Willing Sacrifice
Page 6

Never again. So long as he lived, Grace would never go hungry again. And even though his vow was silent, its weight was as solid and real as if he’d spoken the words aloud.
She turned to face him then, and he was struck breathless. Her beauty was so brilliant and glowing it made him feel the need to shield his eyes. Those sweet brown eyes of hers, always so filled with sincere concern, were just as he remembered. Her skin was a bit darker from sun exposure, but still as flawless and smooth as in his dreams. Her hands were adorned with intricately knotted fiber rings and bracelets, but her slender, gentle fingers had touched him too many times for him not to know them instantly.
Had he not given Brenya his vow of silence, he would have still been struck speechless. Endless days of wondering if she was safe—if she was in pain—were finally at an end.
His Grace was alive, and everything inside of him wanted to rejoice.
He gripped the side of the cot he sat on, hoping to prevent himself from sweeping her up in his arms. He’d told Brenya that he would never do anything to hurt Grace, and he meant every word. No matter how hard it was for him to restrain himself, he would find the strength to pretend he didn’t know her.
She offered him a tentative smile that showed no hint of recognition. “The village hero. I’ll have you patched up in no time. Where do you hurt?”
Torr remained silent and glanced at Brenya.
“He can’t speak, child. His throat was injured. I’ll see to that later. You tend the wounds you can see.”
Grace’s gaze swept over him, taking in his cuts, burns and bruises. Her visual journey slowed as she saw his lifemark, then again as she noticed the crescent-shaped mark Brenya had burned into his skin. She studied his face, brushing his hair away from a shallow wound across his forehead.
Sympathy warmed her brown eyes, and her touch was so gentle it nearly brought tears to his eyes.
He hadn’t been able to feel all those times she’d touched him before, seeing to his care as he lay trapped inside his paralysis. He’d lived for the times she’d shaved his face or trimmed his hair, reveling in even the slightest contact he could actually feel.
Now he was whole, feeling everything, because she had saved him. Surely that had left some kind of mark on her—some connection that even Brenya couldn’t predict.
Torr kept waiting for her to show some sign that she knew who he was—some tiny spark to light her eyes the way it used to whenever she’d come into his suite back at Dabyr—but that sign never came.
Brenya was right. Grace didn’t know him anymore. She’d sacrificed herself to save him, and yet he was no more to her now than a stranger.
She crossed to the far side of the hut and began opening wooden boxes, taking out strips of cloth and other supplies.
Something hot and vital shriveled in Torr’s chest. He tried to fight back the swell of grief and rage that rose up within him, but it was a lost cause.
He’d gone through every scenario he could conceive, imagining her whole and healthy, running into his arms, unconscious as he’d last seen her, paralyzed as he’d been. He’d even pictured her dead when he could no longer control himself enough to keep that image away. He’d suffered through countless strings of chaotic emotions that each daydream and nightmare had caused. But never once had he thought that she wouldn’t know him, that he would mean nothing to the woman he loved.
A low, animalistic moan of pain escaped before he could stop it.
Grace dropped what she was doing and rushed to his side. Her warm fingers settled on his bare shoulder, and every fiber of his being rose up in welcome.
He would have known her anywhere. By her touch, by her scent, by the sound of her voice and even by the taste of her lips. She was a part of him that went deeper than anyone else he’d ever known, which made her stranger’s gaze feel like a betrayal.
Torr covered her hand, pinning it in place so she couldn’t move away. He stared into her eyes, silently willing her to see his soul. To see his love for her.
All he got in return was more of her tender concern—the kind she would have given to anyone she met. “You’re in pain, aren’t you?” she asked. “Let me go and I’ll get you something that will help.”
Nothing could help him now. The Grace who’d loved him was gone, just as Brenya had said, and no painkillers were ever going to make that okay.
Chapter 4
Grace had to work hard to keep from staring at the stranger. He was beautifully built, completely intriguing and equally unsettling.
Brenya was hiding something about this man. Grace was used to the older woman’s cryptic ways, but there was something more to it this time. Something important. Something she felt like she should know.
Not only was this the first man Brenya had ever allowed in their little village—which was enough to make Grace suspicious—but he kept looking at her expectantly, like he thought she’d say something important.
She was only four years old, thanks to years of lost memories. What could she possibly have to say?
“His name is Torr,” said Brenya, speaking for the man who couldn’t.
Grace lifted her gaze to greet him properly and was struck mute by his bright, amber-colored eyes. She’d seen that exact shade somewhere before, but like most of her memories, it slipped away before she could grab hold. But this time a small, fleeting remnant of emotion lingered behind.
His eyes made her sad and joyful all at the same time, and she had no clue why.
She had to clear her throat before she could speak past the rush of emotion. “My name is Grace.”
He nodded once. A muscle along his jaw clenched with frustration.
Instincts made Grace take a long step back, out of striking range. She didn’t know why certain things set her off, making her insides light up with fear, but it wasn’t the first time it had happened. Sometimes she just freaked out for no good reason, and there was no predicting what would cause it. A look someone gave her, a loud noise, a sharp smell—they all had the power to terrify her.
Brenya knew why, but she refused to tell. She said that some things were best left forgotten.
Grace forced herself to move close to Torr again—close enough to feel the heat his body was giving off. Dirt and dried blood marred his skin but did nothing to take away from his animalistic beauty. Like a sleek predator’s body, his was made up of muscular contours meant for speed and power. Every breath lifted his chest, creating the illusion that the tree image on his skin was swaying.