Martise’s pinched features swam in his vision. Silhara found it hard to reconcile that the woman who now stroked his sweating face with gentle fingers was the same woman who practically kicked his balls into his throat. “Get away from me, demon,” he wheezed. Her shoulders sagged in relief at his reprimand. Tears painted luminous trails on her pallid cheeks, and the red marks left by his fingers circled her neck in a ghastly collar. Still, she’d found the courage to come near him after what he’d just done to her.
