Page 183 of Sins of the Heart

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Good. That was good.

Wasn’t it?

The skin of his chest and belly was smooth. Undam -

EVE SILVER

187

aged. Intact. No tattoo. No blood. Somehow, that didn’t

make him as happy as it ought to. Problem was, he

couldn’t recall why.

His head dropped back, cracking against the ground.

Another bit of information. Whatever he was lying on was

as hard as concrete. He rolled to the side, paused to catch

his breath and then pushed up on all fours, head spinning,

thoughts reeling. Well, there you go; itwasconcrete.

He took stock. Ten fingers. Ten toes. And all major

parts in between. He didn’t hurt. Not exactly. But he

wouldn’t go so far as to say he felt good.

Panting, he held his position, knees and palms

pressed to the cold slab, head hanging between his

locked elbows. Finally, he pushed back on his haunches

and stared out at the endless expanse of water that

stretched smooth and serene before him. There wasn’t

a wave—not even a ripple—to disturb the surface.

He didn’t know where he was, didn’t remember

why he was here. Fighting the bile that clawed at the

back of his throat and the dizziness that kept him on

his knees rather than his feet, he stared at the horizon.

Shouldn’t be like this. His wounds had healed. He

ought to feel stronger.

His wounds. Wounded by what?

He remembered the tattoo. Black. All black. On his

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