Jocelynn stared in horror at the slender, curved blade sitting on the table before her eyes flicked to the face of the crimson-haired Inquisitor. But when she looked at his face, what she saw made her stomach turn, clenching violently even though it was empty. A surge of hot bile filled her mouth, and only an extraordinary act of will, or desperation to cling to what little dignity she had left, allowed her to swallow it back down.
There was something very, very wrong with the way Percivus looked at her and at the knife on his table. There was no lust in his gaze, as if he were a eunuch who was incapable of being tempted by thoughts of seeing a beautiful woman's bare skin, but there was a desire and a hunger that lurked behind those hard, hazel eyes, combined with a callous indifference that seemed at odds with his hunger.
