...He was a massive, self-confident presence with an air of authority and the appearance of someone who expected instant obedience. Just the rugged line of his profile bespoke of a commanding manner. Cheyenne could feel the power coiled within him, threatening to strike out against anyone who refused his demands.

Suffocating heat emanated from his body, enveloping her in its overpowering strength. Every fiber of his being exuded pure masculinity, and she couldn't help but yield to his attraction. Embarrassment heated her cheeks.

Cheyenne wondered what he was thinking as he quietly studied her with a guarded scowl. Would he kill her? Imprison her? Or worse? Unable to withstand his penetrating gaze, she turned away and her lashes fluttered closed, veiling the windows of her soul to his probing stare.

"Who are ya?" His deep voice interrupted her scrambling thoughts. "How'd ya get here?"

Cheyenne's body jerked. Her head snapped forward and she stared at him through blurry eyes, fighting back tears that threatened to break free. Once again, he spoke in that strange dialect, and once again, she understood every word.

"I…I don't know," she stammered, confused by the bizarre sounds coming from her own throat as she attempted to speak his language. "I remember leaving work, heading home to my apartment." She frowned, trying to make sense of the vague images swirling in her mind. "The wind was blowing so hard…and the colors…I think I fell and hit my head," she explained. "I thought I had a concussion. But… when I woke up, I was here."

Cheyenne's gaze darted to the looming trees and then to the brush. Panic flared when she spotted the deadly sword lying on the ground by her head. She looked up at the man hovering above her and recognized an expression of disbelief.

"I swear I don't know where I am!" Distress sharpened her voice. "How can I explain how I got here?"

Overwhelmed by fear, tears streamed down her cheeks. "Please," she begged in English. "You must believe me."