His mental domination meant nothing when it came to Jillian. She, however, plucked his thoughts out of the air like it was nothing.

I can infer the words you aren’t saying. If I were yours this would never happen again. No one would ever lay a hand on me,” she mocked. “You’d treat me better, like a queen, and we’d live happily ever after.”He had no rebuttal. His eyes shifted to her gold torque, abandoned on his nightstand.Not queen, but close. My blood is strong. Ancient. You would be...formidable. We would not live ever after, but hunt together forevermore.

Her blood was liquid fire, hot and salty, copper and sunlight ablaze.

Her heartbeat was a broken metronome.

She was ready to be kissed. Instead his hand touched her inner thigh.

She was an innocent young woman and, while she was not jaded or tainted by the world yet, she possessed an open wound that would fester. Already it was riddled with the maggots of fear. If she wasn’t careful, that fear would control her life.

She knew that dark place all warriors go.

She did not belong in the 18th Arrondissement. This was where good girls went to die.

Luck was a lady, and women always looked upon him with favor.