Heart Of The Dragon. Gena Showalter
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The door closed behind him of its own accord.
Sooner or later, the woman would have to die…by his own hand.
Chapter Four
ALONE IN THE ROOM, Grace tugged and squirmed until she freed her wrists. She untied the knots at her ankles and jerked upright. Alex had tied her up many times when they’d been children, so escaping seemed like child’s play. Besides that, her captor had not tied the knots that tight. As if he’d been afraid to hurt her. She dragged in a shaky breath as her gaze darted throughout the spacious interior, taking in every detail. Other than the gloriously soft bed she sprawled upon, a tiered ivory chest was the only other furnishing. Colors…so many colors glistened from the jagged walls like rainbow shards trapped in onyx. There was a cream and marble hearth, unlit and pristine. The only exit was a door with no handle.
Where the hell am I? she wondered, panic rising.
Fear and adrenaline pounded furiously through her blood. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford an impregnable security system. She fisted her hands on the sapphire velvet coverlet as another thought invaded her mind. A man who could afford this type of luxury could afford to kidnap and torture an innocent woman with no consequences.
Shooting to her feet, she tried to fight past her fear. I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. She just needed to find a way out of here. Before he returned. She raced to the door, clawing at the tiny seam. When that didn’t work, she pushed, trying to force the doors to split down the middle. The thick ivory remained firmly in place, refusing to budge even a little. She expelled a frustrated screech. She should have expected no different. Like he’d make escape that easy.
What was she going to do?
There were no windows to crawl through. And the ceiling…she glanced upward and gasped. The ceiling was comprised of layered crystal prisms, the source of the room’s light. A thin crack stretched across the middle from one end to the other, giving way to a spectacular view of swirling, turquoise liquid. Yet the liquid didn’t drip through. Fish and other sea creatures—those were not mermaids, she assured herself—swam playfully through the water.
I’m underwater. Underwater! She banged her fists against the door. “Let me out of here, damn you!”
No response was forthcoming.
“This is illegal. If you don’t let me out, you’ll be arrested. I swear you will. You’ll go to prison and be forced to have intimate relations with a man named Butch. Let. Me. Out.”
Again, no response. Her punches slowed, then stopped altogether. She rested her cheek against the coolness of the door. Where the hell am I? she wondered once more.
Something tugged at her memory…something she had read. A book or a magazine, or…Alex’s journal! she realized. The bottom dropped from her stomach, and she squeezed her eyes shut as the full implication hit her. Her brother had written about a doorway from earth to Atlantis, a portal surrounded by mist. Her mouth formed an O as a section of his text invaded her mind, clicking in place like the piece of a puzzle. Atlantis was not the home of an extraordinary race of people, but of horrible creatures found only in nightmares, a place the gods had hidden their greatest mistakes.
Her knees weakened and her stomach clenched. Turning, placing her back to the door, she sank to the cold, hard ground. It was true. She had traveled through the mist. She was in Atlantis. With horrible creatures even the gods feared.
Let this be a dream, a dream I’ll awaken from any moment. I promise I won’t complain about anything ever again. I’ll be content.
If the gods heard her, they ignored her.
Wait, she thought, shaking her head. She didn’t believe in ancient Greek gods.
I have to get out of here. She’d wanted danger and fulfillment, yes, but not this. Never this. En route to Brazil, she’d imagined how intrepid she would feel helping Alex, how accomplished she would feel proving or disproving such a well-loved myth.
Well, she’d just proved it—and she felt anything but accomplished.
“Atlantis,” she whispered brokenly, staring over at the bed. The comforter appeared quilted from glass, yet she knew exactly how soft it was. She was in Atlantis, home of minotaurs, Formorians, werewolves and vampires. And so many more creatures her brother hadn’t been able to name them all. Her stomach gave another painful clench.
Just what type of creature was her captor?
She searched her memory. Minotaurs were half bull and half human. While he may have acted like a bull, he had not possessed the physical characteristics of one. Formorians were one-armed and one-legged creatures. Again, he didn’t qualify. Could he be a werewolf or a vampire? Yet neither of those seemed right, either.
With his dragon tattoos, he seemed more like, well, a dragon. Could that be right? Didn’t dragons have scales, a tail and wings? Perhaps he was the only human here. Or perhaps he was a male nymph, a creature so sexual, so potent and virile, he could not be released into human society. That certainly explained her hopelessly powerful reaction to him.
“Darius,” she said, rolling his name across her tongue.
She shivered twice, once in fear and once in something she didn’t want to name, as his image filled her mind. He was a man of contradictions. With his swirling, ice-blue eyes, harsh, demanding tone and rock-solid muscles, he personified everything cold and callous, everything incapable of offering warmth. And yet, when he touched her, she’d felt molten lava run through her veins.
The man reeked of danger, resembling a warrior who lived with no laws but his own. Like the deliciously tantalizing warriors she read about in romance novels. This was no novel, however. This man was real. Raw and primal. Purely masculine. When he spoke, his voice resonated a dark, barely leashed power reminiscent of midnight tempests and exotic, foreign lands. Despite everything, she had been drawn to him in the cave.
Despite everything, she was still drawn to him.
Never, in all of her twenty-four years, had a man stirred such sensuous awareness inside her. That this man did, a man who had threatened her—several times—blew her mind. He’d even tried to slice her in half with that monstrous sword of his. But he didn’t hurt you, her mind whispered. Not once. His touch had been so gentle…almost reverent. At times, she’d thought his gaze was pleading with her to touch him in return.
“You need your head examined, young lady, if you actually find that man attractive.” Her mother’s stern voice reverberated in her mind. “Tattoos, swords. Not to mention the beastly way he carried you over his shoulder. Why, I was horrified.”
Then her aunt Sophie piped in, “Now, Gracie baby, don’t listen to your mother. She hasn’t had a man in years. You should offer him a little some-some. Does Darius have a single, older brother?”
“I truly do need my head examined,” she muttered. Her relatives were taking residence inside her mind, dispensing bits of advice whenever they wanted.
A wave of homesickness hit her in a way she hadn’t experienced since her first week of summer camp all those years ago. Her mother might be reserved and exacting from years of caring for Grace’s sickly father, but she loved and missed her. Her aunt loved her, too, and would have hugged her tight.
She drew her arms around her stomach, trying to mask the hollowness. Where had Darius gone? How long before he returned?
What did he plan to do with her?
Nothing good, that much she suspected.
The air here was warmer than in the cave, but the cold refused to leave her, and she trembled. Her gaze flicked up the jagged walls, to the ceiling. Climbing up might earn her scratched and bloody palms, injuries she’d willingly endure if the crystal ceiling opened wide enough for her to slip through and swim to safety.
She eased to her feet, her legs shaky.