The faint sound of metal twisting and creaking sounded in the room. Declan expected to see the soldier, Ivan, sharpening his instruments of torture when he awoke. So, when he tried to open his eyes and quickly lost the struggle, he didn't mind. He didn't need to see what was coming next.
So weak, so tired.
Those words bounced in his brain, lulling him back to sleep. Then the scraping grew louder, more insistent, and again he tried to wedge his eyes wide. This time, they obeyed. He lay on his side in the dirt, facing the bars of the cell. But instead of Ivan on the other side of the rusty iron, the little vixen stood at the door. Her blond head bent over the thick padlock, her eyes intent.
"Anastasia?" His throat burned, raw and dry, making his voice crack. The faint taste of metal ling
