Heloise stilled.
“Me?” she whispered.
The air between them thickened. The look in his eyes stirred something primitive within her, like the warmth of flames or the need for food and shelter. He threw aside his stone, crossed to her in two strides, and gripped her shoulders so tightly she could almost feel the bruises forming on her skin. Heloise lifted her face, anticipating his kiss, craving it.
A cry of alarm and gunfire echoed from outside. Raven released her with a curse and sprinted toward the cave mouth. Heloise grabbed the lantern and followed him, stumbling in her haste. Two more shots rang out, their sound a monstrous echo that filled the cave, as Raven fired his own pistols.
She ran straight into a nightmare.
There was no sign of Mullaney, but Canning lay facedown in the dirt next to the bodies of two men she didn’t recognize. Raven must have shot them. Three more strangers, each armed with a knife, surrounded Raven, who threw down his spent pistols and drew his own blade as he advanced.
“Stay back,” he shouted to her.
One of the men lunged. Raven leaped back as the man slashed, then parried the knife and caught his attacker around the neck. He kicked out a leg and knocked over the second man. While he fell backward onto the ground, Raven put his hands around his captive’s head and gave a quick twist. There was a sickening crack. The man’s shoulders and torso contorted, and his limbs fell limp.
Raven dropped the body to the ground just as the third man leaped forward. The man swung and Raven hissed as the knife caught him across the ribs. He grabbed his assailant’s arm, pushed the blade aside, and punched him twice in the face, breaking his nose. Blood sprayed onto the dusty floor and the man howled in pain, but he didn’t go down. He swung wildly and managed to catch Raven on the jaw.
Heloise pressed herself against the uneven rock at the mouth of the cave, her breathing harsh and uneven. Bile rose in her throat.
The man who’d been kicked to the ground heaved himself up with a groan. Ignoring the fight between Raven and his friend, he advanced on Heloise, an ugly look of determination on his face. She shrank back against the wall, then realized she still held the lantern. As the man came closer she swung her arm with all her might and caught him across the shoulder.
He batted her arm aside with a roar and grabbed her hair, twirling her around to imprison her from behind. His scrawny forearm tightened across her neck and Heloise froze in terror as she felt the cold sting of a blade at her throat. His other arm caught her around the waist and he started to drag her backward into the cave. Heloise clawed his arm, but desperation had lent him a demonic strength. She cringed away from the overpowering stench of him, rank with sweat and dust. His hand cupped over her breast and he squeezed, hard. He panted something in her ear, and while she didn’t understand the words, his meaning was terrifyingly clear. He inhaled deeply, drawing her scent into his lungs, then sniffed her hair.
Heloise cried out in disgust and renewed her struggles. She threw a desperate glance at Raven and saw him deliver a brutal punch that sent his opponent sagging to the ground, unconscious. Chest heaving, he turned and advanced with the predatory grace of a stalking panther.
“Don’t come any closer or I’ll kill her,” her captor shouted.
Raven’s eyes flashed.
The man holding her must have read their murderous intent. “I mean it. Stay back.”
He pressed his knife harder into her neck. Heloise whimpered as it pricked a sharp slice into her skin and a hot trickle of blood slid down the side of her throat.
Raven tilted his head, as if pondering the many ways to end the man’s life. His relaxed smile was chilling. “Let her go and I’ll kill you quickly.”
His voice was low and mesmerizing, a total contrast to the other man’s panicked squeak. Her captor backed away, dragging Heloise with him, using her as a human shield. “I don’t think you’re in any position to make demands. Put down your weapon.”
“All right.” Raven made a show of straightening his fingers away from the knife hilt. He bent and placed it slowly on the floor. “Now what do you suggest?”
“Kick it away. That’s better. Now, I’m—”
Raven’s arm moved so quickly it was a blur. Heloise saw him move at the same instant the arms restraining her went limp and the man’s body dropped away. A thud and a hideous gargling noise sounded behind her. Confused, she started to turn, even as Raven shouted, “Don’t—!”
She glanced down. Her captor was on the ground, a knife protruding from the front of his throat. He clutched at it feebly, his eyes wide with shock. His heels dug tracks in the stony gravel as he writhed and then stilled.
Horror crawled like maggots under her skin. That was Raven’s knife. He’d thrown it right past her head. She backed away. A wave of nausea threatened and she pressed her hand to her mouth. A buzzing sounded in her ears.
A muffled whimper made her turn. The soldier Raven had punched had regained consciousness and was trying to crawl away back to the horses, dragging his injured body over the rocky ground. Heloise turned her head and found Raven watching her with an expression that was impossible to define; dark and helpless and furious all in one.
“I told you not to look,” he said.
