An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication
www.ellorascave.com
Myrra’s Choice ISBN 9781419914300 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Myrra’s Choice Copyright© 2008 Eve Jameson Edited by Briana St. James. Photography and cover art by Les Byerley. Electronic book Publication January 2008
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.
MYRRA’S CHOICE Eve Jameson
Dedication To the stubborn ones who’ve been hurt by love, but still manage to find trust. You give us hope.
Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Beretta: Beretta USA, Corp. Chrysler: Chrysler, LLC Coke: The Coca-Cola Company Ford Explorer: Ford Motor Company Ford: Ford Motor Company Gore-Tex: W. L. Gore & Associates Ritz–Carlton: The Ritz–Carlton Motel Company Star Trek: CBS Studios, Inc. Tylenol: Tylenol Company Wal-Mart: Wal-Mart Stores, Inc.
Myrra’s Choice
Chapter One
Ilyria—Twenty-five years ago Her mother’s handmaiden prodded her sharply in the back to hurry her and her sister’s progress into her parents’ chamber. Pulled from their beds in the middle of the night, Myrra knew there could be only one reason for it even before she saw the front of her mother’s tunic stained from tears. The wet paths tracked down her beautiful face in reflected light as her mother stared down at her father. The emotion in the close room was as thick as the smoke from the dozens of mourning candles already lit and sputtering on every available surface, including the floor. Myrra turned to the servant to demand why the mourning candles had been lit while her father still lived, but the servant had already fled, holding to the age-old custom that family alone should witness the death of a loved one. Her little sister, Nyana, hid behind her, clutching the back of her shirt with her soft baby hands. With all the fearlessness her father expected of her, Myrra squared her thin, eleven-yearold shoulders and resolutely stepped over the threshold into her parents’ room, respectfully stopping just inside. “Bring my child to me.” Myrra jumped as her father’s harsh command broke the stifling silence, but immediately took a confident step forward. Her mother looked up, a startled expression on her face at Myrra’s action. Holding up her hand, she stopped Myrra from moving farther into the room. “Go, get your father some water,” she said. Myrra lifted her chin and said, “I must be here. He has asked for me. I must receive the Blessing of the Eldest.” “He will be here when you get back,” her mother snapped as she came around the bed. “Now go do as I say before I call a servant to have you whipped.” She yanked Nyana to her side and hurried back to the far side of the bed, Nyana’s childish whimpering drowning out the sound of her father’s wheezing breaths. Confused, Myrra pushed aside the heavy curtain that hung over the doorway and stepped into the passage. Out in the dark hall, she blinked against the white dots dancing before her eyes, dozens of tiny pinpricks of light left behind from the flickering candles. At least out here the air was cool and she could breathe. She looked both to the left and to the right, hoping to see a servant to send on her errand. “Bring her here for the blessing.” Her father’s biting command had her spinning back around to stare at the door she had just come from. Pride swelled in her young chest. He had called for her. Twice. Turning, she ran back into the room, sweeping aside the heavy curtain with a flourish. Her mouth open to announce that she was here, that she had not left him and would not disappoint
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him. No words came out. They had frozen in her throat at the sight of her father’s hand on Nyana’s head, murmuring the ancient incantation that imparted the familial blessing from the head of house to the eldest-born. Nyana looked up at her, her crying stopped by the thumb she was noisily sucking. Myrra took another wooden step forward, but was stopped by her mother’s curt headshake warning her back as the last of the blessing rasped past her father’s lips. Unable to tear her eyes from her younger sister, who had turned and buried her face in their mother’s dress the moment her father’s hand had fallen from her head, she felt a rage previously unknown in her short life flow unchecked through her entire body. “The blessing was mine!” she yelled, the words searing her throat in raw disbelief. For the first time since she had been summoned to her father’s side, he turned his head to look at her. The loathing in his eyes speared straight into her heart and crushed something innocent and tender deep within her. “The least you could have done is given me a boy from your shame.” His loathing turned to utter disdain as his gaze swept over Myrra. He turned his face away, choosing rather to stare at the wall than his daughter. “A boy would never dishonor me with tears.” Instantly, Myrra reached up and swiped at her cheeks. She hadn’t even realized she had allowed the traitorous tears to fall. Suddenly an eerie silence descended. Even Nyana pulled her thumb out of her mouth and lifted her face from her mother’s dress to see what had changed. Myrra’s mother leaned forward to close her father’s eyes. With a loud sigh, she straightened. “Finally,” she said. “Myrra, take your sister and send the servants in.” Myrra didn’t move. “What did he mean about your shame? Why didn’t he bless me?” “It doesn’t matter now.” “It was my blessing!” Myrra hissed, clenching her fists. Her mother pushed Nyana aside and shot around the bed with an anxious look toward the doorway. Grabbing Myrra by the shoulders, she gave her a hard shake. “Forget it now,” she said, her voice low and menacing. “As far as anyone knows, you received the blessing.” “But I didn’t! And Nyana knows the truth.” “Nyana’s two. She’ll believe what we tell her.” “But why didn’t Father give it to me?” To her humiliation, a new batch of tears stung her eyes. She blinked them away furiously. “Am I not his daughter?” Her mother jerked back and slapped her hard across Myrra’s face. “Never! Never say that again. As far as every last person in this kingdom is concerned, you are, and always will be, the first daughter of Elder Syncan Lansyr. So help me, Myrra, and I put this on the heads of the Vystral Priestesses themselves, I have long waited to be rid of this man and if you ruin my life now after all those miserable years under his rule, I will make sure you never see the inside of this house again.”
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Myrra stiffened her spine and raised her eyes to meet the challenge head-on. The way the man who had been her father up until moments ago had always demanded. No fear allowed. No emotion to cloud judgment. Her mother narrowed her eyes and backed up. They both knew the man on the bed had made sure Myrra had been ingrained to carry out her duty regardless of threats, pain or punishment. The lessons were harsh and, at times, brutal. Failure was worse. “Do not cross me on this, Myrra.” A cold determination turned her mother’s blue eyes to ice as she picked up Nyana and pressed the baby’s face against her shoulder. “Or I will sell Nyana to the Sleht and your sister’s pain and death will rest upon your head for eternity.” Pain. Blood-red and blasting through her head. With a groan, Myrra shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position—and froze. Even through the throbbing haze of her injuries, her training took over. Out of preparation for such a situation as this or from the shock of finding herself naked, she didn’t care. Her head hurt too much to care. The last thing she remembered was cutting through the garage after being relieved on patrol. Someone had darted into the shadows just as she opened the door and hadn’t responded to her call. When she went to investigate, the world exploded. Without opening her eyes, she scanned what she could of the room through her other senses. The space felt small and, from the smoky smell and crackling sound, seemed to be heated by a fire not too far from where she lay. The sheet covering her was soft and had the rich, musky scent on it of a man. She sensed rather than heard someone draw close. A low, amused voice cut across her thoughts. “I know you’re awake and have got to have the mother of all headaches—” Warm, slightly calloused fingertips brushed across her brow. Instantly reacting, her hand flew up, grabbed his wrist, flipped, bent and turned, locking the man beneath her. She found herself looking at a stranger. Into deep green eyes, startling against darkly tanned skin. Eyes that held the same amusement that had been in the voice. Hard, angular features defined a face that wasn’t handsome by Ilyrian standards, but was strong and so fully male it heated her blood almost as much as the long, hard body pinned under her. “Well, darlin’,” he drawled, “if you have a preference on position, all you had to do was say so.” His gaze wandered to her lips and flared with undisguised lust. “Unfortunately, I’m a little pressed for time at the moment.” He twisted and abruptly she was flat on her back with arms trapped, looking up into those laughing green eyes. He shifted and his hips settled between her thighs, his jean-covered erection pressing insistently against her pussy. Thank the fates and gods at least one of them was dressed. His voice deepened and he lowered his head until his lips were just a whisper above her own. “But later, I’ll be more than willing to let you take a ride on top.” Suddenly those emerald eyes blurred, wavered. She blinked and they were frowning down at her. They blurred again, the weight above her disappeared with a 7
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hissed curse and then—nothing. No pain. No amused stranger. Only silky black unconsciousness winding, enfolding, pulling her under. Brett pushed himself off the bed and stood looking down at the unconscious woman he’d been calling “angel” since picking her up off the side of a mountain. With a curse, he brushed her long blonde hair back from her neck and checked her pulse. Strong, like the woman who had nearly knocked him on his ass when he was just going to ask her if she wanted some pain reliever. Absently rubbing the wrist she had used as leverage to flip and pin him with, he considered changing what he called her. He picked up the sheet that had fallen to the floor during their brief struggle and angrily shook it out. He hadn’t been on that mountain by accident. The night before, he’d had a dream of a beautiful woman being thrown from the sky, rolling and tumbling toward him. She’d looked like an angel with long flowing golden hair and he knew he had to catch her. Hold her and keep her safe. In his vision, he’d known that as long as his arms were around her, she was protected from the demons set on destroying her. Most of the dream made no sense to him yet, but the place he had seen in the vision was one he knew well. His ability to “see mysteries”, as his grandmother used to call it, pissed him off. He’d never wanted this gift and had never told anyone about it other than his grandmother and brother. Whatever else the hell the “gift” brought to him, this time it had delivered one hellcat of a gorgeous woman to his care. Gently, he tucked the spread back around her. Too bad it was ten below zero and snowing outside. Shame to cover such an amazing body. With a final glance at the woman’s breasts—breasts surprisingly large on such an athletic build—he pulled the sheet into place before he was tempted to molest the woman in her sleep. He turned to tend the fire, puzzling over the new information the woman’s first conscious moves revealed. She was quick and trained in some defense techniques he hadn’t come across before. Not that it kept him from reversing their positions to pin her beneath him, but if she had been at full strength, she would have been a formidable opponent. After adding another log to the blaze, he shifted the wood around with the old iron poker until the fire was set to burn brightest and hottest. Replacing the poker on its hook in the wall next to the fireplace, he turned back to the stranger. Her classic facial features were framed by long blonde hair that spread out over his pillow and her alabaster shoulders. Except for the cuts and bruises, she looked like a perfect angel. But no angel he’d heard of carried seventeen weapons hidden on her body. At that sobering thought, Brett dug several self-locking, heavy-duty plastic cable ties out of a drawer next to the stove and grabbed three thick socks from his bag. Squatting beside the old brass bed that served as the only sleeping quarters in the single-room cabin, he slid one of the woman’s hands free of the sheet and wrapped a
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sock around her wrist to keep the tie from cutting into her skin. He threaded the zip tie through the bedframe and around the sock, pulling the tab through the eye until it was snug. After repeating the process with her other wrist and a foot, he unfolded a couple of blankets for added warmth and tucked them in around her. She might not be comfortable when she awoke, but at least she wouldn’t be able to attack him. With one last glance at his sleeping angel who fought like a cornered wildcat, he shrugged into his coat and headed out into the storm.
***** Myrra’s head jerked up and her eyes flew open the moment she realized she had been tied down. Instantly she cursed herself for giving herself away with a neophytelevel mistake. Her gaze collided with the man’s who had woken her earlier. Clothed in winter camouflage gear, he sat in a wooden chair tilted up on its back two legs, his shoulders against the bricks framing out the side of the blazing fireplace. His nonchalant posture contradicted the intensity with which he watched her. Deep green eyes focused on her face, a calculating coldness in their depths. An unnerving stillness that simply…waited. Tensing each limb in turn without looking away from him, she discovered that she had freedom of movement only in her leg next to the wall. Naked and tied to a bed by a strange man. She’d been in worse situations. “You tied me up,” she said. Her voice was low and hoarse and suddenly she realized how thirsty she was. The front two legs of the chair hit the cabin floor with a thunk. He stood, picked up a water bottle on the table and brought it to her. Crouching down next to the bed, he twisted the lid off. “Last time you woke up, you were a little cranky.” He slid his right hand under her head and lifted it so she could drink from the bottle as he held it next to her lips. When she hesitated, his left eyebrow arched up. “What? You think I’m going to drug or poison you? If I wanted you dead, I would have left you on the mountain. And you’ve been unconscious in my bed for two days. If I was planning on doing anything to you without your consent,” the corner of his mouth tilted up in wry amusement and his voice dropped to an intimate, gravelly rumble, “it’d already been done, darlin’.” The man was right. Irritating, but right. And that sexy tone he used when calling her names unfurled dark ribbons of pleasure through her belly. She opened her mouth and took a long drink. The cool water slid down her throat like liquid silver over scorched earth. Before she was halfway done with the water, he pulled it away and then shook two tablets free from a Tylenol bottle beside the bed. “Here,” he said, resting them against her lips. “These will help.” When she accepted them, he placed the water bottle next to her mouth again. After finishing the water, she shifted her body in an effort to discover the full limits of her restraints. “More?” he asked. 9
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She shook her head and he moved his hand and let her lie back on the pillow. A wave of fatigue washed over her. Refusing to give in to it, she focused on the dark green eyes that were once again watching her with that severe concentration. “You said I was on the side of a mountain? Where?” Setting the bottle aside, he rose to pull the chair next to the bed. Flipping it around, he straddled the ladder-back and propped his forearms across the top. His coal black hair looked like it had been worn short, once. Ragged-edged bangs that hung past his eyebrows were pushed off with an automatic, impatient gesture. Flat planes and sharp angles defined a starkly masculine face with eyes the color of the Ilyrian Sea churning after a storm. Instead of answering her, he leaned forward and brushed her temple with the tips of his fingers. She winced at the soreness there and pulled away from his touch. “You have a hell of a lot of cuts and bruises. How’d you get them?” “How long have I been here?” His smile was unexpected, slipping under her defenses before she could stop it. “We’re not going to get anywhere if we keep answering each other’s questions with questions.” Warmth rippled through her again, trying to stir desires and naïve wishes to life. She licked her lips and changed tactics. “I need to use the bathroom.” He nodded, his smile disappearing. “This isn’t the Ritz–Carlton, but if you’re up for a quick trip through the snow, I think I can help you out.” “Do I have a choice?” “You always have a choice. I’m just giving you the best option.” At her nod, he retrieved a pair of wire cutters and returned to the bed. Going down on one knee beside her, he slid one pointed side of the tool’s jaws under the plastic tie. Pausing, he cocked his head to the side and asked, “Are you going to attack me again?” Myrra nearly missed the question. His closeness had brought that same musky male scent with it that she had caught the first time she had awakened. She could identify the smell of a piney outdoors and the woodsy odor of smoke from the fire clinging to his clothes, but she couldn’t place the basic, underlying scent of this man that swept over her every time he drew near. It teased and stroked her awareness of him on a very carnal level. She took a deep breath to help regain her balance and her tightened nipples pressed against the soft flannel. The brief pressure speared a quick burst of electricity from her breasts straight to her pussy. “Do I get my clothes back?” Shaking his head, he smiled again. “There you go again. Answering a question with a question. I answered one of yours.” He slid the wire cutters free, leaving the cable tie secured around her wrist. “Your turn.”
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Refusing to let what that smile and dark green eyes were doing to her insides show in her face, she frowned. And tried to remember the question he had asked. “I won’t attack you unless I deem it necessary. You caught me off guard the first time.” “Jesus, woman,” he chuckled, his expression teetering between admiration and disbelief. “If that was your off-guard reaction, I hate to think what might have happened if you’d been ready for me.” Having someone try to blow her up and then waking to find herself naked with a stranger had shaken her normal defenses more than she had first thought. Regaining most of her composure, she marshaled the will to call for a complete lockdown on all superfluous emotion. With narrowed eyes, she stared up at him with her standard icy confidence. “You would have died.” God damn, the woman turned him on. Not that he didn’t take her words seriously. He did. He was too seasoned of a soldier not to know the difference between reality and a good bluff. The woman was sure of her ability to kill him. And this was after she had fought with him once and lost. That kind of confidence didn’t come from holding the top spot on a video game, taking a couple of karate classes or even months of training. It was the accepted certainty that only came from repeated successful experience. He was a man who watched expressions closely. Especially what was revealed in the eyes. If a person was stressed, hurt or fatigued, emotional slips often were first revealed there. If only for a second. This woman had the truest blue eyes he had ever seen. Eyes the color of a cloudless afternoon sky seen standing on a mountain and looking straight up. When she took a deep breath and pressed those gorgeous breasts against the covers, he hadn’t missed the flash of arousal in her eyes, followed closely by surprise. Smoothing the sheet back from her wrist again, he clipped off the cable tie with the wire cutters. With unhurried efficiency, he cut free her other wrist and then took a step back from the bed. She shook off the socks he had used to cushion her wrists and propped herself up on her elbows, waiting for him to finish the job. Instead of severing the final tie, Brett rested his forearm on his knee, letting the wire cutters dangle loosely in his hand. “A couple things before I cut you loose.” The woman turned her head to look at him, a thin line forming between her eyes the only sign of her impatience. “First, no more attacking the guy who rescued you. I’m in the middle of something here, but as soon as I’m done and weather permitting, you’ll be free to go. “Second, there’s nowhere for you to go on your own. We’re miles from any town, and though I respect your obvious ability to kick ass, there’s a lot of hungry wolves between this cabin and the closest road—if you can find it. Any questions?” She shook her head. “Good.” He shifted and reached for her bound ankle. “What’s your name?”
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“Myrra.” “Any last name?” “Lansyr.” “Brett Canon,” he said, cutting off the final tie. Immediately she swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. His temperature rose as the sheet slid down to pool around her waist and across her hips, leaving her breasts bared to his gaze. Modesty didn’t seem to be one of Myrra Lansyr’s priorities as she checked her body, running her hands over her sides and legs, flexing different muscle groups and taking stock of her scrapes and bruises. She lifted her arms over her head and turned slightly. She winced and twisted in the other direction. Her nipples started to tighten as her breasts swayed in the cool air. “Jesus,” he hissed. Myrra lowered her arms. “What?” Brett reluctantly raised his eyes from her chest to her face. Expecting anger or embarrassment at his open gawking, he was surprised at her imperious, simply questioning expression. Like she wasn’t sitting poker straight with a pair of magnificent breasts thrust out in front of her. “Rule three,” he said, his voice coming out in a husky grumble. “Unless you want to be fucked, keep those covered up.” The damn woman crossed her arms under her breasts, propping them up higher, and narrowed her eyes at him in clear challenge. “You took my clothes.” Desire surged through him, goading him to take up the gauntlet she threw down. But it wouldn’t be a fair fight. Whether she chose to admit it or not, the woman was hurt. He had seen the cuts and bruises when he had checked her for injuries and removed her weapons. Plus, from the way she had been out of it for the last two days, he wondered if she’d been drugged before being tossed over the side of a cliff. With a rough curse, Brett turned and stalked across the room. From his bag on the table, he grabbed a long-sleeved thermal crew, a pair of socks and a pair of black cargo pants. After dumping the pile of clothes on the bed next to her, he reached under the bed and slid out her boots. They’d taken a beating but were still serviceable. And in the snow, definitely preferable to socks alone. “For the record,” he said, regaining his train of thought as she pulled the shirt on over her head, “your clothes were trashed. They were scorched, torn, bloodied and filthy. I had to cut them off you to check and clean your injuries.” Myrra ignored him and grabbed the pants. She stood up to step into them. Long, toned legs and proof that she was a natural blonde assaulted his determination to be distant and objective with her until he knew who she was and what she was involved in that had people trying to kill her. She bent over to straighten the end of a pant leg, granting him a great view of her ass. The woman was trying to kill him with lust. And he was starting to lean toward letting her.
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He’d never met a woman so pragmatic about her body, treating her nakedness as if it were nothing to be proud of or something that could turn a grown man into a lump of raving need. Her very coolness teased his ego. Dared him to see what it would take to thaw through that façade of icy reserve and release the fire he had glimpsed in her eyes when he pinned her beneath him earlier. Rapid, economical actions had her socks and boots in place in a matter of seconds. She pulled her hair back and tied it in a knot at the base of her neck. “Ready.” He handed her the heavier of the two jackets he had brought with him. “My ex-wife could have learned a thing or two from you about getting dressed quickly.” A high-pitched beep had him reaching for the perimeter monitor he had clipped to his belt. One glance told him that the bastards he was waiting on were stupider than even he had thought. “Shit.” “Problem?” Brett looked up at Myrra’s question to find her clear blue eyes sharply focused on him. Keen intelligence shone in her gaze and the glib response that had automatically risen in response died a quick death. “No.” Her skepticism was evident in the tilt of her head and lifted eyebrows. Refusing to comment further, he clipped the small electronic device back on his belt and then pulled on his “hunting” jacket and gloves. Time to get back to the reason he was here. Myrra followed Brett out into the evening. The woods around the cabin were thick, the evening shadows deepened by the steadily falling snow. Not another sign of civilization as far as she could see. The silence was broken only by the quiet shuffling of their boots and the occasional clump of snow falling off a branch to land with a soft shush on the ground below. She half closed her eyes and focused to zero in on the human presence he had been tracking by his monitor. On her homeworld of Ilyria, the ability to sense another within a given distance was fairly common and even small children were trained to block such low-level scans with ease. As part of the military and captain of a royal contingent, she purposefully and continually kept herself blocked from much higher sense searches. Pinpointing the whereabouts of the ones she sensed now was simple in such a desolate place. The hardest part was blocking out the powerful life-force of the man before her to get a specific read on anyone else. By the time the thin path they followed ended at a tiny wooden structure, she had been able to pick up on two, maybe three, other people scattered in the woods. All headed in their general direction. Brett pulled open the door and turned toward her. The amusement that had remained in his face to one degree or another since she had woken up had vanished. In its place was a frosty detachment. He had drawn deep into himself and his energy had coalesced into a core of predatory intent. “When you’re finished, go back to the cabin. I’ll be back soon.”
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It didn’t take her long, and as soon as she was finished, she scouted around the cabin, not worrying about keeping her search a secret by obscuring her footprints. If she were in her “rescuer’s” place, she’d be more suspicious if she didn’t look around. There was nothing of interest outside, except for the fact that the cabin seemed to have been set down on the side of a mountain with no visible roads or paths in or out. The woods were dark, thick and frozen. Brett’s earlier warnings echoed in her mind and, for now, it appeared she was stuck with him. She returned to search the single room that made up the cabin, looking for the weapons he had removed and any clue about who her captor was and what that “something” was that he was in the middle of. The monitor he wore wasn’t the gardenvariety type picked up at the local electronics store or common internet site. Wondering whether he was hunting or being hunted piqued her interest, but not enough to set aside her primary goal. She was in this world to assist in the recovery of Ilyria’s missing Mystic daughters and to protect the Royals leading the search. And now she had a much more personal stake in the search. Someone had tried to kill her— thought they had, in fact—and with her out of the way, it got the traitor one step closer to the daughters already found and the royal heir whom she was sworn to defend with her life. Checking around the fireplace for hiding spots, she cast out another sense scan. There was a presence approaching the cabin quickly and it definitely was not Brett’s. She could feel his life-force still much farther away. The sparse furnishings offered no cover within the cabin and it was doubtful that she could exit without being seen. She moved to the wall beside the door, where she’d be behind it when and if it opened, and waited. The person might be someone who could help her get out of here, but she wasn’t taking any chances. Brett raced up the mountain, hard on the trail of the final member of the most recent team sent to hunt him down. He glanced at the sky to check the speed of the storm moving in. The wind was picking up, but it didn’t mute the scream that came from the direction of the cabin. High-pitched and animalistic in its pain, the scream cut through the beauty of the snow-covered forest like a string of obscenities shouted from a cathedral’s choir loft. At the sight of the cabin door standing wide open, Brett’s heart tripped over itself in a stuttering, stumbling beat. He stopped abruptly, forcing all extraneous thoughts and fears away. Emotion didn’t belong on the battlefield. It clouded logic, warped reason and triggered irrational behavior. A lesson he’d never forgotten since he’d learned it the hard way. Before he could take another a step, Myrra appeared in the doorway, silhouetted by the flickering flames of the fire. His breath released in a sudden rush, fogging the air in front of him. He stepped through it and stalked toward the cabin, rage boiling through his veins.
