Marked by Elisabeth Naughton Read Free Book Online Page A

healed for two days already. Unable to believe what she was seeing, she lifted another rag on his chest to see that the gash over his ribs was healing in the same way. Another on his arm. One on his chest. And looking closely at his face, she realized the swelling hadalready gone down near his eye and that his scrapes weren’t nearly as fresh as they’d been only an hour ago.
    “Just who are you?” she whispered aloud.
    He didn’t answer. She knew he wouldn’t. Whoever he was, though, he was a medical miracle.
    Suddenly more exhausted than she’d been before and too tired to come up with answers of her own, Casey replaced the towels and blanket and headed for the couch. She left the bedroom door open so she could hear him if he needed her in the night, but something in her gut told her he wouldn’t.
    She blew out a breath as she lay on the worn cushions, pulled the afghan over her and looked up at the ceiling. A thousand questions raced through her mind as her eyes slid closed and sleep tugged at her, but the only thing she could focus on was his words.
    Thank you, meli.
    That husky voice of his seeped into her thoughts, whirled around and around until it was all she could hear. And then she wasn’t listening anymore. She was dreaming. Of cotton fields and cannons and soldiers in gray coats, charging. Guns firing from across a valley. The clash of weapon against weapon. Ear-piercing cries of agony and heart-stopping shouts of victory.
    And on the fringe, the man in her bed dressed all in black, standing in the shadows of the trees, watching the battle with a keen eye. Beside him, another man, this one older, with a similar facial structure and the same strong body, and wide, broad shoulders.
    “This all will be yours,” the older man said with a sweep of his hands. “All of it. Yours to guard. Your birthright. Do not disappoint me.”
    Before Casey could hear her Greek god’s response, the world went black.
    Theron was wedged into the hottest, tightest, slickest place in Argolea. And he was loving every moment of it.
    He lifted his hips. Twisted to get higher inside the gynaíka straddling his lap and breathing heavy against his neck. She tightened around his length until he was sure he’d explode. On a moan, she moved so the pressure eased. He groaned in frustration, thrust up into her burning wetness as she began to ride, and in reward, the climax he’d been seeking came screaming back, tightening his nuts to almost painful levels.
    Where his climax hung. Teasing him. Taunting him. Just out of his reach.
    With a curse he rolled her onto her back. Thrust deep, as sweat slid down his temple and dropped onto her face. Her nails scored the base of his spine as he pumped hard over and over. She kicked her dark head back against the pillow and screamed out her release. But he couldn’t get there with her. No matter what he did, he couldn’t finish. Frustrated, he kept pounding away at her. Reaching. Seeking. But nothing worked.
    On the verge of screaming himself in agony, he flopped onto his back again. The sound of a door slamming somewhere in the distance brought his eyes immediately open.
    His heavy breathing was the only sound in the dark room. Footsteps echoed from somewhere nearby. Slowly, he pushed up on his elbows and realized he was in bed. Naked. Alone.
    Skata , he’d been dreaming. Dreaming of screwing some sexy, faceless gynaíka . And judging from the state of affairs between his legs, he hadn’t just been dreaming, he’d been humping away at the mattress to no avail.
    Strange memories filtered through his hazy mind as he eased back down. A dark-haired beauty saving him from a group of daemons. The same mysterious gynaíka tending his wounds. A soothing voice. Kind, violet eyes. She, leaning over him, wearing nothing but a white lace bra that at the time hadn’t seemed significant but that now made his dick harden into a rod of steel.
    Who was the gynaíka who’d left him in a fit of