The sun had risen well above the horizon by the time Nazerel reached the exchange point. Not much of a destination really, just an emergency pull-over lane on the side of the highway. Phil Mortsen had already arrived and the compact SUV in which he sat looked perfect for what Nazerel had in mind.
“Why’d we stop?”
He unfastened his seat belt and looked at Morgan. She’d been asleep for over an hour and still sounded groggy. Exhaustion and boredom were a potent combination. “Stay down and keep quiet. If you obey, for once, I’ll allow you to sit up after the exchange.”
She looked as if she’d argue then released a loud sigh and returned her head to the seat of their borrowed car. Though she was no longer bound to the seat, her arms and legs were restrained, so she shouldn’t be able to cause too much trouble. With lingering reluctance, Nazerel left her alone in the car and went to speak with Phil.
Phil swung his door open and unfolded his tall, thin body from inside the SUV. With medium brown hair and common brown eyes, Phil went out of his way to appear ordinary, forgettable, and mistakably human. The Bilarrian trader had been recommended to Nazerel by a trusted friend before he left Ontariese. Phil was known for locating the unusual, arranging the impossible, and the exorbitant prices he charged for his miracles. All of that had been well and good, but what convinced Nazerel to contact Phil had been his reputation for keeping secrets.
Sevrin had been careless in many ways because of her belief that he was utterly dependent upon her. Such had never been the case. Nazerel had carefully crafted plan B long before he accepted her invitation to join her on Earth. He had hoped Sevrin would live up to her promises, had proceeded as if he believed every word she told him, but in secret he nurtured a few strategic contacts and Phil was one of them. It hadn’t taken long for Nazerel to realize the precautions had been wise. Sevrin was a lying, self-serving bitch who wanted to exploit the unique physiology of Shadow Assassins.
“Greetings First Son of South,” Phil said with a friendly smile.
“I’m Nazerel Southmor now and we’re beyond such formality.” They shook hands and Nazerel returned his smile.
“The provisions you ordered are packed in the vehicle and your special order is in here.” He held out his hand, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers by the handles.
Nazerel accepted the bag and quickly looked through its contents. He took out the mist dispenser and asked, “How long will the sedative last?”
“Depends on the size of the person.”
“Athletic human female.”
“Around eight hours.”
Something behind Nazerel caught Phil’s attention, so Nazerel turned around to see what had distracted him. Morgan’s shiny red hair was clearly visible between the two front seats. She had one shoulder braced against the back of the seat as she looked around. He better make this quick. His feisty prisoner was getting restless.
He turned back to Phil, continuing on as if neither of them had seen anything unusual. “Eight hours?” Phil nodded. That should give him plenty of time to reach his destination and set up camp before Morgan became a problem again. “And there are no side effects?”
“It’s harmless and effective. We’ve used it on Bilarri for decades.” He motioned toward the bag. “I loaded one of the sedative cartridges for you, but there are several other varieties included as well, analgesic, antibiotic, antitoxin.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how long you planned to be tromping around in the woods.”
“Not long enough to need any of that, but I appreciate the thought.”
“All right then. Obviously your transfer of funds was successful or I wouldn’t be here.”
The sizable fortune Nazerel had brought with him from Ontariese was another advantage of which Sevrin was unaware. He had guarded every word and expression to make sure no one realized he could sever their arrangement at any moment and just walk away. Not even his men knew. He hadn’t been willing to risk Sevrin finding out about his deception. It would have been utter folly to follow her to a strange planet without any means of providing for his needs and the needs of his men.
“Disposal of the car was included,” Phil told him. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Everything seems to be in order for now, but how are plans for off-world transportation going?”
“Things were much easier when you could open a portal yourself. Any hope that you’ll free yourself from the collar before you’re ready to depart?”
“It’s my top priority, but you better make arrangements for either situation.”
“Of course. It’s more complicated without your abilities, but I’ve arranged this sort of thing before. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Do you have a final head count yet?”
“I don’t. Is that important?”
“Not really. Smugglers prefer smaller groups, but I can accomplish most anything.”