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Frowning at him, Myrra took a step back and allowed him to enter, closing the door behind him. The cabin’s interior angered him more. Save for the unmoving body sprawled in the middle of the floor, there was no indication that the woman might have been in danger because of his fucking stupidity. Might have died because he fucking underestimated his fucking enemy. “Are you all right?” His question was brusque as he shoved his hood off his head and knelt to examine the man. His neck was broken and, besides the gun Myrra held, no other weapon was in view. He didn’t know the man’s name, but recognized him from the military base he’d been stationed at. “He’s dead.” Myrra’s matter-of-fact pronouncement didn’t surprise him. Her attitude did. He rolled the man over, checking for other weapons and electronic devices, pocketing the useful items he found. When he removed a second gun from the body, his vision flashed red again at the thought of what might have happened to Myrra. “I asked if you were okay.” “Yes.” “What happened?” “He was unprepared to find me in the cabin.” In spite of the anger still surging through him, Brett felt his mouth curl up into a grim smile. “No shit.” Myrra’s chin lifted. “It wasn’t my initial intention to kill him. I’m sorry you weren’t able to interrogate him.” Brett shook his head and straightened. “Who the hell are you?” For the first time since he had met her, uncertainty flashed through the woman’s eyes. She didn’t answer. He gestured toward the gun in her hand. “Do you know how to use that?” “I prefer my own weapons.” The corners of Brett’s lips tightened. “I’m sure you do. And from their variety, I’m assuming you’re familiar with a number of them.” “I want them back.” “They aren’t here.” He put his hand up to stop her protest. “But they’re safe. Put the jacket back on. Time to move.” Unhooking the pair of snowshoes he’d left hanging beside the door, he squatted down beside her. “Give me your foot.” When she didn’t, he looked up at her and said, “They’re snowshoes. We need to make some good time if we want to beat the coming storm. Plus, wearing them will make the trip less tiring for you.” She allowed him to fit the shoes to her boots. “What about you?” “I only have one pair here. Trust me, angel, you’ll be glad to have them by the time we get where we’re going.” After a final tug on the last strap, he stood and picked up
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the pack he’d left on the table. It contained survival items for several days in the wilderness, but had been packed for a single person. Still, it should be enough to carry them through the storm with the other provisions he had stocked in the cave. Continuing his fast inspection of the cabin, he stuffed the remaining bottles of water and other occasional items into the pack and then motioned Myrra toward the door. She looked down at the dead man. “You’re going to leave him here?” “I pre-wired this place to burn months ago. You never know when you’ll need to make a quick exit and leave no evidence of your stay behind.” Myrra nodded and stepped into the night. Though he appreciated her not probing for details, her automatic acceptance of such extreme situations added more questions to an already very long list he had about her. Before following her out, he turned to look around the cabin one more time. Memories of his grandfather swirled toward him from every corner, every brick, every wooden plank in the floor rubbed smooth from years of heavy winter boots and summer bare feet. Regret flashed and then was gone. Above all, his grandfather had been a practical man. He set the timer to burn down the only place he’d considered home as a child and laid it on the floor. Locking the door, he joined Myrra at the edge of the woods. “Stick close,” he said, shifting the packs more comfortably on his shoulder as he turned to lead the way farther up the mountain. He didn’t look back.
***** Brett kept up a brutal pace through the forest. She estimated they had been hiking for close to three hours, mostly heading up the mountain, when she found herself standing alone. Snow had been falling thickly through the night air for the last thirty minutes, obscuring anything beyond a foot. She checked behind her and on all sides, but Brett had disappeared. A gloved hand clamped over her wrist. Instinctively she grabbed the fingers and started to bend them back. Brett appeared an inch from her face. “Has anyone told you that you have some serious trust issues?” “Trust issues?” “Never mind. We’re right through here, but you can’t get to the cave wearing the snowshoes.” He bent down and unbuckled them. She stepped out of them, resting her hand on his broad shoulder for balance. Even through the thick layers of clothing, the strength and solidness of him was evident. Following his lead, she slid behind a snow-laden bush that hid a crevice in the rock just large enough for Brett to ease into. Within seconds, she was inching her way along in pitch black. Myrra felt the narrow opening widen right before Brett stopped her by putting an arm out. “Just a second. Let me put on a light.”
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He moved away, making almost no sound even in the sudden silence of the cave. There was a soft snick and a small LED lantern cast a bright glow around the rocky enclosure. Brett immediately dimmed the light and dropped both the packs he carried to the floor. A small battery-operated heater stood beside the light and he turned that on as well. “I’ll be right back,” he said. “Need to make sure we’re not surprised by any visitors during the night.” “You think they’d still track you through the storm?” “It’s not human visitors I’m worried about.” Myrra removed her coat while Brett secured the entrance. The space was dry, and not as cold as she had expected. A single sleeping bag and an insulated pad were rolled up beside a duffel bag. Opening it, she discovered a stash of energy bars, vacuumsealed foods and basic medical supplies. She was unrolling the sleeping bag over the pad when Brett returned. He stood, hands on hips, watching her finish. When she did, she straightened to face him. “There’s only one bag,” she said. “We’ll both fit, if you’d agree to share it.” A strange look crossed his face. “Agree to share it?” “It’s your bag. I can sleep on the ground.” “It’s too cold to sleep on the ground.” “No, it’s not.” “Yes. It is.” He’d taken off his coat and had started untying his boots. “I can—” “Jesus, woman,” he said, yanking at the ties on his boots. “Quit arguing and get in the damn bag.” He jerked his boots off and tossed them out of the way against the nearest wall, but still within reach. Myrra removed her own boots, unzipped the sleeping bag and got in, settling on her side with her back to Brett. He turned off the heater and slid in beside her. When he leaned over to extinguish the light, his body pressed full length against her, hard, warm and welcomed beside hers. He zipped up the bag. It was a close fit. Like pushing two feet into the same pants leg. But it wasn’t uncomfortable. She was a little unnerved by just how comfortable it was. “Lift your head,” he said. She did, thinking he needed to adjust something. “Okay, you can put it back down.” Her head rested on his arm. “Better?” he asked. “Yes.” His arm went around her waist and he shifted slightly, molding their bodies together perfectly.
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“Myrra?” He had a way of drawling out her name until it sounded like a purr rumbling out of a very large, very dangerous cat. Her body tensed against the desires his voice stirred. “Yes?” “Relax, darlin’. We’re only sleeping.” She closed her eyes and immediately her body gave in to the pull of exhaustion. “Of course we are.” Sleep took her as Brett’s deep chuckle rumbled against her back.
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Chapter Two Brett woke slowly, enjoying how the woman’s breast filled his hand. He squeezed gently and the nipple beaded against his palm. His cock, already hard from a morning erection, began to throb. Damn, it was good to wake up next to a woman again. Curled around a soft body with her ass pressed to his groin and her head cushioned on his arm. He hadn’t spent the entire night in a woman’s bed since his brother— Reality slammed into place, clearing out the dreamlike thoughts sifting through the early morning fog of his brain. His brother had been dead for nearly a year, he was fully dressed next to a very dangerous woman who was also fully dressed and they were both lying on a cave floor waiting for a break in a snowstorm so he could track and kill his brother’s murderers. His eyes snapped open to blackness. At some point during the night, his hand had made its way under Myrra’s shirt, the incredible feel of her breast resting in his hand feeding his waking fantasies. From her even breathing, his trespass hadn’t awakened her—yet. Thank god. He really didn’t want to start his day out fighting for his life for copping a feel. He released her breast with a slow, agonizing care and started to slide his hand free of her shirt. Suddenly, Myrra’s hand clamped over his wrist, flattening his hand in place over her ribs. For a minute, she didn’t move. He was about to say something when she let go of his arm to push her hand between their bodies. It slid between them until it flattened over his erection. The sudden slice of fear at her possible intention was crushed by a tidal wave of lust that surged through him when she traced his cock through his pants from his balls to the head in a firm, questing caress. His breath came out on a low growl of pleasure, but he didn’t try to press the situation. He had taken a liberty with her body and he figured she was evening the score. When she pulled her hand away, he untangled his from under her shirt. As she twisted around to face him, he reached behind his back to unzip the bag. She started wiggling and he tried to give her some extra room to get out. It took him a minute to realize she was removing her pants. “Myrra—shit!” he hissed as she unzipped his fly and wrapped her fingers around his dick. “Angel—goddamn it, woman,” he groaned when her hand tightened. Pressed together as they were, from knees to chest, he felt her other hand slide between them. She was moving it, but not on him. “What are you doing?” “Preparing myself for your entry.”
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Fuck! His head was going to fucking explode. Both of them. The thought of her hand pumping his cock while she fingered herself to get wet had him thinking that he hadn’t really woken up at all. He was still dreaming. Had to be. With one arm still pinned under her head, he tried to get his other hand back under her shirt, but her new position blocked him. So instead, he reached around behind her and grabbed her ass. The next minute he was being rolled onto his back and her knees were straddling him at his thighs. The partially opened sleeping bag had just enough give in it for her to raise her body up and position the head of his cock at her entrance. Her wet, slick heat shot lightning through his body and his balls drew up, more than ready for an express ride to paradise. She had him going from zero to ninety before he’d had a chance to buckle up. He seized her hips with both hands. “Wait.” His fingers dug into her flesh to stop her movement forward. “Dammit, Myrra. I don’t have a condom on. Shit. I don’t even have a fucking condom with me.” “Don’t worry,” she said, her voice gruff with morning rasp. “I’m shielded.” “Shielded? What the fuck’s shielded?” “It means you don’t have to worry when I do this.” She slammed her body down over his, swallowing his cock in a slick grip before starting up a steady rhythm of onand-off contractions that incinerated any further questions or objections. Left him with nothing but the basic, primal need to come, unyielding and pounding through every inch of his body. When she lifted again and came down fast, he thrust up to meet her. His neck arched as she rotated her hips, her inner muscles continuing their erotic pulsing that drove him hard with lust. The complete darkness of the cave robbed him of sight, but left every other sense heightened and seeking, reaching out in compensation. The chafing of his clothes against his skin magnified the silky firmness of her cunt stroking him, the softness of her swollen pussy lips and clit every time they came down to grind against him. He kneaded her ass roughly, a little surprised at how lush her toned bottom felt in his hands. Other than the cadence of their rough breaths, the dry silence of the cave was broken only by the rustling material of his sleeping bag. The Gore-Tex brushing her skin and his clothes sounded like autumn leaves caught in an October breeze skittering along a sidewalk. As Myrra continued to ride him fast and hard, the stale air gave way to the musky smell of sex and woman. When she nearly flattened herself to his chest to rub her clit against his groin, the scent of her skin washed through him, reminding him of the mountain during a torrential downpour. The earthy scent of soil and water and living things caught in the middle. The richness of life that was too complex to be sweet, too alive to weigh heavy on the senses. Layered on top of that, he could smell the salt of her sweat as her body worked his and he wanted to taste her.
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He was too close to climaxing to do anything other than reach up, wrap his hand around the back of her neck and pull her down to take her mouth. She tried to arch away, but he only tightened his hold on her neck and ass. Thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, he echoed the movement by driving his cock hard up inside her. She stiffened for a moment against his mouth and body. And then her whisper-soft gasp was caught in their kiss and her skin flamed under his touch. Immediately he felt her clamp down her response—attempting to control her reactions even at the point of climax, allowing no more than the abrupt spasming of her cunt around his cock and a brief head-to-toe tremor. More. He wanted more. The thought raced through his mind too fast for him to consider exactly what more he wanted before he was gripping her hips and slamming up into her, coming with a low growl that bounced off the rocks surrounding them. She allowed him to hold her in place until he was done, but as soon as his body relaxed, she pushed out of his arms and slid off him without a word. Brett propped himself up on one elbow as she twisted around beside him. Running a hand over his face, he tried to clear his brain, but his body still had him locked in the mind-numbing ecstasy mode. He reached over her and turned on the light. Myrra was lying on her back, fastening her pants. When she finished, she sat up and looked around. Other than a slight flush to her skin and her hair sex-tangled, he’d never have guessed she’d just been involved in a hard and fast fucking if he hadn’t been on the ride with her. “How strictly do you think we need to ration our food and water?” she asked. “What?” She turned her gorgeous blue eyes on him. “I asked how strictly you thought we should ration the food and water. You know the place and situation better than I do, so you’d have a better idea of how long we’re going to be in this cave.” Brett rolled onto his back and zipped up his pants, trying to switch gears and catch up. “Not long,” he said, pushing the sleeping bag off and grabbing his boots. “Eat whatever you want. If the weatherman was right, there should be a break in the storm later this morning and we’ll be moving to a safer, more comfortable location.” Myrra laced her boots up and then pulled an energy bar and a bottle of water out of his supplies. He finished putting his boots on and then leaned his arms on his bent knees, watching her eat. “Is there something wrong?” she asked. “I don’t know.” When he didn’t explain, she lifted her eyebrows and asked, “Shouldn’t you check a monitor or something, then, to find out?” “A monitor can’t answer these questions.” “They don’t work inside the cave?”
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Irritation started to crawl up the back of his head. Women were hard enough to figure out normally. So far, normal wasn’t even close to describing this woman. “We just had sex, right?” That surprised a small smile out of her. For such a tiny grin, it sent his heart flipping around in his chest like a fish pulled from a creek and tossed up on the bank. “That’s the question you need an answer to?” Shit. He tried another tack. “What did you mean when you said you were shielded?” The smile vanished. Implacability shut down her brief show of emotion. “It’s a form of birth control.” “Not any kind I know of.” She shrugged. “It’s safe to say you don’t know everything.” “Has anyone told you that you’re an extremely frustrating woman?” “No.” Brett shook his head and reached for a bottle of water. He finished it in silence and then tossed it back into the bag. “Okay, let’s try this. Why did you have sex with me?” Myrra frowned at him. “You didn’t want to have sex?” “Why the hell would you think that?” “You seem very concerned about it.” “Not about the sex. About you.” “I’m fine. Most of my injuries are healing well enough for sex not to bother them.” Brett wanted to kick something. Or break something in two. Or kiss the woman sitting in front of him looking too goddamned self-reliant and composed to be in the situation she was in. “You’ve been beat up or blown up, thrown off the side of a mountain and left for dead. You were picked up by a stranger and tied to a bed. Then you were attacked by a man—whom you seemed to have no problem killing—before hiking up a mountain in a snowstorm where you made love in a cave to a man you’ve known less than two days. But instead of crying or demanding answers—or hell, calling me a goddamn bastard for taking advantage of the situation—you ask me about rations. I may not know everything, but I damn sure know that that’s not a normal response from a woman after everything that’s happened.” “It is a normal response to ask about food in a survival situation. And you didn’t take advantage of the situation. I judged it as a mutual agreement to meet a basic need.” “You call what we just did meeting a basic need?” “What would you call it?” “Fucking our damn brains out.” Brett shoved his hair back off his forehead and took a deep breath. Why the hell he let this woman get to him, he didn’t know, but it infuriated him that she could sit there so calmly, her blue eyes cool and her expression
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tolerant like he was some kind of ignorant schoolboy not quite “getting” the lesson. He should be goddamn ecstatic that he’d found the one woman in the world capable of fucking him into oblivion without any strings attached. He stood and grabbed his coat. “Never mind. I’m going to check on the weather.” He had just started to head out when she said, “I have a question.” “What?” “Why did you kiss me?” That brought him up short. He quit fastening his coat and turned to look at her. “Why did I kiss you?” “When we were almost done having sex. You kissed me. Why?” Brett pulled his gloves out of his pockets and tried to think of how, out of all the questions he thought she might have been going to ask, she asked one he’d never have guessed. And one that he didn’t particularly want to tell her the truth to. He shrugged and turned back to leave. “Because I wanted to.” Brett stood at the edge of the cave seeing—and not seeing—the snow-shrouded forest. His last words to Myrra kept running through his head. Because I wanted to. He crossed his arms over his chest and scanned the surrounding area, automatically checking for anything out of the ordinary. Because I wanted to. Oh yes, he did. And he wanted a lot more than a damn meeting of basic needs. His gaze tracked a lone bird hopping from branch to branch, sending newfallen snow sifting toward earth. He’d never met a woman so…so…hell, he didn’t even have words for it. Maybe it was because of his vision, maybe it was because he had found her so vulnerable and hurt, or maybe it was because the woman was a living, breathing wet dream—but he damn well knew he wanted her. “Hell of a sense of timing, Canon.” “Do you often talk to yourself?” Shit. He hadn’t heard her come up behind him. The bird on the branch flew away with a soft fluttering of wings and flurry of disturbed snow. “Depends.” Before she could comment, he turned to face her. “Can you handle another hike?” “Of course.” Jesus. The woman hadn’t even hesitated. “I’d like to take advantage of the break in the weather. The last reports I checked showed a much larger storm moving in close behind that first one.” “Are we headed into town?” Brett shook his head. “There isn’t a town around to head into. We’re just moving to a more comfortable place.” “We don’t have to move on my account.”
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He moved around her and back into the cave. “We don’t have enough food here for more than a couple of days.” “How long do you expect to be stranded?” Brett stopped gathering the bags and equipment he had brought with him. Myrra’s question wasn’t asked in the curt, even tone he had come to expect from her. “I don’t know. Could be days. Could be weeks.” Myrra’s eyes clouded. “That’s unacceptable.” “Talk to God, angel. Nothing I can do to stop a blizzard.” With subtle movements, Myrra’s posture changed to telegraph defiance. Her chin lifted, her fingers tensed on her hips and her stance widened. “Why do you keep calling me different names when I gave you mine?” “Terms of endearment.” He winked at her. “Sweetheart.” Her lips pursed slightly, but she ignored his last comment. “I need to get back as soon as possible.” “Back where?” She didn’t answer. “Back to the people who tried to kill you?” Again, her only answer was icy silence. Brett jammed a couple of extra rations into a pack for the next trek and jerked the zipper closed. “Let’s get going, then.” The hike up and around the mountain took longer than if he were by himself, but he refused to push her limits unless it was necessary. Just because she’d accept any challenge thrown at her, there was no way in hell Myrra was operating at full strength. Without rushing, he kept their speed constant, stepping up the pace through the last two miles only because the wind picked up and the clouds started moving in faster. Stopping near a rocky outcropping, he turned and handed Myrra the backpacks. She glanced up at the sky and then frowned at him. “I don’t need to take a break. It looks like it’s going to start snowing again soon. We should keep moving.” “We’re here.” He ran his hands over the rocky surface, found the locking mechanism that released the false front over a keypad. A long sequence of numbers later and, where there had only been rock, an opening just large enough for a man to walk through opened up. “Right through here,” he said, motioning for her to precede him. “There’s no lights.” “There will be once the door closes behind us. They’re automatic once the passage is sealed.” A cold gust of wind tugged several strands of Myrra’s hair loose and snapped them across her face. She tucked them back into the knot at the base of her neck and stepped into the darkness. Brett took a minute to scan the area—listening, watching, sensing—before he bent down and erased the evidence of their entrance at this point. Myrra had given him enough room to step in beside her and still allow for the door to close behind them. A soft whirring and a muffled thunk was followed by the flickering of evenly spaced electric lights designed to look like primitive torches—
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wooden clubs with their tops wrapped in burning rags. Their flickering highlighted the veins of gold running through the passage and the shiny black marble beneath their feet. Reaching out, Myrra traced a crooked line of gold with the tip of her fingers. “Is it real?” “Yes and no.” He stepped around her and started down the passage. “Real gold, but this whole place was built by a guy with more money than eccentricities—and that’s saying a lot. You’ll see.” “Is he here?” “No. Buzz only comes here three or four days a year and always in the summer.” “Buzz?” “Bernardo Iman. He’s not one to headline any news. Likes to keep a low profile and pays a lot of people a lot of money to do just that.” “Doesn’t sound like the kind of man in whose house you’d want to get caught breaking and entering.” Brett grinned. “Who said anything about getting caught?” They had reached the second panel and he keyed in another long list of numbers. “Don’t worry. I helped build this place and check in on it occasionally. The owner and I have an understanding.” “What kind of understanding?” “He lets me use it when I need to and I renew the land lease to him every year.” “You own this place?” “No, just the land. Inherited it from my grandfather.” Myrra hesitated before crossing the threshold. “It’s safe?” “Buzz has an abnormal concern for privacy. I’m the only local he used for anything.” She tilted her head, but otherwise didn’t move. “Yes. It’s safe.” He nodded toward the opening. “Go ahead. Check it out.” “The lights are on.” “Automatic once this door opens.” Her inspection was quick and thorough. By the time he had removed his coat, stashed his gear and checked the monitors, she was finished. “What does this man do?” she asked. “Generally, he buys up small countries and resells them to the highest bidder. Here, he comes to think.” Brett looked around the small space, trying to imagine seeing it for the first time after living in a primitive cabin and then a night on the floor of a cave. The place was small—the living space under four hundred square feet—but Buzz enjoyed the finer things in life and insisted on being comfortable, even when hiding out from the world. 25
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Expense hadn’t been a concern. Heated black and cream marble floors matched the countertops and breakfast bar, leather and rare-wood furniture delineated the different areas and even the shuttered windows had a lighting system that mimicked the passing of daylight hours. The tunnel they had come from opened into the kitchen and from there all but two rooms were visible. Set up like a studio apartment, bedroom, kitchen and living room were all part of the open floor plan. Off the kitchen area was a large food pantry complete with a freezer and a climate-controlled wine closet. The bathroom was located on the other side, near a large abstract painting. “There’s a constant supply of water and energy. It didn’t bother Buzz to incorporate technologies that haven’t been approved for use in the U.S. yet if it meant he wouldn’t have to worry about getting caught in the dark and dying of thirst. If you want to take a shower, go ahead. I’ll get us something to eat.” Myrra nodded and shrugged out of her coat, tossing it on a chair on her way to the bathroom. “There’s extra clothes in that dresser there.” Brett watched her stop long enough on her way to the bathroom to pull out a pair of gray sweats and a white undershirt. The fit should be interesting. Buzz was a thin man and a couple inches shorter than Myrra. Unlike the pantry, the bathroom didn’t have a door. It had a wide archway and a partial wall that gave some privacy to the toilet, but he had a good view of the glassblocked shower and most of the vanity area. Myrra didn’t stop to look at her reflection in the mirror, but went straight to the shower and turned it on. When she bent over to unlace her boots, Brett’s chest tightened and heat flared through him in a single, quick burst of lust. Forcing himself to turn his back on her, he double-checked the computer command center for the house that had been installed inside one of the kitchen cabinets and switched on some music to drown out the sound of the shower. It didn’t help. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see her unwind her hair and watch it fall in a thick golden wave down her back. Suddenly the mountain getaway seemed too small, too intimate and one hell of a bad idea. He stepped into the pantry and closed the door behind him. If he had watched much longer, he would have been joining her in that shower. It took him forever to pick out two steaks and grab a couple cans of vegetables because the image his mind had conjured up of Myrra wet and sliding against his body kept overriding all his other thought processes. He was carrying on one hell of a mental war back and forth between opposing sides of both adults with basic needs versus she’s a unknown entity who’s proven herself to be dangerous and unwilling to answer any questions. Besides the obvious threat of her ability and readiness to kill, Brett had a nagging sense at the back of his mind that she was becoming a more subtle threat to him in ways that he didn’t fully have a grip on yet. It wasn’t until the freezer’s warning beep signaled that the door had been open too long that he shook himself out of his reverie and gathered the food he had come in here
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for in the first place. He glanced down at his watch. It had been twelve minutes. The efficient manner in which Myrra accomplished every task had him pretty sure she’d be out of the shower by now. For good measure, he took an extra five minutes picking out a wine. After shouldering the pantry door closed, he turned to put the food and wine on the counter. He looked up, expecting to see Myrra dressed and sitting somewhere in the living room. Instead, she was still in the shower. Brett froze. Steam and the lightly frosted glass bricks clouded her image just enough to sharpen his imagination. He set the bottle of wine on the counter harder than he intended and it thumped loudly. The hell with it. Brett dropped the other items on the counter and headed into the bathroom. The shower had a walk-in entrance off to the side where he stopped to look at the sexy-beyond-fantasies woman in front of him. She was standing under the dual showerheads, back to the streaming water with her head tilted into the spray as she ran her fingers through her hair. He must have made a sound that alerted her to his presence as he bent down to undo his shoes, because she dropped her hands and glared at him. “What are you doing?” He tossed his shoes and socks away and whipped his shirt off over his head. “Meeting a basic need, angel.” Her hands propped up on her hips. “And if it’s not mutual?” The rest of his clothes landed on the bathroom floor. “Give me a quick minute to change that.” He stepped into the shower, slid his arms through the triangles of space around her waist she had created with her defiant stance and pulled her against his body for a kiss. She immediately twisted away from his mouth, but didn’t push him away. He took that for a green light and kissed down the side of her neck as the water pulsed over them. Running his hands down her back and over her ass, he took bold liberties in tracing curves and dipping into valleys. Her fingers sank into his upper arms as he began to knead her bottom. He loved exploring a woman’s body, finding out what turned her on and what made her crazy. Myrra liked having her ass squeezed. He gripped it harder and pressed her lower body against his erection. “You don’t have much control over your sexual impulses, do you?” Her question was probably meant to be mocking, but Brett was pleased to hear an uneven rasp to it. He scraped his teeth along the side of her neck and she trembled in response. “Not with you taking such a goddamn long time in the shower. You were supposed to be out by now.” Myrra arched away from him to look up at his face. “Am I using too much water? Did you need in here? Why didn’t you just say something?” For a minute, Brett ignored her questions in favor of staring down at her breasts. Her ivory skin had a light flush from the heat of the shower and water was running in a
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thin rivulet between the two luscious mounds. Beaded droplets covered the rounded tops and dripped off the tips of her deep pink, nearly brown nipples and onto his chest. “Water use is not a problem,” he said. “And I’m working on getting in where I need to be.” He leaned down and sucked one of her nipples deep into his mouth. Her skin tasted clean and carried a slightly herbal tang from the soap Buzz kept in his shower. His lips pressed against the soft flesh of her breast as he tongued her hardened nipple against the roof of his mouth. Fresh desire surged and sizzled a path over his skin. Myrra gasped and immediately tried to pull away. He splayed a hand over her back to hold her in place and continued to suck and rub his tongue over her nipple. “We need to dry off,” she said. “Move to the bed.” He straightened, but kept her body pinned to his. “Why?” Her face was set, but her eyes were bright with desire. At his question, a quick flash of panic moved through them. “To finish this and move on to other things.” “Darlin’, we’re caught in a cave with not much else to do but this. There’s no hurry. Might as well enjoy the time.” He cupped her breast and then ran a thumb over its puckered peak. Its stiffened, resilient spring back into place every time he flicked it back and forth made his cock harden more. “God knows I’m not going to be able to think about much else while we’re stuck here.” She shook her head. “No good. The water will turn cold soon—” Brett smiled and cut her off. “Buzz installed a continuous water-heating element. Cold water passes through heated coils and comes out hot on our end. We could stand here for a week and not run out of hot water.” “We just need a release from the tension—” His smile faded at her continued detachment and his hand tightened on her ass. “Myrra.” Her eyes widened at the use of her name. Bright blue and fathomless, they stirred more than just another rush of lust in him. “What are you afraid of? Why does sex that takes longer than five minutes scare you?” “It doesn’t scare me.” The nervousness in her eyes betrayed her steady voice. “I just don’t think time needs to be wasted on something that’s not…” Her gaze slid away and, though he waited, she didn’t finish. “That’s not what?” he prompted. “Necessary.” If she wasn’t so damn serious looking up at him with that shuttered expression she wore like a wall of armor, he would have thought she was kidding. “Don’t you ever do anything that’s not necessary?” “No.” Something shifted between them. An emotion had opened for a slit second when she answered, but had been closed down again so quickly, Brett wasn’t sure what it was. He leaned in until he was less than an inch from her face. “Maybe,” he whispered, 28
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“we need to change your definition of ‘necessary’.” His lips brushed over hers, but again she turned from his kiss. He knew from the cave that she didn’t find his kiss repulsive. Her explosive reaction had told him that. But why she avoided it whenever she could was another matter. He fastened his mouth over the curve of tendon between her neck and shoulder and bit down lightly before sucking hard. Her hands flew up to his head, her fingers twisting in his hair. He waited for her to pull him away, but she just gripped his head tighter and arched her body up, pressing her breasts against his chest. With a groan, he focused all his attentions on making her forget basic needs and necessities. She was too beautiful a woman to think that sex should only be a pragmatic exercise. For someone with a body clearly designed to give and receive pleasure, it was a damn shame that whatever place she came from had taught her to be a perfect automaton without weakness or desire. They had a hell of a chemistry going between them. Judging from the way she was moaning and melting into him, it wasn’t a one-sided affair. She had fallen into his arms and made the first move. He was more than capable of taking it from there.
