Chapter Four

Was this what it felt like to reach her breaking point? Her heart pounded with longing for him to touch her. Her will to stay on her side of the room waned.

She stared at his lips. Such a contrast to the stubble along his cheek, which was a tribute to the truth of his being new to this place. No way they’d let any of them close to a razor for a shave once incarcerated. A vision of him with a beard didn’t take away from his allure. His hair had turned into light-colored waves and curled at the ends.

A boom of thunder broke the spell and drew her attention to the storm still raging on the other side of the skylight. The moon was on its ascent. Moon madness’s push to get naked was strong. Hoarsely, she said, “You have to get out of here.”

“You’re right.” He rose and stretched his wide shoulders. In Gaelic, he said, “My head’s clear enough to try.”

“No, don’t!” she yelled out a moment too late.

He put one hand on the door and his neck collar detonated. With a strangled grunt, he tore at the collar and stumbled backward. Then the electrical voltage dropped him. His head whacked against the concrete bench on the way down.

“Ky!” She lunged toward him, but not in time to help. The sound of the cringeworthy head whack replayed over and over in her mind. Did he have a concussion? He could be dead.

Don’t be dead. I don’t want to be alone in here.

As she rolled him over, she winced at the blood that coated his face from where he’d bitten his lip, and there was a gash over his left eye. She cradled his upper body in her lap and pressed her hand against his forehead. “You with me?”

No answer.

The voltage alone was enough to stop him but shouldn’t have knocked him out.

He breathed but remained unconscious.

At least this solved their avoidance-of-sex problem. Maybe he’d stay out all night. She lifted a middle finger and flashed it at one of the cameras.

The minutes stretched out as she sat with his head as deadweight on her lap.

His bleeding had long since stopped. The rate of his super speed healing correlated with him being old or at least above sixty. Once the blood had stopped gushing, she could’ve moved away, but she liked holding him. She hadn’t been this close to another person when not threatened in a long time, apparently years.

She moved the long blond hair off his head and stroked it a few times like she used to do with her cat, Gary. She hoped Gary wandered out the cat door and found a new home, since she never came back. How she missed the grumpy overweight Siamese who did affection on his terms.

The soft strands of Ky’s hair tickled her fingers. As she lifted it, she exposed a small hoop earring in his right ear and a small tattoo of a solar cross just beneath. It wasn’t the only inked mark. She traced designs up his powerful right forearm to his shoulder. How she wished to see his other side but didn’t want to turn him over simply to appease her curiosity. These weren’t pictures simply for the sake of ink art, although each represented intricate work done by a master tattoo artist. They displayed all manner of protective symbols—a Celtic knot, a pattern of runes, a Hamsa hand with its intricate fire designs, and the most beautiful was a Norse Helm of Awe. The Helm of Awe spanned his entire shoulder with its complicated star-type design. Each point represented the expansive universe and all it offered from the good to the evil. Her father taught her the meaning of these sigils long ago.

Ky must have reason to need permanent protections. They could offer a spiritual defense against evil. Or…

She studied his opposite arm, unwilling to touch the blue band around his wrist. It radiated a foul, oppressive magic. Her hand hovered above it, but instinct warned her not to touch it. Maybe the inked designs protected against whatever kind of magic came from the wrist mark.

“I won’t let the humans hurt you,” she whispered in Gaelic. “Enough people have died because of me.”

He smelled odd. Like mop water mixed with the stinkiest human body spray imaginable. She highly doubted they’d allowed him to bathe before being dumped in here, but he’d been wet. Their captors must’ve doused him and spritzed him, thinking it’d make him more attractive to her. Beneath the horrid fake smell, her nose found the real him.

Oh my.

Her mind wobbled, dizzy. She reached out and took his hand to steady herself. His hand remained limp, but heavy, in her hold. It was solid. The feel of his rough, callused palm sent a surprising wave of calm through her.

The hard linoleum floor seeped coldness through the flimsy nylon pants after a while. Felt almost wet when it was only cold.

His thumb brushed along the top of her hand. She jerked, her heart racing. A flush of adrenaline tingled throughout her body.

