Chapter Seventeen

Vivi settled into the bed she’d been shown to in what had been revealed wasn’t Dom’s house, but Evie’s, one of several around the world. Vivi didn’t get a number on how many she owned, yet she deduced Evie to be filthy rich. With little to spend her money on, she bought properties. She claimed she acquired this one fully furnished off a sorcerer, but there was a simmering implication she’d been paid to assassinate him.

Did it bother her that Evie was an assassin for hire? Not really.

She pulled the covers over herself.

Covers.

She hadn’t slept in a bed or on anything soft and clean-smelling in so long that the luxury made her edgy. Uncomfortable to the point her back ached in every position she tried, she tossed and fidgeted.

While she lay there in the dark, she sifted through the rubble of her memories and tried to figure out where she went from here. Over the span of dinner, the brothers and had Evie decided the best next step for everyone was to find out who sold out Ky to the humans. That person was involved in the lycan prisons and could tell them more—as in, had lycans been sold as super-soldiers or children being raised for training, or both?

Only now did it dawn on her that she’d neglected to clarify exactly who Ky and his brothers were cursed to serve. She deduced it was someone powerful. Maybe a government or spy organization. Someone who was okay with them using magic. She needed to ask more about his curse and why beings like them, who seemed reasonably well-versed in magic, couldn’t get free.

In her insane need to help Ky, maybe in a twisted way to make him like her—when had she become a girl who did things to get a guy to like her?—she’d volunteered at dinner to act as bait. The goal was to wait until someone triggered her into action. They’d have to push to make sure the person felt threatened enough to activate her. Egotistically, they assumed they could handle her, deal with her when and if this happened.

Did anyone ask once she’d been triggered and put under orders how they were going to undo it? Did they want to know how she felt about being activated?

No.

She’d asked twice how they planned to stop her. The way Roman didn’t want to talk about it likely meant it involved some serious side effects. Or it was dangerous enough they wouldn’t attempt it now. Side effects and risks didn’t matter. She didn’t want to have random triggers in her head so that a stranger could approach her, say a few words, and then she’d be a slave to do what the person ordered.

Hell, no. She was ready for the cure now.

But in the moment, she’d forgotten about her own needs. She’d wanted to be the bait. For Ky. Now, alone and introspective, she wondered why. He was about as emotionally unavailable as anyone she’d ever met. Sure, his body physically responded to her, but he was so strong mentally that he’d put his foot down and said no from moment they met.

He’d given her little hope that he desired her even a smidgen as much as she wanted him, outside of full-moon madness.

That made her want to work harder to get through the wall, which was all kinds of messed up.

Bottom line: this was just the same old thing happening to her all over again. Her whole life, she’d worked to be what someone else expected—someone’s daughter, someone’s sister—and then to be accepted as someone’s mate. All those external expectations had governed her life and shaped what she thought she should think and do. Now she was working to be a new someone else’s something.

Where had trying to be all that gotten her in the past? Orphaned. Unmated. Alone. And imprisoned.

Scarier still, she didn’t know who she was now that she was free. She tried to tell herself that wasn’t a bad thing. Better to be lost than imprisoned and forced to do someone else’s bidding.

However, the risk hovered that she could still be asked to do what someone else wanted. It’d always be there. She probably wouldn’t even know if someone triggered her to do something until after she did it. Would she fight the orders or even know she was doing whatever had been asked of her? She worried she wouldn’t even remember in the end.

She removed the top comforter and relocated to the floor, which was much more comfortable without the mattress or pillow. This was the humans’ fault. Wedged on the far side of the bed between the bedframe and wall felt safer. But still vulnerable.

Perhaps she could find some tea. Rest might happen easier afterward.

Tea.

The option to drink a cup and relax was now hers. The more she dwelled on the thought of tea, the more crucial it became as a symbol of her freedom.

She dumped the bedspread to wrap herself in a smaller flannel blanket. She’d shed the skintight workout clothes when she’d first gotten into bed and refused to wear them ever again—better naked than in the prison clothes. She’d ask Evie if she could borrow something in the morning. She wandered downstairs toward a place her gut told her would be a kitchen.

It wasn’t empty.

Ky stilled, whisk in one hand above a bowl. They stared at each other in shocked silence. A strange look passed over him as if he’d been caught doing something worthy of guilt.

She was suddenly covered in a thin layer of simmering tension that felt like a chessboard with her awaiting Ky’s opening move.

His hair was damp as if he’d recently bathed. And he’d shaved. The line of his jaw had become more pronounced with weight loss.