Nazerel smiled. “I noticed.”
“I’ll contact you when everything is in place.”
“Wonderful and I appreciate the fast delivery on this. I look forward to doing business with you again.” Nazerel motioned toward the car. “Give me a minute to move my belongings.”
Phil flashed a conspirator’s smile. “Would you like me to assist you with that?”
“No need.”
Nazerel slipped his arm through the handles on the bag as he returned to the car. He opened the door by Morgan’s head. She looked up at him and he pressed the button on the top of the mister. She gasped as the cloud of mist hit her face, which was the intention of the design. Her eyes blinked and she sputtered, but the drug became more effective with each indignant breath.
Scooping her up in his arms like a child, Nazerel pulled her from the car and walked to the passenger side of the SUV. Phil had opened the door for him but then quickly turned away. His customers expected discretion and Phil never failed to provide. Nazerel set Morgan down on the seat then straightened. “We’re good. You don’t need to stick around.”
Phil needed no other prompting. “Until next time.” He climbed into the stolen car and drove away.
Anxious to resume his voyage, Nazerel freed Morgan’s wrists and drew her hands in front of her. It was unlikely she’d regain consciousness, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He took out the velvet-lined cuffs and couldn’t help but smile. These would be much easier on her skin than the plastic strips, but she would likely find them even more provoking. He enjoyed annoying her. Her soft ivory skin flushed and her sky-blue eyes gleamed when she was angry. It made him hunger for the feel of her arching beneath him, rubbing her soft curves against his chest.
But such distractions needed to wait until they were in a safer location. He buckled the cuffs around her wrists then secured the buckles with a tiny padlock. A small length of chain connected the cuffs and it could be fastened with a matching padlock. Instead of bothering with the third lock, he wove the seat belt through her arms further restricting her movements. Last he located the lever for the seat back and adjusted the angle until she rested more comfortably.
With his passenger once again secured, he moved to the driver’s side and climbed in behind the wheel. He took his phone out of his pocket and launched the security program for the Team South house. He’d already checked the camera feeds twice, but he couldn’t stop hoping the images would change. Room after room scrolled across his screen, each one the same. Overturned furniture and blast marks on walls, but each room was empty. The only thing that gave him hope was the complete lack of blood. It was unlikely anyone had died in the battle, but were his men fugitives, scattered to the wind, or prisoners of the Mystic Militia?
He could do nothing to assist his men if he was caught. So escape must be his top priority. Freeing himself from the suppression collar was equally important, like it or not, that was where his prisoner became useful.
With a six-hour drive ahead of him, there was no reason to delay. He sighed at the thought. How did humans tolerate the excruciating pace of automobile travel? He plugged his phone into the power adapter and then connected it to the radio. Flynn had introduced him to a genre of music called Grunge. Nazerel found many things about humans strange, but he was fascinated by their music. Something about the distorted guitars and angst-filled voices struck a common chord within his soul. He found his longest playlist and set it on shuffle. Hopefully that would help fill the empty hours.
Morgan woke up slowly, drifting back to consciousness as if she were trudging through mud. She was no longer moving. In fact she was flat on her back on something relatively soft. Her legs were no longer bent and her arms were extended above her head. There was no way she was still in a car.
She tried to move her arms, but her body felt weighted, sluggish. Or she was bound! Her eyes flew open and fear cleared her mind. She tugged against whatever was holding her hands. The bite of the zip tie was gone, but the new bindings held her firmly. She twisted her head, hoping to unravel the mystery. Her hair had come loose from its neat bun and now spread across her arms, covering her hands. She drew up her knees, thrilled to discover her legs weren’t tied down. But the next revelation was even more upsetting. She wore only her bra and panties. The bastard had even removed her boots and socks. Was he simply trying to discourage her from running away or had his motives been more licentious?
Refusing to panic, she looked around. She was in a mid-size camping tent and her bed was several unzipped sleeping bags. There was a cooler near the entrance and two large crates loaded with supplies. Where the hell was she? Her throat tightened and her mouth dried up as her heartbeat echoed in her ears. It looked as if he intended to keep her here for quite some time, but where was here?
