Marked Prince - Michelle M. Pillow Page 0,14

jerking her around a corner. She almost crashed into the wall but managed to lift her hand to block the impact.

Fiora finally glanced up to see where they were going and instantly regretted it. Death strode naked before her, tugging her through a lavish hall. Statues of fearsome beasts were set in alcoves on each side. Tapestries and paintings decorated the walls. They depicted horrible battle scenes between two very different kinds of humanoid creatures.

They turned another corner, entering a hallway much like the one they’d just left. She wished for darkness so that she may hide. Monsters couldn’t see her in the dark. If they couldn’t see her, they couldn’t get her. Not like in the light. That’s what her mother had told them.

Her mind had been overloaded with strong visions, and it became difficult to decipher if this was a delusion, the future, or really happening. The warmth from Death’s hand rolled up her chilled arm, a palpable wave that forced her to pay attention to the sensation. Even as she feared him, she clung to that hint of reality.

The images of destruction began to ease as he pulled her around another corner. The yells became quiet echoes. Fiora found herself staring at the muscles beneath his skin as they moved in an undulating manner beneath the surface. Mesmerized, she focused on his back. Each tiny movement became a separate entity worthy of study.

The warmth continued up her arm. They turned yet another corner. His bare feet made soft sounds on the hard floor.

Her heartbeat began to slow, dislodging the pressure in her throat. She took a deep breath. The ragged sound must have caught the man’s attention because he stopped walking and turned to look at her.

Green eyes met hers, filled with concern. This was not Death. This was a man—a naked man.

“You do not look well,” he stated. “Do you require a medic or food?”

Fiora pulled her hand away from him and looked around the hallway. She couldn’t decipher how exactly she’d made it into the building. Walking through the side of a mountain didn’t seem logical unless it was some kind of barrier wall mirage.

“…have children. I so want to be a grandmother. I miss my dragon babies…”

The excited words echoed from the distance. Apparently, the voices weren’t going to stop either.

“Don’t look at me, son,” a man said with laughter in his voice. “I will never temper my wife’s pleasure.”

“When are we?” Fiora whispered, confused. Death didn’t answer.

Fiora noticed that light came from decorative holes above, but there were no windows. The red walls and floors appeared seamlessly cut, rather than constructed. Her eyes went to the sculpture of a beast wearing a crown. Though the expression was not fierce, that didn’t stop the creature from looking like the thing from which nightmares were born.

“Mother, let me take Salena home.”

Fiora recognized the voice. The sound felt more from the present. It was that of her sister’s husband. Maybe these weren’t visions.

Salena. Salena was alive and safe.

Fiora swayed on her feet. The man grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her closer to him. She frowned at his familiar handling. Her body stung, and the contact was painful even though he didn’t try to harm her.

“Unhand me,” she whispered. The sound came out harsh, even though that wasn’t her intention. Her voice was trapped in her throat.

He instantly released her.

Fiora swayed again. She couldn’t be touched. Not right now. Too many emotions had bombarded her body, and her skin burned as if her nerves had been sheered raw. At times like this, she could barely remember her own name.

“Welcome to the family, Lady Salena.”

Salena. She needed to find her sister.

The cheery woman’s loud voice drew Fiora’s attention. She couldn’t see the woman who spoke, but she knew that the queen of the dragon people was talking to her sister. The more immediate impressions forced themselves into her mind. Salena and her mother-by-marriage would have an awkward start but would eventually settle into a relationship of mutual respect.

It never stopped.

“I can’t keep doing this,” Fiora whispered.

“What do you mean?” the man next to her asked.

Fiora rubbed her temple as she glanced sideways at him. She hated that she was unable to tell a lie. “I want to die. It never stops.”

He did not appear pleased with her honesty. “What never stops?”

“I’m tired of living with this—”

“Let me know if there is anything I can bring you,” the queen shouted enthusiastically. The sound of footsteps came