After clearing her throat, she asked, “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure.” He put down the whisk to gather supplies out of the refrigerator.

As she stood at the doorway, it dawned on her this was a bad idea. She was virtually naked beneath the blanket in panties only, and the object of her fantasies stood right there in a T-shirt that molded his shoulders. As he bent over at the refrigerator, his jeans outlined his tight ass to perfection.

“You can come in. I won’t bite.” Ky unloaded supplies onto the marble counter of the kitchen island. He tucked his hair behind an ear on each side.

When he turned, she lost herself in his eyes; not in a dreamy way, but in the mystery of them—of what lay beneath the blue-green that hid his thoughts. She cleared the hoarseness from her throat, which broke the spell he cast over her. “Tea. I’m on the hunt for a decent cup of tea.”

“I’ll find it for you. Sit.” He waved at the bar chairs tucked beneath the gray marble counter. “What kind of tea do you like?”

“Chamomile or lavender would be great. Definitely no green tea.”

He rummaged through a few cabinets, emerging with a teabag. “No clue what kind it is. Not labeled.” He sniffed. “Smells herbal.” After filling a kettle, he set it on the stove to boil.

“All tea smells herbal.” She bit back a giggle. “It’s fine. What are you cooking?”

He turned his back to her to stir a mixture on the stove. “Waffles.”

Roughly, she mouthed the word, “Waffles?”

“I remembered someone having a request. I’m cooking waffles that’ll make you orgasm with one bite. My plan had been to deliver them to your room in the morning, but now that you’re here…”

“Are you issuing a challenge? Orgasm with one bite?”

The left side of his mouth lifted the slightest bit. “It’s a promise.”

Her breathing hitched at the thought of anything involving an orgasm with him. “That’s not a good idea.”

“Waffles or orgasms?” He glanced over his shoulder, a dare in his eyes. “Are you afraid?”

“Maybe. No. I don’t know.”

“Where’s the girl who told me she’d choke me with my own dick if I got near her?” He cracked two eggs into the bowl.

Scared. That’s where she was. Terrified of waffles. Panicked that if he so much as touched her, she’d beg him to do anything and everything with her. Or if he didn’t touch her, she might throw herself at him, especially after orgasmic waffles. She imagined them right here on the counter or the floor or anywhere. Horror filled her at the thought that maybe she’d been ordered to seduce him. Could she trust what she felt were her own genuine feelings, or were they something someone else told her to do?

Be the badass. This is my life. Not the humans who imprisoned me. Not the asshole lycan who made me love him and then destroyed my family.

“Fine. But fair warning, I’m pretty much naked under the blanket. And I don’t like bananas.”

“No problem. Not a big fan of bananas with waffles, myself. How about strawberries?” He washed one and put it in his mouth, slowly biting into it as if it held liquid ambrosia. He groaned.

An answering wave of longing shot straight to her center. This wasn’t painful like when she’d been in heat, but the kind of sensation that signaled her body was preparing itself to seduce or be seduced.

“Want one? They’re off-season and a bit tart, but after weeks of drinking that swill…” He waved an unblemished fruit in the air.

She moistened her lips. “Sure.”

He washed it and handed it across the island.

Gripping it by the green stem, she put it in her mouth. The gritty outside teased her tongue. One bite and the explosion of sweet and slightly sour saturated her senses. She moaned out pleasure. “Incredible. I forgot the taste of fresh fruit.”

When he didn’t comment, she glanced toward him.

Egg dripped from the motionless whisk onto the counter. His pupils were so dilated that all blue-green color had almost disappeared. After several seconds, he released a shaky breath.

Her heart pounded in her ears. The blanket draped around her teased the tips of her breasts to the point it almost hurt. As if sensing the detour of her thoughts to her breasts, his interest dropped to them.

The kettle on the stove whistled, breaking the tension mounting between them. He poured hot water into a mug, draped the string of a teabag over the rim, and handed it to her.

“Waffles,” he said as if trying to refocus. As he mixed eggs again, he asked, “What’s bothering you?”

“What isn’t?” she muttered, but thought, You.

“Touché.” His lips twisted up in a rare, pure, partial smile, something she’d realized didn’t come often, but when it did, it was spectacular. “Really, though. What’s got you wandering through this place dressed in a flannel blanket?”

“Strawberries. Memory gaps. Inability to sleep in a bed. The fact I’m a trigger away from being a zombie soldier. Being used as bait. Pick your favorite.”

“Strawberries, huh? Were you stressed about fruit before you came down here or after?”

“Because talking strawberries and orgasms is so much easier—so much safer than discussing the fact I’m a giant freaking mental experiment?”

