Out for Blood

Начало книги

Deep in sleep, Chrysabelle curled against a cold, steely form that paralleled her own. The oddness of that burrowed through her consciousness and tugged her toward the surface. She reached behind her. Her fingertips collided with a hard midsection.

A body. In her bed.

Years of comarré training kicked in. Coming awake, she twisted and looked directly into dark, familiar eyes. She stared, a thousand responses firing across her synapses, the foremost being relief. She blinked twice and shed the remnants of sleep enough to find words. “You’re in my bed.”

Mal nodded, irises sparking silver. “I do have to sleep occasionally, you know.” A lilting smile curved his mouth. “I’m glad you finally woke. How are you feeling?”

She ignored the question, not sure enough of an answer to give him one, and pushed to a sitting position, gathering the coverlet around her. In doing so, she exposed him. He wore only pajama bottoms she didn’t recognize. The names scrawled over his skin glared back from his chest and arms. Somehow she managed to look away, scooting to the edge of the bed until her toes touched plush ivory carpeting. “How long have I been out?”

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