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Prince of swords by Linda Winstead Jones

By Linda Winstead Jones

Held hostage within the cellar of a secluded condominium, ready to be claimed by means of the demon-possessed Ciro, Rayne unearths salvation in Lyr Hern, who, whereas on a venture to discover the crystal dagger, involves her rescue in additional methods than one.

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If they did not . . well, he would address that when and if the time came. Rayne yanked against one chain. ” She pointed, and her chains rattled. ” Lyr nodded his head but did not rise from his chair. ” the girl asked, indignation in her sweet voice. “Not as of yet,” Lyr responded calmly. ” Anger flashed in her dark eyes. ” He smiled. ” Again, tears slipped down her cheeks. Lyr studied the tears, unaffected by the display. “If you would leave me here, then you are no better than Prince Ciro,” Rayne spat in anger.

At least it was not too cold nor too hot. The weather, in fact, was quite nice tonight. Rayne seemed harmless enough, but he still did not trust her. Ciro claimed her as his betrothed. Why would he claim Rayne as his own if she was not as dark as he? Why would he so fiercely protect her, sparing a dozen men he could’ve used in battle to watch over her? It did appear that she’d been imprisoned, held against her will, but Lyr had been taught not to rely on what things seemed to be. All he could see of his charge at the moment was her back and a long expanse of silky dark hair.

Instead of assuring herself that all was well and lying down once again, Rayne left her makeshift bed and walked toward Lyr. He stiffened his spine and steeled his resolve. No matter what she said, he would take her no farther than the closest safe farmhouse or village—whichever came first. He would not, could not, personally deliver her to Prince Ciro. The sooner she was out of his care, the better. She sat on the ground near him, but not too near. “I cannot sleep,” she confessed, keeping her voice low so as not to disturb the others.

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