“They’re an aphrodisiac, you know.”

“Wouldn’t use of them to arouse me be cheating in your quest to rev me up to a point where I explode?”

“You want me.” He glanced up. “I don’t need strawberries to seduce you.”

“I never said I wanted you.”

“It’s okay to admit it. I wanted you from the moment you informed me you’d kill me if I crossed the room.”

“That was moon madness and hormones.”

“There are no out-of-control hormones now, other than standard full-moon madness. But we can handle that, can’t we?” His voice lowered an octave as he said at a whisper, “I want you just as much now as then. It has nothing to do with those things. You’re beautiful, smart, fierce, and you understand magic. You having a discussion with a painting tonight was an experience to watch, even though only you were involved in hearing it.”

Her lips thinned. “Are you making fun of me?”

“Dead serious, Vivi.” He met and held her gaze. No ounce of uncertainty or mirth in there. “Meeting a girl who gets my whacked world of magic is pure relief. If paintings or sculptures or light fixtures are talking to you, I’ll believe it. What if I told you I got attacked and possessed by an evil spirit for five days a few years ago?”

“How’d you survive five days and emerge okay? As in you came out still being yourself?”

“See, you didn’t question it or think me crazy. Am I the same person after possession? No. It messed up my head in many ways. It activated things that shouldn’t be turned on, like telekinesis. I can also understand concepts, theories—well, anything without much effort, whereas before, some of those things were way beyond my understanding. I could probably figure out how gravity and the quantum can coexist within the same theory, but it doesn’t interest me enough to do so. I prefer the mysteries of cooking. The challenge of perfecting pies. And aphrodisiacs.” He held a strawberry up and rotated it. “There are things I lost when it was in my head, though.”

“Like what?”

“I’m color-blind. Used to be able to see greens and reds, but I can’t now. I know the strawberry is red, since I remember its color, but now to me it’s more a blue.”

She sipped her tea and watched him prepare the waffles in silence.

“Why are you scared of sex?” she asked.

“Am I?” He pursed his lips and glanced upward. “Don’t recall ever saying that. Are you scared? Is it because you’re a virgin?”

“You think I’m projecting?” She chuckled. “I wasn’t raised like most lycan females. I wasn’t on lockdown and kept in the dark about the mysteries of sex, which personally I think is an idiotic way to raise our people. Have I had a lot of experience? No, but I never went into it scared. More…experimental.”

“I’ve had a lot of experience.” Maybe it was a trick of the light, but his eyes burned bright with passion. “I enjoy everything about it. The distinction is I can’t afford attachments. They’re too dangerous. You… You’d become an attachment. Because I already like you.” He lowered his head and scrubbed his hands down his face. “I’m sorry for coming on strong before. I wish the two of us… I want this but, damn it. What happened on the plane was unforgettable, but if we do anything now, I wouldn’t know if you were programmed by some human to seduce me or if you want this on your own. Any woman I’m with will be a willing and voluntary participant.”

She cocked her head to watch him. “You are scared. Triggered brain issue aside, you don’t think you can handle me.”

He poured batter into a waffle maker. “Let’s start with waffles and then see what both of us can handle.”

“Are you using magic to make those? Cheating isn’t allowed.”

“You’re saying magic isn’t allowed, O-She-Who-Won’t-Use-Her-Own-Magic-Yet-Talks-To-Paintings? I see it as all being on the table. Every last bit of it.” Waffle cooked, he dribbled on a strawberry compote, as he called it, and added a dollop of cream. He used a fork to scoop some of the concoction. “All it takes is one perfect bite.”

Ky scooted around the counter, plate in hand. He held out the forkful for her to try.

Impossible one bite could ever be that good.

He held out the fork. “Do you trust me, Vivi?”

She blinked.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered, “It’s just food. No magic. I swear I won’t touch you.”

“It’s not you I’m worried about. This isn’t a good idea.” Eyelids closed, her senses grew overwhelmed by the nearness of him, the smell of him freshly bathed. The smell of the fruity mixture on the waffle swirled in her nose.

“Mouth open,” he ordered.

She opened. The fork barely touched her tongue to deposit its bounty.

Sweet, salty…the heavenly taste of the vanilla.

Her body swayed as nerves lit up. Warmth powered through her. Her breath caught as the drive to be touched tingled everywhere, but not touched by just anyone. Only Ky.

“Chew,” he directed.

She chewed and swallowed. She shivered as pleasure tingled through her breasts. The tingling moving downward, teasing. But not enough.

She said hoarsely, “Now you’re in trouble.”