She closed her eyes and held perfectly still, forcing on audible clues. The buzzing of insects reached her first then the distant call of a bird. There were no city sounds, no engines or car horns. They were definitely secluded, but she couldn’t tell more without seeing outside.
The tent smelled a bit stale and she detected something else as well. Smoke, faint and pleasant, like the telltale scent of a campfire. How long had she been out? More importantly, was Nazerel arrogant enough to use a public campground? She opened her eyes and turned her head toward the zippered opening that served as a door. There was one easy way to find out.
She took a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could. When no one immediately responded she screamed again.
Mocking her with each lazy movement, Nazerel made his way inside the tent. He even took time to lower the zipper before he turned to face her again. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.”
The smug bastard looked amused not concerned. “Where the hell are we and why am I still tied up?” Not to mention nearly naked!
“Our location isn’t important—though screaming is obviously a waste of breath—and you’re still bound because you defy me at every turn.”
“I’m your prisoner. Of course, I defy you. Humans don’t do well in captivity.”
He actually smiled. The jerk. “I think with the right master you’ll do just fine in captivity.”
She gasped at his boast, which was probably what he wanted. “You’re not my master. You’re not my anything.”
“Perhaps not, but you’re my prisoner until I see fit to release you.”
It was a little hard to argue with that while she was flat on her back and tied up to boot. She couldn’t hope to best him in a physical confrontation, she had to think, strategize. “I need some water.”
His head tilted and his brow arched. “Ask me nicely.”
Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. Defying him now only punished herself, but she was seriously tempted. “May I please have some water?”
Sauntering over to the plastic crates, he rummaged around for a moment and found a bottle of water. He twisted off the top and took a leisurely drink before approaching the makeshift bed. “If you kick me, I’ll restrain your legs. If you spit on me at any time for any reason, you forfeit the rest of your clothes.” He bent to one knee beside her and slipped his arm under her shoulders. Lifting her slightly, he brought the bottle to her lips and let her drink her fill.
The time for anger was past. She couldn’t escape him as long as she was bound and virtually naked. Despite her very real need to “defy him at every turn”, it was more important to earn his trust and find, or create, an opportunity to get the hell away from him. “So what will it take for you to ‘see fit to release’ me?”
He just stared at her for a moment, his arm warm and solid against her back. “I told you what I wanted before we left.” After lowering her to the bedding, he stood and returned the half-empty bottle to the crate. “Your freedom for mine.”
She shook her head despite her pounding heart. “They will never—”
“Cut the bullshit, Morgan.” His expression turned fierce as he faced her. “You’re director of the taskforce, which means you own this collar.” She felt her eyes widen and quickly relaxed her lids. “Yes, I know how it works. Anyone can close the collar, but only the owner can open it. There is no ‘they’ involved in this negotiation. It’s between you and me. Release me from the collar and I’ll release you from my tender care.”
She’d known Nazerel was smart, but she hadn’t expected him to put the pieces together this quickly. “Lor owns the collar and he will never release you.” The statement was true. Bilarrian scientists had provided her team with the coding needed to establish co-ownership. Lor was the collar’s owner, but then so was she.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I don’t care what you think. How did you find out about the taskforce? My contact said Sevrin didn’t know.”
One of his brows arched and she didn’t think he’d answer, then he said, “I stopped depending on Sevrin for reliable intel shortly after we arrived on Earth. Who’s your contact?”
“It doesn’t matter and you can browbeat me all night. I can’t unlock the collar.”
“There’s another option.”
Thank God. She did not want Nazerel focused on her personally. “I’m listening.”
His gaze moved over her body with insolent interest as he stalked toward her. “My power spikes whenever I’m feeling strong emotions, like anger.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Or lust.” He knelt beside the sleeping bags and placed his hand on her belly. He just let it rest there, a warm weight against her tense abdomen. “It might take days, even weeks, but I’ll keep trying. Once I find the perfect combination of desire and rage, I’ll access my power long enough to disable the collar.”
“I don’t respond well to threats.” She twisted around and kicked him in the shoulder.