“Get away from me,” he snarled. “I’m weak…can’t resist.” He tugged himself to a seated position, remaining on the floor, but upright enough to prop himself against the bench.

She crab-walked backward and rose to a shaky stand. At the sink, she washed the blood off her hands and arms and threw water on her face. He was a mess. She pulled some toilet paper off the roll, the only absorptive product in the cell other than their clothes, and dampened the cheap one-ply.

“Here.” She held it out to him. Her voice strangled in her throat. The blood on his forehead reminded Vivi of the last time she saw her sister. Nova had fought with every ounce of strength. Vivi, on the other hand, had been paralyzed by terror. If she’d fought harder, if she’d drawn their focus to her instead of Nova, her sister wouldn’t have been struck in the head. Vivi never got to know if her sister survived beyond that, since they’d been separated. To get out of this cell and find Nova, she had to survive.

She choked out, “Your face is covered in blood.”

She shook the dampened toilet paper in suggestion for him to take it.

He didn’t move.

Kneeling near him, she wiped at his face. The thin paper fell apart almost instantly and did little to clear the crusted blood. She ran to get more, and the same thing happened again. Tears clouded her vision as she ran for more a third time.

He caught her hands on their way to his face. “Stop. I’m okay. It’s just blood.”

Her chest hurt like something heavy was crushing it. She swallowed against nausea. When she tried to raise her hand to get his face clean, her hand trembled. Needed to make this right. She should’ve warned him. This was her fault.

“Look at me,” he ordered.

She wiped her stuffy, running nose.

He tilted her chin to force eye contact. “I’m going to be fine. It’s a scratch. I’ll heal.”

“It’s my fault. I should’ve warned you about the collar. I could’ve prevented this.”

“It’s over. You’re not at fault.” He touched her chin again, his forefinger cradling the side of her cheek. “I don’t know what they did to you in here, but I promise we’ll get out.” His perusal traveled across her face to her neck and down, his eyes dilating. He whispered hoarsely, “So goddamned beautiful. You should stay away from me. Or we’ll both end up naked.” He fisted her hair in his hand to angle her head back and lean in to press his nose against her neck. After a long inhale that was more erotic than a kiss, more reverent than any words, he said, “Your core would throb harder than this before I’d give it to you hard and deep. And then I’d do it again.” He released her.

She jumped to the other side of the room, her body at the edge of detonation.

…

In Gaelic he said, “We need to talk strategy on how to get out of here. I have a plan, but to talk about it, we need to make it look like we’re, uh, getting it on. That way, we can whisper, and they might not worry about what we’re saying.”

She blinked.

He held up his hands. “Swear on my honor this isn’t an ulterior motive. I may be thinking it, but I won’t act on it.”

“But you just almost lost it.”

“I’m better now.”

“Behave yourself,” she muttered. He was unsure if she meant it for him or herself. She scooted down the bench toward him and loudly in English said, “Maybe I should massage your shoulders. Might help the stiffness.”

“I’d like that.”

She moved in behind him and began gently kneading his shoulders. She leaned in next to his ear and whispered in Gaelic once more, “Get aggressive or try to take us there, and I’ll rip you to shreds.”

“Good. Keep that line of thinking,” he murmured even though her threat evoked images of ripping off clothes. Not helping.

Her hands were magic. The feel of them working his muscles through the thin fabric, her smelling so exquisite this close… Stay focused.

But he didn’t want to. He almost moaned when she touched his neck and moved up into the back of his scalp.

Somehow, he whispered, “How many cameras?”

“Three.”

“Do they monitor them all the time?”

“I think they do it remotely in the middle of the night. They might leave a skeletal team here right now, but there’s not much movement through the night outside the door.”

“I’ll get the door open without touching it this time. Is the collar triggered to go off if we pass through the door or touch it?”

“Touch only. But they can shock you remotely any time in here.”

“Can you turn the collar off with the magic?” He watched her closely.

“No.” She moved her hand back to work his neck muscles.

“Have you tried?”

When she didn’t reply, he craned around to see her.

