Free Under His Skin by Jennifer Blackstream Page B

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    What the fuck am I thinking?
     
    Brec clenched his teeth and forced his mind away from its traitorously lecherous path. Her claim to have stolen his skin to lure him to the marriage bed may have piqued his interest for a second earlier, but he knew her true colors now. She was a cruel person who thought nothing of stealing that which made life worth living for her victims. If it had been up to her, he would still be wandering around the small town only a few miles away, turning blue from the cold without his seal-skin to keep him warm.
     
    With that thought burning like a stick of dynamite in his mind, Brec strode to the bed. Her eyes widened and she scrambled to get away, but she was too late. He grabbed her wrist and jerked it back to the bedpost, binding it tightly to the smooth column of dark wood. She shrieked as he tightened the bond, making certain she couldn’t wiggle out of it.
     
    “What are you doing?” she screamed. “You can’t keep me tied up in my own home forever!”
     
    He ignored her, repeating the process with her legs. When he was done, she lie there glaring at him. His heart beat faster as he saw a wish for his death in her eyes.
     
    “Just how long to you think you’ll be able to keep me tied up?” she hissed.
     
    He shrugged, trying to appear unaffected by the entire situation—as if he held people prisoner all the time. “I’d wager I could keep you like this for a day or so.” He retrieved the knife where he’d placed it next to his skin. It was the knife he used for healing rituals and he kept it razor sharp for those dire circumstances when cuts needed to be made in flesh and he wanted to assure as little scarring as possible. Still, it looked like a wicked blade and it had the desired effect on its mark. The look of fear that fluttered through her eyes when he held it up gave him a small spurt of satisfaction. “After that, we’ll just have to get more creative,” he added softly.
     

Chapter 7
     

     
    There was a time when Ana’d had the grace and self-control of a fox. She had waited and she had planned, and she had almost always got what she wanted. It was a primal instinct that said those who snap their jaws and run drooling after their prey had to work a lot harder than those who knew how to smile and wait quietly until the prey turned its back.
     
    Two years of being human had obviously changed things.
     
    Ana cursed herself for her temper and her complete lack of self-control. Her wrists burned from where she’d given in to a childish tantrum, yanking on her bonds again and again in a wild attempt to escape. All she’d succeeded in doing was tightening the horrid ropes. If she didn’t hold still now she’d cut off the her circulation completely.
     
    Emotions swam through her head like a sea of sharks just before a feeding frenzy. Anger over the pixie’s betrayal, hatred for the selkie holding her prisoner, pain from the rope burns in her flesh, and frustration over her abysmal handling of the situation. The emotions sped her breathing until her chest ached. She wanted to scream, just to ease the pressure.
     
    Ana closed her eyes and fought to take a deep slow breath. She had to calm down. She’d already lost the advantage the image of a vulnerable lonely maiden had afforded her, thanks to her own temper. Now she needed a new plan.
     
    Breathe in. Breathe out.
     
    Over and over she pulled fresh air into her lungs, held it, and then slowly exhaled. She could do this. She just had to think.
     
    An image of Brec hovered in her mind. What did she know about him? He was a frequent customer of Mrs. Downing, a sort of doctor he’d said. She also knew that he was gullible. The way his face had softened when she started to cry and the gentle tone he’d used when he told her he couldn’t stay also told her that he was a kind soul. All in all, the evidence suggested he wouldn’t hurt her.
     
    Rhythmic thuds against the wooden floor outside her bedroom