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Chapter Three Myrra stared up at the fogged-over glass blocks behind Brett and tried to take a deep breath. This man pushed her. Made her feel…too much. Feelings were unpredictable and made people unreliable. She had witnessed it firsthand, growing up in a home where two people had allowed jealousy and spite to dictate every decision. Later in life, her sister had tried to kill herself because a lover had left her emotions unrequited. Even her own feelings of loyalty had betrayed her, fooling her into believing that disobeying the direct order of a superior was the right thing to do. She had never, never gone against orders before. Her mistake had nearly cost the life of her sovereign’s mate. It had cost her the trust of her closest friend. A wave of loss that rose from the depths of her soul threatened to buckle her knees faster than the man holding her in his arms. Crushing her eyes closed, she tried to force the image of Wyc’s face out of her mind. The expression he had worn when he discovered the person he had trusted the most had purposefully sent his mate away. She had spent every day since totally focused on her job—living, breathing, bleeding her job in penance. It went beyond duty. It was her life, leaving her with no room for the complications this man was capable of bringing. “Myrra.” Her name, low and whispered against her skin. Opening her eyes, she found Brett had straightened and was looking down at her with concern darkening his eyes. “What?” “Lost you there for a moment.” “I should finish my shower.” “Yes, we should.” One of his hands settled possessively over her right breast. “No, I mean—” “Myrra. Stop. Just stop. Stay here with me. Wherever you’re going in your mind, don’t go there tonight. Whatever keeps you wound so tight all the time—ignore it. For just a few hours.” The back of Myrra’s throat tightened around words that stuck there like barbs. “Let me help you forget.” He kissed the corner of her mouth. She couldn’t forget. If she forgot, she might start feeling again. And make another mistake. Brett turned with her in the shower, pressing her back against the wall. He kissed his way down her neck and his hands swept over her curves. Squeezing, cupping,
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skimming. Firm and sure, his caresses fired desire through her veins and messed with her mind, weakening her determination. Arching her back, she tried to push away from the wall. The floor was too slick for the traction she needed to move Brett’s weight, and before she could readjust, he had grabbed both her wrists and pinned them together behind her back. He lowered his mouth to her breast again. This time, her knees did buckle. Brett’s hold on her tightened, keeping her from sliding to the floor as he murmured something she couldn’t quite hear against the swell of her breast. He transferred both of her wrists to one hand and shifted their weight so she was leaning backward on his arm. His free hand skimmed around her side and over her stomach. She exhaled on a shaky breath as his fingers teased the sensitive skin just below her navel. “Brett, I—” His mouth closed over her breast, his teeth nipping its beaded peak as two fingers slid high and hard into her. Her body bucked and all hope of getting out of the shower before she came apart again in this man’s embrace evaporated. Biting down on her bottom lip, she pushed back the intoxicating rush of sensation that threatened to overwhelm her. He might be able to surprise certain reactions out of her, but she’d not let him command her body. Regardless of her mistakes in the past, she knew that no man deserved that level of trust. Years ago, she had learned how to make sex work for her. Only body response, no thinking, no feeling. Straight up to a fast orgasm and she’d be walking away within a couple of minutes. Rocking her hips, she gripped his fingers with her cunt and rode his hand hard. Brett stroked inside her again and swirled his tongue around her nipple. The man was good. Almost good enough to make her forget that he still held her wrists imprisoned behind her. His tongue circled again, his fingers twisted in deeper and his thumb brushed her clit. Myrra gasped, bore down. Swiveled her hips. So close, so very, very close. Her inner walls clutched at his fingers, pulsing and pushing her closer to the edge. Oh yes. It was just there. Right— “No!” Myrra yelled in disbelief as Brett pulled his hand away. “Don’t worry,” he said, straightening. “I’m going to take good care of you, angel. But I want to be inside you when you come.” “Let go of my hands.” As soon as he did, she grabbed on to his shoulder with one hand for balance, wrapped a leg high up around his waist to open herself and guided his cock to her entrance with her other hand. Brett’s hands slid from around her waist to her ass as she surged forward, taking him inside in one fluid motion. “Fuck,” he hissed, dropping his head back. She tightened her leg around him, forcing him in deeper. Matching the pull of her inner muscles on his cock, he rocked in and out of her. His groans of pleasure
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heightened Myrra’s own desire and she took advantage of his movements by pushing her hand down so her thumb could massage her clit while the backs of her fingers rubbed his balls each time he thrust forward. Immediately, she felt the change in Brett’s body and inwardly she triumphed at her recovery of control. The muscles across his shoulders strained and his movements became faster, more desperate. He squeezed her ass hard, his fingers sliding intimately into the crease. His breath burst out on harsh grunts and she felt his balls draw up against her fingers. Flicking her thumb roughly over her clit, she clenched her pussy around his cock to release her orgasm. Suddenly, Brett pushed one long finger into her ass. No one had ever been allowed such a privilege with her body and the surprising and incredibly erotic sensation whipped her releasing climax totally beyond limits she had known. The action was so unexpected she had no way to stop or tame the sensations engulfing her body. With a cry, she bucked against him as he pounded into her and pushed his finger in deeper. His seed streamed hot and thick inside her as he growled next to her ear. Her cunt spasmed again as pleasure exploded outward from her center. Fire ran under her skin as water spilled over it. She closed her eyes as the world wrenched itself inside out. Time slowed, spun, lost its hold on reality as ecstasy robbed her senses of their customary touchstones. With her entire body shuddering, Myrra pressed into the warmth of Brett and tried to breathe. His hands stroked over her from her shoulders to thighs, her body so sensitive that the water pelting down was almost painful. Her head was lifting and lowering with Brett’s deep, gasping breathing. Something wasn’t right. Wiping the water off her face, Myrra blinked her eyes open. She and Brett were lying on the shower’s floor, Brett on the bottom with her sprawled over his body. His hand smoothed back up from her hip to her shoulder, lifted to comb strands of her wet hair off her face and then stroked down her cheek with a light touch from the tips of his fingers. The smell of his skin, of their sex, of the soap and shampoo she had just finished using before he entered. The heat and comfort of his body beneath and the shower like warm, pouring rain above. His heart beat loud against her ear and the sound of their slowing breaths mingled with a languid ease to the steady rhythm of the water against the glass tiles. The sight of his large hand so gentle on her face. His caress in the absence of urgency wrapped the shower in an intimacy Myrra didn’t want. Fear jolted her into action and she pushed up to a sitting position, straddling him. His hand fell to cover hers where it rested on his chest. “You started to fall, darlin’.” He reached up and feathered his fingers over her left breast. “I caught you.” Her nipple puckered and her pussy responded with an answering tremor. She felt his cock twitch and start to harden and realized that he was still inside her. Abruptly, she stood and stepped over him to reach for a towel.
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“I’ll see about the food while you finish your shower.” Without giving him a chance to reply, she dried herself off briskly as she walked across the floor to her clothes. Less than a minute later, she was dressed and had effectively escaped the threatening closeness of the bathroom. Damn. Brett wiped the water out of his face and stood up, reaching for the soap. He lathered and rinsed with quick, automatic movements while his mind stayed on the woman fixing the meal he had pulled from the pantry. He couldn’t figure the woman out. One minute they were having amazing sex and the next she was acting like they were less than strangers. Shaking the water out of his hair, he yanked a towel off the bar and finished drying. He should leave it alone. Take the sex as it came and ignore the wall she built around herself. She obviously didn’t want him probing into her personal business and he should just let the woman live in peace. Yeah, right. Like that was ever going to happen. He never turned away from a challenge. Today was no exception. Too bad this couldn’t be just about sex for him. The vision he’d had that brought her into his life took that option from him before they’d ever met. At one time, he would have ignored the whole mess or, at the very least, allowed himself to be easily pushed away from what he’d been instructed to do. But not now. Not since his brother’s death. He may not have a hell of a clue what the vision meant, but he was damn well going to find out. And to do that, he needed to know more about the woman in the other room grilling steak. “Smells good.” And looked good. Buzz’s sweats hugged her ass and that white tshirt did nothing but emphasize the perfect lushness of her breasts. They swayed as she moved, her nipples darkening the front where they poked at the cotton. “It should be done in a minute. Interesting choice of vegetables. Feeling low on iron?” Brett looked up from her chest to what was waiting already heated in two side bowls next to the stove. Canned beets and spinach. Shit. Next time he’d have to pay attention to what he was grabbing out of the panty. Easier said than done with a naked Myrra on the premises. “Would you like something else?” “No.” Brett watched her transfer the steaks to two plates before picking them up to carry to the breakfast bar. “Why don’t you like to be kissed on the mouth?” One of the plates slipped in her hand and clattered on the marble countertop. She placed the other next to it and turned to get the bowls of vegetables. He grabbed the wine and two glasses and put them next to the plates. “Why are you being hunted?” she asked.
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“I assume someone wants to kill me.” He finished the place settings out with the silverware. “Kissing?” “It’s personal.” “What? Kissing or your reason?” “Why do you think someone wants to kill you?” “It’s personal.” Myrra tilted her head. “In that case, I’d say it’s time to eat.” Brett let it go momentarily so they could eat while it was still warm. Otherwise, the way Myrra answered questions, they might not get to dinner for a week. By the time they finished eating, she looked ready to drop. When she started gathering up dishes, he took the plates from her hand. “House rules. If you cook, I clean. Why don’t you turn in?” She nodded and pushed away from the bar. Brett rounded the counter. “Bed’s right here.” He walked to the large abstract art piece half covering one wall. Pushing a button on the frame, the queen-sized bed lowered out from the wall. “Interesting,” she said. “And comfortable.” “And much larger than a sleeping bag.” “Unfortunately.” Myrra allowed a small smile before it was overtaken by a yawn. Brett pulled the covers loose from the frame where they had been tucked in tightly and held them up. “Come on, crawl in. I’ll tuck you in.” With a disgruntled look, she slid between the sheets and pulled them out of his hands before he could fold them back in around her. He bent down, but was stopped by her glare. “If you kiss my forehead, I will hurt you.” Brett laughed and straightened. “I was just going to say sweet dreams.”
***** He moved into position, raised the gun and took careful aim. The target was in his sights and he set his finger on the trigger and waited for the go-ahead. Suddenly all hell broke loose. Someone yelled, his target hit the ground and rolled under a truck while bullets peppered the side of the building close to his head, sending splintered wood fragments flying. He turned to take cover in the building he’d just cleared of targets, but saw something over his shoulder that froze his blood. Nick was here. What the hell was his brother doing here? Running toward him? With all his gear on, Brett knew there was no way Nick recognized him, yet he was sprinting right toward him, shouting a warning.
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Suddenly Nick’s body jerked, his chest thrusting out and his arms flapping out awkwardly and uncontrolled. Eyes wide in shock, mouth open in silence, Nick fell forward. Shot in the back. Dead before his face hit the dirt. Brett leapt toward his brother, but was brought down from behind. His roar of fury was drowned out by another sporadic burst of gunshots cracking through the air. Nick. He had to get to Nick. He fought off his attacker, and when he finally reached his brother, he rolled him over to make sure it wasn’t some horrible mistake. The vision wasn’t true. Couldn’t be true. It wasn’t Nick. It was Myrra. She looked up at him, eyes filled with pain. “You saved my life,” she said, raising her hand up to touch his face. It was covered with blood that dripped off her palm to join the stain spreading across her shirt. “It was my turn to save yours.” He bent to pick her up, but someone stopped him. Turning on the one pulling him away, he fought in a rage as he rolled to pin his attacker. Crashed onto the ground— “Brett!” Something hit his shoulder hard. He blinked open his eyes as he struggled to take hold of his opponent again. An elbow hit him in the chin and he grunted. Realized the ground beneath him was no longer cold and rocky. But it was damn hard. “Brett.” He turned his face toward the voice. In the dim light, he could make out Myrra staring down at him. Sitting on his chest and poised to hit him again. Her hair flowed over her shoulders and she watched him warily. They were on the floor with the blanket half on, half off the bed and tangled in his legs. “Myrra?” “You were having a nightmare.” Taking her hand, he turned it palm up. It was clean. He reached up and touched her shirt. It wasn’t wet. Not dark with blood. “You’re okay.” She batted his hand away. “Of course. Are you?” Of course. Did she always have to be so fucking sure of herself? He had just seen her die. And it wasn’t a fucking nightmare. He knew the feel of those. And he knew when he had seen the future. With adrenaline still pumping through his veins, he kicked away the covers and rolled her underneath him. “Don’t ever try to save my life,” he hissed. “What?” Her automatic struggle paused as she frowned up at him, looking like she thought he had hit his head too hard when they fell to the floor. He moved off her, scooped her up and threw her onto the bed. She used the momentum of the bounce to carry her to the far side of the mattress. The woman was fast, but his body was still primed for a fight from his vision and his senses were operating at the nearly unnatural level of a warrior in full combat mode. He sprang at her, catching her and flipping around so their legs tangled together.
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Even in the low light of the lamp he had left on in the kitchen, he could read her intentions. See which muscles were being tensed for action, gauge her defensive choices and her level of commitment to the fight. She was still reacting like she believed he hadn’t fully awakened yet. Wary, but mostly waiting for him to calm down. He let her maneuver to the top position and wrapped his arms around her waist. Pushing herself up by propping her hands against his shoulders, she shook her curtain of hair back out of her face. Instantly, his cock surged at the feel of her legs trapped in place by his, the soft pressure of her belly against his erection and the sight of her breasts being thrust forward. With difficulty, he moved his gaze from the outline of her nipples to her face. Her eyes widened. “You’ve got to be kidding.” His answer was to lean up and catch one of her nipples in his teeth and tug. Myrra gasped and her short fingernails dug into his shoulders. He pushed his hands under the waistband of her sweats and grabbed her ass. His tongue laved her nipple and plastered the thin material of the t-shirt to her breast. The violence of his vision still swirled in his gut, and at her soft unwilling moan, it spun through him like a wildcat chasing a tornado. He wanted a struggle. Needed something to release this feeling of helplessness that swamped him at the sight of Myrra dying right in front of him. He released her breast and yanked the t-shirt off over her head, dislodging her arms and causing her to fall forward. Her breasts flattened against his bare chest. She started to roll off him and he rolled with her, using the energy of her movement to pin her underneath him. Knowing she would resist, he kissed her hard on the mouth. Even as she twisted away, heat flared over her skin. Skimming his hands down her sides, he hooked his fingers into the top of her sweats. Ignoring her protest, he lifted himself up off her and yanked them down her legs before throwing them across the room. In the few seconds it took his boxers to follow, Myrra rose to her knees on the bed. He reached for her and she blocked him. Clear challenge sparked out from her blue eyes. Oh, hell yes. This was going to be just what he needed. With his muscles tensed in anticipation, he watched as her eyes moved over his face and body. “Do you want something?” she finally asked, her tone as close to smartass as he had ever heard it. Her eyes narrowed at his grin. “I’ll take that as a y—” Brett cut off her words as he pounced. He had her beat in weight and strength, but the woman had defensive moves that kept surprising him. Triumph shone on her face each time she bested him and made it clear she was enjoying this contest as much or more than he was. That, and the fact that other than parrying his attack, she made no desperate effort to break free from the struggle or inflict injury. Something he was grateful for, since his cock had grown into an easy target as their naked bodies continued to roll and rub over each other as they vied for the dominant position.
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Blankets, sheets and pillows wound up on the floor as they struggled back and forth across the bed and nearly off again before he was able to flip her onto her stomach. Myrra’s breath left with a loud grunt when he landed on top of her to keep her in place. Grappling for her lightning-fast hands, he secured them out to her sides and barely missed getting his teeth bashed in when her head jerked back. He laughed at the near miss and the exultant rush of having beaten his hellcat of an angel. Bringing her wrists together at the back of her neck, he manacled them together with one of his hands to keep them and her head in place. She went totally still underneath him when most people would have continued to struggle. But his angel didn’t expend energy in a fight where it would be wasted— another unmistakable sign of her intensive training. If she were ever in a situation where she’d truly be fighting for her life, he didn’t favor the other person’s odds. As he surveyed his captive, a yellowing bruise on her right shoulder caught his attention. Since the moment he’d found her lying facedown on the mountain, a smoldering anger had burned low and steady in his belly. And each time he saw again the proof of her injuries rage spiked razor-sharp and bright through his soul. Tonight it was followed by a sea of unexpected emotion surging up with such force reality seemed to slip from his mind momentarily. With a soft curse, he asked, “What the hell are you doing to me, angel?” “Doing to you?” Though muffled, he could still hear the sarcasm in Myrra’s question. Shaking his head roughly, he pushed his thoughts clear of anything but the gorgeous body beneath him. He slipped his free hand between the bed and her stomach and down until his fingers were sliding through her curls. She clenched her thighs together, keeping his hand from moving between them. “You asked me earlier if I wanted something,” he said, shifting his legs so they parted hers. “The answer is yes.” He spread her legs wider, giving his hand free access to her pussy. “The answer is this,” he whispered hoarsely as he speared two fingers deep into her cunt, twisting them and scissoring them so they tapped her inner walls. Myrra gasped and arched her back. “Goddamn, you’re wet,” he said as he pulled his fingers out and plunged them back in again. The sound of her soaking pussy sucking on his fingers as he worked them in and out had his cock aching to get inside her. Stretching her labia apart with his index and middle fingers, he held her open for his cock. He’d barely begun to push in when Myrra froze beneath him and then started a struggle they both knew was in vain. “Myrra?” “Not like this,” she said. “I want to be on top.” He might have thought it was a ploy to get the advantage in position, but something in her voice told him that whatever had created the need for Myrra to be in control went far deeper than a desire to win a wrestling match. Even so, it wasn’t in his nature to just hand over a victory. 37
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“You got it, darlin’.” The tension that had seized her body released and her muscles relaxed. Brett didn’t wait, but abruptly thrust his cock hard and deep inside her. Myrra’s outrage was short-lived as he rolled them both over, placing him on the bottom with her on top, her back to his chest. He’d kept one hand wrapped around her wrists and the other over his cock and her pussy, making sure he didn’t slide out of her. Quickly he wrapped his legs around hers to keep them wide open for him. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Putting you on top.” “Not exactly what I meant.” He rocked his hips in a couple of shallow thrusts to make sure he was in deep enough before he started fingering her pussy. “Are you saying you don’t like this, because if you are—” he flicked her clit sideways and thrust up harder, making her moan, “I’d have to say you’re lying.” Myrra didn’t bother answering. Her breasts rose and lowered on deep panting breaths as he continued working her clit with his fingers. Thrusting his cock deep inside her, he fucked her slick cunt in a smooth rocking motion that kept his cock lodged securely in place. She began to writhe in rhythm to his thrusts, bearing down when he pushed up and gripping him tightly with her inner walls as he pulled back. God fucking damn, he loved it when she did that. But it sure as hell made it hard to hang on to his control. Letting go of her wrists, he squeezed her right breast and then rolled the nipple firmly between his fingers. A soft exclamation from Myrra had Brett lifting his head to watch her face. Her eyes were closed, her cheeks were flushed and she was biting down on her bottom lip. He thrust up hard with his hips, sending his cock deep inside her and at the same time gave her nipple a sharp twist. Her beautiful blue eyes flew open and her mouth rounded on a surprised “Oh!” “Put your hands on your breasts.” After a brief hesitation, she brought her hands up. “Twist your nipples.” He encouraged her by using her fingers under his the first time. “Come on, you know what you like.” Brett watched her fingers tug and turn her nipples for a minute, a low growl of lust rumbling out of his chest at the sight. His cock jumped and a bone-deep shudder of desire coursed through his body. Now that both hands were free, he used one to spread her pussy lips and the other to stroke her clit. Teasing and taunting. Replacing light circling caresses with firm touches. Different touches. Experimenting and discovering what drove this woman insane. “Come for me,” he whispered. His breath brushing her neck as her body arched and strained with her rising pleasure.
