Blood Red. Sharon Page

all—even the lamps in the inn’s yard had been extinguished. Only the brush of air, the beat of large, graceful wings, told her he was there.

      While he could see her and didn’t need light, she did. Althea sat up. “Yannick?” She reached for the table beside her, to light her stump of a candle.

      But before she found the flint, the bed dipped with his weight beside her and fingers twined with hers, stopping her from striking her light. Long, elegant fingers. Cool.

      “Yannick.” She whispered it again, a smile on her lips. A welcoming one that she truly felt even as her other hand searched for the collar. He was but inches away and she sensed him, but she couldn’t make out more than a dark shape.

      He caught her by the elbow as she touched the collar. Strong hands grasped both her wrists, not hard, not rough, but she couldn’t twist free. His scent washed over her, male skin touched by fresh rain. He lifted her hands over her head. She gasped as he eased her onto the bed.

      No, love. Bastien.