And the room she awoke in was nothing remotely close to a prison cell.
Spacious and inviting, it was elegantly furnished with antiques and the king-size bed she lay in, which was canopied with sumptuous white silk and flanked by a pair of delicate, French Provincial nightstands. Creamy, lacquered millwork festooned every wall; snowy, polished marble covered the floors, luxury that extended into the adjacent palatial bathroom suite.
Jordana cautiously sat up to better take in her surroundings.
The place was quiet, all was still, except for the gentle stirring of the airy silk drapes drawn over the open window across from the bed. Where was her abductor?
Jordana scooted carefully to the edge of the mattress and put her bare feet down on the cool marble. She was still wearing her red dress from the museum event, her high heels placed neatly beside what appeared to be a Louis XV bureau. Atop the expensive piece was a vase full of cheery, fresh-cut flowers. A vase that appeared to be museum-quality Italian porcelain.
Good Lord, that Renaissance-era painting hanging behind the bouquet couldn’t be an original Raphael, could it?
She might have been tempted to look closer, but she reminded herself that despite the impressiveness of the place, she had still been taken there against her will.
By someone who had not only disabled a Breed female with his bare hands but had also knocked out Jordana and apparently spirited her far, far away from everything she knew in Boston.
Why? What the hell was going on?
She stood up and took a few hesitant, soundless steps. Peering out toward the larger, equally luxurious living area outside the bedroom, she searched for signs of her abductor.
She saw no one in that room or elsewhere in the sunny, beautifully appointed villa. Jordana crept closer to the open bedroom door, then into the living room, where the scents of the gardens and ocean beyond were stronger, more enticing.
French doors stood open onto a terrace patio perched on a high hillside overlooking a craggy, green mountain coastline. Early morning sun-dappled blue water stretched as far as the eye could see.
Lush vegetation, much of it laden with exotic blooms and large yellow lemons, provided fragrant shade for the large terra cotta patio tiles and a charming little cafe table set with breakfast service for two—complete with crisply pressed white linens and gleaming, polished silverware. Jordana eyed the delicious-looking pastries, fruits, and thin-shaved meats with a frown.
Was this some kind of joke?
Or had she been kidnapped by the most gentlemanly psychopath on the planet?
Jordana spotted him out on the terrace as she ventured a few more paces into the main room of the villa. Every bit as big and tall as she remembered, except now he wasn’t garbed in black or hooded.
He stood at the railing overlooking the sea beyond, wearing a gauzy linen tunic and loose-fitting linen pants. His back to the villa, he held his arms spread wide, palms turned up. On one of his wrists, he wore a brown leather thong, from which a small silver emblem glinted under the rising sun.
As she watched, the man tipped his golden blond head back on his shoulders to put his face full in the morning light.
It was a worshipful pose, a peaceful pose.
Yet there could be no mistaking the immense power that radiated from every inch and muscle of his body.
He wasn’t human.
Obviously not Breed either. Not even a daywalker like Carys or her brother, Aric, would risk such intense UV exposure.
This man seemed to relish it. He seemed to need it.
Hopefully he was so deep in meditation he wouldn’t notice she’d escaped until she was long gone.
Jordana turned her attention away from him and took a step forward.
“Good morning.” The golden man from the terrace now stood directly in front of her.
A startled cry caught in her throat. Jordana threw a wild glance over her shoulder to the balcony outside, just to confirm what she was seeing.
He wasn’t there anymore.
No, he’d vanished from his position several dozen feet away and had materialized barely an inch from where she stood. Shoulder-length blond hair shot with burnished shades of copper haloed a face blessed with perfect angles, flawless bronzed skin, and arresting, tropical blue eyes.
So the psycho who kidnapped her was not only gentlemanly and an art connoisseur but gorgeous besides. That didn’t make him any less of a threat.
He reached for her, and Jordana screamed in earnest now. Fear and fury swelled inside her like a rising fire until it exploded out of her on a sharp, terrified yell. At the same time, she gave her abductor’s massive body a hard shove and tried to dodge left to get around him.
To her amazement, he stumbled backward half a pace before righting himself and catching her around her upper arms. He actually seemed pleased.
“Impressive. Your powers are still young, of course, but they’re already strong. They’re manifesting quickly now.”
Jordana’s hands tingled with the pricks of a thousand tiny needles. She’d felt the odd sensation before—most recently while making love with Nathan, a memory, and a longing, that made her heart ache sharply in her breast.
Now she glanced down at her palms and was astonished to find them imbued with warm, glowing light. Faint, but unmistakable.
And not a little disturbing.
“Oh, my God,” she gasped at her captor. “What’s going on? Who are you? What have you done to me?”
“Shit.” He let go of her and gave a mild shake of his head. “I’m scaring you. I’m sorry, Jordana.”
“How do you know my name?” Her panic climbed. “Where are we? What is this place? How the hell did you get me here? What did you do to my friend Carys?”