Relief suddenly gone, Claire slid to the floor, stricken, her hands clinging limply to the bedpost. His voice rolled over her like a fog that she could not outrun.

“Considering the alternative, eternity as my mate won’t be such a bad fate. I’ll see that you at least keep your soul.”

“No! Never!”

Smiling at her as if she were a child to be indulged, he slipped from the room as silently as a curl of smoke.

Considering the alternative, eternity as my mate won’t be such a bad fate. I’ll see that you at least keep your soul. Perhaps. If only she wasn’t already in love with someone else. If only the thought of another touching her did not make her want to curl into a small ball and die.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Just because one dog rejects another doesn’t mean mating won’t occur.

—Man’s Best Friend: An Essential Guide to Dogs

The shadows on the walls lengthened, taking on frightening dimensions. Like the monsters of her childhood dreams. Only the barest amount of moonlight filtered past the tree branches outside her window. With one hand beneath her cheek, she watched as the shadows grew and stretched. She stayed as she was, curled on her side as the night deepened, wondering if Darius’s sour-faced housekeeper would return for the tray of food she had left at lunchtime.

Initially, Claire had vowed not to eat, not to touch a morsel of food brought to her. Pathetically, her resolve had not lasted beyond breakfast. She had managed to turn up her nose at the fresh fruit and steaming oatmeal, but not the heaping mound of creamy pasta salad strewn with shrimp and sun-dried tomatoes. Claire couldn’t resist. Nor could she leave the thick wedge of chocolate cheesecake uneaten. Only further proof that the lycan instinct overpowered her will. Her stomach rumbled and Claire couldn’t help wondering when dinner would arrive.

As if in answer to her thoughts, the door opened.

Claire lurched from the bed, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as she braced herself. She still wore Gideon’s jacket but had wrapped a chenille throw around her bottom half in an attempt at modesty.

The housekeeper stood in the door’s threshold, her sherry brown eyes glittering with malice. Not lycan eyes. That was some comfort at least. “Time to shower,” she announced gruffly. “Follow me.”

Claire followed. Willingly. Locked up since yesterday, she felt sticky and welcomed the prospect of a shower. It would feel good to be clean again. Even better if she had fresh clothes.

Thinking that it wouldn’t hurt to have an ally, Claire hurried to walk beside the stern-faced housekeeper. “What’s your name?”

The woman stared straight ahead, the slight thinning of her lips the only indication she even heard the question.

“I’m Claire,” she volunteered.

After a long moment, the housekeeper offered her name. “Helen.”