Excerpt from Torn by Kate Hill Available from Ellora's Cave. Honey Wine hated him. Not that she particularly liked any of the creatures she cared for. She was just a keeper in a zoo of wild, looming beasts, forced by her own master to stitch their wounds, set their broken bones, and watch the weak ones die in misery. Liking any of them would be too painful, akin to befriending a pig or a chicken, all the while knowing they were only meant for slaughter. She felt little or nothing for most of them, but she hated him from the first. He didn't look like the others. His hair, a mass of dark waves, hung just below his ears. No ragged, filthy beard marred his smooth face, only bruises and fresh blood covered his oval chin and high cheekbones. Shrewd eyes, the same blue-gray as a northern ocean, stared at her from beneath dark, heavy brows. His nose was straight, well shaped. Most likely he won't have that long, once he goes to the Entertainment, Honey Wine thought as she washed her hands in a basin of water. As if reading her mind, he smiled slightly, the almost imperceptible motion causing a fresh trickle of blood to moisten the dried, sanguine crust on his lower lip and chin. Rather than helpless, his smile appeared arrogant. Like all the new ones, he'd been stripped naked, his wrists and ankles shackled together, making long strides impossible. She knew by the length of his lean, muscled legs that such a restriction must annoy him, and she nearly smiled at the thought. He hadn't even spoken to her, but she despised the lack of fear in his eyes. She loathed his cool expression and the haughty carriage he managed even when bound like a naked monkey between four guards prodding him with the handles of their leather whips. They dragged so hard on his iron manacles that blood stained his hands and feet. "Get in there, beast." Bron, the head guard, scowled, shoving the prisoner into the small holding cell. The captive's large, long-fingered hands braced flat against the wall to keep his face from sustaining further damage. Bron glanced at Honey Wine through his gridded metal helmet and said, "The Mistress wants this one examined so we can prepare him for the Entertainment." She grasped her wooden box of supplies and moved toward the cell. "Step back, you bunch of stinking dogs. I need space." Bron's eyes bulged with fury, and his hand tightened on the whip, but he knew better than to challenge Honey Wine. She was not merely a slave healer, but had been one of the guards. The Mistress was also her sister, though the spiteful monarch had banished Honey Wine to this hellish prison. "Don't give me that mangy look." Honey Wine curled her lip at him. "I used to be your superior, remember?" Bron cursed under his breath and turned away with his men, except for one. Timus, the youngest of the guards, a burly man Honey Wine had known since childhood, leaned close to her and whispered, "Be careful of that one. It took eight guards to bring him down, and six of them are still being tended by healers as we speak." She nodded, and Timus unlocked the cell to let her inside. The prisoner turned and watched her curiously. She avoided his penetrating eyes as she looked over his body. He was tall but too thin for her taste. Though his neck was strong and his shoulders broad, every bone and muscle stood out on his sinewy body, like a fanatical monk who never ate quite enough. Perhaps he was. No, he has the power and grace of a predator, and the guards would never have chosen a man who could provide little entertainment. Also, Timus had just said the beast had given eight armed guards trouble. She stepped closer, feeling the heat of the chase emanate from his body. His skin gleamed with sweat, and rivulets of blood from a number of shallow wounds streaking his chest, arms, and legs. His cock dangled thick yet flaccid. She swallowed her disgust. "Sit," she stated. He stared at her, the strong ridge of his brow shadowing his sapphire eyes, making him look almost primitive. She repressed a shudder. "Animals. Where do the guards find such animals?"

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