He laughed. “It’s not a threat and your response isn’t necessary.” He grabbed her ankle when she tried to kick him again. “But you will respond.”
He couldn’t be serious. Please God, let this be a bluff. “Shadow Assassins detest rape. Everyone insists their captives aren’t abused.”
“I have no intention of raping you.” He moved closer. His knees pressed against her side as his fingers lightly caressed her skin. “I’m going to look at your amazing body and touch you in progressively more intimate ways until my senses are on fire. Then I’ll use the intensity to burn through the collar’s circuitry.” He slid his hand just under one of her breasts and pushed his thumb between, still on top of her bra. “Or you can admit you own the collar and avoid all those unwanted touches.”
“I don’t own the collar and your definition of rape must be different than mine. Any unwanted touching falls within my definition of rape.”
“Really?” His fingertips skimmed across her skin, circling her navel and tracing the waistband of her panties until she began to squirm. “Do you feel defiled?”
“Not yet, so stop now.”
He laughed and the blue rings flickered to life within his dark eyes. “Let me know when I’ve crossed the line.” He retraced his path then avoided her breasts entirely and explored her upraised arms.
“This isn’t funny.” Morgan turned her head, unable to think with his penetrating stare boring into hers. Everything about him was brutal, so how could he touch her so gently. He found a particularly sensitive spot near her elbow and she shivered.
“Are you ticklish?” He teased the sensitive bend with ruthless patience until she was wriggling helplessly.
It didn’t tickle, exactly. It sent strange tingles down her arm and lower, much lower, to places she refused to think about. Her nipples were getting hard and her skin felt tight and prickly. She couldn’t let him do this to her. She would not be turned on by his sick game. Rolling away from him, she brought her knees up toward her chest and pressed her thighs together. “Leave me alone.”
“I don’t want to.”
She could see him moving in her peripheral vision. Oh God, he was taking off his shirt. Was that all he was taking off? Panic sliced through her and she looked over her shoulder. Big mistake. He knelt on the edge of the sleeping bags bare to the waist, a golden-skinned sculpture of masculine symmetry. She whipped her head back around, but it was too late. His image was seared into her brain. She found his features harshly intriguing, so full of determination and pride, but his torso was a work of art, perfectly proportioned and harshly defined. Even his eclectic collection of tattoos only added to his savage beauty.
Despite her fear and determination to remain unaffected by his seduction, her body came alive, melting and aching for the pleasures she continually denied herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t like sex, she did, quite a lot actually, but her life made intimate relationships almost impossible.
This wasn’t the beginning of an “intimate relationship”, this was cruel manipulation. So he had an amazing body. That didn’t mean she was powerless against him. Elias was well-built too and she didn’t go into heat every time she saw him without his shirt. She was just tired and stressed beyond belief.
Nazerel lay down behind her and slipped one arm beneath her neck. Then he pulled her toward him, which angled her upraised arms away from her head. It also took the slack out of the restraints so she couldn’t slam her elbow into his face, she realized. The man didn’t miss much. He pressed against her back and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He did nothing else for a long time, just lay there and let the heat of his body surround her.
She could finally see her hands. Wide leather cuffs with silver buckles and miniature padlocks now encircled her wrists. A length of chain connected the cuffs and he’d passed the chain behind one of the tent poles. The pole wasn’t secured with stakes and rope. He’d somehow driven it directly into the ground, providing a much sturdier anchor for her confinement. But the chain simply passed behind the pole. It wasn’t locked down like the cuffs. If she could unfasten the chain without him realizing what she was doing, she could easily free herself.
Slowly easing her hands together, she reached for the chain’s simple clasp. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her hands apart. “You won’t like how I bind you if you free yourself now.”
Indignation rushed through her, making her want to scream. Was she just supposed to lie here and accept whatever he chose to do to her? She’d been trained by the FBI. Surrender was not in her nature.
She closed her eyes and concentrated on filling her lungs, keeping each breath slow and even. But his scent became more familiar with each inhalation. Rich and earthy with an intriguing hint of spice, he smelled wonderful.
