Chapter 4“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”
—Samuel Johnson
Sarran Calendar: Cycle 9435.B112
Earth Calendar: July 22nd
“Thirsty,” she whispered. Then a strong, gentle hand lifted Anya’s head. She nuzzled closer, breathing deeply of fresh linen, vanilla and man, definitely man.
“Drink, Pa Mici, drink,” a deep basso voice rumbled.
Anya’s eye caught a snapshot of dark blue eyes, tousled midnight black hair. A thin white scar traced along the outline of a square jaw. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges. She picked up a slight hesitation between his words and her understanding. His lips moved and she received a nanosecond later, a weird built-in satellite delay. The hair on his muscled arm tickled across her back. His palm cupped the nape of her neck, supporting her head.
