told her she was not meant to see these things.
This unreal, malignant splendor loomed up around her like demon phantoms of beauty from places and times unknown to her.
Kathryn was drawing heavily for breath as she realized things were much more disturbing than they appeared.
“Dad!” She tore her fingers through her loose coiling hair, which had, unknown to her, been arranged just so. “Jillian!”
She started to run in a single direction. The walls were so far away, and she couldn’t even make out the doors. Everything looked the same, covered in an intricate gold inlay that went fully around the room. Then her legs seemed to go suddenly weak, the strength wobbling out from under her. She tripped over her own feet and smacked into the carpeted floor. But in spite of the painstakingly made rug, she cracked her head hard as she fell, the stone beneath the carpeting so very unforgiving. Finally, overloaded with shock and fear, seeing brilliant stars in her vision, she collapsed. The last thing she saw was those stars.
Stars.
And a curtain of soft, midnight black.
“Fool!”
Cronos braced himself for the blow that would likely kill him. It came hard and fast, hurling him an incredible distance before he crumpled to the floor.
Adrian whirled around, threw back his head, and clenched his fists as he released a howl of insane wrath. It expelled a great deal of his frustration, and so he was calmer when he fell to one knee beside his damaged keepsake.
He rolled her over with great care and tenderness. His harsh breath caught when her head lolled to the side, revealing the torn flesh at her throat and the bleeding cut across her forehead where she had struck it.
“No.” The word quavered with unendurable pain as he touched the wounds.
Ruined.
She had been ruined by his foolish neglect. She shouldn’t have been able to regain consciousness, but when he had lost his control earlier, he had lost his power over her sleep.
Never, never once, had any of his precious possessions been damaged while in his care.
Perhaps, though, this damage could be repaired.
But he knew nothing of healing.
Adrian cradled his treasure close to his chest, holding her and yet afraid to hold her. He had not meant for any harm to come to her, but harm had come regardless. All of the darkness he toyed with while captaining the nightmares of people—he knew what evil was and the deep, ugly places those people could go. He had simply wanted to remove her from that ugly world, to take her from all the pain she had been suffering. He had done so against every rule, he knew, had even attacked his sister, whom he truly loved, only to have it come to this?
The remorse that filled him then was sudden and bracing. The energy of it was intense and powerful. He drew in a breath of surprise at the feel of it. It was not a dark emotion, like the ones he was used to wallowing in, but neither was it a bright one. It was a peculiar shade of gray, and yet…so strong. Yes…he had felt it before. In certain dreams, there was guilt and sadness. Sometimes so strong it would overwhelm him, just as it was doing in that moment.
Confused and having struck down the two people who always helped him when he needed it, Adrian was lost as to what to do or feel. He gathered up his Kathryn and hurried her back over to the bed. As he had done before, he carefully arranged her limbs, smoothed her nightgown down until it was perfectly straight, and then painstakingly arranged every single curl of her glorious hair.
But as hard as he tried, the perfection of it was flawed and ruined by those terrible marks on her body. Frustrated, he roared out angrily, trying to shake off the waves of pain riding through him with such inexplicable potency. He tried leaving the room, barely making it off the bed before he collapsed to the floor. He lay there panting for a long minute, trying to make himself get up and not understanding why he couldn’t. And then, finally, his psyche shorted out and Adrian lost consciousness.
Something was pulling Kathryn, drawing her.
She had been floating in a benign gray void of nothingness. Somehow she knew that she had been there for quite some time.
But something was now beckoning her away from it.
Slowly, with a soft sigh, she came around. She opened her eyes with a hesitant flutter of her lashes.
Then she heard again what it had been that had called her back to consciousness.
A moan.
It was a low, tortured sound. The sound of someone in unbearable pain.
And whoever that someone was, he was very close by.
She sat up slowly, blinking once. She was aware of feeling stronger. Of feeling more well rested than she had been in a very long time. She did not even feel afraid this time as she quickly looked around the strange room. Of course, she wasn’t quite brave enough to look at any one thing for any length of time, either.
Then the moan came again, drawing her full attention quickly to the floor beside her.
She gasped softly.
Whoever he was, he had to be the most massive man she had ever laid eyes on. Well, maybe with the exception of the color plates of giants in her childhood fairy-tale books. Still, the difference between seeing a drawing of a mythical giant and finding yourself sitting and staring at a real one was quite vast. Why, the width of his shoulders might be nearly twice the length of one of her arms from fingertips to shoulder! Of course, she was a little small, according to some people.
She bit her lip and leaned closer with irresistible curiosity so she could get a better look at him.
He was on his forearms and knees, his face burrowed into his hands. He was dressed entirely in black. The clothing, what she could see of it, was alien to her in its fashion. Even the fabrics looked strangely coarse. It was nothing she had ever worked her needle through, and she prided herself on being a remarkably fair seamstress.
She could see the back of his large head. His features were further hidden by an outrageously thick and long tumble of silken black hair that sprouted from his scalp, tumbling forward over his neck and face. She followed the line of that neck, picking out the distinction of his bold spine through his shirt fabric and the spread of the back of an immense rib cage. His waist was narrower, though probably still as wide as her thigh was long. His hips were less wide, but in a similar proportion to the rest of his physique. The legs, tucked in a rather fetal manner beneath himself, were the size of good-sized and very sturdy tree trunks.
Sweet Father, he was twice the size of any man anywhere! She suspected he would dwarf her own husky father.
Another tormented groan rose from the object of her fascination, snapping Kathryn’s attention back to the huge man’s obvious distress, as well as her present situation. She warned herself to exercise caution. She might be a scrapper, but there was nothing she could expect to do against someone so much bigger than she was. It was likely, she told herself, that this was the person who had all the answers to what was going on.
Well, that meant she needed him to talk. And he wasn’t likely to do much of that if he was hurting. And besides, he sounded almost sad as he made those painful
