looked past her, then watched her again, his dark thoughts churning behind his eyes. Instead of answering her, he said, “You claim to know nothing, Grace, yet you found the mist. You traveled through. You must know something more, something you haven’t told me.”
“I know I didn’t mean to enter your domain.” The faintness of her voice drifted between them. “I know I don’t want to be hurt. And I know I want to go home. I just want to go home.”
When his features hardened dangerously, she replayed her words through her mind. What could she have possibly said to have such an ominous effect on him?
“Why?” he demanded, the single word lashing from him.
She crinkled her forehead and gazed up at him. “Now you are confusing me.”
“Is there a man waiting for you?”
“No.” What did that have to do with anything? Unless…surely he wasn’t jealous. The prospect amazed her. She was not the kind of woman to inspire any kind of strong emotion in a man. Not lightning-hot lust and certainly not jealousy. “I miss my mom and my aunt, Darius. I miss my brother and my apartment. My furniture. My dad made all of it before he died.”
Darius relaxed. “You asked me why I care about the medallion. I do so for my home,” he said. “I will do anything to protect it, just as you will do anything to return to yours.”
“How can my owning the medallion hurt your home?” she asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Nor do you need to,” he replied. “Where is your brother now?”
Her eyes narrowed, and her chin raised in another show of defiance. “I wouldn’t tell you even if I knew.”
“I respect your loyalty, and even admire it, but it is to your benefit to tell me whether he traveled through the mist or not.”
“I told you this before. I don’t know.”
“This is getting us nowhere,” he said. “What does he look like?”
Pure stubbornness melded the blue and green of her eyes together, creating a churning sea of turquoise. Her lips pursed. Darius could tell she had no plans to answer him.
“This way I can know if I have already killed him,” he prompted, though he wasn’t sure he would recognize any of his victims if he ever saw them again. Killing was second nature to him, and he barely glanced at them anymore.
“Already—Killed him?” She uttered a strangled gasp. “He’s a little over six foot. Red hair. Green eyes.”
Since Darius had not seen colors before Grace, the description she’d just given meant nothing. “Does he have any distinguishing marks?”
“I—I—” As she struggled to form her reply, a tremor raked her spine and vibrated into him. Her eyes filled with tears. A lone droplet trickled onto her cheek.
His arm muscles constricted as he fought the need to wipe the moisture away. He watched it glide slowly and fall onto her collarbone. Her skin was pale, he noticed, too pale.
The woman was deathly afraid.
The clamor of his conscience—something he’d thought long expired—filled his head. He’d threatened this woman, locked her inside a strange room, and fought her to the ground, yet she had retained her fierce spirit. The concept of her brother’s death was breaking her as nothing else had been able.
There was a good chance, a very good chance, he had killed her brother. How would she react then? Would those sea-eyes of hers regard him with hatred? Would she vow to spill his blood in vengeance?
“Does he have any distinguishing marks?” Darius asked her again, almost fearing her reply.
“He wears glasses.” Her lips and chin trembled. “They’re wire-rimmed because he thinks they make him look dig-dignified.”
“I know not what these glasses are. Explain.”
“Cl-clear, round o-orbs for the eyes.” Her trembling had increased so much she had trouble forming her words.
He pushed out a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. “A man wearing glasses has not entered the mist.” He knew this because he would have found the glasses after the head rolled to the ground—and he hadn’t. “Your brother is safe.” He didn’t mention there was a chance Alex could have entered the other portal. Javar’s portal.
Grace began to cry in great sobbing howls of relief. “I hadn’t wanted to think of the possibility…and when you said…I was so afraid.”
Perhaps he should have left her alone just then, but the relief radiating from her acted as an invisible shackle. He couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. He was jealous that she felt this strongly for another man, no matter that the man was her brother. More than the jealousy, however, he felt possessive. And more than the possessiveness, he felt the need to comfort. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and surround her with his strength, his scent. Wanted her branded by him.
How foolish, he thought darkly.
The love she possessed for her brother was the same he had felt for his sisters. He would have fought to the death to protect them. He would have…His lips curled in a snarl, and he banished that line of thought to a hidden corner of his mind.
Grace pressed her lips together but another sob burst free.
“Stop that, woman,” he said more harshly than he’d intended. “I forbid you to cry.”
She cried harder. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks, stopping at her chin, then splashing onto her neck. Red splotches branched from the corners of her eyes and spread to her temples.
Hours passed—surely these long, torturous moments could not be mere minutes—until she at last heeded his order and quieted. Shuddering with each breath, she closed her eyes. Her long, dark lashes cast shadowed spikes over the too-red bloom of her cheeks. He held his silence, allowing her this time to gather her composure. If she began crying again, he didn’t know what he’d do.
“Is there…anything I can do to help you?” he asked, the words stilted. How long since he’d offered comfort to anyone? He couldn’t recall, and wasn’t even sure why he’d offered now.
Her eyelids fluttered open. There was no accusation in the watery depths of her gaze. No fear. Only pitying curiosity. “Have you been forced to hurt many people?” she asked. “To save your home, I mean?”
At first, he didn’t answer her. He liked that she wanted to believe the best in him, but his honor demanded he warn her, not lock her in delusions about a man he’d never been. Nor would ever be. “Save your pity, Grace. You fool yourself if you think I have ever been forced to do anything. I make my own choices and act of my own free will. Always.”
“That doesn’t answer my question,” she persisted.
He shrugged.
“There are alternatives. You could talk to people, communicate.”
She was trying to save him,
