With a jolt of alarm, she recalled the dark intruder in the museum. The attack that came out of nowhere. Carys lying motionless on the lobby floor, the hooded man standing over her unconscious body.
Then a blinding, powerful light exploded inside Jordana’s skull before everything around her went black …
Oh, God.
What happened?
Where had he taken her?
Jordana opened her eyes, expecting to meet the horror of her imprisonment. She expected to feel pain. She braced herself to feel the cold bite of restraints or any number of other abuses dealt to her by her captor.
But she felt no discomfort. Her limbs moved freely as she gingerly tested her muscles. Nothing but velvety bedding beneath her on a pillowy, decadent mattress.
And the room she awoke in was nothing remotely close to a prison cell.
Spacious and inviting, it was elegantly furnished with antiques and the king-size bed she lay in, which was canopied with sumptuous white silk and flanked by a pair of delicate, French Provincial nightstands. Creamy, lacquered millwork festooned every wall; snowy, polished marble covered the floors, luxury that extended into the adjacent palatial bathroom suite.
Jordana cautiously sat up to better take in her surroundings.
The place was quiet, all was still, except for the gentle stirring of the airy silk drapes drawn over the open window across from the bed. Where was her abductor?
Jordana scooted carefully to the edge of the mattress and put her bare feet down on the cool marble. She was still wearing her red dress from the museum event, her high heels placed neatly beside what appeared to be a Louis XV bureau. Atop the expensive piece was a vase full of cheery, fresh-cut flowers. A vase that appeared to be museum-quality Italian porcelain.
Good Lord, that Renaissance-era painting hanging behind the bouquet couldn’t be an original Raphael, could it?
She might have been tempted to look closer, but she reminded herself that despite the impressiveness of the place, she had still been taken there against her will.
By someone who had not only disabled a Breed female with his bare hands but had also knocked out Jordana and apparently spirited her far, far away from everything she knew in Boston.
Why? What the hell was going on?
She stood up and took a few hesitant, soundless steps. Peering out toward the larger, equally luxurious living area outside the bedroom, she searched for signs of her abductor.
She saw no one in that room or elsewhere in the sunny, beautifully appointed villa. Jordana crept closer to the open bedroom door, then into the living room, where the scents of the gardens and ocean beyond were stronger, more enticing.
French doors stood open onto a terrace patio perched on a high hillside overlooking a craggy, green mountain coastline. Early morning sun-dappled blue water stretched as far as the eye could see.
Lush vegetation, much of it laden with exotic blooms and large yellow lemons, provided fragrant shade for the large terra cotta patio tiles and a charming little cafe table set with breakfast service for two—complete with crisply pressed white linens and gleaming, polished silverware. Jordana eyed the delicious-looking pastries, fruits, and thin-shaved meats with a frown.
Was this some kind of joke?
Or had she been kidnapped by the most gentlemanly psychopath on the planet?
Jordana spotted him out on the terrace as she ventured a few more paces into the main room of the villa. Every bit as big and tall as she remembered, except now he wasn’t garbed in black or hooded.
He stood at the railing overlooking the sea beyond, wearing a gauzy linen tunic and loose-fitting linen pants. His back to the villa, he held his arms spread wide, palms turned up. On one of his wrists, he wore a brown leather thong, from which a small silver emblem glinted under the rising sun.
As she watched, the man tipped his golden blond head back on his shoulders to put his face full in the morning light.
It was a worshipful pose, a peaceful pose.
Yet there could be no mistaking the immense power that radiated from every inch and muscle of his body.
He wasn’t human.
Obviously not Breed either. Not even a daywalker like Carys or her brother, Aric, would risk such intense UV exposure.
This man seemed to relish it. He seemed to need it.