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The sound of her soft panting moans, the heat between their bodies, the smell of her skin—he lifted his head far enough to taste it. The salty tang skated over his tongue. Damn, she was sweet. Suddenly she jerked and cried out. Her climax caught him by surprise and her spasming cunt nearly jerked him into his own orgasm. Gently, he cupped her mound— her tender flesh hot to the touch—and let her ride out the ecstasy. Her juices coated his cock and dripped down around his balls. A ragged groan tore from his throat as his cock throbbed. Myrra’s breathing began to return to normal and he started moving his fingers on her again. This time marking a slow, deliberate path around her clit, being careful not to actually touch the still-throbbing bundle of nerves. She covered his hand with her own to stop his caress. “Brett. No.” He kissed the side of her face. “What’s the matter, angel?” He slid his other hand under the one she had grabbed and continued to caress her, now with harder strokes. “I can’t,” she said as she wrapped her free hand around his wrist and tugged. “Oh yes, you can.” He rocked his hips up once, twice and flicked his finger along the side of her clit to test her response. Her body didn’t jerk with a hypersensitive reaction, but her hold lessened slightly. “There you go. All you have to do is lay back. I’m going to take you right back up.” For a minute, Myrra let him tease her, not trying to stop him, but not removing her hands from his either. Her body rigid as a block of wood, her breathing shallow. Suddenly she shuddered once, hard, and then seemed to melt into him. Her legs tightened around his, her hips swiveled and her hands slid down over his, moving with them. Wishing like hell that there was a mirror on the ceiling so he could watch both their hands working her pussy, Brett picked up the pace and started fucking her faster. Both their fingers were slick with her cream now and were sliding over each other as their strokes became more and more forceful. Then Myrra slid her hands past his to rub his cock at her entrance. The woman was determined to drive him out of his mind. She feathered her fingertips over the bottom of his shaft as he rocked in and out of her, each light touch setting off rivers of fire through his veins. Keeping his cock in deep, he increased the tempo of his thrusts, letting the ecstasy of her touch and her cunt’s silky grip burn through his blood until every nerve was consumed by the need to come. Then she reached down a bit farther and gently, but firmly, tugged his balls up. “Holy shit,” Brett hissed. He grabbed her by the hips and pumped hard and fast into her as the climax he’d had such a stranglehold on came unleashed in a frenzy of sharp, blinding flashes of pleasure and jagged, thundering jolts of ecstasy. Myrra cried out and held on to his wrists, her short fingernails digging into his skin. The force of her orgasm punched his into overdrive. It tore through him and left him
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gasping for air. His muscles trembled worse than after the most hellacious day of boot camp. His heart pounding in his ears, he wrapped his arms around Myrra and rolled them to their sides, still deep inside her and completely unwilling to pull out or let her pull away.
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Chapter Four Myrra didn’t move. Long after her pulse had slowed, her breath had returned to normal and she could think clearly. But she couldn’t think. Not when she couldn’t get her body to stop trembling. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. Nothing had happened here other than just a better than average orgasm. That was all. Another tremor started somewhere deep in her heart before working its way through her body to prove her a liar. She had lost control and cried out a man’s name in the middle of sex. And it wasn’t simply because her body had been totally taken over by pleasure so intense that, long after her orgasm had faded, she was still disoriented and floating in the aftermath of complete physical satisfaction. This man had come close to touching her soul, had made her feel and made her lose control. Locking down the fear that thought threatened to unleash, she shifted to move away from Brett. His arms tightened around her. “Shhh…” He nuzzled her hair and dropped a quick kiss on her temple. “No worries, just sleep.” She should still make a point that she could be, was still in control no matter what he said or did. Or how good it felt. But the lethargy of mind-bending sex combined with the comfort of Brett’s warm body wrapped around her leached her resolve. She wasn’t at full strength and there was no point in wasting what she had recovered on a struggle she wasn’t really interested in winning. When was the last time she had faced a challenge—big or small—and not cared about whether she won or lost? The question remained unanswered as, sated and exhausted, she allowed sleep to bear her into the world of waiting dreams.
***** Myrra’s eyes flew open to see a bold, color-splashed abstract painting on the wall in front of her. She’d been dreaming of her father’s death again. She knew herself well enough to understand that the dream popped up whenever she was in a situation spiraling out of her control. She hated that dream. Watching her mother cuddle her baby sister while simultaneously threatening her life. Making sure Myrra never revealed the secret of her infidelity. Her mother had always valued her reputation and the societal position Syncan’s name awarded her far more than she ever valued her daughters. This month Nyana would pass her twenty-seventh year and her mother had been safely entombed beside her husband for nearly six years. But the threat had done its job.
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At eleven, Myrra had yet to witness the true cruelty the Sleht practiced against her people, but the rumors and stories she’d heard had been enough. From that day forward, their mother had given Nyana anything she demanded while denying Myrra at every turn. An underhanded tactic to make sure that if Myrra ever tried to warn Nyana, she’d only believe Myrra was speaking out of jealousy or spite and never believe it. As a result, Nyana had grown up spoiled and selfish—but she had lived to grow up. Stretching her legs under the sheet, the cotton was cool against her bare skin. Though she had repeatedly pressed her mother for details of her real father, only once, after she had had too much to drink at a Mating Ritual celebration, had her mother ever given her a clue as to his identity. “A soldier. A common soldier whom I fell madly and foolishly in love with after I had already been pledged to Syncan. When he found out, he refused to release me from my pledge and held the Mating Ritual that same day. I was glad, really. Turns out wealth and power are much more lasting and reliable than emotion.” Unfortunately, considering the number of soldiers in the city where they lived, the years that had passed and the endless transfers of military personnel, it had not been enough to help her find him. A soft cracking sound had her turning her head toward the kitchen area. Brett was standing behind the bar breaking eggs into a frying pan. After tossing the shell into the trash, he picked up another egg and looked at her. Once again she was struck by the intensity he could level through his gaze, even with a smile on his face. “Sleep well?” he asked. “Yes.” Too well. She had slept through him getting out of bed, taking a shower—his hair was still wet and combed back from his face—and the start of breakfast. Could a body too overloaded by sexual pleasure be rendered unconscious for an entire night? She’d feel better about that than thinking she’d gotten comfortable enough with this man that her normal defenses, like sleeping light enough that a change in her environment woke her immediately, were compromised. Sitting up, she turned her head side to side, stretched her back and arms and decided that tonight she wouldn’t fall asleep in his arms. “Shit,” Brett hissed. She looked over to see him angrily shaking off a fistful of crushed shell and raw, dripping egg into the sink. After washing his hand, he grabbed a towel and started wiping down the top of the stove and floor. When he finished, he turned and glared at her. Pointing at her chest, he said, “What did I tell you about keeping those covered up?” Myrra finished stretching and said, “Your exact words were ‘Unless you want to be fucked, keep those covered up’.” Flattening his palms on either side of the stove, he leaned forward. “So, do you want to be fucked or do you want to eat breakfast?” For the first time in nearly two decades, Myrra had the urge to roll her eyes. She resisted and, instead, answered his question. “Eat. I’m hungry.” Looking around for the
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clothes she had worn last night, she spotted them on the floor a couple of feet from the bed. She threw the covers off and got out of bed to retrieve them. “Shit and damn.” Straightening, she turned to see what had upset the man now. He was standing stone still, another crushed egg leaking from one of his hands and looking at her with a pained expression on his face. “I think I’ll get cleaned up before breakfast,” she said. “Good idea,” he replied, reaching for the towel again. After her short shower, breakfast was ready. She’d dressed in another set of suitable clothing in Buzz’s drawers and finished tying the end of her braid off with a piece of dental floss she’d found in his medicine cabinet as she left the bathroom. Sitting down in front of a full plate of sausages and eggs, she picked up her fork, ready to eat. Brett was grinning at her. “Something funny?” she asked. “Nope. You’re just damn cute,” he said, his gaze running over her outfit. “Cute?” She’d never been called cute in her life. Looking down at her clothes, she wondered what was so amusing. She was well-covered and had all pieces on correctly. “Buzz doesn’t have a lot of clothes that fit me.” “Too many curves,” he said, joining her at the breakfast bar. “Not that I’m complaining,” he amended when she raised her eyebrows at him. “It’s a compliment. Not many six-foot kick-ass bombshells could pull off the World’s Best Grandpa t-shirt, Bermuda shorts and thick black wool socks look.” Myrra narrowed her eyes at Brett. Being described as cute made her uneasy—being labeled a bombshell shot her far past her comfort zone. “If you think that just because we’ve had sex, I’m going to become some servile plaything for you—” “Whoa,” Brett said, leaning back away from the table. His gaze flicked back and forth from her face to her hand and she realized that she had subconsciously turned the fork, gripping it as she would a weapon. Slowly, he reached across the bar and unclenched her fingers from around the silverware. “No need for violence at the breakfast table, angel.” The fork clattered against the marble countertop as he pried her last finger off. “We’ve gone way beyond a simple round or two of sex. And there’s not a chance in hell I could ever picture you as a servile anything. I doubt you have a single subservient bone in your body.” Turning her hand over, he intertwined his fingers through hers. “Though the thought of you trusting me enough to let me take you however and in whatever way I want makes me hard enough to fuck for hours.” Brett watched Myrra’s gorgeous blue eyes widen as the anger that so easily lived there was replaced by hesitation. For some insane reason, he wanted to push the trust issue. Find out if it was just him she refused to trust, men in general or if she trusted
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anyone in her life. After being dumped over a cliff and left for dead, he might have serious trust issues himself. He rubbed the inside of her palm with his thumb. He didn’t trust a single soul still alive himself, so why he was worrying over a woman’s problems when he had his own was a mystery to him. Life had personally taught him that trust was a risk at best and a death warrant at worst. Letting go of her hand, he settled back in to eat and let the subject drop. Myrra picked up her fork and for several minutes they ate in silence, each giving the other space. Brett finished his meal and scraped his chair back across the marble flooring, coffee cup in hand. “Want some more?” he asked, gesturing with his cup. He reached for hers without waiting for an answer. She’d been reaching for it at the same time and was closer, so his hand ended up wrapping around hers on the cup. Her charge was dead. Her oath unkept and now broken. She had sworn to protect the woman’s life with her own and she hadn’t been here to save her. His angel looked up at him, her face blanked with a mixture of shock and defeat. The strength that held her together from the inside out shriveled and, before his eyes, she shrank into a crackling shell and drifted away. Reaching for her, his fingers grasped around brittle feathers floating on the wind that turned to dust in his hands. She was gone and he was never getting her back— “Brett?” He blinked and shook his head, clearing the vision. The abrupt motion jerked his arm and sloshed coffee out of Myrra’s cup and over both their hands. “Dammit.” He set both cups down and grabbed a towel. “Sorry.” “What happened to you?” Her dissecting gaze flashed bright and deeply intelligent. The look in her eyes transported Brett back to the last time he had stood before his grandmother in the principal’s office. She had been called in after the latest prank he had pulled at the predominantly Anglo school where his Indian heritage had been the catalyst for a constant stream of harassment and ridicule from both peers and staff. Added to that was the additional torment of having the green eyes of a Caucasian father he’d never known. He’d been an outcast from both his mother’s people and his father’s society. In constant trouble, he’d learned early to strike first and hard. Now he stared unflinchingly back at Myrra without saying a word, allowing neither his body nor reaction to give a hint as to his thoughts. In high school, in that cramped, cheaply paneled office, a small bead of sweat had worked its way from the base of his skull, past his neck, between his shoulder blades and down his spine while the principal’s anger lashed out. At the time, his grandmother had stood silently through the ensuing harangue. Ramrod straight and proud while the man screeched himself into a frenzy of red-faced fervor. But he’d had no actual proof of his complicity and had to let him leave without punishment.
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Back at home, he had held his unwavering stance before his grandmother’s snapping, black-as-night eyes as she flayed all his defenses with a single look. She had two questions. He knew what they would be, what they always were. Did you harm the innocent? Did you bring shame to your people? As long as he could answer no to both, he remembered with the wry humor of childhood fears viewed through adult eyes, he was allowed to continue living. Myrra waited for his answer. As relaxed as she appeared, he knew she was focused and coiled to strike. “Nothing happened,” he said. The ice-hard glint in her eyes told him that she knew he was lying. He picked up the mugs, filled them as he had originally intended and then slid hers across the counter, making sure not to touch her hand again. She ignored the cup and continued to stare at him. “Who’s Nick?” Her question hit like a sucker punch. Without regard for the way it scalded the inside of his mouth, Brett gulped down his coffee and then stacked up his dishes and placed them in the sink. “I’m going to step outside and see how things look,” he said, crossing out of the kitchen to retrieve his boots. “Maybe the storm wasn’t as bad as predicted.” In reality, he didn’t have to go outside since Buzz had installed sensors that would tell him more than looking at a couple of snow-covered trees. He had looked at them last night after Myrra had gone to sleep and the worst of the storm seemed to have passed to the north. He could simply recheck the sensors now, but he suddenly needed some fresh air. Myrra turned to watch him as he sat on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots. When he stood, she was still staring at him. “You screamed his name last night.” Long, angry strides carried him to the hooks holding their coats. He punched his arms through the sleeves and wondered why every time she started asking questions, he felt the need to get outside. “He was my brother and I watched him die. It’s just an old nightmare.” “Is that where you went just now? Into the nightmare?” Brett glared at Myrra. The damn woman was too perceptive. He’d never thought of it that way, but he could easily agree that his visions were like entering into a waking nightmare. Closing the space between them and with his hands on his hips, he loomed over where she still sat at the counter. “Let’s talk about you for a minute. Who the hell are you, really? Where’d you come from and how the hell did you wind up battered and bleeding on the side of a mountain?” Her expression closed. She could have tried to stab him with her fork and it couldn’t have made him any angrier.
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“You’re full of fucking questions, but no answers. They’re simple questions, Myrra. Who are you and where did you come from?” “I can’t tell you.” He flattened one hand on the countertop and gripped the back of her chair with the other, caging her in. Fury etched his words as he leaned to within an inch of her face. “Then maybe you can tell me who the hell you’re in charge of that is going to die because you won’t be there to protect her?” The moment the words were out of his mouth, he inwardly cursed his stupidity. “What?” Myrra’s question was soft. Disbelieving. Pushing himself away from her, he waved her off. “Never mind. It was nothing. A dumb-ass comment is all.” She launched out of her chair at him. Grabbed his arm. “What did you see?” When he didn’t answer, she loosened her grip. “It’s important, Brett. Very important.” He shrugged. “I told you, it was nothing. I just made it up.” With a look of utter disgust, she dropped her hand and stepped back. Without a word, she turned and picked up the pile of clothes she had worn into the cave. After tossing them on the bed, she whipped the Greatest Grandpa shirt off over her head. “What are you doing?” he asked. “Leaving.” Brett felt his lungs constrict. Fear pummeled his heart with the certainty that if he let her go, he’d be releasing her to her death. “You can’t just walk out into a blizzard.” She ignored him and slid the long-sleeved shirt over her head. “You’ll get lost.” Myrra pushed off the long Bermuda shorts and started to reach for the pants she had arrived in. Changing her mind, she turned to the dresser and pulled out a pair of Buzz’s sweats which were a couple inches too short and molded tightly around her sexy ass. Next, she pulled the looser-fitting cargo pants over the top of the sweatpants. Still without saying a word to him. She had finished tying her first boot up when he said, “I won’t let you leave.” She shoved her left foot into the other boot. “Yes. You will.” She stood. “Or I’ll kill you.” “Dammit, Myrra,” Brett said, shoving his coat back off his waist as he planted his hands on his hips. “Why the hell does everything have to be all or nothing with you?” That stopped her halfway toward reaching for her coat. “That’s an interesting comment coming from you.” “What the hell does that mean?” “You don’t answer questions yourself and then you lie to me. I might not be able to satisfy your curiosity about everything you ask, but I haven’t lied to you.” “No, you just say nothing.”
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She put her coat on and squared off in front of him. “I’m saying something now. Thank you for saving my life. Now get out of my way.” “You’ll die if you leave now.” “My choice.” She stepped around him and he grabbed her arm. Her response shouldn’t have taken him by such surprise, but as he was slammed into the floor facedown with his arm twisted around and her knee in his back, he found that he was very much surprised. He’d let his worry about her dying block out his normal caution when dealing with an adversary. An idea he’d stopped associating with her until his cheek hit the hard marble flooring. “You really do have a death wish, don’t you?” she asked. “Apparently.” And, apparently, only around her. “I appreciate what you’ve done for me, but I need to go. There are others who are counting on me.” “You can’t help them if you’re dead.” He tried to shift, but she bent his hand back farther and her knee immediately dug deeper, sending pain shooting up his back. He stilled and sucked in a shallow breath. Wondered what the hell he was fighting her for. If the crazy woman wanted to kill herself, he should just let her go. It was, after all, her choice. Even before the thought could fully plant itself in his brain, his gut was rejecting it. It was his fault Nick was lying in the ground instead of in his fiancée’s arms. He didn’t need another death shadowing him as well. “If you let me up, I’ll tell you the truth, and if you still want to go, I’ll help you head out in the right direction.” When she didn’t move, he said, “Go ahead. Ask me a question.” “Why are there people trying to kill you?” Jesus, the woman didn’t mess around. “It’s a long story—” Her weight shifted and his vision momentarily whited out. He caught his breath on a hiss. “My brother got involved with group stealing weapons from the base I was stationed at. I didn’t know about his involvement until after I was assigned to the unit investigating the missing weapons. We got a tip where they were holding the guns, but it was a setup and my brother was one of the men killed.” “Did you kill him?” “No. One of the men he was working with did that.” Myrra released him and straightened. “So why aren’t you with your unit, tracking your brother’s murderer?” Brett pushed to a standing position, stretching out the kinks in his back. “Because I’m dead.” Myrra looked at him as if he were crazy. “The building I was supposed to be in was blown all to hell during the raid.”
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“You didn’t bother telling them you were alive?” The familiar sensation of cold, knotted fury twisted deep in his gut. “I told you, it was a setup. It was made to look like I was the one working the end of the ring inside the base and blew the operation.” “Convenient, then, that you died along with your brother.” “That’s part of what made it such a convincing case. It looked like my brother and I were working together.” “Why did you let them continue to think this?” “It’s complicated.” It was, but he also couldn’t bring himself to believe his brother was guilty. As damning as the evidence was, between the two of them, Nick had always been the one who stuck to the straight and narrow. That’s why it had been so hard to believe that the moonlighting he’d been doing at his fiancée’s request to earn extra money for their honeymoon turned out to be gun-running. “So if you’re dead, why are they hunting you?” “They don’t know who it is they’re after, just that someone knows enough to be getting too close. I’ve spent the last couple of months harassing the edges of their operation, picking off the hired guns on the perimeter as I can.” “Do you know yet who’s behind it?” “No.” But he had a pretty good idea. “Okay,” she said with a quick nod. “Let’s check the weather. We both have reasons to get out of here as soon as possible.” She took a step toward the door, but he put out a hand to stop her. “Wait. There’s more.” Myrra yanked the zipper on her coat up. Irritation flashed in her eyes, but she waited. “I can’t let you go.” If they’d been characters in a comic book, the look she gave him would have seared his flesh down to the bone. “Just listen for a minute. I wasn’t on that mountainside by accident. You were closer than you know back there when you asked me what I saw. Some times I do see things. Visions or mysteries or whatever the hell you want to call them. “I’ve seen what’s going to happen in the future enough to recognize the truth to these warnings, even if I haven’t always believed them. I’ve held a live grenade in my hand, knowing it wasn’t going to go off. Knew when to leave a secure location in a battle moments before it was targeted by the enemy—” “Instincts.” “More than that. I saw a vision of my brother. That’s where my nightmares come from.” “What does any of this have to do with me?” Myrra wasn’t dismissing him, but skepticism still ruled her response.
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“I saw you being thrown over the edge of that road—” “Did you see who did it?” Her entire body tensed with an edge of sudden impatience. “No. Just an outline. He was mostly in shadow—” “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?” Brett shook his head. She was jumping into the whole sorta-psychic thing without questions and it made it hard to concentrate on his original purpose for starting this conversation. “Maybe. The point is—” “You said the person I’m in charge of died. Is that in the future or has it already happened?” “Future, I think.” “Approximately how far into the future? An hour? A day? A week?” “Shit, Myrra. Will you slow down and just listen for a fucking minute?” His furybitten words closed her mouth. For a second. Then she lifted her chin and her entire being radiated command, as if she drew in strength and undeniable authority from thin air, coalescing it all into an animate force that thrummed through her body. “I have reasons for these questions. They’re crucial to the survival of thousands of people.” That took Brett back a beat. He studied her. Trying to reconcile the soldier standing before him with the woman he’d held in his arms. His heart thumped hard in his chest and it echoed in his soul and warped his mind. “Okay. Fine. Fair enough. We’ll get to your reasons. Right now, you need to know that the visions seem to work in a warning pattern. I knew that if I didn’t get you off that mountain, you’d die. I also know that if you go back to wherever you came from without me, you’ll die.” “You have a lot of confidence in your ability to protect me.” “I do. But that’s not what this is about. It might not have anything to do with me, exactly. You might end up not going somewhere because of me. Hell, a bomb might be detonated in a meeting you missed because I kept you in bed an extra hour.” “I would not preempt my duty with personal matters.” Brett shook his head, trying to keep the corners of his lips from turning up. The woman was in full return with your shield or on it mode. If he hadn’t had her explode in his arms time and time again, he’d wonder if she wasn’t some futuristic android cut loose from a rogue episode of Star Trek. Personal matters, his ass. “Preemptive or not, if you return without me, you’ll die.” “There are worse things than death.” God, the woman tried his patience. Brett moved in close, fisted his hands around the front of her jacket and dragged her up against his body. Her hands closed over his wrists, but she did nothing other than glare at him. “I agree. But that’s not the point.”
