Page 8 of DaR (Darverius, House of DaR #1)

Chapter Eight

KIRA

My hair tickling my nose wakes me up, then the cold air swirling around my shoulders makes me shiver, and the first thing that hits my mind is, Rick must have turned the fan on during the night.

I reach down to pull the covers up, but I can’t find them.

And why does the air around me smell like medicine?

Taking a deep breath, I open my eyes. There are flashing lights blinking above my head and I start to panic when I see that I’m lying in a clear container.

I start to hyperventilate; I hate closed-in places.

I try to raise my hands up above me, but I seem to have no strength.

My body feels weightless and weak, like it’s not really attached to my bones anymore.

I’m just floating around in my own skin.

Why am I so exhausted? I blink my eyes rapidly as I fight the pull of sleep that tries to take me back under once again .

As my vision clears, memories start to slowly seep back into my mind.

The last thing I remember is a black cape and the feeling of strong arms cradling me close.

But they weren’t Rick’s arms, they were unfamiliar.

A sob sticks in my throat as Rick’s eyes flash in front of me.

I start to shake as the nightmare of all the torture from the monsters that have hurt me replays through my memories.

I feel a scream bubble up in my throat, but no sound comes out.

I struggle to make my body move. I have to get out of here. I have to hide. Somehow , I must escape. Looking around, I try to see if there’s a latch or something that will let me out of this clear coffin. Then I see him.

His eyes are closed, but his face is turned toward me like he has been watching over me.

The dark gray of his skin should make him look like a washed-out corpse, but instead he radiates vitality and strength.

Even lying here, I can tell he’s huge. Who is he?

How did I get here? Is he one of the monsters that hurt me?

Why aren’t I completely flipping out right now? I feel like someone hit the mute button on me as my mind goes weirdly quiet, looking upon his sleeping face.

His breath condensates against the glass and dark blue tattoos seem to shimmer underneath his skin. Colors of all kinds move constantly from the top of his arms to the end of his clawed fingers .

His long, black hair lays smashed against his head, but it seems to be caressing his face, which is chiseled perfection.

He reminds me of Henry Cavill on the show The Witcher .

To be honest, this sleeping monster lying against my clear coffin is probably the most beautiful specimen of a male I’ve ever seen.

I’m terrified of going back into the darkness, but my eyes are just so heavy. Knowing I’m losing the battle to stay awake, I send up a silent prayer asking the good Lord to please make the monsters go away and pray that this nightmare is at its end.