Chapter Three

At Brigid’s high-pitched yelp, and the simultaneous thud Micah smirked. He lowered his hand and set his electric razor on the sinktop, inhaling deeply to stop a sudden rush of laughter that would only fuel her fire more. Priceless. She was so damned predictable. He’d known that the minute he left her alone with the scroll she couldn’t pretend indifference.

And he’d also known that she’d never think to look in her own Celt tongue to see the ward.

Unable to resist, he opened the bathroom door and poked his upper body out. She lay on the floor, staring straight at the ceiling, muttering curses he was certain were meant for him. But damned if in that moment, she wasn’t the most breathtaking woman he’d ever seen. Her long fire-red hair spread out on the rug, haloing her uniquely tattooed forehead in a rich blend of red, orange, and pale yellow. Delicate feet poked from her lightweight white pants, revealing trim ankles and defined bones that the ancient tattoos there accentuated.

Long, lean legs drew his attention up her body, across her flat waist, over breasts that would fit perfectly into his palm, to amber eyes that glowered with fury.

His smirk broke free again, and he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest…totally unprepared for the way those angry eyes turned bright with appreciation and canvassed his torso.

He cleared his throat as he edged back into the bathroom before Brigid’s wandering gaze could land on the sure evidence of the effect she had on him. Behind his fly, his cock stood at full attention. A man could only ignore so many things. The way Brigid McLaine could eat one alive, wasn’t one of them.

With his lower body safely hidden, he tugged at the open fly of his jeans to create some much needed room. Sweet heaven above, she could make a statue fall at her feet.

When those startling eyes landed back on his face, he cleared his throat. Time to grab control over this situation before she completely rendered him senseless. He’d put that ward there for a reason. One she’d just driven home—she couldn’t resist the scroll. Half of her wanted it, no matter how she might protest.

He held her stare, issuing a challenge he knew she couldn’t miss. “Think about it, Brigid. You choose to be afraid of Drandar.”

Before she could recognize he’d dropped his personal wards and could do him bodily harm, he shut the door and locked himself in. He would pay for that remark. Maybe not tonight, maybe not this week. But one way or the other, he would pay.

Right now, he needed to get his mind off the temptress Brigid and on his date. But after the rounds he’d gone with his demoness, that feat was like asking him to play dead. His body ached for the satisfaction she promised with the sway of her hips, the smooth invitation in her voice. Hell, he was so damned hard a cold shower wouldn’t do much good, let alone the steam rising from the water now.

Micah stepped beneath the spray and allowed the water to rain over his head and shoulders. His brain had backfired somewhere. Attracted to a demon? Good lord. He’d rather walk through hell alone than get tangled up in that mess. At least amidst those eternal flames he’d have better luck of getting out alive.

If he let Brigid in the way he wanted to, he ran the very real risk of losing his soul. If not his life.

****

You choose to be afraid.

Still seated on the floor, Brigid squeezed her eyes shut against the drone of Micah’s voice. How dare he? She didn’t have a choice. She knew all too well what Drandar was capable of. She had witnessed half his atrocities, unlike her righteous prison guard.

Micah hadn’t been there when Brigid, Belen, and Cian followed after their mother the night she fled the hideaway she’d created for her three children, promising to return before the sun rose with their newest sibling. Micah hadn’t seen the way Drandar nearly pulled the babe from her womb and held it to the light of the moon, bathing in the blood that ran down his forearms.

Micah hadn’t witnessed how Drandar ignored her mother’s pleas and took the child to the altar, where he sliced it open from sternum to pelvis while its screams filled the night.

He hadn’t been forced to run from Drandar, hadn’t watched the destruction of an entire tribe of people, innocent lives whose only fault was that they finally came to see him as the scourge he was.

An entire tribe, laid to waste.

Brigid twisted her head against the cacophony of noise that erupted in her head. Visions of the night Eleasaid stood against Drandar, the night Nyamah died for her people, for her children, flashed through her mind. Blood. There had been so much blood. So many terrified screams.

A gasp broke through her tight throat, and she clamped a fist to her teeth to stifle a budding sob. How dare Micah accuse her of choosing.

Either she followed the dark calling of her blood and her sire’s expectations, or she subjected herself to immortal torture. Drandar might not be able to kill her unless she offered her life, but he would make sure she never knew peace.

“Screw you, and your date,” she muttered at the closed door as the water stopped running.

He didn’t have the first idea what it was like to be one of Drandar’s damned. She wasn’t afraid—it was merely self preservation.

As she picked herself up off the floor and dusted off her pants, the bathroom door swung open. Micah stepped out, dressed only in his jeans. His bare chest glistened with droplets of water that trickled over the taut curves of muscle. A tiny line of dark hair between his pectorals lay flat against bronzed skin.

Her stomach fluttered. Her lungs cinched more closely together.

He walked directly in front of her on his path to his bedroom, and the scent of shampoo, aftershave, and soap nearly knocked her to her knees. She grabbed at the tabletop to keep from wobbling. Ancestors above, how she yearned to touch, to smooth her palms down those cords of muscle and revel in the feel of his warm skin. Press her nose to his chest and breathe in deep.

A groan tumbled around in her hollowed-out belly, and she gripped the table more tightly. No way could she let him know he affected her this strongly. If she wanted to get out of this mess and return to freedom, she must maintain the upper hand. Let him think she was indifferent to him, that this was all a game.

She summoned a false smile as he walked by and allowed her gaze to drift appreciatively down his body. Though ignoring the obvious state of arousal behind his half-open fly was like asking her to denounce Drandar, somehow she managed to pretend indifference.

The flash of hot desire in Micah’s eyes, however, threatened to send her off the edge of sanity. He wanted her. She wanted him. Why the hell wouldn’t he just give in?

And oh, what she’d give right now to touch him.

She curled her fingertips into her palm to temper the fierce urge. “Have fun on your date.”

Micah cocked his head, one eyebrow arched. “Do I hear jealousy?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Brigid scoffed. “Don’t think so highly of yourself. There are still some of us women who don’t give a damn about bare chests and tight thighs. She must not be one of them.”

Who was she anyway? When had Micah found time to meet her?

Anger rumbled in the back of her throat. While she was cooped up here in these rooms, unable to even open a window, Micah was out flirting. Enjoying himself in ways she could only dream of.

To her horror, Micah ran a solitary finger down the length of one folded arm. He leaned in close, taunting her with his intoxicating scent, and let his lips flutter a millimeter away from her shoulder. His breath washed over her skin. Hot, moist, and enticing.

“As a rule, green looks fabulous on you. Tonight, it washes you out.”

Sheer outrage had her wanting to grab him by the hair and throw him across the room. If it weren’t for the pulse of the ward surrounding him, she would have. With no other outlet to exercise her rising fury, she spun away, stalked to her bedroom, and slammed the door.

He could go straight to hell. In fact, she’d be more than happy to escort him there.