Her prisoner gasped again, twitching in the silver-reinforced manacles before slumping again, and laying still.
Without moving, without blinking, she watched him. He was tall, with masses of dark hair falling to his shoulders. A lock lay across his face. Had she been human, she would have been tempted to brush it away. To feel the texture of the silken strands as they slipped between her fingers. Smooth the hair back to reveal features so hard and masculine even a near-dead blood like her felt the pull of attraction. But she wasn’t human, wasn’t anything even close, so she stayed where she was. Watching him.
The hair brushed broad shoulders, which flowed down into a well-muscled chest and flat stomach. There wasn’t an ounce of body fat on him—his physique ripped enough to give even the m
