Holding her sore foot off the floor, Sarita stared at the sea of broken glass now covering the ground between her and the door and couldn't hold back the explosive string of curses that slipped from her lips.
Domitian had just woken up and realized he was chained to a table when someone began calling their duck. At least he thought they were calling a duck. His thinking was a little slow and fuzzy, his vision blurry, and his hearing might be off too, but he was sure what he heard was "Duck! Duckity duck duck duck! Duck!"
Although why anyone would name their duck Duck was beyond him, and really, no animal would answer to the fury in that voice, he thought. And then another "Duck" rent the air, only this time he realized it wasn't duck he was hearing at all, but fu-
"You're awake!"
Domitian turned his head and stared blankly at the vision standing in the doorway. And she was a vision. Long dark hair tumbled over the woman's shoulders, flowing out behind her, and beautiful dark eyes peered at him over her presently puckered lips as she peered at him with displeasure. He wondered over her expression briefly, but then she began to hop forward, the movement causing the long, sheer flowing gown she wore to play peek-a-boo with the tiny white panties and beautiful olive skin it was doing a poor job of hiding.
Damn, the woman was a gorgeous little bundle. Short, curvy with large breasts and in the most sinful nightgown it had been his pleasure to see, Domitian decided, letting his gaze slide over the see-through white gown with red ribbons. It was almost enough to make him forget he already had a life mate, he thought as he watched her breasts bounce with every hop.
Hop? he thought suddenly. Yes, she was hopping, Domitian reassured himself as she continued forward. It was not a result of whatever had left him so fuzzy-headed where he lay. The woman was hopping on one foot and leaving a trail of blood on the concrete floor as she made her way to him.
"I didn't expect you to wake up so soon," she said as she reached the side of the table and grasped it to balance herself. Her eyes slid over his face. "I only took out the IV maybe ten minutes ago. I figured you might be under for another hour or better."
"IV?" Domitian queried, his voice surprisingly gruff. His throat was dry and scratchy. His head hurt too. He was obviously dehydrated and in need of fluids, he thought as he tried to ignore the scent of blood coming from the woman, but it was hard to ignore and made his stomach rumble.
"Yeah." She reached to the side and dragged an IV stand with an almost empty bag hanging from it closer so that he could see it. "Dr. Dressler left you all trussed up here on a saline drip with a little something extra added to keep you in la-la land. I took it out when I got down here."
Releasing the IV, she turned and hopped away.
Domitian immediately turned and tilted his head, trying to see where she was going. She hopped to a refrigerator behind him. He saw her open the door, but couldn't see why until she let the door slide closed and turned to hop back, now with half a dozen bags of blood in her arms. His eyes widened incredulously.
"What is that for?" he asked warily.
"For you," she said, her tone all business. Reaching the table, she dropped the bags on the metal surface next to him. "You're an immortal."
It wasn't a question. She sounded pretty sure and Domitian's eyebrows rose. He wasn't used to mortals knowing about his kind, but she was somehow connected to Dr. Dressler, who knew. Which was a damned shame, he decided, his gaze locking on her breasts as he saw that her activity had made the cloth of her gown gather between them, leaving the lovely full globes as good as bare with just a veil of sheer cloth over them.
Domitian had a terrible urge to reach out and touch them, but the chains restrained him . . . which was a good thing, he told himself with a frown. He had a life mate, or would once he claimed his Sarita. He had no business noticing other women's breasts.
"You work with Dressler?" he asked and scowled at both the possibility and the fact that the words didn't come out as strong as he would have liked. Damn, his throat was dry and sore. He needed blood.
"The hell I do," the woman growled, sounding insulted at the suggestion as she turned and hopped away toward the door.
She picked up something and turned, but it wasn't until she was halfway back that he saw that what she'd gone to fetch was a long butcher knife. And she was hopping around with it, apparently oblivious to the fact that she could skewer herself with it if she fell. Not a rocket scientist then, he thought dryly.
"Dressler's a whacked-out sadist," she huffed out as she reached the table again and picked up one of the bags. "He drugged and dropped me here too."