“When was the last time a man held you in his arms?” His voice was barely a whisper, his tone oddly rough.
Her eyes flew open as a possibility unfurled within her mind. “Last night. My husband loves to cuddle. I’m called away so often, we have to make the most of every minute we have together.”
His chuckle ruffled her hair, his breath warm against her skin. “If you were with a man last night, cuddling was all you did. I would be able to smell him if it were otherwise.”
“I showered this morning, thank you very much.” She tried to wiggle away from him, but he simply tightened his arm.
“It can take many days for a male’s scent to leave a female completely. That’s why pleasure givers never satisfy. It’s hard to loose myself in passion when all I smell are other males.”
If she could shift his focus yet keep him talking, maybe he’d give up on seducing her. Anything was better than giving in without a fight. “What about Roxie? She’s not a pleasure giver. You’ve been very protective of her.”
He brushed her hair away from her neck, which also exposed her face and ear. “Why does everyone want to put me in bed with Roxie?”
“You’ve clearly spent a lot of time with her. You’re covered in tattoos.”
His face pressed against her neck and he inhaled deeply. “Gods, you smell good.” He slowly swept his hand down her neck then up her extended arm. “Do you taste as good as you smell?” His lips brushed the sensitive spot just below her ear then he touched her skin with the tip of his tongue.
Her treacherous heart leapt in her chest and tingles skittered off to all sorts of unacceptable places. She had to stop this now. “Flynn is my contact.”
He tensed, his arm tightening around her. “What are you talking about?”
“Varrik gave us profiles on all of you guys. Elias determined that Flynn was the most likely to flip, so we recruited him.”
“Who is Elias?”
“You met him this morning. He was with Roxie when Flynn brought her to the team house. That was all part of our plan by the way. I’m pretty sure he’s the one who collared you.”
Disentangling his arm from hers, he sat up and rolled her onto her back. Then he swung one of his legs across hers to keep her from kicking him. He propped himself up with one arm and rested his other hand on his thigh, which was still covered with black cargo pants. Thank God.
“I’ve known Flynn my entire life. He has many faults, but he is not a traitor.”
She licked her lips. This was a dangerous distraction. If she pissed him off too badly, she just might give him what he needed to free himself from the collar, yet failing to make the conversation interesting would likely result in their returning to their earlier activity.
“Is Varrik a traitor?”
“Yes,” he snarled the word, clearly demonstrating his dislike for the man. “Varrik is the worst kind of traitor. He was a First Son, like me, and still he chose to abandon the Sacred Customs for a female.”
“Varrik wanted a lot more than a beautiful woman. He wanted to liberate your people, to free them from the world below and—”
“You know nothing about the world below!” He leapt to his feet and raked his hair with his fingers, menace radiating off him in tangible waves. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I’m trying to understand your point of view.”
He scoffed. “You’re trying to keep my hands off you, but all you’ve done is postponed the inevitable.” He dropped to his knees, straddling one of her legs. She braced for an attack, accepting that her risk had failed, but all he did was free her arms from the tent pole. “I’m no longer in the mood for lust. Let’s focus on anger.” He pushed off the floor and stood up, moving to the other side of the tent.
She drew her arms down, groaning as her muscles protested the new position. Her wrists were still locked within the cuffs, but the length of chain between the two gave her a reasonable range of motion. “Where did you get these or why did you think you would need them? Did you plan on taking a hostage all along?”
“I planned nothing that happened this morning,” he snapped. “You attacked us!”
“Then when…that’s right. You called your outfitter and told him you had additional requirements then you started speaking in Rodyte.”
“We were speaking Bilarrian.” He paced what little space there was in the middle of the tent, clearly distressed by the implications of what she’d said. His features were tight and the telltale rings in his eyes had begun to glow. “What did you promise Flynn? He wouldn’t have sold us out for money.”
She sat, rolling her shoulders and stretching her back before she reached over and retrieved his discarded shirt. If he was determined to parade around half-naked, then she was going to make use of the garment. She folded her legs in front of her and then draped the T-shirt over the front of her body, leaving the bottom to pool between her legs. It was as close to decent as she was likely to come until he returned her own clothes.
