by N.J. Walters
Blood of the Drakon #2
Publication Date: April 24, 2017
Genres: Adult, Entangled: Select Otherworld, Paranormal, Romance
Amazon UK: http://amzn.to/2plxWw8
Amazon CA: http://amzn.to/2pYX2gL
Amazon AU: http://amzn.to/2oxcuPO
“What’s your name?” she suddenly demanded. She’d kissed him and didn’t even know his name.
He opened the refrigerator door and pulled out several packages.
“Hey.” She knew it was crazy to demand anything from this man, but she was past all caution. “I asked you a question.”
“And if I answer it, you’ll never be able to leave here.” The way he said it, with little inflection, stopped her in her tracks.
It was a variation of “If I tell you, I’ll have to kill you.” It was used in the movies all the time, but Valeriya didn’t think this man was joking. “We both know I’m never getting out of here anyway, so why don’t you tell me who you are?” Maybe if she befriended him, she could get him to release her.
And then where would she go? The Knights were everywhere.
She swayed as her knees went weak. All she’d wanted to do was warn Darius Varkas about the Knights and go back home to her life. Now she feared she was truly going to die.
“What the hell?” Her captor was around the counter and caught her before she hit the floor. He scooped her up as though she weighed nothing and set her on one of the stools on the far side of the island. “Are you all right?” He hovered beside her but was no longer touching her.
It was as though he was afraid to touch her. She wasn’t sure if that was for her benefit or for his. She should be trying to figure out a way to escape, fighting the growing attraction she had for her captor. She wasn’t a guest here, but an unwilling visitor.
Unfortunately, it didn’t quite feel that way. It suddenly occurred to her that her intuition was silent. Yes, he was a very dangerous man, no doubt about it, but she didn’t feel as though he was a danger to her.
Her gift had chosen a really bad time to go haywire.
“What does it matter, if you’re going to kill me?” She’d rather get it over with than to drag it out indefinitely. And she really didn’t want to be tortured.
He swore, long and fluently, and in a language she didn’t understand. Did that mean he wasn’t American, or did he simply know other languages?
“Tarrant. My name is Tarrant. And I told you I wasn’t going to kill you.”
She rested her elbows on the counter to steady herself. “For now. You said you weren’t going to kill me right now.”
He swore again. “No one is killing anyone.
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