Ianira lay trembling, too exhausted and overwhelmed by horror to guess at her fate, trapped in this madman’s hands. He actually smiled down at her, brushing the hair back from her brow. “Your friends,” he whispered intimately. “Will they search for you?”
Terror exploded. She flinched back, gabbled out the fear of pursuit, the gunmen in the hotel, the threat to her life from faceless men she had never met . . . Fear drained away at the sound breaking from him. Laughter. He was staring down into her eyes and laughing with sheer, unadulterated delight. “Dear God,” he wheezed, leaning back in his chair, “they daren’t search for you! Such a bloody piece of luck! No doubt,” he smiled, “someone influential was disquieted by what you can do, my dear lady. Never fear, I shall protect you from all harm. You are much too precious, too valuable a creature to allow anyone to find you and bring you to grief.” He leaned close and stroked the back of her hand. “Mayhap,” he chuckled, “I’ll even take you to wife, as an added precaution.”
She closed her eyes against horror at such a fate.
He leaned down and brushed his lips to hers, then murmured, “I’ve work to do, this evening, my lovely pet, very serious work, which must take me from your side. And you must rest, recover from the shocks to your system. Tomorrow, however . . .” He chuckled then stroked her brow, the chill of her wet cheek. “Tomorrow should prove most entertaining, indeed.”
He left her, drugged and helpless, in the center of the bed and carefully locked the door behind him. Ianira lay weeping silently until the medication he had given her dragged her down into darkness.