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“Then if you’re trying to scare me into staying in your bed, you can forget it. Fear doesn’t work on me.” “I’ve never had to threaten a woman to get her into my bed.” His gaze fell to her mouth and in spite of the angry tension radiating between them, he felt lust start to simmer. “And we both know that I’m able to get you into my bed without resorting to intimidation tactics.” “Arrogance can blind one to his enemy’s strengths.” “Myrra, shut up.” And he kissed her. Hard on the lips, sweeping his tongue inside her mouth. Not to stop her protest or to make a point about the desire always primed for action between them. Simply to kiss her. Because she was there and he wanted to and she was annoying and demanding and gorgeous and frustrating and surprising and challenging and impossible and he was falling in love with her. “Holy shit.” Brett released her like she was a handful of red-hot coals and jerked back. Myrra stared back at him, eyes wide and slightly unfocused, her lips red and a little swollen from the roughness of his kiss. A kiss she hadn’t backed away from. “Hell of a time for you to take my kiss,” he muttered, digging his gloves out from his pockets and yanking them on. “I thought it was a goodbye kiss.” “Didn’t you listen to a damn thing I just said?” Brett growled. He turned on his heel and stalked out of their mountain hideaway. He didn’t have to look to know she was following. “You thought wrong, Myrra,” he said without slowing or glancing back. “That was the farthest thing from a goodbye kiss there is.”
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Chapter Five Myrra checked the small space for the last time. Little was left to reveal that two people had shared a week of forced confinement here. Buzz had done a good job of making the quarters extremely self-sufficient, tucking in even a tiny washer and dryer at the back of the pantry. A person could live here easily for as long as the food held out. Forever, if the person were a good hunter. The last several days together had been strained after the goodbye kiss that wasn’t. The storm hadn’t been severe, but the mountain had been too treacherous to trek down. The following hours and days had blurred into long stretches of brooding silence on Brett’s part, interrupted occasionally by angry questions fired at her about her background and present assignment. These were always followed by vague answers and descriptions on her part, plus an incredible amount of sex on both their parts. He’d been right about one thing, when you were stuck in such a tiny space together with nothing much to do, sex was a good diversion. Most of it had been rough and volatile, especially when it followed one of his interrogation sessions, but some had been almost…sweet. This morning, she had woken to find him propped up on his elbow, looking down at her. There was a tender heat in his eyes and a look on his face that—if she had been in a different time and world—could have edged on love. Before she could fully process any of the thoughts his gaze inspired or settle the flyaway, errant emotions it stirred up, he smoothed her hair back from her face and kissed her. It was the first time he had kissed her intentionally and square on the mouth since he had told her about his brother Nick. Whether her brain was still misty from sleep or she had been away from active duty too long or she had simply become accustomed to having him with her, touching her, making her body shiver and flame, she hadn’t rejected his kiss. Instead, she had softened her mouth and opened for his slow, gentle exploration. Something she’d been holding herself back from clicked into place in that moment, and instead of fighting it, she let herself be pulled under. When she returned the kiss, slid her tongue across his and into his mouth, a growl rumbled low in his chest. The sound conveyed a purely male satisfaction mixed with a demand for more and sent a ribbon of swirling heat down her belly and between her legs. An intensity had settled into the kiss. It was as if he’d been trying to absorb her every moan and sigh, every sweep of her hands over his shoulders and back. His touch had whispered over her skin as he softly kneaded her hips, her ass and her breasts until she was arching up into him, her pussy slick and aching.
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The entire time he’d been kissing her, her body had been pinned under his. Not once had she felt the familiar panic to keep herself in total control. So locked into the desire he had skillfully fueled, she hadn’t once thought about pushing him off the dominant position. Instead she had let him take her body where he wanted. Her skin flushed with heat as she remembered the way he’d lingered with that kiss, his body moving over hers, covering her as his very being invaded her every sense. She had rarely let herself be kissed and she had never been kissed like that. Not to the point of being lost in the taste and smell and feel of it. Keeping his mouth fused to hers, he’d moved slightly to the side and his hands had become firmer, more demanding on her body. Squeezing and plumping her breasts up and then pinching her nipples, pulling them up and twisting them again until she was gasping into his kiss and digging her fingers into his hips, trying to get him into position. Insisting with her movements for him to enter her. He’d ignored her silent demands and swept his hands down her stomach and between her legs. “Goddamn, you’re wet,” he’d growled as he slid his fingers between her swollen pussy lips. The low roughness of his voice had made her cunt spasm and she’d pushed her pelvis hard against him. With the heel of his hand, he’d pressed her back to the bed and the pressure on her mound with her clit grazing his palm had sent a sunburst of pleasure through her body warming the shadows of her soul and deepening the hunger she harbored for him. Wanting him inside her was the only thought she’d been able to capture and hold. She didn’t remember voicing her need, but before her eyes had a chance to refocus, Brett had pushed two fingers deep inside her pussy. “Like this, angel?” He’d pulled them out, pushed in three, deeper, harder. Turning them and rubbing the sensitive walls of her cunt. “Is this what you want?” It hadn’t been exactly—she didn’t want his fingers—but the sensations he’d sent rioting under her skin had stolen her ability to form the words to explain. So she’d wrapped her hand around his cock and taken satisfaction in the sound of his breath hissing out. He’d withdrawn his fingers and removed her hand. Pushing one of her thighs wide to make room for his body, he’d settled between her legs and pressed the head of his cock against her entrance. A new wave of heat rolled under Myrra’s skin as the memory spun out. She’d been ready for him. More than ready. But instead of ramming in deep, he’d leaned over her and kissed her again. Softly and sweetly. A teasing, maddening kiss that had reeled her feelings around like a child’s wind-up toy. Her mind had whirled with emotions normally kept locked down even as her body had tensed on the edge of release. Myrra absently sorted through the pile of clothes in the top drawer of the dresser as she mentally sifted through the residual emotions that yet rippled just beneath the surface of her control. This man seemed intent on claiming more than just her body. The
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fear that had crept in under the feelings knocked loose from their moorings by his toogentle kiss whispered wraith-like through her thoughts. This morning she had just about gathered her wits long enough to push him away, but Brett had sensed the change in her and had shifted forward heavily, his cock grazing over her clit as he pushed in. This time, his kiss had been hard as he thrust deep with his cock. It was all she’d needed to push her over. Her inner walls had gripped hard and Brett answer had been a rough, driving rhythm that had driven her orgasm higher and hotter. With her legs wrapped around his waist and her arms holding him tightly to her, fire had lanced out in burning arcs to every nerve in her body. But Brett hadn’t been finished with her. As her muscles had started to relax, he’d sat up on his knees, holding her hips in place to keep his cock lodged inside her. Automatically, her thighs had tightened around his hips and she’d arched her back to take him in deeper. His eyes had narrowed at her movement and he’d released her hips to grab her inner thighs and press her open. Spreading her wide, he’d started a slowsliding, in-and-out thrusting. She’d tested his hold by trying to close her legs. Her efforts resulting only in him pressing her thighs even farther apart. When his heated gaze had slid from her face, down her body until it snagged and stayed on where his cock was slowly fucking her cunt a fresh surge of need had . Her clit had been almost unbearably too sensitive to accept him when he’d first started, but his careful, constant movements had brought her need back up. When he’d started brushing the sides of her clit with his thumbs, she’d clenched the sheets, closed her eyes and— “Everything okay?” Myrra’s eyes flew open at Brett’s words. She had no idea how long she had been standing over the open dresser, lost in her thoughts. “Yes.” Dropping a pair of socks she’d been gripping back into the drawer, she shut it and turned around. “Just putting the last of the things we borrowed away.” He searched her face, his green eyes cutting into her. Her face felt flushed from her quick memory trip, but she ignored the sizzle circling low in her belly. Pushing past him, she walked out to the main room and picked up her coat. Following closely behind her, he put on his own coat and looked at her as if he wanted to say something more. Instead, he tossed her one of the packed backpacks, shouldered the other one and led the way out of the mountain hideaway. They were starting out early while the sky was still a dark, leaden blue and the air was the sharp kind of cold that sent a shock through your system with your first inhaled breath. The snow was soft and silenced their steps on the path Brett eventually brought them to. According to what they had discussed earlier, they were heading toward a shed where he had a snowmobile set away. Getting down the mountain wasn’t as tiring as going up, but it was more treacherous. The morning passed as they trekked cautiously through drifted snow hiding ice-covered rocks and deep crevices.
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Stopping for a regular water and energy-bar break, Myrra felt a well-honed sense kick in. She stilled in the middle of stuffing an empty water bottle back into her pack. “What’s up?” Brett asked. He’d just re-shouldered his own pack and was glancing from where she stood motionless to the surrounding woods. Silently, she shook her head and held up a hand signaling to keep quiet. When she was sure he got the message, she closed her eyes and focused on the human presence she had sensed. He was moving. Pacing. She concentrated. Two more presences—one to the far left and one to the far right—hovered on the very edges of her sensory limits. Since she wasn’t an empath or telepath, she could only get a general idea of them based on what she could sense from their movements. They were fairly regular, languid motions. All the actions were too deliberate and regimented to be random wanderings. And for all three to be so evenly placed from each other? They were guarding something. Brett watched Myrra open her eyes and stare hard at him. Her deep blue eyes sparked with accusation as well as speculation. “I thought you said this side of the mountain wasn’t populated.” “It’s not. There shouldn’t be anyone here. Unless it’s a hunter or a lost hiker. But given the recent weather conditions, it shouldn’t be either.” They were deep on the back side of the mountain, and besides himself, only his grandfather and Buzz had ever taken much of an interest in this part of the mountain since a mining venture went belly-up over a hundred and fifty years ago. He and his brother used to hunt out here as teenagers—a better option than getting fucked-up small-town style on the weekends—but that was over twenty years ago now. Even back then, they’d never once run into another hunter, hiker, hermit or escaped convict. He glanced around the silent, snow-covered woods. “Why?” Automatically, his voice had lowered to a whisper, carrying no farther than the woman in front of him. “There are three men just west of our position. Spaced evenly apart, pacing a determined line.” What the hell? “How do you know?” Myrra didn’t even blink at the knifelike edge to his words. “I know. Call it a gift.” “Or collusion?” At his accusation, a cold flare of anger iced the deep blue of her eyes. “If I were working with them, it wouldn’t make sense for me to warn you about them.” Brett’s own anger rose sharply. The woman made him crazy. Every time he thought he was close to getting a handle on her, she threw him halfway to Sunday with something new. She appeared out of nowhere, fucked with his plan for revenge and no matter how hot the sex got between them, always pulled away from him with a cool
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indifference that was really starting to piss him off. And now she had some kind of goddamn gift that could just pinpoint a man on a mountain simply by closing her eyes? Jesus Christ. Who the hell was this woman? “Where, exactly, do you think they are?” Her eyes narrowed at his use of think, but she didn’t respond to his barb otherwise. The woman was trained to handle crisis and assholes well, no doubt about it. She turned and pointed due west. Directly toward the old mining camp. “There. About fifteen minutes at the pace we’ve been keeping. I should have noticed earlier.” “Should have?” She shook her head and didn’t answer. More secrets. “We’re going to talk later. Meanwhile, stay put. I’ll go check things out.” Myrra ignored him. She pulled a 9mm handgun from behind her back, removed the safety from the gun and then simply looked at him. “Where the fuck did you get that?” “One thing I borrowed from Buzz that I didn’t return,” she said. “Is there anything else you borrowed from Buzz I should know about?” “No.” She clicked the safety back on and put it in her front jacket pocket for quick access. Jesus. He had half an urge to perform a strip search on her to see just how many other “borrowed” items hadn’t been returned. He hadn’t even considered that Buzz might have hidden some weapons at his place over the years. He didn’t know what to be surprised at most. That Buzz, so cosmopolitan in his preferences, even owned a gun, that Myrra had found it without him knowing or that she was a little too at ease with the gun for his peace of mind. Especially since she obviously expected him to walk in front of her. “You know how to use that?” he asked. Her oh please, you idiot look was extremely effective. Letting a beat pass, he gave up. If she’d wanted to shoot him, she’d had the entire morning to do it. “Stay behind me and don’t get shot. And let’s try not to draw attention to ourselves by shooting someone if we can avoid it.” “I know what I’m doing.” Of that, he had no doubt. What he did doubt was the reason anyone else should be on this mountain. He knew he’d been followed at times as he’d tugged on different fraying edges of the smuggling ring. Maneuvers purposefully designed to see what might unravel so he could judge better what he was dealing with. The revenge he had planned for his brother’s murder wasn’t for the errand boys of the operation. He wanted those orchestrating it. The ones who were responsible for pulling the strings that tangled his brother in the whole illegal goddamn mess in the first place.
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It bothered him that he didn’t know more about it than he did at this point. For a year he’d been working on this, but it wasn’t easy getting information when everyone thought you were dead and you didn’t want anyone thinking otherwise. They slipped into the trees and away from the animal path they’d been following down the mountain. He took a wide circle around to come up behind the closest man Myrra had indicated. When she tapped him on the shoulder to let him know they were getting close, he took a small pair of binoculars out of his coat to spot the exact location. Scanning the surrounding area, he could just make out the back ends of two trucks he recognized. “Are these the guys hunting you?” Myrra whispered. Brett shook his head. “No. These are the guys I’ve been hunting.” Myrra covered his back as he took the first guard out. Not too difficult, especially since the man obliged him by setting his gun down to light a cigarette. The other two perimeter guards went down without much of a struggle. Myrra took the last one out by the entrance to the mine. A gust of wind blew a chunk of ice and snow off a branch close to Brett’s position and caught the guard’s attention. The man had turned and spotted Brett, his gun coming up with a startled jolt and his mouth opening to shout a warning. Before a sound could come out, one of Buzz’s knives was buried to the hilt in his throat. The man dropped the gun and tugged on the knife, his lips twisting sideways in surprised, spasmodic jerks. The only sound he made as he fell to the ground was a grotesque, liquid gurgling. Brett glanced at Myrra, who held another of Buzz’s knives ready. “No shooting,” she mouthed at him. “Right.” He wondered fleetingly just how many of Buzz’s knives she had and exactly where she was hiding them. Myrra retrieved the knife, cleaned the blood off in the snow and replaced it back to wherever the hell she had pulled it from while he quickly cleared the man of his weapons. After taking the man’s com unit, he and Myrra hid the body out of sight. Brett didn’t know this man, but had recognized the first two. A couple of ex-cons who’d checked into a motel on the edge of town about six months ago. A quick check inside the dilapidated mine revealed no more guards, just several dozen crates of stolen weapons that had gone missing from the base months ago. Rifles set up in groups of tens, still in their military-issued transport racks ready for shipment. “Real original,” he mumbled. “What?” Myrra asked. “Hiding weapons in an abandoned mine.” He shook his head at Myrra’s confusion. “Never mind. Let’s just say criminal minds aren’t often the most creative in the universe.” He checked the number of crates stacked in the mine. Ten. One hundred assault rifles in all. At least here. Who knew if there were more stashed somewhere else.
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There were other crates around, weapons, odds and ends he didn’t take the time to inventory. He wasn’t here for weapons recovery. They moved to the front of the mine and looked at the layout of the other buildings. There were three, but only one seemed to be occupied. He looked over at Myrra, whose face was a mask of concentration. Her blue eyes slid toward him as he continued to study her. He cocked an eyebrow at her. “What? No more spooky I feel a presence over there?” Her eyes cooled, but she said, “Actually, there are three people in that far building.” Brett didn’t try to mask his reaction, though he found it hard to believe that even after everything, she could still surprise the hell out of him. “Anything else?” Myrra shook her head and returned her gaze back toward the buildings. “No one else within the distance I’m able to scan.” “How far’s that?” “In such an isolated space, probably two to five of your miles.” Her wording made him smile. “My miles, huh? Do they measure in kilometers where you’re from?” “Not exactly,” she said. Brett waited, but she offered nothing more. With a sigh, he silently allowed that this was not the best time to get into that discussion again. “We are definitely going to talk later,” he promised. He checked his gun and moved forward to scan the area for the best option of getting to the building unseen by those inside. Glancing over his shoulder, he said, “Wait here.” She simply looked back at him. Neither acknowledging his command nor denying it. The vision he’d had of her dying misted before his eyes. He would not let another person he loved die. This time, he would use the dream’s warning to keep someone alive. “I mean it, Myrra. This has nothing to do with you. Wait here.” “As long as they’re standing between me and getting back to where I belong, it has everything to do with me.” Anger and fear rose with a thundering rush inside Brett. What the hell good was knowing someone was going to die if she refused to listen? A shout sounded from within the occupied building. Fuck it. He didn’t have time to stand here and argue. “Do what you want, just don’t get killed and don’t screw up. I’ve waited too long for this.” He stepped out of the mine, staying in the footprints already in the snow and out of the sightline of the windows. The sky was still darkly overcast as Brett covered the distance to the building, staying to the cover of the surrounding trees. As he edged his way closer to the gray, splintered-board shack closest to the woods, he could hear a voice inside rising with invectives before abruptly breaking off and starting again after a few moments. Familiar with all the buildings from his explorations as a kid, he knew this old mining shack had two small rooms, a crumbling fireplace and was the only building of
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the three whose floor had been intact even back then. Moving closer, he could see into one dim room through a broken-out window. The floor was littered with empty beer cans, foam coffee cups and junk food wrappers. A large man with heavy jowls and arms crossed over his barrel chest sat like a sulky toad, watching another man pace angrily. The second man had a dark blue woolen watch cap pulled down to his eyebrows, the kind worn by dockworkers and sailors when the weather turned bitterly cold. A lit cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, bobbing and jumping every time he spoke. “Fucking, fucking cold on the side of this mountain,” the man wearing the watch cap said. With a malevolent squint at the end of his cigarette, he flicked it to knock the ash off. “We were supposed to be fucking outta here already.” He took another drag on his cigarette and a voice belonging to someone out of Brett’s view murmured a response he couldn’t hear. Watch Cap jerked the cigarette back out of his mouth, sending ashes floating over Toad’s knees. “Who cares about the fucking storm? This is fucking Colorado in fucking November. Of course it’s going to fucking snow. Why the fucking hell didn’t this fucking shipment get fucking picked up on fucking time?” Toad uncrossed his arms long enough to brush the ashes off his knee before settling back into his indolent pose, not bothering to answer or look at the jerky, frustrated pacing of Watch Cap. Brett strained to hear the answer to Watch Cap’s questions. But once again, whoever was answering kept his voice too low for him to make out any specific words. “Fucking A. That money better be on the way. Fucking past time for my white ass to soak up some of that Miami fucking sun.” Brett heard the approach of another vehicle just before Watch Cap did. “Fucking damn time.” Watch Cap threw his still-lit cigarette onto the floor and stomped out the door. Toad unfolded himself out of the chair with sluggish motions that settled his thick heavy limbs into a steamroller of a body and followed Watch Cap out. A much-smaller man, down jacket zipped and with the hood pulled up and hiding his face, left after crushing out the cigarette with the heel of his boot. Moving to the side of the building, Brett watched as a black SUV ground to a halt over the uneven ground. The engine cut off and two men got out. Every sense, every emotion, every thought froze in Brett as the passenger turned to look around the area. In Miss Kinney’s eleventh-grade English class, he’d wondered why Dante had placed Satan in a frozen lake in the ninth and final circle of hell. Miss Kinney would be proud that he finally understood, really understood, what Dante was getting at as his personal Inferno opened before him. His own soul turned to ice as he recognized his ex-commander, Captain Sousing. No wonder the weapons thefts had been so fucking successful. The men didn’t waste any time. Watch Cap and Toad headed toward the mine and the third man went to meet the new arrivals. 58
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“Hinkman!” Watch Cap shouted. “Get the fuck out here. Time to load up!” He looked around at the entrance of the mine where the last man had been standing before being taken out. Toad lumbered into the mine while Watch Cap continued to look around for the others. He shoved his hands into his coat pocket. “Adams! Sanchez! Fucking lazy-ass bastards.” Something caught Watch Cap’s eye and he was bending down to check it out when a crash came from inside the mine. Shit. Brett moved around the corner of the building and behind one of the trucks as Watch Cap stood up and headed into the mine, still complaining, “What the hell? Martin—what the fu—” Shit, shit, shit. Watch Cap’s exclamation caught the attention of Captain Sousing and the other two men now standing in front of the truck closest to the mine opening. Sousing’s head snapped around and the driver he’d come with immediately headed toward the mine, closely followed by the small man from the shack. They both disappeared into the entrance, the smaller one falling in behind and moving with much more caution than the driver. With precise movements, Sousing unclipped his military-issued Beretta from under his jacket as he moved to put his back against the truck he’d arrived in. Shots were fired inside the mine and Brett saw his chance as Sousing’s attention focused on the gunfire. It stopped abruptly after another crash from inside the mine. The noise covered his approach as he stepped around the truck and held his gun to Sousing’s head. “Drop the gun,” he said. Sousing didn’t move for a full five seconds and then only his eyes slid as far to the right as possible trying to get a look at Brett. “Canon?” “Drop your weapon,” Brett ordered. The muscles along in Sousing’s jawline tensed. “Not dead then, huh? You’ve been the one making my life hell by poking around in my business?” “Put your weapon on the ground. Now.” Sousing slowly bent down to place the gun on the frozen earth. “Bringing your brother in wasn’t my idea. In fact, he’d actually shown up that night to back out of the deal.” “And so you had him killed. Yeah, I know. I was there.” Brett refused to be distracted by Sousing’s comments. It had been a shock to find his old supervisor in the middle of this, but it sure as hell explained a lot of things. Sousing released his gun. He didn’t rise, stayed hunched down, his forearms resting on his knees, his eyes focused on some vague spot in the distance. “The nice thing about being in charge is that I knew your team’s every move. Hell, even had to approve your team’s operations. Made it a piece of cake to set up the sting to backfire on you and wrap up the internal investigation.”
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He turned to look up, his dark eyes boring into Brett’s as if there wasn’t a loaded gun aimed at his head. “Your brother was collateral damage. In the middle of a situation too good for me to pass up.” He shrugged and the left side of his mouth crooked up. “I was just planning for retirement. Nothing personal.” A woman’s scream, feral in its fury, came from deep within the cave. The vision he’d had of Myrra dying right in front of him immediately replayed in his mind. For a brief instant fear shock-waved through his system and his entire body went rigid. Sousing lunged for his gun, twisted around and fired off a string of shots. Brett’s instinctive response had him moving before the thought to do so could form in his mind. Throwing himself in the opposite direction of the bullets’ arc, he felt the first shot tear along his biceps. The others peppered the SUV as Sousing’s shots went wild. Brett’s didn’t. Even as he lunged sideways, both hands gripped the gun and with a focus born out of months patiently waiting and stalking his revenge, he watched his bullets bury themselves in his ex-captain’s chest. Rolling to his side, Sousing dropped his gun as his body shuddered, convulsing in pain as his life poured out of him, obscenely staining the snow-covered ground in a bright crimson pool. His gaze narrowed on Brett for a second before his head fell heavily to the ground and his body slumped in death. “So much for retirement,” Brett said, picking up the man’s gun and shoving it into his waistband. “Nothing personal.” He raced to the entrance of the cave, wishing like hell he hadn’t left Myrra behind. While he had nothing but respect for her abilities, four men had entered the mine and he didn’t care for those odds. No doubt whoever was still alive inside had heard the shots he and Sousing had fired. So much for the “no shooting”. “Luis!” It was a high, thin voice. Not Myrra’s. But the third person he’d seen in the rundown building was definitely a woman. “Captain Sousing is dead,” he said loud enough to carry back into the recesses of the cave. He crept forward, crouching low behind a crate and letting his eyes adjust to the darkness inside the mine. This part of the mine didn’t go back very far since a cavein had blocked it off from all other passages years ago. No response. Nothing but silence. He wanted to call out to Myrra, to see if she was all right, but didn’t want to give away her presence if the other woman didn’t know she was in here. And he sure as hell didn’t want Myrra caught between the two of them. He didn’t like being backlit from the entrance, but hated not knowing how or where Myrra was. As soon as his eyes accustomed to the gloom and he could make out shapes from shadows, he moved up slightly to see farther into the mine. A stream of bullets from an automatic weapon cut across the top of the crate shielding him and into the stone behind him, filling the mine with deafening explosions and flying debris. He ducked and covered his head with his arms. Shit. 60
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“I have a whole lot of guns and bullets here,” he heard her shout through the din buzzing in his ears just after the burst of gunfire stopped. “So unless you want your ass shot off, get the hell out of here.” His ears were still ringing, but he’d swear there was something familiar about her voice. “I’ve got a better idea,” he said. “Why don’t you put your gun down and I won’t blow this place up with you in it.” There was a short, uneasy pause. “Brett?” The word was almost too soft to hear. “Oh my god! Is that you? You’re supposed to be dead.” Confusion trembled through the woman’s voice as he racked his brain for a woman who’d know him well enough to recognize his voice after this long. He shook his head, cursing the ringing still plaguing his ears. “Who’s asking?” “It’s Lexi. Remember me? I was Nick’s fiancée.”
