““Hazed by pleasure, Nix still had to know. This could be his last chance. “Nikolai,” he said thickly. “Tell me about Nikolai.” Roark’s hand drifted down over Nix’s pale torso. He eyed Nix wryly. “You have his persistence,” he allowed wryly. His eyes flickered on Nix’s hot face. Everything hidden behind them even as he spoke. “Very well. He was a genius. He was a … thug. He was night and day. He could be kindness itself to a stranger, and yet the next day would bathe in that stranger’s blood. And if you tear the shirt from Henley’s back, you will doubtless find Nikolai’s name carved there. Nikolai became mine, and I his, for five hundred years.” Roark’s striking face was smooth, expressionless. Enigmatic. “They were five hundred years of heaven. Five hundred years of hell. I can tell you no more. Not right now. Is that enough?””
