…The night guard was inside, but he’d always been intimidated by Jonas. He took one look, and decided he had more important things to do. Jonas got her up to his rooms without any issues, taking her across the expansive living area to his bedroom.
He laid her out on his bed and backed away, her hair soft where it brushed his hand, missing—craving—her warmth the moment he was no longer touching her.
This wasn’t good.
He held his breath as he looked her over, assessing her condition. Her heart was fine, pulse a little high but no more than expected. Her wrists and ankles were raw but they weren’t bad. His father hadn’t taken much blood, just enough to get his point across.
Jonas reached out, as if driven by it, and flipped her hair away from her throat. Anger flashed through him. No.
No. He reached back out, covering her neck with her hair. He’d never forgive Lazarus for this…
Darcy Branwyn 
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