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Chapter Six Remember her? Hell, they’d all gone to the same small-town school for years. His little brother had been in love with her since the seventh grade and finally popped the question a year and a half ago. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. There was the sound of a box scraping across the ground, followed by a quick scuffling. “Don’t shoot. I’m coming out.” Brett straightened, but didn’t relax. Lexi came out of the shadows to stand in the middle of the mine, the rifle she’d been using hanging loosely in her hand by her side. She’d pushed her hood back and her bobbed, dark brown hair swung around her high cheekbones and pointed, pixie-like chin. With her caramel-colored eyes wide in fear and shock, she looked much younger than her twenty-eight years. Innocent- and vulnerablelooking, her expression tore through his heart as he remembered how Nick had always been so fiercely protective of her. How she had melted his brother with adoring looks and clung to him like he was the air she needed to breathe. “Are you okay?” she asked, her tongue darting out to nervously wet her lips. “Did I hurt you? I thought you were one of Sousing’s men.” The mention of his dead captain reined in Brett’s nostalgia. He brought his gun up to stop her movement toward him. “You haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?” She gestured absently with her free hand toward the weapons around them. “When Nick died, Sousing blamed me for screwing up the operation, since it was my boyfriend who turned it in and I had introduced him to Nick. When he came for me, I was sure he was going to kill me, but he decided he could use me instead to finish the job Nick started. I was afraid he’d kill me if I didn’t do what he said.” “You were the one who got Nick involved?” Even in the dim light of the mine, he could see Lexi’s face blanch. “No! I mean, yes, I did. But only because Luis told me his wife needed some help with her import-export business.” “Luis. Since when are you on a first-name basis with my commander? Excommander,” he corrected himself. “He was a regular at the bar I waited tables at. One night when he came in, we were talking about how much the wedding and honeymoon were going to cost, and he said he had some extra jobs Nick could do in his spare time.” She bit her bottom lip and blinked back a fresh wave of tears. “If I’d had any idea what—” Her words were cut off by a sob and she clamped her lips together. Her hand shook as she looked away and brushed an escaping tear off her cheek.
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Brett lowered his gun. “What was the plan with the weapons?” Lexi’s shoulders lifted and dropped in a careless, apathetic motion. “I don’t know. We were to load them up when he got here. I don’t even know who was getting them this time. This was the last shipment. The last of the weapons from the theft you were investigating when Nick was killed. Luis had said that he couldn’t afford for anything else to disappear from the base without reopening the case, since the investigation pinned the theft on you and you were dead.” “And you just went along with it when he’d had Nick murdered?” Her eyes darkened in anger. “What else was I supposed to do? He threatened me and my family. Plus, he promised to clear your and Nick’s names once he’d gotten the last payment if I’d cooperate and keep quiet.” Her shoulders slumped and she looked at Brett with eyes that filled with tears. “With Nick gone,” she whispered, “I figured it was the least I could do for him.” “Give me your gun.” He reached for it, but Lexi tightened her grip and backed up a step. “What about Sousing’s other men? They were under orders to shoot me if something went wrong.” “How many were there?” “I’m not sure.” Her head jerked up. “What do you mean, were?” “Let’s just say my appearance wasn’t exactly welcomed.” Lexi frowned and looked past him through the entrance. “There were the two grunts hired to load up the guns, Sousing and his driver, guards…” her voice trailed off. She looked back at him, eyes rounded in disbelief as she looked at Watch Cap’s dead body slumped over one of the crates. “You killed them all? But you couldn’t have. Sousing was out there when I came in here.” Brett ignored her question. Myrra had materialized out of the gloom behind Lexi. She stood still cloaked in shadow and he couldn’t see her face. “Myrra, are there any more?” “No.” Lexi’s head jerked around and her weapon came back up. “Myrra?” “Don’t worry,” Brett said. “She’s a good guy.” Lexi stared at Myrra. “You killed everyone who came in here?” “You were told to drop your weapon.” Myrra’s flat, commanding tone cut through the cold air. “Easy, Myrra. This is Nick’s fiancée.” “Who the hell is she?” Lexi’s chin jerked up in defiance as she stepped to the side, bringing her back against a crate of weapons where she could see both of them. “She’s—” My life. The truth stuck in Brett’s throat, cut off the way being sucked beneath an undertow cuts off air as he got his first clear view of Myrra since he’d
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stepped inside the mine. Without Lexi’s shadow falling over her, he could see that entire left side of Myrra’s face was covered in blood. His heart clenched in his chest. Squeezed to a stop by fear. He started toward her, disregarding the hand she held up in caution. In an instant, he took in the stain running down the side of her jacket, the blood dripping off her chin and running down over her ear, soaking the collar of her shirt. His vision was coming true. Again. She was holding her hand up just like in his dream and just like in his dream, she was bleeding to death before his eyes. First Nick and now Myrra. Was he fucking destined to kill off everyone in his life who ever meant anything to him? He should have insisted she stayed behind. Should have left her at Buzz’s. Taken her into town first, tied her to a tree—anything but let her follow him to his revenge. He fucking knew it would cause her death. He’d seen it and yet he still chose his revenge over her life. “Take another step and I’ll blow her head off.” The glacial hatred coating Lexi’s words froze him in his tracks. For the brief moment he’d been totally focused on Myrra and she’d tried to warn him back, Lexi had brought her automatic weapon up and aimed it at Myrra. Brett silently cursed. Myrra was closer by several feet to Lexi and that loaded gun than he was, and would be the obvious first target if Lexi decided to start shooting again. “And you,” Lexi said, glaring at Myrra, “you even twitch like you’re going to try something and I’ll put a dozen holes in you just to watch you bleed. Hell, I might do that anyway just to see Brett’s expression.” “What the hell, Lexi?” “You fucking bastard. You killed him. You ruined everything.” “Whoa. Put the gun down, Lexi. It was an accident.” Brett’s mind raced to find words to calm Lexi. Myrra hadn’t moved. Hadn’t blinked or even breathed as far as he could tell. From her outward appearance, she was handling having a gun pointed at her head a hell of a lot better than he was. “I didn’t know Nick was going to be there. It was Sousing who had him killed.” “You don’t get it, do you?” Lexi’s voice quaked as it rose. But neither her grip on the gun nor her focus on Myrra wavered. “I killed Nick!” He edged slightly closer to Lexi. “You didn’t know what Sousing was planning—” “Shut up! Just stop talking. Of course I knew what Luis was planning. It was my idea to bring Nick in. I was the one who figured out that with you on the base, Luis could cover his tracks by setting you up if your brother were involved.” Every reality in Brett’s world seemed to shift, knocking the earth out of its orbit and sending it spiraling into an alternate universe. He heard her words, but couldn’t make his mind process them into anything believable. “But you were in love with Nick. Engaged. Living together.”
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“Yeah. Luis hated that. But it was necessary to keep track of him.” She blinked hard, darting a quick look at Brett. “First Nick screwed things by getting cold feet and then you just fucking won’t die!” Brett looked at Myrra and his world slid back into place. As long as Lexi was talking, she wasn’t shooting. “What’s your plan now, Lexi? You can’t load and deliver all these weapons by yourself.” “I don’t need these fucking weapons. Do you think I’m stupid? Your brother did. Thought I needed his protection. I haven’t needed a man’s protection since I was thirteen and cracked my mom’s boyfriend over the head with a bat when he tried to molest me.” Brett cast a quick glance at Myrra. She wasn’t looking at Lexi. She was watching him. Waiting. Ready. Brett inched closer to the woman who had been his brother’s world the last year of Nick’s life. So slowly. Determined not to add Myrra to the body count hanging over his head. If there was any way to cheat fate, to get Myrra back home alive— A harsh laugh came from Lexi. “Don’t worry about me, Soldier Boy, I made sure I had access to the accounts Luis got all this money dumped in. All I need to know now is how many others did you bring with you?” Brett slid farther to the side so she couldn’t hold the gun on Myrra and still see him easily without turning her head. “Depends on how many the army’s bringing with them.” “What?” Lexi’s head snapped around toward him. “Stop moving!” Beyond Lexi, Brett saw Myrra slip her hand into her pocket and silently shift to a better position as soon as Lexi’s attention was off her. Lexi swung back around to Myrra. “You’re starting to really piss me off.” Myrra’s eyes were following his every move. He took another step toward Lexi, purposefully kicking a rock noisily across the floor. With a curse, Lexi jerked the gun toward him. Myrra shouted, unbalancing Lexi further. Jerking the gun back toward Myrra’s position, this time Lexi screamed and pulled the trigger. The bullets ripped through the cave with a deafening roar bisecting the air where Myrra had just been standing. Even as Lexi was turning to shoot, Brett was flying at her, tackling and rolling with her and the gun. Hissing like a doused alley cat, Lexi refused to release the gun and another round of bullets sprayed the interior of the mine. Brett cursed and flipped Lexi under him. Ducking to protect his eyes against the splintering wood and chunks of stone flying around their heads as bullets ricocheted off the rocks and crates, Brett slammed her hand into the ground and the gun finally fell from her grip. Lexi’s body went totally limp beneath him. He pushed himself off her and looked down into the wide-opened lifeless stare of her brown eyes as blood started to pool under her head. He gently turned it to the side, looking for the wound. Myrra moved to stand beside him. “Looks like she was hit by a ricochet.” 65
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“Shit.” This whole damn thing just kept getting worse. “You shouldn’t have tackled her. It was an unnecessary risk when we had other options.” The anger in Myrra’s voice set off his own. “Yeah,” he said, straightening, “I could have just let her shoot you.” He shook dust and debris off and turned to face her. And felt sick to his stomach. Smeared blood was starting to dry across her face and still dripped onto her jacket. “Holy fuck,” he whispered. She pushed a section of hair back from her forehead. “From the initial round of shooting. It’s just a superficial head wound. They bleed a lot.” He started to reach for her, but stopped short. “Are you hurt anywhere else?” “No.” Not able to believe her own assessment of her injuries, he grabbed her by the arm and led her outside. Taking her chin in his fingers, he tipped her face up to the light to get a better view and turned it side to side. The gash was long, but not deep. But it was enough. He turned her face back so she was looking up at him. A gut-burning rage roiled through him. “I am so fucking tired of you nearly getting yourself killed.” Her calm, implacable gaze didn’t waver as she stared at him. “I am not your responsibility.” “Fuck that.” Confusion clouded her eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Never mind. Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up before we get you back to wherever you came from.” “There’s no need—” “Don’t waste your breath.” Back inside the mine, he patted down the driver’s pockets and came up with a cell phone and the set of keys for the truck Sousing had arrived in. He pocketed both of them and then opened the driver’s jacket and ripped off two wide strips of material from the dead man’s shirt. Once outside again, he scooped up a handful of snow and wet down one of the pieces of material to clean Myrra’s neck and face. He growled once at her when she tried to take over the task. The need to care for her, to heal, comfort and protect her had grown inside him, taking root in his bones and twisting around his soul. It was a part of him now, holding him in the unyielding grip of an emotion that went beyond his ability to explain. After wiping most of the blood away, he cleaned around the cut. He took Myrra’s hand and placed it over the wad of material he pressed against the small wound. “Hold this for a minute.” Scooping up a handful of snow, he molded it into a hard ball and wrapped it in the tail end of the other strip of material. He checked the cut—the bleeding had slowed to an oozing trickle—and handed her the makeshift ice pack. “This should help stop the bleeding and swelling.”
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“Brett, I’m okay.” He frowned at the matted hair on the side of her face, her bloodstained jacket and the tension pulling at the corners of her eyes. They obviously had different definitions to being “okay”. But he wasn’t going to argue with her now. He planned on having a very long life together to settle their differences. Gesturing at the SUV, he said, “Get in.” They wouldn’t take the time to go back for their packs, stashed away before they’d closed in on the guards. He doubted anyone else was going to show up, but no point in taking chances. He’d gotten what he’d been after—and a hell of a lot more.
***** Brett turned the heater on high inside the truck and tossed the cell phone to Myrra. “Let me know when there’s a signal on that,” he said. She flipped it open. Full power, no signal. They were back on the main highway before a signal for the phone caught and held. Brett made two quick calls. One to 911 and one to the military. Both were short and to the point and Brett declined to “stay on the line” once he relayed the place and body count to the operators. Snapping the phone closed, he turned it off, then rolled down the window and threw it into the woods, not bothering to slow down. The way Brett was taking corners and flying around the mountain had Myrra double-checking her seat belt. After surviving numerous Sleht attacks on her homeworld, and then a traitor, gun smugglers and a crazy woman on this one, she wasn’t about to die because she’d been thrown through a windshield. Two stoplights into a small town, he took a left and two rights, stopping at the back end of an apartment complex. “Why are we stopping by your place?” she asked. He jammed the gearshift into park and turned off the engine, but left the keys in the ignition. “We’re not.” Myrra followed his lead and got out of the truck. “Most likely, there’s a GPS chip in Sousing’s vehicle and the cops will put a trace on it as soon as they discover his body. We’re here to switch cars.” He picked a late-model white Chrysler that had no alarm and certainly no GPS tracking. It didn’t even have power windows. In less than a minute, Brett was inside with the motor running. “Hop in.” “Don’t you think someone might miss their car if we just take it?” “Good reason to hurry and not stand around looking guilty.” Myrra swept several empty fast-food containers off the passenger seat and onto the floor before getting into the car. Brett had the car in drive and moving before she had the door closed.
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“Where are we going?” she asked. “Where are you from?” “You could drop me off in Denver.” Brett took his eyes off the road for a long heartbeat and stared at her. Determination mixed with exasperation it seemed, but he didn’t comment. She was about to tell him to watch where he was going when he nodded, the inscrutable dark green gaze never wavering. He turned back to the road and, after a moment, said, “Fine. We’ll go to Denver.” But when they came to a crossroads, they turned south instead of north. “I thought we were going to Denver.” He kept going. “I’m not driving a stolen vehicle all over the state. We’re going to pick up my car and get rid of this one.” Forty-five minutes later, they pulled off onto an unpaved country road and, after a couple of turns, pulled up next to a dark blue Ford Explorer. She checked her wound before getting out and found that it had stopped bleeding enough for her to not have to keep pressure on it. Once they switched cars and were back on the highway heading to Denver, Myrra let out a long breath and settled back into the seat. The adrenaline rush had faded, leaving her feeling drained and aware of all the aches and bruises from their recent brush with death. She looked over at Brett. After they’d stopped on the edge of town to fill up with gas, he’d taken off his jacket and gloves before he’d gotten back in and tossed them into the backseat. They’d been driving in silence for the most part, Brett unusually quiet with his attention focused on his thoughts rather than the road. One strong hand rested casually on the wheel, with the other on the gearshift. She watched him push in the clutch to switch gears, his denim jeans molding to his thighs as his muscles worked. A flash of need burned through her at the sudden wanting to feel those thighs moving against hers. The truck transitioned smoothly into a higher gear and his right hand relaxed, his palm and fingers gently cupping the knob of the gearshift. Her inner thighs clenched and the desire that had begun to swirl in her belly dipped lower. She wanted his touch. Wanted his words whispered against her skin. His strong hands gentle on her body. Wanted more than just sex. She wanted him. Wanted to lean her head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her. Wanted—the impossible. For the first time since her father had died without blessing her, she wanted something from a man she could never have. She turned to focus on the long road rolling in front of them. The late afternoon sun bounced across the snow in a blinding dance that sent a welcomed shaft of pain spiking between her eyes, driving futile thoughts from her mind as her eyes narrowed against the glare. Her action pulled at the dried blood crackled around her hairline. Tipping her head back against the seat, she closed her eyes and tried to rest. The crunch of gravel under their tires brought her back to a jarring wakefulness. Sitting up straight, she looked out the window. “Where are we?” The sky had turned
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dark and the parking lot Brett had pulled into was lit by a flashing Vacancy sign. “Why are we stopping?” “A little way outside Denver. It’s getting late. We need to eat, get cleaned up and talk about what to do next.” She already knew what she was going to do next, but a shower and some food sounded good. So did spending one more night with Brett. It was a luxury she shouldn’t allow herself. Shutting her eyes against the splintering ache the thought of leaving him brought, she took a deep breath and pushed it aside. The rest of her life would be long enough to field regret for allowing herself to feel without boundaries for just one night. “Sit tight. I’ll get us checked in,” he said. At her nod, Brett scowled. “I mean it. Stay put.” “I’m not going anywhere.” He still looked torn between getting out of the truck and posting a twenty-fourhour guard around her. She slumped back into the seat and closed her eyes. “I’m too tired to run. Besides, you promised food.”
***** In less than ten minutes, Brett had a room rented and was pulling around the back of the motel. He ushered Myrra into room 126. He watched Myrra check her cut in the vanity mirror set above the sink outside the tiny bathroom. His heart had been pounding in his throat the entire time he’d been inside the motel’s office away from her. He kept telling himself she’d be where he left her when he got back, but didn’t fully believe it until he saw her still sitting in the passenger seat. “Go ahead and get cleaned up. I’ll run out and get us some food and some bandages for that cut.” “Okay.” She started to nod and then winced. “And some Tylenol.” “Thanks.” She immediately stepped into the bathroom and started the water. He sat on the edge of the bed and pretended to be looking for something in the three-year-old phone book until she got in the shower. He went and opened the bathroom door, stuck his head in and asked, “Feel like anything in particular for dinner?” “No. Anything is fine.” The shower curtain was closed and he couldn’t even see her shadow through the heavy-duty white plastic. “I’ll be back soon,” he said, scooping up all her clothes piled on the top of the toilet seat along with her boots. Just a precaution. If she got the notion to leave before he got
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back, she’d have to make her escape in a towel or bedspread. He stopped to snag her jacket as well on his way out the door. He made it back in under an hour with medicine, food and a new set of clothing for both of them from the local Wal-Mart. When he shouldered his way through the door with his arms filled with his purchases, he found her wrapped in a towel, sitting on the bed and pushing the channel button for the room’s TV remote control that was bolted to the bedside table. Expecting her to be pissed about having all her clothes gone when she got out of the shower, he held up one of the bags. “I brought you clean clothes.” She switched off the TV. “Thank you.” Her calm, close to pleasant response made him nervous. He’d have felt better if she’d called him a bastard. Maybe she was playing with him to throw him off balance. “Let’s fix that cut,” he said, setting the bags on the bed and rummaging through them until he found the liquid bandage he’d bought. “I’d rather eat.” When she scooted within reach of the fast-food sacks, the ends of the towel gaped apart and he got a good view of her left leg clear up to her hip. His gaze moved up to where her breasts were pressed together from the towel’s end being tightly wound around and tucked in at her cleavage. Myrra glanced up, a large fry in one hand and a foil-wrapped burger in the other. “I don’t need that.” For a moment, his fantasies started to spiral in crash-and-burn mode before he realized she was talking about the medical supplies he held in his hands. “Just sit back and eat and let me check your head. Don’t want you to bleed to death in the middle of the night.” She snorted at that, but after grabbing one of the Cokes and putting it on the bedside table where she could reach it easily, she returned to her previous spot, her back propped up against the headboard. He wet down a hand towel before sitting next to her. Carefully he lifted her damp hair away. Though the cut wasn’t bleeding at all anymore, the gash still looked starkly profane against her white-blonde hair and ivory skin. “Jesus, woman.” He exhaled slowly, trying to loosen the pressure in his chest. “I just get you fixed up from being thrown off a mountain and you go and get yourself shot.” She cut her eyes up at him for a brief glare, but opted for another bite of her hamburger versus a comeback. He opened the bottle and dabbed the liquid onto her wound. She pulled back to look at the applicator in his hand. “What are you putting on me?” “It’s a liquid bandage,” he said, smoothing it over the last part of the gash while she finished off her Coke. “Don’t worry. It’s waterproof, germproof and everything else proof.” She set aside her empty can and frowned at the bottle he held. “Trust me,” he said.
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“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be here.” Her deep sky-blue eyes shifted to meet his gaze, mesmerizing him in their beauty and intelligence. When she looked at him this way, he couldn’t breathe, never wanted to move and wished for the world to stop in this moment. He capped the liquid bandage bottle and set it on the table. Then he took her half eaten hamburger out of her hand and, along with the nearly empty carton of French fries she’d placed in her lap, crowded them all onto the nightstand. Leaning over her and bracing himself across her body with one hand on the bed beside her hip, he said, “You can trust me with a lot more than just bandaging your cuts, angel.” Her eyes softened, misted with a yearning he wished she’d give in to. “I know,” she said. “But I can’t give out secrets that aren’t mine to share.” Reaching up and threading her fingers through the back of his hair, she cut off his next question by pulling him down for a kiss. The gentle beginning of the kiss kept urgency at bay for a few moments as they both fed off the slow burning sweetness building between them. She kissed him with a deliberateness that melted him. Her tongue and mouth moving with and against his as if she were trying to memorize his taste. Learn every way to tease and torment him with just her mouth. Her restraint fired his lust. The woman was highly disciplined and knowing she could so stringently regiment her thoughts, body and reactions made her release into a totally abandoned state of pleasure all the more mind-blowing for him to watch. He loved being able to take her there. Tonight, he planned to keep her there. He stroked his fingers down her neck and over the tops of her breasts until chill bumps pebbled over her skin. With a quick tug, he pulled the towel apart and settled his open hand over her breast. She gasped as he squeezed it. He loved the weight and softness of it as he massaged it with his fingers. Loved the way her aroused nipple poked into his palm and the way her skin heated and responded to his touch. Rotating his hand, he ground his palm against her nipple until she was arching her back and twisting her fingers in his hair. She was breathing hard into the kiss now, thrusting her tongue deep inside his mouth. When he started to pull back, she nipped his bottom lip. He retaliated by pinching her nipple. Myrra’s head fell back against the headboard with a low moan. Brett sat up enough to be able to cradle a breast in each hand. He flicked the nipples back and forth with his thumbs until they strained forward, begging for more attention. Their dark pink coloring contrasted beautifully next to her pale skin and he teased them until they couldn’t possibly get any more tightly puckered. Pushing her breasts together so the peaks nearly touched, he bent his head and sucked both of them into his mouth at once. Myrra hissed in pleasure and tunneled her fingers through his hair at the temples, holding him in place. He didn’t mind. He was right where he wanted to be—for now. As he sucked and licked her nipples, he drew
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tiny circles on the undersides of her breasts with his thumbs until she was squirming beneath him. “Brett—” she started, but cut off on a gasp as he started pulling back from her breasts with a slow suction. Holding just the hard, very sensitive peaks firmly between his lips, he dropped his hands and let the weight of her breasts increase the strain on her nipples. With a quick, not-too-gentle bite, he finally released her and watched with satisfaction as her breasts bounced back into place with nipples now a bright pink. Immediately, Myrra covered her breasts with her hands and squeezed, closing her eyes and biting down on her bottom lip. “Don’t think so, angel,” he said as he pulled her hands away and pinned them to the bed on either side of her body. “I want to see you.” Leaning in until his face pressed between her breasts, he nuzzled and tongued her cleavage before turning his head to suck her left nipple deep and hard into his mouth. After dragging his teeth over the tip, he repeated the process on her right breast. She tried to yank her hands free from his, but he simply tightened his grip. He licked his way down her stomach, stopping at the upper edge of her curls to swirl his tongue over that sensitive area. Instinctively her hips started a seductive grind in response to the sensations he was pressing on her body. “Brett, please.” The rawness of unadulterated want rasped through her words and stoked his lust. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her around so her legs were hanging off the bed and her ass was right up to the edge of the mattress. “What are you doing?” Myrra struggled to sit up, but he splayed a hand over her stomach and pushed her back down before she could gain her balance. He went to his knees before her and placed a hand on each of her thighs. Slowly he pushed her legs open. “Right now, I’m looking at you.” He spread her apart even more. Slid his hands closer to her open cunt and grazed his thumbs over her swollen pussy lips. “So fucking wet,” he said, pushing a finger deep inside her, “and ready for fucking.” “And you’re waiting,” Myrra gasped, “on what, exactly?” He twisted his finger inside her. “I want you to come for me, darlin’.” Her laugh was part disbelief, part frustration and part moan. “If you’re waiting for permission—oh!” Brett pushed another long finger inside her and stroked her inner walls firmly. As her cunt gripped his fingers, he blew a cool stream of air across her clit and she jerked toward his mouth. He wanted to torture her with slow licks and tease her at the edge of an orgasm until she was begging. But seeing her like this, feeling her slick and hot with her scent
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wrapped around him snapped his control clean away. Nothing remained but a craving. An animal hunger to feast.