There was no inflection in his voice. He shot her a last hard look, as if to satisfy himself she wasn’t going to faint, picked up his discarded knife, and strode over to the retreating survivor.
Heloise murmured a protest as he grabbed the man’s shirt and threw him over onto his back. The man cried out and raised his hands to protect his face but Raven dodged them easily and slapped him across the face with an open palm.
Heloise let out a moan at his brutality. “Don’t—”
He ignored her, bent down to place his face in the whimpering man’s line of vision. “Why are you here. Who sent you?”
The very quietness of his voice acted as a warning. Raven rarely raised his voice; a whisper was far more effective than a shout. The man was trying to scuttle backward like a crab, but Raven kept hold of his shirt.
“No one! We were just going to steal the horses, that’s all. I swear.”
Another slap. “I don’t believe you. Who sent you?” Raven raised his hand again but did not strike.
It was threat enough. Blabbering now, the man spat blood and wiped his mouth with a shaking hand. “I don’t—nobody sent me.” He glanced in horror at his two dead comrades and started to sob. “Let me go. I just want to go home. Please. Just let me go home.”
Raven nodded, as if the information were confirmation of what he already knew. He transferred the knife to his right hand.
“No!” Heloise cried.
He looked over at her and his eyes were cold. He bent over the man, ready to kill.
“No!” she repeated. She kept her eyes on him, knew they must be wide with horror and fear. “Don’t kill him.”
“Why not?” The cool, inhuman look on his face was terrifying and Heloise took a step back from the casual savagery she read there. He seemed a stranger, suddenly remote, with infinity between them; a distance so vast it could never be breached.
“Let him go.” She heard the quaver of panic in her own voice but didn’t dare look away.
Raven’s knuckles whitened on the man’s shirt. He shook his head. “He would have killed you. Raped you.”
“He’s a victim, too.” She took a tentative step toward him, maintaining eye contact, certain that if she broke the connection, the man would die. “Desperate men do desperate things. You of all people should understand that.” She kept her voice low, reasonable. “Let him go. You don’t need another murder on your conscience. Have mercy.”
Raven shot the man a disgusted, uncomprehending glance, like a wolf being ordered to spare the lamb. “He would have killed you,” he repeated. “How can you have any compassion for such a piece of human filth?” He made clemency sound like the worst kind of insult. A defect. A weakness.
“Please,” she whispered. “For me.”
He stilled. And then all the tension leeched out of him. He gave the man a disgusted shake and dropped him back into the dirt. The man moaned in wordless relief, then shrank back as Raven leaned in close.
“You will not touch her. Not so long as I draw breath. If I see you again, I will kill you.”
The man whimpered in agreement.
Heloise almost sagged in relief as Raven sheathed his dagger and stepped back, but then his fist whipped round and he punched the man clean across the jaw, causing him to slump senseless onto the ground. She shot Raven a look of reproach, of condemnation.
He returned it with his own, mocking, insolent. “Stop looking at me like that. He’s not dead, is he?”
Her breath caught on a shuddery sob as she pressed shaking fingers to her lips. “You were going to kill him.”
“Yes.” He looked at her as if she were an idiot. “He hurt you. And if I have to choose between you or him, it’s simple. I choose you.”
The words hung in the air between them like a dark promise, a vow. He sent her an immeasurable look; both savage and beautiful at once. Heloise’s stomach lurched. He was a terrifying sight, his fists red with blood, his lip split, his hair dirty and disheveled. Her heart gave an uncomfortable jolt as he strode toward her, stopping a foot away.
His eyes narrowed. “For God’s sake, cover yourself.”
She glanced down and realized that the front of her bodice had been torn. Her left breast was almost completely exposed to his view. She clutched the sagging cloth to her chest as a hot wave of shame and outrage scorched her skin. He raised his hand and she flinched. A bitter smile twisted his lips at her unguarded reaction. He reached out again, slower this time, his expression silently challenging her to stay still. He steadied her jaw and brushed the pad of his thumb over her lips, the silent gentleness at odds with the fierce expression on his face.
Her lower lip tingled as he rolled it down and brushed the slick inner lining. The tension that had started inside the cave sprang to life again. Total prickling awareness. It arced and fizzled in the air, so tangible she half expected to see it.
Her breath caught in her throat. A bright red smear of blood streaked his thumb. She watched, spellbound, as he brought it up and licked it clean, exactly as he had done with the rose-flavored sweet. She stilled, both repulsed and inexplicably aroused by such a primitive gesture. Her blood in his mouth. She felt faint.
“Are you afraid now, Hellcat?” He leaned in, and his huge shoulders blocked out the sun. “Because you should be.”
She swallowed painfully and nodded.
“Good.”