She tugged her lip through her teeth. He swallowed a moan and tried to disregard all thoughts of soothing the abused skin with his tongue.

Hoarsely, he said, “I know about the mark. Suffice it to say I know a lot about magic, probably a lot more than you do. I have no issue with you or the magic. Your secret is safe with me. Have you tried deactivating the collar?”

She nodded.

“And you can’t do it?” he promoted.

She shook her head.

Elemental magic like hers was terrifying to most across the world, even himself. So basic and potent. He bet she could do something to the collar but maybe didn’t trust herself enough.

He said, “God gave you that gift for a reason. We’re stuck in here unless we both use everything we have in our arsenal.”

“What exactly is it that you have that’ll allow you to get that door open? If you have magic of your own, then why don’t you deactivate the collars? Might want to take care of the three cameras in here while you’re at it.”

“I already tried to take off the collar, but can’t.” He glanced up, less concerned about the cameras than actually escaping the room. He whispered, “The door locks are old-world mechanical, which is weird, but it’s an advantage.”

In Gaelic, she said, “Do you have magic?”

“It’s complicated.” In the aftermath of exorcism, when the evil spirit who’d tried to possess him had vacated his head, it’d opened up a new part of his brain to use.

“Turn around. Let me do your back now,” he ordered. She positioned herself between his legs and leaned forward to avoid touching him anywhere. He started by working his fingers along the muscles of her neck. She groaned as her entire body relaxed and leaned into him.

“That’s amazing,” she moaned as he moved up to her scalp. “Maybe we can pause the escape for a few more minutes.”

He worked her scalp and then moved down to her delicate shoulders. “Have you tried to use your magic in here? Does the drug affect it?”

“I don’t use it anymore.”

“Why? In here who the hell cares what the asinine Lycan Council thinks.”

“It’s complicated.” She threw his words back at him. “I trusted the wrong person and ended up here.”

This close, Vivi was stunning. This wasn’t about the beauty of her eyes, which were light in color—who knew if they were blue or green, since color-blindness sucked—or the curves of her body, but that she’d trusted him. He was good at reading people and figuring out puzzles. She wasn’t a killer at heart but had become one by instinct. From being in here. For a lot longer than she’d thought.

“Are you okay?” he asked. “This—the massage—isn’t too much? It’s not making things worse?”

She shook her head. “Don’t stop. Whatever you’re doing on my shoulders is good. The other things don’t hurt as much.”

He traced the delicate bones across her back, applying pressure over the muscles where she carried so much tension. She flinched when he found a knot. Gently, he worked it out. “Do you know where there’d be a computer with access to the records I need?”

“No. I haven’t been out of this room since I was moved here, at least I don’t remember being out of it.” She glanced over her shoulder, eyes flashing vulnerability. “I want to find my sister but also to find out what they did to me. How’d they make me forget years?”

“Makes the most sense to escape in the middle of the night when there are likely the fewest on duty.”

He traced the indentation at the back of her neck and worked his hand into her hair against her scalp. Her hair was so soft. The fact it wasn’t matted meant she had bathed. There wasn’t a shower in here. “Do you bathe somewhere outside this room?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Your hair is clean.” He lifted it to smell. “Still smells fresh, which means you washed it within the past few days. Do you remember that?”

She grabbed her head and leaned farther forward. “I hate not remembering.”

He fisted his hands and pulled them off her to grit out, “Get back to your side of the room. Please. I can handle you pissy or angry or even borderline friendly, but this is too much. I want to make it better, but if I touch you…comfort you…” He hands began moving as if to touch her of their own volition. If he made contact, he was a goner. He rasped out weakly, “Go.”

“Got it.” She slid back to her side on the bench, far away from him.

Locks unclicking. Someone was coming into the cell.

Now?

They almost did what the humans wanted. Why would they stop them now?

Ky whispered, “I don’t want you to go yet.”

“If I had a choice, I’d stay.”

Her body jerked as she fell to the floor, tremoring.

“Stop,” he shouted. “Please. Just stop.” He gathered her shaking body to him, frantic. The collar hit him with an astounding amount of electricity.