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Chapter Seven Myrra had had a good amount of sex in her lifetime. It was an effective stress reliever, and in her job, unrelieved stress was never a good thing. The mental and physical problems that resulted were unacceptable hindrances to duty if left untended. She knew exactly what she had to do to work the tension out of her body—sexual or otherwise—and had become an expert in completing it in an efficient, uncomplicated manner. But what Brett did to her… Never before had she allowed a man to be so intimate with her body. Never let a man assume such a possessive attitude toward her. Pushing herself up to her elbows, she found the sight of Brett’s face between her legs so erotic it made her muscles shake. Primitive, brutal lust shone in his eyes, hitting her like a wall of flame intent on devouring and incinerating. His mouth came down hard and hungry on her. Jagged jolts of acute pleasure cut through her. Shocking and fierce, the ruthless onslaught sent her spinning to the edge of reason and reality. Brett’s fingers worked a savage magic in her, his mouth pressed a relentless ecstasy on her. The combined sensations were devastating the defenses she tried to keep shored up around this man. He slipped in, under and around her barriers, setting loose the emotions she’d marked as useless and complicated, without a future and so without purpose. This was sex. Just sex. She wanted to believe it. Needed to believe it to do what she had to do. Sex. Just sex. The forced repetition of the mantra began to weaken as Brett’s tongue circled her clit. Again and again. She tried to hold on to the words, but the strength to do so dissolved as the tip of his finger copied the tiny, tight circles on the inside of her cunt. Fisting the bedspread in her hands, she called out his name. She was so close to flying right over the edge. So close. Lifting her hips off the bed, spreading her thighs wider, she offered and opened. Demanded. “Brett! Now. I need you to—” Her breath caught and she couldn’t finish her instructions. As soon as she started talking, he’d pulled his fingers out and pushed one into her ass. Coated by her own juices, it slid in easily, but caught her off guard. He pushed in farther as his tongue flicked her clit and another set of fingers thrust back inside her cunt. “You need me to what?” he whispered against her pussy. The vibrations of his words made her muscles contract hard around his fingers. Tension pushed her against her limits even as she strained to hurtle past them. Brett turned the finger in her ass,
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pressing it up while at the same time stroking down with a finger in her cunt. Heat seared across her skin and he pulled her clit into his mouth and sucked. Flayed by pleasure, she couldn’t hold still. Her body bucked and writhed, wreathed in lashing ribbons of carnal sensations too intense to wrap her mind around. Passion claimed her. Emotion marked her. The two collided in a brilliant burst of light that flung the darkness of impossibilities past the ends of the universe. Myrra cried out, a sob half caught, half released. Wholly shattering. “Shhh…” Brett whispered against her temple. Her body trembled as she clung to him. At some point he had moved up, rolled with her on the bed and lay cradling her in his arms. So strong—she knew that strength, had fought against it—yet so gentle. It melted her and made her yearn for a life she had willingly set aside long ago. His hands were warm and devastatingly tender as they smoothed down her body. Cherishing her. Protecting her. Frightening her. She pushed away enough to put some space between their bodies and forced the orgasmic fog out of her head. “Why am I the only one naked here?” she asked. With a tug on his shirt, she pulled it out of his pants. Brett captured her hands and rolled, trapping her beneath him on the bed. His eyes hardened as he stared down at her. “Don’t.” “Don’t what?” “Don’t pull away from me.” “I’m letting you pin me to the bed. That’s about as far from pulling away from you as there is.” “Dammit, Myrra. This isn’t a game.” She stiffened at his words. “I never said it was a game. But it’s not reality either.” “It’s as real as it gets, angel.” Looking up at him, his face harshly etched with his feelings for her, his dark green eyes demanding and angry, she knew she loved him. It ripped through her, lacerating her heart. But whatever he thought—whatever she thought—was happening here didn’t matter. Brett didn’t make the need-to-know list that she was from another world, here only to collect the lost daughters of a pure bloodline whose prophesied heirs were to save her people from extinction. Ilyria was her reality, and as soon as they found the remaining two Mystics, they’d return home and all of this would cease to exist for her. Even if she thought for a moment he’d believe her, she’d never tell him. It could endanger the lives of those she was sworn to protect and she’d crossed that line once already. Never again. Releasing one of her hands, Brett brushed his fingertips down her cheek. His voice softened, rasped out heavy with his heart. “This thing between us—”
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“Isn’t real, Brett.” Myrra could barely get the words out to stop him. Desperately, she rushed on before he could say something they’d both regret. “Not to me. This isn’t my life. You aren’t a part of it and can never be. I can’t change that no matter how good the sex is.” A marble statue couldn’t have been more frozen than Brett’s face in that moment. The only thing that showed any animation at all was his eyes. They darkened to an ebony-edged jade in their intensity. “Are you married?” His question so shocked her that she shook her head no before she thought the answer through. “There’s no one else? Waiting for you in whatever the hell place you’re from?” It would be so easy to pull away from him with a lie. Give him a reason to hate her and never want to see her again. But she’d lied once, and even though her intentions had been good, it hadn’t sat well inside her. And because of it, she had nearly lost all that was of value in her life. The gods had taught her well from that lesson and she wasn’t going to repeat it. Her breasts rose and pressed against his chest as she took a deep breath. “There’s no one else. Another man isn’t the reason my life is not my own.” “You’re a nun?” The look of horrified shock on Brett’s face almost made her laugh. It did surprise a smile out of her at the thought of her being a Vystral Virgin. Even if she’d had the bloodline to be chosen, she would have been denied with a vengeance. A woman could not serve the High Priestess if she had either engaged in warfare or killed a man. She’d done both by the time she was fourteen. “No. But I can’t say more.” She reached up and placed her palm to the side of his face. “Please don’t ask.” Brett’s dark brows pulled together as he searched her face. For a long time he said nothing, but his eyes glinted with a determination she recognized well by now. She was about to break the silence when he lowered his mouth to hers. The kiss he gave her was soft and tender, leaving her with the distinct feeling that he was using it to seal a promise he wasn’t sharing. “Since you’re not married,” he whispered against her lips, “and not a nun…” His voice trailed off as his lips trailed down her neck. “There’s no problem if I do this.” Leaning to the side, he plumped her right breast and slowly sucked the nipple into his mouth. He still had one of her hands pinned to the bed, but the other she skimmed up the back of his neck to spear through his hair. Raven strands just long enough for the ends to curl around her fingers as she twisted and tugged as his tongue rolled her nipple against the top of his mouth. “Not a problem at all.” Her head fell back as he paired the sucking with a twisting tug on her other nipple, sending twin spikes of lust lancing a fiery path straight to her cunt. Wrapping her leg around his hip to grind her pussy against him, she was startled 76
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by the harsh feel of his clothing next to her thigh instead of the warm, hard body she was expecting. He’d kept her so swathed in pleasure she’d floated along in complete selfishness, letting him bring her to climax once—and nearly again—without anything in return. Pushing him off her, she sat up and reached for the hem of his shirt. This time he didn’t stop her from removing it. While she was removing his boots, he undid his belt and zipper. He had his pants halfway down his thighs by the time she got his last sock off and she quickly finished removing them for him. Smacking her opened hand against the middle of his chest, she pushed him back on the bed. He grabbed her wrist and brought her down on top of him as he tumbled backward. Before she could scoot off, he clamped his other hand on her ass to hold her against him. “Let go,” she demanded. His smile was wickedly defiant. “Make me.” Brett’s body tensed under hers in expectation of her next move. Instead of fighting against his hold, she let her muscles relax and melted over him. With slow, openmouthed kisses, she worked her way up his neck. His cock hardened and lengthened until it was hot and insistent between them. He still had her ass in his hand, but now he was rocking it side to side to massage his erection. Deliberately taking her time, she traced the outside of his ear with the tip of her tongue and then pulled his earlobe between her lips to tease and suck. Brett ground out a rough sound of pleasure and squeezed her ass cheek hard. Still sucking gently, she drew back until his earlobe pulled free and then whispered, “Too bad you wouldn’t let go of me. I was planning on doing that to your cock.” Air hissed through Brett’s teeth as he let go of her. “Do you ever fight fair?” he asked. Myrra couldn’t believe the low, sultry laugh that came out of her. “I only fight to win,” she said as she slid down his chest. “Fair is completely relative.” Kissing down his stomach, she kept her balance with one hand braced on the bed. For a moment, she let her other hand hover over his erection, enjoying the fact that Brett had stopped breathing, waiting for her to touch him. She lowered her hand until she could feel the heat radiating off his cock, licked around his navel and then dropped her hand onto his thigh. “God, woman,” he moaned, the tension leaving his muscles. Smiling against his hip as she continued to lick toward his package, she lightly scraped her nails up the inside of his thigh, stopping just before she reached his balls. She started ending her kisses with little nips and occasionally dragging her teeth from one spot on his hip or stomach to the next. Her teasing persisted with repeated motions of her hand back and forth on his thigh, each time brushing a little higher up and around his balls. Over and over she stroked and kissed his skin, always stopping just a
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whisper away from his cock, soaking in the sound of his soft exhaled curses as she turned away yet again to extend the sensual torment. His short, wiry hairs prickled at her lips and fingertips when she grazed over them and she pressed the side of her face into his abdomen and took a deep breath. The warmth of his body seeped into her skin, went deeper. The musk of his sex triggered a spasm of lust through her very core. Her fingers pressed deep into the mattress and his thigh as need, pure and thoroughly carnal, poured through her. She knew she could straddle Brett and bring herself to climax, immediate and fierce. But she needed more. This one time, she needed more. Closing her eyes, she turned her face into his stomach and opened her mouth to taste his skin. Inhaled until she was dizzy with his scent. Taking him in until he was locked inside her memory forever. Brett’s fingers wove carefully through her hair, his gentle touch bringing her back to the moment. She lifted her head to look at him and was pierced through by the intensity of his gaze. “Have mercy, angel,” he said, his voice ragged and harsh, his features honed with desire. Several strands of black hair had fallen into his eyes and tendons were stretched tightly across his neck and shoulders. Rising to her knees beside him, she combed her hair over to one side and out of her way. With one hand cradling his cock and the other cupping his balls, she leaned over and ran her tongue up from the base to circle around the sensitive ridge. The head she lavished special care on as she massaged his shaft up and down and stroked his tightening sac. First she tongued a shrinking spiral around the head of his cock, circling in toward the tiny slit at the top before rubbing the flat of her tongue over all she had just licked. “Fuck and damn,” Brett said as she sucked just the head into her mouth. Keeping her lips wrapped tightly just below the ridge, she continued to run her tongue around the entire head. “Holy shit. Holy fucking shit,” he hissed. His hand moved from her head, down her back and over her ass. Myrra ran her tongue back down his shaft, swirling it around and down to his balls, getting his entire package wet enough for her hands to slide and work him smoothly. By the time her mouth had retreated back up to the head of his cock, her hands were stroking and pumping. Brett pushed his hand between her legs. “Shift over some. Let me touch you.” Moving to give him better access, she adjusted her position to take him deep down her throat. Just as she swallowed him, he pushed several fingers into her cunt. Moaning around his cock, she instinctively started to rock against his hand. “Oh, fucking yes,” he said. “You’re so goddamn wet and what you’re doing to do my dick—” She flicked her tongue harder against him, leaning over farther to take him
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all in. “Fuck, yes!” he ground out, one hand reaching up to massage the back of her head while he finger-fucked her hard with the other. She sucked and moaned on his cock as her own body caught fire. “Goddammit, when you moan on my cock like that—fucking fantastic. Fucking amazing.” Brett’s words fueled her lust until she was blind with the pleasure of loving him like this. Bobbing frantically up and down, she took him in completely, each time pushing down until he was down her throat and her fingers were pushed off the base of his cock by her lips. His balls had drawn up and she no longer held them gently but rubbed the seam between them from his cock to his anus. As she pulled up, her tongue lapped firmly and her hand resumed its position to twist around the shaft. “I’m getting ready to come down your throat, angel. Moan for me, Myrra. Just one more time.” He let go of her head and reached for her breast. Finding her nipple, he gave it a hard tug and thrust his fingers fast and high inside her. She didn’t moan around his cock. She screamed. Came with a brutal release. A fast, raging firestorm that caught and burned through her body in flashes of reds and golds. Brett shouted and bucked underneath her. Even as her body shook from the onslaught of her own bone-melting orgasm, she swallowed Brett’s and fought to maintain enough control to ride his out with her mouth on his cock, wanting to taste what she did to him as her skin still flamed from what he did to her. A tremor coursed through her when his fingers finally slid out of her pussy, leaving a wet trail down her inner thigh. Tonguing him softly, she released his cock and lay down on his chest. There was no longer any part of her that could deny she loved this man. Loved him with all her heart and beyond all reason. He wrapped her in his arms, and as she lay listening to his heart beat so strong and steady, she knew what she had to do. Her choice had been made.
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Chapter Eight Brett glared at the woman who’d tried to kill him and left him for dead in the motel two weeks ago as she made her way up the road toward him. Seeing her up close after so many days, he was again stunned by her beauty. The sun glinted off her light blonde hair making it shine like white fire and even the layers of winter clothing she wore couldn’t hide the lush curves of her body. Against his will, his heart thudded heavily in his chest. As much as he wanted to get his hands on her—for more than just one reason—he wasn’t about to make any sudden moves. Standing on the perimeter of the property he’d tracked her to, he was surrounded by a small band of militia that didn’t look as if they’d need much of a reason to attack. He kept his hands in plain view and his stance neutral. From days of surveillance, he knew that these were not people you messed with. He’d been stopped almost to the second when he’d stepped onto the property line this afternoon. As he had expected. That was the only thing that had gone as he had expected since the night he’d seen her secretly removing some kind of drug from the inside of her boot and putting it in his drink after they’d made love for hours. Even as anger surged through him at the memory, the thought of her body moving over his started a slow throb of need for her rolling through his blood. She halted just short of being within his reach. “Surprised to see me?” he asked. “Why are you here?” Her voice was that same cold, commanding tone she had used on Lexi back at the mine. It would have seriously pissed him off if those blue eyes of hers hadn’t drunk him in like a tall cold beer after a hard afternoon’s work under a blazing summer sun when she first came to a stop in front of him. What he glimpsed in that brief rent in the fabric of her emotional defenses healed something deep inside him and sealed their fate as far as he was concerned. When he’d caught her trying to drug him, he’d been furious but played along like her plan had worked. He’d learned a long time ago that people quit worrying about keeping secrets from you once they thought you were dead. And he wanted to learn the secrets of this woman who’d flipped his life upside down and his heart inside out. Turned out, this woman had a hell of secret. No wonder she’d been so damn resistant to telling him. He’d followed her easily enough, but when he actually saw the men and women she worked with and what they could do, he was sure she’d managed to drug him at another time he didn’t know about. He’d assumed there’d be security in place and it hadn’t fazed him. Thanks to the training he’d received from the US military, he could work his way through just about
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any defense system given the time and the tools, so infiltrating a farm on the side of a mountain hadn’t seemed much of a challenge. Until a guard had stepped out of the fucking air. At first he’d thought he was having some sort of psychotic break. Hell, he’d seen enough shit in his military career to fuel any number of posttraumatic stress disorder symptoms. But he kept coming back to the farm. Driven to understand the reasons behind Myrra’s leaving. He shook off the memories of the last weeks and the revelations he’d had to deal with. With a determination to end their standoff, he focused on the woman he’d allowed to threaten the very reality of the world as he had known it. “I told you I’d return your weapons. That’s what I’m doing.” That wasn’t the true reason he was here, but it served as a good excuse to simply walk onto the guarded property and demand to see her. He started to reach for the small pack on his back, but two of the men instantly moved to stop him. Holding his hands up, palms out, he allowed them to take it from him. They handed it to Myrra, who opened it. “It’s all there,” he said. She removed a small, golden dagger and the thin casing and straps that had been with it. Pushing up the sleeves of her jacket and shirt, she bound it to her arm in a practiced perfection and efficiency that spoke years of the exact same motion. “Thank you. You may go.” “I will.” He crossed his arms over his chest and widened his stance. Not the picture of a man getting ready to leave. “As soon as you explain why you tried to kill me.” “Kill you?” The words hung on emotion she quickly shut down in her next statement. “I didn’t try to kill you.” Clipped words and detached, cool eyes watching him as if he were a stranger instead of the man who’d held her for hours and made love to her until she clung to him, wrapped around him and whispering his name. Brett narrowed his eyes, bit out his words. “You tried to poison me, angel. I fucking saw you put it into my drink.” The entire circle of soldiers around them took a step back. Brett glanced around before arching an eyebrow at Myrra. “Was it something I said?” Myrra ignored his sarcasm. She stepped closer and he realized the men had moved back to give her room to challenge him personally. If he didn’t already know just how able she was to handle herself, he’d have been highly insulted by their obvious confidence that she needed no help to take him down. “If I had wanted you dead, you would be dead,” she said. “Your assumption is wrong. The drug wasn’t to kill, but to make you sleep.” “So you could leave without me stopping you.” “Attempt to stop me. Yes.”
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Brett didn’t know whether to be more relieved that the woman he loved hadn’t tried to kill him or angry because she had gone to such lengths to get rid of him. “I don’t shake off so easily, darlin’.” Myrra made a quick gesture with her hand. He tensed, unsure of where she was signaling the attack to start from. Instead, those surrounding them immediately dispersed without a word, one of them picking up the backpack Myrra had set down beside her feet. “Impressive,” he murmured. “If a soldier can’t obey an order, he doesn’t belong under me.” Brett felt his blood heat and he let his gaze wander slowly down the length of her body. “Don’t even think it,” she said. “Too late.” Myrra took a deep breath, not helping his train of thought as her breasts lifted. “Follow me,” she ordered and started walking into the woods. After about twenty minutes of hiking, he asked, “Are we heading somewhere specific or just walking until you can think of another way to try to get rid of me?” “Both.” They walked in silence for a while until they approached a set of cabins beside a lake. The beautiful winter day was cold, but with the sun shining and no wind blowing, Brett was thinking about shedding his heavy jacket by the time Myrra stopped at one of the cabins. Entering in front of her, he glanced around the interior. The small space was set up with a tiny kitchenette, a table and chairs and a queen-sized bed all in one room. It brought back memories of sharing a similar space with her and he had the sudden urge to throw her onto the bed and fuck her until they both came to their senses. Until whatever the hell it was that stood between them didn’t matter anymore. The door shut solidly behind him and he turned to find Myrra glaring at him, her body stiff and her chin out. She didn’t look too willing to patch things up with a fast fuck. Then again, he wasn’t either. After making love like they had for all those days and then that final night in the motel, he wanted answers. A lot of them after watching the farmhouse for the last fourteen days. “What will it take for you to go away?” she asked. Brett strode forward until he stood nearly toe to toe with her. “Who says I’m going anywhere?” “You can’t stay and I can’t go with you. I’d explain if I could, but soon it won’t matter because I’ll be gone. And in the meantime, you’re an impediment to my duty.” Her cool distance infuriated him. “And you don’t care that you’re going to die because you refuse to accept my presence in your life?”
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Blue fire snapped through Myrra’s eyes. “I took your warning seriously and have been diligent not to make any mistakes.” “This doesn’t have anything to do with diligence or mistakes, Myrra. This is a fucking vision from the future.” “You could be wrong.” The arctic certainty of being dead right sunk into his bones. “I’m not.” “You were wrong about your brother. In spite of your warning, he still died. Perhaps you simply see what will be the future, not what you can do to change it.” Brett shook his head. “I didn’t warn Nick. That’s why he died. That’s why I have those fucking nightmares. Over and over and over. They remind me of the penalty for ignoring this gift—or curse—I’ve been given. I knew what was going to happen and I didn’t tell him.” He pinned her with a glare as emotion rose and swirled together inside him until it fused into a single unbreakable, unstoppable force. “You won’t be another casualty. I won’t let you be.” Myrra watched grief tear through Brett as he spoke about his brother. Watched it be replaced by stone-cold determination as he stared at her. If he were right, she would soon die because there was no way she could allow him to stay with her. “Brett.” Just saying his name again after so long sent a rush of wanting through her, pulsing through her body and heating her blood. He reached for her, but she held up her hand in warning and kept the distance between them. If he touched her, she might do something she’d regret. “You have to leave. I made a choice years ago and accepted a duty I can’t deny now simply because I—” Myrra caught herself before she could finish and make this harder than it already was. Her feelings had no bearing either on this situation or on the promises she had made and would keep to her death. “Because you what?” He edged closer, his green eyes drawing her in with their heat and emotion. “I have my reasons for staying. And for not being able to explain those reasons—” “The secrets that aren’t yours to share.” He repeated her previous words back to her and she caught the sardonic glint in his eyes. She dropped her hand and straightened. “Yes. So you do understand.” His bark of laughter surprised her. “Hell no, I don’t understand. I mean, I do understand your dedication to whomever it is you’re guarding and I absolutely understand your need to keep certain things quiet around here. Like the man who turns into some kind of huge black cat, another guy who can turn invisible and the one who likes to play with fire he somehow keeps lit inside his fingertips.” Several of Jordyn’s favorite Ilyrian curses ran through her mind. Now she really was going to have to kill him.
