“Climb vines?” Her muscles tensed. Climb vines—of course she would have no trouble climbing vines and storming a castle—she’d been doing that very thing at Vinehill since she was five. If she was trying to break into a home, that was exactly how she’d do it.
Information she had best keep to herself.
But she’d never heard of Wolfbridge Castle before, much less this man. There was no reason for it.
More information she wasn’t about to share. From what little she could piece together, she’d lost time somehow.
Lost time and something drastic had happened. How else to explain her arm?
She tried twisting her head to look up at him, but could only catch a glimpse of his sharp jawline. “This castle—it is yours? You said ‘my castle.’”
“Yes.”
“And you think I was attempting to sneak into your chambers?”
“Yes.”
“For what purpose?”
“That is what I’m waiting to hear from your lips.”
“And you’ll not let me go until you ken?”
“Correct.”
With every word he spoke, his bare chest rumbled, vibrating behind her. Wholly indecent. Her look shifted forward and she stared at the flames for several long breaths.
At least Jacob’s approach had orientated her to her current predicament. It didn’t explain how she got there, or what had happened to her arm or her head. But it helped. Maybe her eldest brother truly was wise, as he always liked to remind her.
“Please let me go?” The request left her lips deflated, all fight gone from her body.
“Swear you won’t try and attack me again?” His upper arms tensed, jutting into the outer edges of her shoulders.
She nodded.
“I need to hear it.”
“I won’t attack you. It’s not like it would matter against this…” Her head shifted to the side and motioned to his body towering against hers. “This mass that you have.”
He grunted—half of it an inordinately pleased chuckle—and his arms loosened their hold. Just as she was about to escape his grasp, his arms clamped around her again, locking her into place.
“Swear you also won’t try and tear at your arm again—or burn it.”
Her eyes closed, a long breath exhaling, and she nodded.
“I need to hear—”
“I swear I won’t try and rip my arm off or burn it.”
His hold lifted, setting her body free.
Disbelief that he released her so easily held her still and it took her an awkward moment to realize she needed to remove herself from his lap.
She scrambled off his legs, landing on the front edge of the marble hearth.
He pulled his legs up and rested both of his arms on the tips of his knees. His gaze locked onto her, hard, suspicious. For how dark his hair was, his eyes were light—brown but with light flecks of blue, maybe gold in them. It was hard to discern in the scant light of the fire. Hard to discern when his stare made her want to squirm.
She caught sight of the distorted flesh on her arm, and she lifted it, her eyes squinting as she looked at it in the light of the flames. Calm, or at least with eyes that weren’t frantic, she could see the many cords of scar tissue running in long threads along her skin, as though her arm had been turned inside out, the tendons now dried and living on the outside instead of the inside. Her stomach rolled. “What—what is this?” She held her arm up to him.