The ghost of a smile crossed her lips at the irony. She had
finally found a man she wanted to touch her – and he was
the enemy. As she looked up into his black eyes, she saw
his frown of confusion and irritation. She wanted to
comfort and reassure him. Ryen reached out a hand, meaning
to stroke the wound on his cheek, but Bryce flinched at her
touch and drew back. "I won't hurt you," she whispered,
realizing the absurdity of the statement as soon as it had
left her lips. The scar that would form on his cheek would
be permanent proof of her harm. She withdrew her hand and
took a step away from him.
"What do you want from me? Why did you summon me here?"
Bryce inquired.
She looked away from him and stepped back toward her
sleeping mat. "You are a handsome man."
He eyed her suspiciously. "Am I here to discuss my looks?"
Perhaps it was ridiculous, Ryen thought. Men never seemed
to have a problem with taking what, or who, they wanted.
Maybe I'm making this more complicated than it should be.
She raised herself up, straightening her shoulders. She
boldly took a step toward him. "In a way, yes," she
answered. She watched the frown etch its way into his brow.
I am not afraid, she told herself, and approached until she
stood before him. He is my prisoner.
"I will tell you nothing," he snarled. "Even if you give me
more of your poison."
"I do not want to know anything else." Ryen raised a hand
to his arm, marveling at the strength and elegance of his
muscles. He clenched his fist and the muscles bunched as
she touched them. The explosive power that moved beneath
her fingertips amazed her. With her heart pounding, Ryen
traced her fingers across his upper arm to his chest.
"What do you think you're doing, woman?" he demanded.
"Your presence has been a...distraction to me. I sought to
cure it." She looked up and saw those dark eyes hovering
over her. His black hair washed over his mighty shoulders.
She raised a hand to touch his thick mane.
Bryce pulled back instantly, gazing at her fingertips out
of the corner of his eye, searching for the white powder.
Ryen wrapped her fingers tightly in his hair, leaning into
his strong chest. "Do you fear my touch?" she wondered in a
soft whisper.
Bryce's black eyes scanned her face, but Ryen could not
read his thoughts. His dark look lowered over her neck and
down to where her chest pressed tightly against his. She
shuddered slightly as if he had touched her there. Then his
eyes rose back to hers. "Loathe is more like it."
She could feel the lie through his leggings and
smiled. "Your body betrays you."
"Step away from me, witch," he snarled.