“You’re right, it wasn’t about money with Flynn,” she began. “He’d figured out that Sevrin was full of shit, but returning to Ontariese wasn’t really an option. We offered him an opportunity to take responsibility for his mistakes and start to rebuild his future.”
“By betraying the rest of us?” His hands fisted at his sides and the rings in his eyes blazed like blue fire. “That’s a coward’s way out. He knew I had other plans. I would have given him other options.”
There was a lot more she could say, a lot more she wanted to say, but it was smarter to back off right now, give him a minute to calm down. “How did you pay for all this?” She motioned to their surroundings. “I was under the impression that the council’s funds were seized when the Shadow Maze was liberated.”
A secretive smile curved his lips, but the rings in his eyes continued to burn. “High Queen Charlotte only knows what Varrik told her, and Varrik doesn’t know everything.”
“Then you didn’t get the money from Sevrin?”
He scoffed again, but sadness dampened the sound this time. “Sevrin made us beg for everything. We were honestly better off in the City of Tears. Roxie was the only luxury Sevrin allowed. Why do you think she was so popular?”
“Roxie told Elias that you get off on the pain.”
His gaze locked with hers and a smile finally parted his lips. “What else did Roxie tell you?”
She could almost see the tension flow out of him. Roxie was the first name she’d mentioned that had a soothing effect on him. “She told us Sevrin was the real villain not the Shadow Assassins.”
“Lor should have known that without having to be told.” He turned his back on her and grabbed the open bottle of water out of the crate. He drained it then tossed her a new one. “Are you hungry?” he asked without looking at her.
“Starving actually. What time is it?” If she could figure out how long she’d been unconscious, she’d have a better idea how far they’d traveled.
“It’s almost dark. I better locate a light source.”
He rummaged through the first crate with no luck, so he unloaded the second. Morgan watched him set the lantern aside without realizing he’d found what he was looking for and debated what to do. If she doomed him to darkness, she doomed herself as well. She struggled up from the makeshift bed while keeping his T-shirt pressed to her chest.
“That’s called a lantern. When the middle part is ignited it emits light.” She pointed at the lantern with her foot.
He turned around and his gaze swept her from head to toe. “I didn’t give you permission to cover yourself.”
“Tough shit.” She softened the phrase with a mischievous smile. “It’s getting cold as well as dark.” She was hoping to keep him off-balance with her semi-flirtatious rebellion. “And even slaves have to eat.”
Without warning, he fisted the back of her hair and snatched the T-shirt out of her hands. He held it out of reach and made her watch it sail to the floor. Then he wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her firmly against his body. Finally, with obvious restraint, he pulled her head back until their gazes locked. “Then you admit you’re my slave?”
“That is not what—”
He silenced her protest with his mouth. The kiss was hard and demanding, yet slow, advancing by degrees until she found herself responding, despite her intention to resist him. His tongue teased her lips, caressing and tracing without venturing between. Smart man. If he dared to invade her mouth, she’d bite him hard enough that he’d need stitches.
Suddenly he shifted her head to the bend of his elbow and eased his hand between their bodies. She felt his fingers moving against her breasts, but he wasn’t really caressing her. The cuffs, she realized. He unhooked the tether connecting the cuffs, so she could separate her arms.
With an impatient growl, he moved her hands out of his way and crushed her breasts into his chest. “You’re so soft.” He sounded drugged as he whispered the words against her lips and then he kissed her again.
His hand moved up and down her back, occasionally dropping a bit lower. But he didn’t squeeze her ass or fondle her breasts. It was almost frustrating. He obviously wanted her, so why was he being so…careful?
Because Shadow Assassins didn’t rape their captives. They meticulously seduced them until they were willing participants in their own degradation. Understanding helped clear her head and refocus her purpose. She needed to earn his trust, convince him to let down his guard long enough for her to escape.
And two could play at this game. She wrapped her arms around him and touched him even more aggressively than he was touching her. His skin felt oddly soft in comparison to the flesh beneath. His back wasn’t just dramatically tapered, it was corded with defined muscles. She rubbed against him, easing her legs apart until she straddled his thigh.
