By Christina Dodd
From the New York Times bestselling writer of Storm of Shadows , Christina Dodd brings you the
Fourth in her exciting sequence, the selected Ones ...
Customers who like books via Christine Feehan and J. R. Ward will get pleasure from this story.
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Extra resources for Chains of Fire
The open ceiling was fourteen feet over their heads: ancient, sturdy oak beams supported on oak columns with reinforcements of modern steel that spanned from wall to wall, and steel columns spaced to support the weight of the castle above. If she didnʼt know about the tons of snow that buried them, she would have thought they could walk out of here. But she had felt the blast of the avalanche, and as the flashlight played over the place the stairs had once been, a frozen waterfall of snow blocked the former entrance.
Even before the sensation of healing swept him, he experienced the pleasure of her touch. To have her willingly stroke him . . she made the world right. Then he felt it: the gentle healing as she absorbed his injury. His eyes fluttered closed. Heat billowed around him, around them, closing them in a bubble where only the two of them existed. As her hands cupped his neck, then slid over his chest and down to his breastbone, the pain slipped from his nerves to hers. Distantly, he could hear her breathing grow harsh.
The ground shook beneath her as the massive wall of snow thundered toward them. The ancient castleʼs facade rose four stories above them. On the second and third floors, windows had been cut into the stone to give the skiers a view of the Alps. But here on the ground floor, security reigned supreme. One narrow window. A single heavy metal door. He tried the lever handle, said, “Locked,” and stepped back to allow her access. She handed him the bag, pulled a long, stiff, platinum diamond pin out of her hair.