“Would you like me to tell you about Capri, to help you forget it?” He would have felt her motion, for his hand had moved to just below her ear. “Was it the same nightmare you told me about-the one in which you are chained like Prometheus?” He did not answer her, but only spread his fingers on her shoulder. She dropped her hand, which had been clasped about his. “I have a bad habit: After midnight I don’t knock.” And then it was just a matter of picking your lock and dealing with the dead bolt.” Of course, no reputable hotel would give out a lady’s room number-I had to use slightly underhanded means to gain that information once I found out where you were staying. “Rather easily-there are only eight hotels in Ilfracombe listed in the travel handbook I bought on my way. “How did you find me?” she asked, amazed and baffled, while an excitement, so hot it singed, began pulsing through her veins. Suddenly she remembered where she was: not in her room at home-Pierce House-but at a hotel in Ilfracombe-a hotel that looked out to the harbor, but from the windows of which she had barely been able to see even the street outside. And when she had quenched her thirst, he took the glass away.

“Do you want some water?” asked her husband.Ī glass of water found its way into her hand. She wrapped her own fingers around it, reassured by its warmth and strength. “Wake up, Elissande,” whispered a man, something at once authoritative and soothing about his voice. As it plunged into her, knife-sharp beak gleaming, she twisted her head back and thrashed in agony. The eagle glided closer on dark wings, casting a shadow over her. The piercing cry of an eagle made her renew her struggle, a frenzy of pain and futility. But her wrists were already bloody from her struggles against her chains, chains sunk deep into the bones of the Caucasus. She was desiccated, her skin as fragile as paper, her throat sandy with thirst. The sun seared her eyes, the sky so harshly bright it was nearly white.

His at night by sherry thomas