Her participation made him bolder. His tongue swept over her lower lip, brushing against her teeth before retreating again. She returned the caress and he groaned, his fist returning to her hair. He dragged his mouth away from hers and stared deep into her eyes. “I want to kiss you, really kiss you.”
“I know.” She allowed herself to smile. “Feed me first and I’ll consider it.”
His gaze narrowed and his nostrils flared, then he released her with a sigh. “Even slaves have to eat.”
And round one goes to Morgan. Thank God he couldn’t read her mind. Thoughts like that would likely land her flat on her back again. Taking advantage of her momentary freedom, she snatched his T-shirt off the floor and put it on.
He took a step toward her, but she held up both hands. She even lowered her gaze. “May I please wear your shirt? I really am cold.” He said nothing so she glanced up at him.
“What game are you playing?”
The question was probably rhetorical, but she answered anyway. “No game. I was just cold.” He obviously didn’t believe her, but he didn’t press the issue.
Rather than continue their power struggle, he turned around and motioned to the mess he’d made earlier. “Do you see something with which to ignite the lantern?”
Hoping the question wasn’t just a ploy to reel her in, she moved up beside him. The tent had gone from gloomy to dim while they made out, so she didn’t have much time to solve the problem. She didn’t see a box of matches or a grill starter, so she moved to the first crate, the one he hadn’t unloaded. It took a few minutes, but she found a lighter sliding around in the bottom of the crate. Good thing the bottom was solid.
She lit the lantern then hung it from the hook attached to the center support pole of the tent. “Be careful not to brain yourself on this.”
“Brain myself?” He looked at the position of the lantern and nodded. “I’ll never master human vernacular.”
She tossed the lighter back into the crate then thought of something that didn’t make sense. “Did you make a fire earlier? I thought I smelled smoke.”
“I was bored,” he admitted with a hesitant smile. “It was about to gather more wood when you woke up, so I just let it burn itself out.”
“But how did you light a fire without matches or a lighter?”
The hesitant smile turned into a cheeky grin. “I’d do well on Survivor.”
“You watched a lot of TV, I take it?”
“There was little else for us to do. We worked out and sparred with each other. We occasionally reinforced Sevrin’s guards, but mostly we just tried not to go insane from the monotony of it all.”
She had no idea what to say to that, so she motioned toward the cooler. “Can I just help myself?”
“Go on. I ate while you were sleeping.”
She opened the cooler and selected a sandwich from the surprising selection of food. The cooler must be battery powered. There was no ice inside, but everything was cold. She took out a cola as well as the sandwich and paused before closing the lid. “Do you want a drink or something?”
“Did he pack any beer?”
She had to dig a bit, but she found a six-pack and tore off a can. “There are only six, so make it last.” She closed the cooler then handed him the beer, moving out of reach before he could stop her. Not that he intended to stop her. She just wasn’t taking any chances.
The stupid cuffs were still buckled around her wrists, the connecting chain dangling from one side. She could easily take them off, but she didn’t feel like asking permission and being rid of them wasn’t worth the fight she’d start if she took them off without asking him first.
So she picked up her meager meal and looked around for a place to sit down. If the outfitter had given Nazerel chairs, he’d chosen not to unpack them. Instead, she pulled the cooler away from the wall and sat down, shivering as her bare legs connected with the smooth metal. He watched her silently, leisurely sipping his beer.
The attack had begun at dawn, but they’d sat in the vehicles for almost an hour waiting for Sevrin to take off with Roxie and Elias. It had been vital that Sevrin lead Lor back to her lab before the rest of them moved in on the Team South house. So it could have been as late as eight o’clock before Nazerel drove away with her. Then it had been at least an hour before they made the final vehicle switch. Much to her mortification, she’d fallen asleep in the stolen car, so she couldn’t be sure of the intervals. Still, that left roughly nine hours before she woke up here. The problem was she had no idea how many of those hours he’d been driving and how many he’d been setting up the campsite and building campfires. He’d been here long enough to get bored.
