinger - Edge of Oblivion

She went to the kitchen, put her wrists under the cold tap, splashed her heated face with water.

She stood there a moment, trying to clear her head. Through the living room windows, the sun streamed in bright, directly overhead.

Noon. That left...six hours until nightfall. She needed a stiff drink.

Just as she turned away from the sink, the first tremor of heat hit her.

She froze midstep. Listening hard, stretching her senses, she stood there, breathless, still. Only her heart seemed to be working, and it hammered away in her chest like a jackhammer.

Something was near. Some one .

Her hand flew to the collar around her neck. She couldn’t Shift. She couldn’t protect herself if they came for her.

Another tremor, more substantial this time, accompanied by the faint, masculine scent of spice and gunpowder. Warning heat pulsed over her skin.

She shot to the heavy wood block of knives on the marble countertop, grabbed one, and whipped it to her side, gauging the best spot to make a stand. She didn’t want to be stuck with her back against the wall in the kitchen. She definitely didn’t want to try hiding in the bedroom, and the living room offered no hiding places at all. Not that they couldn’t find her by scent alone. This was impossible! Where was Xander?

Stricken by paralyzing indecision, she was able to move only when she thought she heard a footfall in the hallway outside the front door.

She crept slowly from the kitchen with the knife clutched in her sweating hand and glanced around. Everything in the living room looked normal. The open door into the master suite offered a partial view of the room, but nothing looked amiss. The scent of spice and virile man faded, leaving only the bitter, metallic taste of fear on her tongue. The footsteps outside the door had ceased.

Do you know what he’ll do to you if he catches you?

God, she’d been so flippant when she’d answered Xander’s question. And now...there were six of them. Plus the leader. Which meant there were seven feral males looking for her. Maybe more.

She swallowed around the raw panic clawing at her throat.

With real regret, she remembered the tattoo she’d gotten only a few days ago, remembered too how freedom was so precious to her she’d risked her life on more than one occasion to obtain it. She decided right then and there that if she were captured she’d kill herself. No way was she going to let herself become some kind of sex slave.

That decided, she felt a little better.

She moved silently through the living room and eyed the front door. Unease made its way through her body like a thousand army ants marching up and down her nerve endings.

A sound from the terrace. She whirled around, lifted the knife, and gasped.

On the other side of the glass stood one of the huge Ikati males from the basilica. His hands hung loose at his sides, his legs were planted shoulder-width apart, his eyes burned glittering, soulless black. He was enormous, big boned and heavily muscled, without a spare ounce of flesh on his entire body. She saw that quite clearly because he was completely nude.

And aroused.

Terror gave her wings.

She whirled around and leapt for the front door as the horrible, ear-splitting crash of shattering glass filled the room. She didn’t have to look to know he’d smashed right through the slider. With her heart in her throat and a strangled scream on her lips, she flew through the living room, through the marbled foyer, and in her haste crashed straight into the door. She stepped back and flung it open only to be met with fresh horror.

Another one. Hulking and black-eyed in the doorway. Naked.

Survival instinct took over. Her arm jerked up and slashed out hard with the knife. The male in the doorway feinted right, avoiding her thrust, and grabbed her wrist just as the knife whizzed by his head. She yanked back, growling through her teeth, and met the resistance of stone.

He said something in a language she didn’t recognize and bared his teeth at her, eyes blazing.

Instinct told her he was commanding her to back down. To submit.

“ Fuck you! ” she screamed, struggling against his grip.

His eyebrows shot up. Then he backhanded her so hard fireworks detonated behind her eyes and all the bones in her neck popped. Tasting her own blood in her mouth, she slid to the floor, where she remained, stunned, her wrist still caught in his grip, her body dangling from his huge hand. In her stupor, she noticed both males had large tattoos on their left shoulders, a stylized black eye that looked like an Egyptian hieroglyph.

The one who’d hit her pried the knife from her fingers, then moved into the foyer and closed the door with a kick of his foot. He set the knife on the console table and silently stared down at her.

The other male stood in the living room with piles of ruined glass around his feet, watching them. He said something in that strange language. It sounded amused and also seemed to anger the one with his hand around her wrist.

He jerked her to her feet so hard it felt like her shoulder would pop out of the socket. He loomed over her, exuding menace and raw power, and she shrank back to the length of both their arms.

He allowed her to hover there, tethered, pulling hard against his grip, and wouldn’t let her go farther.

The marble was cold and slick beneath her bare feet.

“I am Lucien,” he said in perfect English.

She kept her eyes focused on his face, knowing what would meet her gaze if she allowed it to travel down farther. Black dots floated in her peripheral vision. She licked blood from her lower lip.

“Charmed,” she said, staring him in the eye. “I’ll call you Lucy for short.”

He blinked. The one at the patio door snorted, then walked nearer. She glanced at him, wondering through her fog of pain how the two were so easy with their nudity. They’d obviously followed her as Vapor and materialized without all that black they’d worn back at the cathedral, which had revealed the general fact of their massive physiques but kept hidden the details. All the muscled, masculine, golden-skinned details. Involuntarily, her gaze drifted down.

She blanched. The size —

There came a low laugh and she snapped her gaze up to his face.

Dear God, he was smiling at her.

“Do you see something you like, female?” His voice was husky, amused.

The black dots in her vision subsided just enough to see him glower at her cold response. “I see something I’d like to chop off .”

Lucien growled deep in his chest and tightened his fingers around her wrist so hard she thought the bones might snap. It hurt like hell, but she bit her lip to keep back the moan of pain. The other male just stood there looking at her with his head cocked.

“You are fierce for a female,” he murmured. His gaze flickered over her, taking in her bare legs, the short skirt, the blouse she now wished was much baggier. He slowly licked his lips, a gesture that might have been seductive on another man as well-formed and virile but on him was utterly chilling. A bloom of heat washed through the air. It was followed by the dark, spiced scent of desire.

“Aurelio,” Lucien said, sharp, then something else in that language of theirs. His lips flattened, and the bloom of heat cooled a few degrees.

“She isn’t claimed yet,” Aurelio said, hard.

“Brother! That’s treason!” Lucien hissed, glaring at him.

“Only if the King finds out.” He stepped closer, glaring at Lucien with something like murderous rage. Neither one seemed to notice they’d switched to English. Aurelio glanced back at Morgan, and something in his eyes made her flinch. His voice dropped several octaves. “I want a taste before we relinquish her.” His nostrils flared. “She smells so good .”