Lover Mine (Black Dagger Brotherhood #8) - J.R. Ward Page 0,2

them, picturing the bottles and the glasses and the pouring and the ice and the spice.

That Bartender-pedia routine had kept her sane.

Up until now, she had banked on a mistake, a slipup, an opportunity for escape. None had come and that hope was starting to fade, exposing a huge black hole that was ready to eat her. So she just kept making drinks in her head and searching for her opening.

And her past experience helped in a strange way. Whatever happened here, however bad it got, however much it hurt physically, it was nothing compared to what she'd been through before.

This was the minor leagues.

Or . . . at least she told herself that. Sometimes it felt worse. More with the pacing, past the two bay windows in front, by the 23

bureau, and then around the bed again. This time she went into the bathroom. There were no razors or brushes or combs, just some towels that were slightly damp and a bar of soap or two.

When Lash had abducted her, using the same kind of magic that was keeping her in this suite of rooms, he had brought her to this elegant crib of his and their first night and day together had been indicative of how it was going to be.

In the mirror over the double sinks, she saw herself and performed a dispassionate review of her body. There were bruises all over her . . . cuts and scrapes, too. He was brutal in what he did, and she fought back because she'd be damned if she let him kill her--so it was hard to tell what marks had been made by him and what had been incidental to what she'd done to the bastard.

Get his ass naked in front of some glass, and she'd bet her last breath he didn't look any better than she did.

Eye for an eye.

The unfortunate corollary was that he liked that she met fire with fire. The more they battled it out, the more he got turned on, and she sensed he was surprised at his own emotions. For the first couple of days, he'd been in punishment mode, trying to pay her back for what she'd done to his last girlfriend--evidently, those bullets she'd put in that bitch's chest had really ticked his shit off. But then things had changed. He'd started to talk less about his ex and more about body parts and fantasies involving a future that included her bearing his spawn.

Pillow talk for the sociopath.

Now his eyes glowed for another reason when he came to her, and if he knocked her out, she usually regained consciouness with him wrapped around her body.

Xhex turned away from her reflection, and froze before taking another step.

Someone was downstairs.

Leaving the bathroom, she went to the door that led out into the hall and inhaled slow and deep. As the scent of sweaty roadkill wafted into her sinuses, it was clear whatever was hoofing around down below was a lesser--but it wasn't Lash.

Nope, this was his minion, the one who came every night before her captor arrived to make him something to eat. Which meant Lash was on the way to the brownstone.

Man, wasn't it just her luck: She got snatched by the only member of the Lessening Society who ate and fucked. The rest of them were impotent 24

as a ninety-year-old and existed on an air diet, but Lash? Fucker was fully functional.

Going back over to the window, she put her hand out toward the glass. The boundary that marked her prison was an energy field that felt like a prickling heat as she came into contact with it. The damn thing was like an invisi-fence for things bigger than dogs--with the added bene of no collar being required.

There was a little give in it . . . as she pressed forward, there was a hint of flexibility, but only up to a point. Then the molecules that were agitated pulled together and the burning sensation got so acute she had to shake her hand out and walk off the pain.

As she waited for Lash to come back to her, her mind drifted to the male she tried never to think of.

Especially if Lash was around. It was unclear how much her captor could get into her head, but she didn't want to take chances. If the bastard got an itch that that mute soldier was her well-of-soul, as her people called it, he would use that against her . .