“What are you thinking about? You look perplexed.” He’d taken off his boots and was sitting cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the bed he obviously intended for them to share.
She saw no reason to lie, so she said, “I was trying to figure out how far you drove while I was out.”
“There aren’t many pine trees in Las Vegas.”
“You haven’t let me go outside. We could be in a parking lot for all I know.”
“Close your eyes. Can’t you smell them?”
She closed her eyes and inhaled slowly, analyzing each scent that registered in her mind. She was closer to the door now, and less drug-addled. He was right. She could defiantly smell pine trees, damp earth—and Nazerel! Had he imprinted her with his scent or something? Why was his smell still so clear?
Ignoring the disquieting phenomenon, she opened her eyes and unwrapped her sandwich. “Are we still in Nevada?”
He arched his brow and took a sip of his beer. “Maybe.”
There were numerous places he could have reached in eight or nine hours, but Utah looked very different than California. She glanced at the zippered exit, wondering if he’d stop her if she poked her head outside.
“It’s dark. You’re not going to be able to see much more than what I just told you. We’re in a mountainous location surrounded by pine trees.”
“Yes, but are the mountains gray or red?” Gray meant they’d traveled north or northwest, either staying in Nevada or crossing over into California. Red meant east into New Mexico or northeast into Utah. She’d know more when she could see their surroundings.
He patted the sleeping bag beside him. “Come here.”
“I’m comfy right here. Thanks anyway.” Despite her growling stomach, she’d yet to take a bite of her sandwich.
His expression remained relaxed, but his tone sharpened. “Are you that anxious to feel me on top of you again? I enjoyed our wrestling match in the grass. Are you ready for another?”
Heat cascaded through her body as his taunt reminded her of how strong he was and how effortlessly he’d controlled her. “Why can’t I stay here?” She tried not to sound like a petulant child.
“Because I told you to join me.”
Another crossroad. If she gave in too easily, he’d realize she was pretending. Yet angering him could give him access to his power. “I worked very hard to become a leader because I’m not very good at following orders.”
He didn’t argue. He just stood up and crossed the tent then scooped her up in his arms. Without bothering to set down his beer, he returned to the bed and sat back down. “I wanted you beside me. Apparently, you wanted to be on my lap instead.” He lowered her into the limited space between his thighs and crossed his ankles, surrounding her with his strong legs. His arm remained at her back, ensuring that she stayed right where he’d placed her.
It was actually more comfortable than the cooler had been, so she decided not to fight with him. She arched her legs over his and used his other thigh as lumbar support then finally took a bite of her sandwich.
He leaned in and whispered, “Have you decided yet?”
She turned her head and looked into his eyes. Their faces were much too close together like this. She could see the blue rings in his eyes even though they weren’t illuminated. “Decided what?”
“If you’re going to let me kiss you after you finish eating.”
Her gaze dropped to his mouth and she was suddenly fighting off the irrational urge to nibble on his lower lip. “Are you sure that thing is working?”
His brows flew nearly to his hairline and then he burst out laughing. “Give me your hand and I’ll let you feel how well it’s working.”
Heat washed over her face and she slapped at his chest, barely touching him. “I meant the collar, you jackass.”
“Why do you ask about the collar?”
There was no way she was going to admit she wanted to kiss him so badly she’d wondered if he’d used some sort of compulsion. “Never mind.” She quickly took another bite and then a long drink of soda.
“Tell me what you meant or kiss me. I’ll let you choose.”
She glanced at him then studied her sandwich as if it were the most fascinating thing she’d ever seen. She could kiss him, really kiss him, or admit that she wanted the kiss as badly as he did? That wasn’t much of a choice. Reluctantly kissing him made more sense. She couldn’t let him know he was wearing her down already. She had more pride than that.
“I’ll kiss you, when I’m finished eating.” She stressed the caveat as he began to lower his head.
“Eat quickly.”
So, of course, she nibbled at the sandwich, taking as long as she possibly could. Time to cool his jets even more. “Tell me about Varrik. Why do you hate him so much? Was it just his betrayal, or is there something personal between you two?”