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flashed in front of his eyes. One of the men waved a knife as another began shouting the same questions they asked every time he was interrogated. Maybe they meant to kill him today. Or maybe they were altering their torture methods.
    Strangely, calm acceptance settled over him, and he fixed them with a cold stare.
    “Go fuck yourself.”
    Even if they didn’t fully understand the expression, they could certainly ascertain the sentiment.
    Fire exploded down his arm. He flinched and then glanced down to see a thin cut opened, blood streaming down his flesh.
    His lip curled. “Is that the best you can do? Untie me, asshole. Let’s even the odds a little.”
    This time the knife slashed across his chest in a measured cut meant to inflict pain, but not mortal damage.
    He ground his teeth together and focused on breathing in and out. He could endure this. He’d suffered far worse already.
    Then warmth crept through his body and he felt sunshine fill his mind. Instead of welcoming it, he screamed a silent no .
    Get out, Shea! Get the hell out of my head. I don’t want you here, damn it.
    Do or say nothing to further anger them , she said in the voice he’d already associated with everything good in the world.
    He felt her flinch, and it took him a moment to realize that he’d been cut again. He stared down in horror as blood trickled down his chest. But he felt nothing.
    She wrapped herself completely around him, holding him, offering her warmth and caring and all the while he could smell her blood from the wound given to him.
    Never, never had he felt more helpless as he sat there being slowly carved up by a knife that he couldn’t even feel. He couldn’t even feel her pain. She was working hard to keep it all from him.
    Tears ran freely down his cheeks, not because of what was being done to him, but because she suffered in his stead. It was more than he could bear.
    His fingers dug into the ropes binding him and he clawed relentlessly, trying to break free so he could kill the sons of bitches who were causing Shea so much pain. He’d die before he allowed her to continue hurting.
    Just be still, Nathan, and maybe they’ll leave you alone. Don’t do anything to anger them. Please. It will all be over soon. It’s only temporary for me. You know this.
    As much as he wanted to rage, he willed himself to quell the hatred and fury that burned so hotly within him. For her, he would do it because it was she who was hurting. Not him. Not him, goddamn it.
    She was slick with blood and it threatened what little control he had left over his sanity.
    Get the hell away from me, Shea. I don’t want you here. This isn’t yours to take for me.
    It nearly broke him when she raised her hand to softly touch his cheek. A simple gesture of comfort. She was comforting him when she was taking the brunt of his torture.
    Please, Shea. Don’t do this. God, don’t do this. Not for me. I can take it. They won’t break me. I’m not giving up. I swear it. Just please go. Break off.
    She merely wrapped her arms around him and pressed her body close. He hugged her back as they both endured hell.
    His focus was so great on her that he hadn’t realized they’d stopped and his hands were free until they yanked him to his feet. His knees buckled and he went down, his palms hitting the floor. Again, he was hauled to his feet and forced back to the cell. He’d never been so grateful to go back to that dark hole.
    He collapsed into the corner, and he ran his hands down his body. They came away with blood, but he ignored his wounds. His concern was for Shea. Her presence was faint now, and he had to concentrate hard to bring her back into focus.
    She was huddled in a corner weeping softly. Blood smeared her body and her mind was filled with pain.
    His eyelids burned and his heart splintered. He gathered her gently into his arms and rocked back and forth.
    Why, Shea? Why?
    Despair was a never-ending cloak of black that furled over him until he was