I cried out in horror, my fingers scrabbling against the boulder, my head mashed against it. I watched him lean over me with a devilish smile, his posture suggesting that even if I did tell him everything, he would bleed me anyway. “I should also warn you, my Lady Swanhilde,” he went on, reaching one strong hand out to my face, “that the pure blood of a Teuton woman is generally far more delectable than the blood of a foreigner. If I bleed you, I may not be able to stop, and you will die.” His fiery hand caressed my chin, sliding its fingers gradually down my throat. His face just centimeters away from mine, his blue eyes glowing with anticipation, he finished, “So you had better start talking.”
I found my voice somehow at that point and choked out a faint plea. “Wait! Please . . . wait .
