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Rogero bent over at the waist with his hand covering his bleeding nose and mouth. He looked up at Bradamante with hooded eyes.
She couldn’t tell from his expression if he was angry or merely surprised.
The effort of kicking him had almost sapped Bradamante of all her energy.
But she couldn’t help smiling. It felt good to hurt her captor.
Rogero stood up straight, his hand still stemming the flow of blood. Then with a wave of his opposite hand across his face, he removed any evidence of the damage.
He looked as tan and unmarred as before. It was a vain bit of sorcery. He was a man who obviously cared how he looked. With his dark brown eyes, black hair, and the dark rough stubble on his vaguely attractive face, he might even appeal to someone not sworn to fight him to death as her e
