Lord of the Abyss - By Nalini Singh Page 0,25
pulse, because she was unlikely to survive her father. Even if she did, she was the daughter of the Blood Sorcerer. If the kingdom of Elden didn't execute her, and perhaps they wouldn't, for she would've returned their lost prince to them, she would be exiled beyond the borderlands of the realm, to the dark empty places where only the stone eaters roamed.
"Liliana."
Blinking at the masculine demand, she reached out to grab the soap. He moved it out of reach so fast that she almost rose up after it, forgetting that she was very, very naked. "Do you want me to be clean or not?" she asked, dropping back down.
His expression turned thoughtful.
The skin on her shoulders tingling from the intensity of his gaze, she folded her arms under the water. "Fine. No tale, then."
He leaned on the rim, satisfaction in the curve of those lips she wanted to taste so badly her toes curled. "You have no clothes." A silken reminder.
Her mouth fell open at the way he was telling her she was effectively trapped until he decided to let her go. "You - I - " Snapping her mouth shut, she turned her back on him, and began to rub at her skin with the water alone.
"Liliana."
Trying not to think about the fact that she'd just given her back to the man who scared even shadows, she made a face at a speck of dirt that seemed imprinted in her skin. It made her feel sick to think how filthy she was - Oh. That wasn't dirt. It was a burn scar, an old one, so old she forgot about it most of the time.
Come here, Liliana. The salamander only wants to say hello.
She'd screamed herself hoarse that day, and it had made him laugh so hard tears had rolled down his face. "Liliana."
The way the Lord of the Black Castle said her name was as much an order as her father had made it - except that instead of causing her blood to freeze, the quiet demand of it made the most intimate parts of her flush with sinful heat.
"Liliana."
There was a dangerous impatience to him now. Part of her, the part that had grown up fearing a man's anger, said she should turn around right that second and give him what he wanted. But the other part - the annoyed, frustrated female part - made her keep her head turned to the wall in stubborn refusal. Perhaps it was that simple...and perhaps she did this so he would hurt her, destroying the seed of vulnerability growing within her, a softness that had her panicked.
"Here, you can have your soap."
Wary, she looked over her shoulder to see the soap on the rim and him in the doorway. She went to grab the bar, certain he'd use his magic to push it away before she reached it. However, he did nothing but stand motionless as she picked up the bar and brought it to her nose.
"Glorious." So rich and exquisite that she almost didn't notice he was leaving. "Where are you going?" There had been no hurt, no pain from him in spite of actions her father might have termed "insolent," and that deepened the softness, made her weaker when she couldn't afford to be if she was to kill her father.
"Leaving you to your bath." The words were stiff, the disappointment in his expression cut with anger.
It startled her, the wild clarity of his emotions. This man, she saw with dawning hope, didn't know how to hide his true face from the world, had never had cause to learn...and so she would never, ever have to wonder if he was about to strike out at her even when he looked at her with a smile. "I haven't told you the tale yet."
He hesitated. "You will tell it?"
"Of course. I always keep up my end of a bargain." Then, going with a feminine instinct that was rusty and unused - and though her stomach was clenched tight beneath the water in an attempt to quiet the butterflies - she began to rub the soap down the bare skin of her arm, unable to see a washcloth. "Of course, since you took such pleasure in tormenting me, I shall torment you, too."
There was a luminous spark in his eyes and then he was beside the bath again, his arms - solid, muscled, strong beneath the liquid caress of the armor - on the rim. "You were fighting