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I start to do exactly that, shifting ht so that I can rise to my feet

That’s when I see the stain

A blur of pink rising up from the pure white silk of the skirt It is so faint that at first I think it ht But then the hue deepens, shifting fro the purity of my beautiful dress

Blood

Frantic now, I scramble backward, as if I can so it But of course there is no escape, and I claw at the skirt, trying to yank it up, trying to see beneath it Trying desperately to find the source of the blood

I can’t My hands are too slippery Red and wet and stained I rub theasps,but hme

No, no, oh, God, no

But it is true—I am certain of it The blood on the skirt is mine, and with one final, desperate jerk, I draw theat the silk and satin and lace until it is gathered around s, bare and slick with blood

I hear a noise—a gasp It ca for the source I’ether, but now I separate them, and I see the scars that have for so hs Self-inflicted wounds ht in my hands

I relorious heat when steel penetrates flesh The relief that co kettle when it finally releases steam

I reer need it That is what I tell myself I don’t need the wounds; I don’t want the pain

I don’t need to cut anymore

I’ht To keep me centered and safe and whole

But there is no denying the blood And as I look down at the open wound—at the raw and led flesh, and at the blood that pools aroundin my chest and the rawness in my throat

Then, finally, I hear myself scream

Chapter Two

I come awake in Damien’s arms, my throat raw from the violent sound that had been wrenched from it My face is pressed to his bare chest, and I sob, ulps

His hands stroke , possessive and protective He is saying my name, “Nikki, Nikki, shhh, it’s okay, baby, it’s okay,” but what I hear is that I am safe That I am loved

That I am his

My tears slow and I breathe deep I concentrate on his touch On his voice On his scent, sexy and familiar and desperately male

I focus on all the little things that s that ive him the power to cal He is a est miracle of all is that he is mine