Chapter Eight
The encounter with Tres left me feeling drained. Between the unabated hunger, the heightened fight-or-flight response, and his charming offensive, not to mention that he was one of the oldest Immortals to walk the planet, which kicked up the allergic reaction, it was a lot to deal with. The internal and external conflict took its toll, and I decided to retreat to my private cabin for a midday nap.
Of course, the moment my eyes closed, I saw him.
Instead of a pencil or a paintbrush in his hand, Zane held a chisel. He was shirtless. Only a pair of loose tunic pants covered his strong hips and thighs. His sculpted arms hammered at the stone tablet as he chipped away at the piece of art.
My eyes fastened to the ancient number seven on his back. The marking moved as his muscle
