that seemed carved from stone, and who could be models for some of the most famous sculptures. She wasn’t thrilled. At. All.
She found herself looking at Tariq in an entirely different way. From the moment she’d met him, she thought of him as Tariq Asenguard, the sophisticated, civilized owner of a string of extremely successful nightclubs. He wore suits like he was born for them. He spoke numerous languages and was well educated. She didn’t in any way associate him with the other hunters. Not until she saw him with them. Not until they were crowding around her with their predatory eyes and merciless expressions.
She tried to control her heart so that it didn’t sound like a runaway train, but it was difficult. She found herself studying each face. They had come to the workroom, surrounding her and the ancient carousel that Tariq had set up in the middle of the room. It was a work of art. A piece of history. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off of it, and there was something about it that made her want to go stroke her hand over one of the horses.
There were four horses and four chariots. Each was hand carved and painted in colors made from flowers, colors very difficult to duplicate unless one knew exactly what he was doing. The horses and chariots were suspended from chains and as the carousel was turned, they would swing out so the rider could thrust his spear or shoot his arrow through a small ring to practice his battle skills.
She had a mad desire to fling herself on the ancient steeds and try her luck at spearing the ring. The carousel was beautiful. It deserved to stay in existence so everyone could see it and enjoy it. There was no platform, just the horses and chariots on chains that would swing out when the carousel was pulled by men or horses in a circle. The idea that the carousel was created centuries earlier and that men and women from that time had sat on these very horses and stood on the chariots as they were turned in order to practice shooting an arrow through a ring or thrusting a spear through it was overwhelming to her. The carousel connected the present to the past.
Hard fingers shackled her wrist and she glanced up, startled. Tariq’s eyes glared down at her, nearly glowing red. Her heart jumped hard in her chest. Definitely the predator. He was focused on her. Solely, completely on her. She glanced around her at the other men.
Lojos, Tomas and Mataias were extraordinarily handsome, with their tall, broad-shouldered bodies that screamed of strength. Their eyes blazed with power and they looked . . . dangerous.
She sucked in her breath when her gaze turned toward Dragomir. He was the scariest one of all, bigger than the others, and they were all big, with his roped muscles and flaming golden eyes, his long hair that seemed as wild as he was, the scarred tattoos that ran from his neck under his shirt—she knew those words carved into his body and inked meant something to him, something that boded ill for others, perhaps. He was clearly far different from the others. She didn’t think any of them were easy in his company, and that said quite a lot. Tariq had said as much to her just the night before.
There was Maksim, Blaze’s lifemate. Blaze had told Emeline, Genevieve and her very funny stories about him, talking as if he were the sweetest man alive, but looking at him now, Charlotte thought maybe she’d been exaggerating about that sweetness. There were a couple of others, men she hadn’t yet been introduced to, but they looked as grim and forbidding as the others, and just as Tariq was focused on her, so were all the hunters gathered in the large room.
The room had been large. Now it appeared quite small and most of the air was gone. She glanced behind her, trying to see the door. It looked far away and there were two hunters between the exit and her. One was Siv, with his unusual eyes that swirled from blue to green. He looked so scary she started shaking. He also looked as if he knew she wanted to run.
Sielamet. Stop. Tariq’s voice brushed intimately in her mind. It was a command, but it was also a reassurance.
Sielamet. My soul. He called her that all the time. It always made her feel