Rydstrom had never known such a pain existed. His cock was still in agony. He tried to ignore the pressure within it, tried to ignore the chains that bound him, but the manacles cleaved into his skin.
The indignity of this burned him inside like acid.
His mind was in turmoil, questions surfacing endlessly. Would she return tonight? How long would she leave him bound? How had Sabine learned so much about Groot's bargain?
How long had this capture been planned?
He had to get free-but how? No one escapes the dun-geons of Tornin . . . He'd need to use Sabine as hostage. Unless she could be turned against Omort. How much loyalty did she have for her brother?
The benefits of winning a sorceress like her over to their side would be incalculable.
He tried to remember what he knew about the Sor-ceri in general. He recalled that they were greedy for wealth, merry hedonists who lived their lives in pursuit of pleasure-and gold. But they were also secretive and paranoid, suspicious of strangers who arrived at their doorstep. Most tended to live in the farthest reaches of the earth.
Yet they weren't an inherently evil race. You're just thinking this way because you want her. Maybe, but the fact remained that it was a possibility. Right now, it was the only one that seemed viable.
He was still in disbelief that she possibly was his. The Accession often brought pairs together, seeding families. He'd secretly entertained the faintest hope that maybe he could find his other half during this one. Over the years, he'd fantasized about his female constantly, wondering if she'd have a throaty laugh. Smooth skin. A body he could lose himself in.
Rydstrom struggled to recall a single thing he'd change about Sabine physically. Her skin was glowing, her cheeks rosy. Her glossy hair had shone in the firelight. Not a single mark marred her skin.