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“So which is it?” he asked. “Are you a bunch of aliens or a top-secret government project?” He propped his hands on his hips. “I’m putting my money on the alien angle, because if this were a government setup, the security would be miles deep and I would have already been shot.” His nonchalant attitude stunned Myrra into speechlessness for several seconds. “Who else knows what you know?” Brett shrugged. “I’m assuming everyone on this property.” Her anger struck off his words like flint off stone. His indifference for the number of lives that could be endangered by this information getting out was the kindling that set the blaze to raging. “Who else have you told? How long have you known?” “I haven’t told anyone. I assumed your whole reason for wanting me dead—” She opened her mouth to protest, but he changed his wording before she got a chance. “Your whole reason for leaving me was to keep these secrets. Why in the hell would I risk losing the woman I love again by exposing those very secrets?” Okay. That response threw her off. Diminished her fury enough to have her reconsidering the need for his death. The man had just said he loved her. Even though he suspected her of being a science experiment gone wrong or having an otherworldly origin. “You don’t seem too alarmed that there could be aliens living on your planet.” “You weren’t around the first time I saw the man morph into that fucking jaguar on steroids. I’ve had some time to get used to the idea since then. Besides, I’ve lived too long to think I’ve seen it all. And someone once told me that it was safe to say I didn’t know everything.” He reached up and brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “What alarms me is the thought of you dying. The thought of never seeing you again. Of never holding you next to me. I want you, Myrra. All of you. Whatever that means.” “You don’t belong in my world.” “You don’t belong in mine either. That didn’t keep you out of it.” His words stopped her cold. In the face of his determination, she had to fight to remember why this couldn’t work. “I made a vow.” “Does this vow preclude taking a mate?” “No.” “Then I’m not asking you to break your vow.” He turned away from her and unzipped his coat. “Fucking hell, woman. Your commitment to duty is one of the things that made me fall in love with you in the first place.” Throwing his coat down on one of the small chairs, he turned back to her. “I’m not asking you to abandon your duty or leave your life. I’m asking you to let me be a part of it. Whatever the hell that means or wherever that takes me. I have nothing holding me to this world and every reason for following you to yours.” Myrra felt her soul start to tremble deep inside her. “That’s not my choice.” “Then take me to the person whose choice it is. Do they know about me?” 84
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“Yes.” Wyc Kilth, the royal Ilyrian heir for whom she captained his personal guard, knew everything. And what she hadn’t explicitly told him, she believed he had already guessed. “But you haven’t thought this through. You don’t understand my life or what you’re offering to give up.” “Trust me on this one, Myrra. I know what I want.” He reached out and skimmed his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her toward him. “I want you. Whatever else that entails doesn’t change that one fact. Won’t change it.” She wished she could believe him. Wanted to. “What’s the chance of someone interrupting what we’re about to do?” he asked, his voice low, his hand working its way under her jacket. “No one would enter without my permission.” Her brain was telling her to back away from his reach. Her body leaned in closer. “What exactly do you think we’re going to be doing?” “What we should have been doing for the past two weeks.” His kiss was aggressive and powerful. Holding her by the back of the neck, he thrust his tongue inside her mouth. Her pulse raced at the invasion and desire flipped on like a switch from her nipples to her pussy, even her toes and fingertips tingled. It hadn’t been that long since she’d called while Brett was out and arranged to be picked up early the next morning, but the moment she’d closed that motel door behind her, she’d felt like part of her soul had been cut out. She could no more not touch him, not return his kiss than she could hold back the wind. Joy rose within her with such force she fought to breathe and struggled to stand as she tangled her tongue around his. They should talk. To each other. To her commander. His hand moved over her ass. They could talk after the kiss. Her hands slid over his shoulders. He felt so good. So right. So perfect. Pressing closer, she rocked and swayed against his body, wanting to feel the heat and hardness of him. When he broke the kiss, she nipped along the line of his jaw. His hands squeezed her ass and she moaned against his neck. That sound hadn’t come out of her since her mouth was around his cock two weeks ago. “Time to get rid of some of your weapons.” His voice was just as ragged as her breathing. He picked up the end of her braid. “This one goes first.” “You want me to cut my hair?” “Don’t be a smartass. When I stripped you down after finding you on that mountain, one of the biggest surprises was finding a really wicked-looking weapon hidden in your hair.” He untied the strip of leather she used to hold the end of her braid in place. “After you regained consciousness, I had a hard time reconciling the soldier you showed yourself to be and this long, gorgeous hair.” He turned her around and started unwinding the complicated weave. “And then I realized that you use your hair as a weapon. Anyone attacking you would
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automatically grab your braid. So tell me,” he asked, dangling the skeletal-looking weapon in front of her, “do you dip the ends in poison too?” Myrra looked at the flat, flexible device she’d had made specifically for the reason Brett had guessed. The metal had been colored to match her hair and the needle-sharp barbs could pierce through the toughest calluses of a man’s hand, but lying flat and cushioned by her hair, didn’t cause her any personal harm. “That would be telling.” He tossed it onto his jacket across the room before winding her hair around his fist and pulling her head to the side to expose her neck. When she tested his hold and tried to move her head, he twisted it tighter and anchored her back to his chest with an arm around her waist that pinned her arms to her sides. “I still have my other weapons,” she warned. “We’ll take care of that shortly.” Brett fastened on her neck with an open-mouthed kiss—gentle until she tried to pull away and then he used his teeth as a warning. Meanwhile, he released her hair to unzip her jacket and her pants. Turning her around, he went to work getting her boots off. He glanced up at her. “Take off your jacket and shirt.” The jacket was easy, the shirt took a bit of wiggling. It was skintight and designed to be warm, flexible and waterproof. She preferred the lightweight fabrics of her homeworld, but Ilyria was a constant warm-weather planet and frostbite wasn’t an issue. By the time she had wrestled the body-hugging shirt over her head and off her arms, Brett had stripped her from the waist down. He stood in front of her, his features sharp with undisguised desire as his eyes roamed over her. Along with her clothes, all her weapons had been discarded as well. All but her quantar. Lifting her right arm, he turned it over to look at the thin dagger in its ornately tooled leather sheath. “This is the only weapon you really wanted back, wasn’t it?” “Yes.” “It’s important?” His fingers reverently traced the symbols representing the Second Royal House of Ilyria and her appointment under Wyc Kilth, the reigning heir. “To me, yes.” He toyed with the ties that had secured it to her arm for over seven years. Though she had once willingly surrendered it to her commander, it had never been taken from her until Brett had removed it. Today, for him, she would relinquish it. For a time. Her fingers brushed his aside but before she could start untying the first set of thongs, his hand closed over hers. “Leave it where it belongs.” His understanding, his trust, his love—they all fused together in her heart. After her stepfather’s death, she’d believed that she’d never fully trust a man. She’d found her way through the pain, used it to drive her to become one of the most decorated and 86
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youngest soldiers Ilyria had ever known. It had also effectively reinforced the barrier around her heart that forced most to keep their distance. A sickening revelation occurred to her. It wasn’t her feelings of loyalty toward Wyc or against Bethany that had nearly lost her commander his mate. She was loyal. Had always been. But at the heart of the matter was trust. She hadn’t trusted Wyc to do the right thing, make the right choice for a mate in the face of official obligations. Her actions nearly cost Bethany her life at the hands of a Slayer. Brett tilted her chin up with his finger. “Where are you?” he whispered. She blinked, banished the past and focused on the man in front of her. “Here. With you.” Taking a step back, Brett simply looked at her. In the shadowy twilight of a cabin lit only by the stray beams of late afternoon sun filtering through both pine trees and the wooden slats of the outside shutters, Myrra stood uncertainly. Waiting. Unsure of what he wanted from her, but sure she would give it. Trusting.
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Chapter Nine Brett struggled to breathe. Myrra was the most magnificent thing he had ever seen. Looking at her in the half-light of the cabin made him wholly empathetic to the poor bastards in Greek mythology who took one look at Aphrodite and lost their minds to lust. With eyes such a bright luminous blue that they pulled on him like the call of an endless horizon and a mouth slightly swollen from their earlier kisses, she looked the epitome of the nickname he had tagged her with since seeing her float to earth in his vision weeks ago. Though he doubted a real angel would inspire the kind of carnal fantasies that had his cock pressing against his zipper. Images had played through his mind these last two weeks constantly as he remembered the long, lean lines of her legs, the curve of her hips, the smooth indention of her waist. The curly golden triangle covering her mound. The feel of her long hair as it fell over his stomach and thighs while she pleasured him. Tonight he didn’t need his memories. Wavy from being tied up in the tight braid, her white-golden hair spilled over her shoulders. Following it down with his gaze, he paused at where it parted over her breasts. Large and full, creamy white skin with dark pink nipples crinkled tightly against the cold in the cabin. Brett stepped closer, placed his hand between her breasts and splayed his fingers. Brushing past their luscious curves, he skimmed his hand over her ribs and down her stomach until his fingers were sliding into her silky curls. He stayed there, teasing, combing, gently tugging. Myrra looked at him, her lips parted on uneven breaths. Her uncharacteristic acquiescence meant more than the world to him. Given from a woman so powerful, from a woman who never willingly gave up control of anything—especially her own body—it was a priceless gift. One he would cherish with his life. And take completely. “Don’t move unless I tell you,” he said. “Don’t say anything. Just let me have you.” She nodded. Her face somber and accepting. He turned the bedside table’s lamp on and pulled over a chair so its back was to their sides. Myrra looked surprised, but didn’t say anything. When he turned her away, she looked over her shoulder at him with questions in her eyes, but he shook his head. “Look in the window.” Thanks to the dark shutters on the outside of the windows and the lamp now casting a glow from inside, their reflection was easily seen in the glass. Myrra, naked and gorgeous, with him behind her, still fully clothed.
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“I want you to watch, Myrra. I want you to see how beautiful you are when you give yourself to me. To see what I see.” Myrra was stunned by the image in the window. For years, the only woman looking back at her from any reflective surface was one of a warrior—intense, hardedged, full of purpose and duty. This creature looking back at her was soft, all curves and completely shrouded by the overwhelming and untainted desire for her man. It showed in every shuddering breath that lifted her chest, the brightness of need in her eyes and the way she licked her lips in anticipation. Brett’s hands slid up her thighs, over her stomach to cup her breasts. “You’re beautiful, aren’t you?” For a brief moment, her eyes held his gaze in the window and the look of need in his matched her own. Deep inside, her muscles began to quiver and the feeling dipped and swelled, making her wet. Making her ache. Her gaze went back to Brett’s hands when he squeezed her breasts and kneaded them slowly. The disparity in their coloring sharpened the lines between his darkly tanned hands and her ivory skin. He pinched her nipples, pulling them forward until her back arched and her shoulders pressed against his chest. The fabric of his shirt rubbed her bare skin, emphasizing her choice to stand naked before him, allowing the vulnerability he demanded. She’d never permitted such blatant control of sex to be out of her hands, but instead of it making her nervous, she found it highly arousing and made her want Brett all the more. As the tension in her body continued to build under his expert caresses, she stole a glance at Brett’s face. Even in the reflection, his lust was unmistakable. His focus was unabashedly on her body and its reactions to his touch. The pleasure he obviously received from the way her breasts filled his hands, the suggestive grinding movement of her hips whenever he twisted her nipples, made her feel powerful—gifting her with a satisfaction of pleasing someone on such an intimate level. When he took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and gave them a quick, final tug, a harsh gasp escaped her and her cunt contracted once, hard and deep inside. He feathered his fingers over her fully aroused peaks, soothing and teasing before running his hands down her front to rest his palms on her thighs. Instinctively, her hips rocked back, pressing her bottom against his erection. She wanted him inside her. “Are you wanting me yet, angel?” he asked, sliding his hands back up and down her body again. “Yes.” The word was a plea. A whisper. Filled with the yearning of days remembering and the ache of nights alone and dreaming. “Spread your legs for me.”
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She shifted her feet apart and the cold air slapped against her heated pussy and where her juices had dripped down her skin. The coolness on her heated flesh spiked the eroticism of the moment through her and made her dizzy with lust. She reached back and grabbed on to his jeans to regain her balance. He traced twin paths up the insides of her thighs with light fingertips, stopping at the damp spots to draw little circles in the wetness before moving on. “You’re dripping, sweetheart.” Both hands were now so close to the center of her need, she forgot to breathe as she watched his movements in the glass. His hands caressing closer. His thumbs massaging her mound. His fingers rubbing over and around her outer labia. Her body burned with the unbroken thrum of need pulsing hotter with his every touch. It throbbed deep inside and flowed like molten lava under her skin. Her captured breath rushed out on a groan of frustration when he paused just short of stroking her clit. She began to quiver as his hands started moving again. The small shivers becoming more and more pronounced with each sensual caress. Her breasts swayed with the quick, panting breaths she couldn’t stop, her nipples hard and poking through the curtain of her hair. She spread her legs wider in wordless entreaty. Brett pushed his index fingers between her folds, grazing both sides of her clit at once. “So soft and wet here,” he whispered into her hair. The sensations rolled over and into each other as he did no more than press his body against her and continue to softly abrade the sides of her clit. The giving and taking. Frailty and strength. Demand and offering. The consuming, unadulterated driving need to be fucked sliced through her with the sweetest pain she’d ever known. “So hot…here.” He slid one long finger into her cunt. She gasped, tightened her inner muscles, but release continued to hover just out of her reach. “Put your hand on the chair,” he said. While she shifted her hold from him to the chair, he moved his hand to her hips. She started to protest, but remembered his earlier instructions and kept quiet. “Bend over.” A dark triumph soared through her at the harsh lust in his voice. His need was as hot as hers. The sound of his zipper being undone made her want to shout. When his cock, hard and hot, pressed between the cheeks of her ass, a dizzy sense of relief surged through her. Unbidden, she bent over farther and went up on her toes to rub her slick pussy over his shaft. She moaned as the solid, pressing heat of his cock increased her body’s craving. “Shit,” he hissed. With one hand still holding her hip, he backed up enough to tuck the other under his cock and push two fingers inside her. The suddenness of his thrust sent streaks of fiery pleasure streaking down her thighs and up through her belly. Just as abruptly, he withdrew his fingers and pushed his cock into her. “Brett!” Her fingers clawed into the chair and she started to straighten. 90
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“Don’t move,” he ordered. She needed to move. Needed for him to move. To ram into her and take her off this tortuous brink of ecstasy. Finally having his cock inside her, filling and stretching and hot and not moving, was pushing her beyond her control to conform to the promise she’d made. All it would take for her to come was a couple of flicks of her finger over her clit. She knew the exact spot and— “Oh!” Her thoughts scattered as Brett pushed a finger deep into her anus. Her cunt contracted around his cock, but before that sensation was enough to send her into orgasm, he was pushing another finger into her ass. Her body felt so full, so aroused, so differently excited. She didn’t know how to handle it. Didn’t know how to move, how to react. Her breath came out on a low moan that vibrated through her chest echoed out to skid over her skin. She was still scrabbling with the shock-waving sensations when Brett pulled out of both her cunt and anus. The unexpected emptiness after being so incredibly full left her bewildered, adrift and flailing like a survivor of a shipwreck being tossed back into the maw of a raging sea. Again she started to straighten. Again Brett commanded her down. Immediately the head of his cock pressed into her ass. She gasped and threw her head up to look at him in the window. Her action arched her back and she felt the head of his cock push past her sphincter muscle as she caught his gaze. His green eyes bore into her blue ones as they stared at one another. A harsh, but tender, victory was cut into his expression. Yet he didn’t move to complete his conquest. Her body shook with need. A need she didn’t recognize and couldn’t rule if she let him proceed. The edge of her control was barely in sight as it was. If she let him finish, she’d be relinquishing willingly and wholly. The man had known what he was doing from the very start and she’d played right into his hands. Brett watched Myrra struggle with her choice. He could pull out of her or push fully in, making her decision for her. She was so on the edge physically that if he continued to fuck her ass, she’d fly straight into the climax he’d purposefully kept her on the razor edge of. It was what his dick was telling him to do with a damned insistence that slammed unmercifully through him. His mind told him he was pushing her too far too fast and he needed to withdraw and let her regain her control. That he would lose her forever if she fractured in his arms. His heart held steady as he continued to do nothing but watch her. He loved her but needed to know she could trust him enough to fully love him. To trust him with herself, no matter how strong or vulnerable she might be. To trust him to love her no matter what. To love him the same in return. It was a choice he wouldn’t—couldn’t— make for her.
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Myrra’s body trembled under his hands. She let out a deep breath, closed her eyes and pushed backward. He looked down to watch his cock slowly disappear into her ass. Thunder rolled through his body, roared in his ears and exploded behind his eyes. Bending over her, he kissed her shoulder and up her neck. A shudder raced down her spine and reverberated around his cock. He steadied her with his right arm around her waist as he gathered her hair in his left hand. Coiling it around his fist, he used both hands to gently pull her upright. The change in position pushed his cock deeper inside her ass and her eyes opened with a wide-eyed wildness he’d never seen there before. She strained in his grip, breathing hard, but he didn’t ease his hold. He slid the hand around her waist down between her legs and spread her pussy lips. Even in the hazy reflection of the window, it was easy to see how wet and pink her sex was. “Touch yourself, Myrra.” The wildness in her eyes erupted as she obeyed him without hesitation. Her hand slid over his and her fingers sank into her cunt. He placed his on top of hers, to hold it in place during the fucking. Her other hand came up to caress his face as she closed her eyes and let her head fall back to his chest. “Oh, yes!” she whispered as her hand started to move. With his cock buried in her ass and the feel of her fingers working her own pussy underneath his hand, Brett had to struggle to finish this right for her and not simply let his own orgasm take over. Easier thought than done as fresh cream from her cunt began spilling through her fingers and onto his. Using her hair as a leading rope, he tugged her head to the side just sharply enough to remind her who was in control. Her eyes flew open and her fingers stilled for a second. “Keep your eyes open,” he commanded. He pulled her head farther to the side and exposed her neck. Her free hand now rested on his neck, the underside of her forearm showing the dagger tied there. A clear reminder of the power and authority she wielded. She was a warrior. Strong and proud and controlled. The most disciplined person—man or woman—he’d ever encountered. And she was coming apart in his arms. Beautiful. His warrior. His woman. He pushed one finger inside her cunt alongside hers. Together they continued stroking inside and out. Sliding fingers around and with each other, deeper into her cunt, out and around her clit. Pleasuring herself and being pleasured by him. Her breathing became rapid, her eyes grew darker. He started to rock against her. Slight movements, but enough to emphasize the placement of his cock. The friction of her tight channel sent the prickling sensation of a coming climax burning up the back of his neck and filled him with the howling demand to take his mate. The violent demand of his body crushed all remaining restraint. He scraped his teeth down the taut tendon at the side of her neck to where it curved into her shoulder.
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Replacing his teeth with his lips, he clamped them around the sensitive spot and sucked. Myrra cried out and writhed against him. Lifting his eyes to the mirroring window, he watched her climax in his arms. Up on her toes, her long legs strained as she bucked against him. With her body flushed and glistening with sweat, her breasts high and nipples hard and her eyes flashing, she was the most blatantly erotic sight he could imagine. Watching her finger-fuck herself to ecstasy with his cock fully embedded in her ass lit fire down his spine, heated and merged it into a ravening, razing conflagration. Exacting her pleasure as his right, he matched her actions and drove in and out of her ass as she rode both his cock and their fingers. He pushed his fingers in deeper, feeling her slick inner walls pulsing. So tight, so hot. Electricity poured through his body, throwing him into a fiercely hedonic climax that incinerated all in his world but the woman in his arms. Melted his soul and reformed it anew. The only thing he held to—the only thing that mattered—was Myrra.
***** Brett breathed in the heavy odor of sex mixed with the distinct scent of his woman. There wasn’t a smell on Earth—or he bet, on Ilyria—that could come close to sending him straight to bliss like her scent. Put that together with beyond-words amazing sex and there wasn’t even a distant second. As always, the smell of her skin reminded him of rain and land yoked together, battling through a storm. Neither winning the elemental clash, both changing. He kissed the top of her head and wondered if there were mountains on her world. After they had both regained a modicum of normal brain and body functioning, he had picked her up and laid her on the bed, pulling the bedspread around them both. She had talked a little about her homeland and her responsibilities, but had drifted into silence after promising to fill him in more in the remaining days before the portal opened and his decision to go or stay became final. She shifted under his arm and he tucked the blanket back under her chin when it slid down with her movement. “So what’s your secret alien power?” he asked. “Mostly those are limited to the royal bloodlines. I’m of the Keepers.” Propping her head up on her hand, the blanket slid away again, partially revealing her breasts. This time he left the blanket alone. “What’s a Keeper?” he asked. He really was paying attention, though his eyes were watching chill bumps spread over the tops of her breasts. “We guard the portals between worlds. Or used to when there were more of us and fewer doorways opening between the dimensions. I can also create an emergency
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opening if I have to, but they’re more unstable than natural ones and dangerous to anyone using them because they’re so unpredictable.” “Unpredictable?” “They close suddenly, or can shift away from my hold and the person using it could be lost forever in a dimension we can’t track.” Brett considered her words for a couple of minutes, running his fingers through her hair. The golden strands slid over his palm and wrist like heavy threads of softest silk before falling back into place along her back. “So that’s it?” he asked. “What’s it?” “That’s all you do? I mean besides kick ass like a ninja and make love like a goddess?” She dropped her chin onto his chest and lifted her eyebrows. “What exactly are you asking?” He let out a groaning sigh and pushed his hair back out of his eyes. “Do you turn into a big cat too? Walk through walls? Light candles with your index fingers?” Her smile turned him inside out. “Would it matter if I did?” “No. But it sure would be nice to have some warning if you might turn into a sixfoot red python in the middle of sex.” With a laugh, Myrra sat up and pushed his hand off her breast when he reached for her. “Don’t worry about that. Being a Keeper is all I do. No hissing involved.” She grabbed his hand and pulled it off her breast again. “Though I do bite.” And she did, his finger in a none-too-gentle nip. “Time to talk to my commander.”
***** The Royals were waiting for them when they got back. Three of the five heirs to the houses were on-site at the moment and all three of them were standing in a line in the library facing the door when Wyc’s younger sister, Shyrana, ushered them in and then left, closing the door firmly behind her. Myrra wondered what kind of ambush the three had set up. Rordyc, Wyc and Siriyn stood shoulder to shoulder, arms crossed over their considerable chests, staring at Brett. All dangerously handsome and steeped in the legendary Kilth sex appeal, Rordyc and Wyc were nearly mirror images of each other with their dark hair and dark eyes. Siriyn, though similar in build to his cousins, had shorter copper-colored hair and eyes a deep toffee color that belied his mercurial disposition. All three pairs of eyes lasered in on the single shared target—assessing, evaluating, weighing, missing nothing. Brett stopped before the three, adopted their same confrontational position and waited. His face as granite as theirs.
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“What took you so long to come claim Myrra?” Wyc’s first question sent a flicker of surprise across Brett’s otherwise stoic expression. Since she had fully briefed Wyc previously about her absence, she had wondered what he might ask Brett that he hadn’t already covered with her or researched on the internet. Myrra fought to suppress the irritation at being claimed by anyone. A moot point considering that’s basically what Brett had just finished doing, but the unexpected chauvinistic direction this interrogation started off on was a serious aggravation. She was unused to being seen as anything other than an independent warrior more than capable of taking care of herself and everyone in her charge. Questioning Brett as if he controlled her actions or was allowed to make decisions on her behalf without her permission was offensive and insulting and taxed even her control to keep her expression schooled to impartiality. “I’ve known exactly where she’s been at all times since the night she thought I was drugged at the motel. I waited until I had more information about why she left before I came forward.” Wyc’s eyebrows arched in ominous warning. “You breached our perimeter?” “It wasn’t easy, but one of my specialties in the military was finding and exploiting defensive weaknesses on the ground.” “A useful skill,” Rordyc commented. Brett nodded in acknowledgement. “One I’d be happy to put to use in your service.” “Alongside Myrra.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact from Wyc. “Of course.” The room returned to silence. Brett looked like he could stand there all day. The cousins looked like they might make him. Power and authority pulsed through the room, but the singular presence that filled her senses, that thrummed through her body, heart and soul, was Brett. Finally, Wyc inclined his head. “Yes.” Myrra suddenly felt lighter by half. A strange, giddy euphoria swept through her and she struggled not to let it show either by sound, expression or movement. “But,” Wyc continued, his voice grave, “if for any reason you endanger our mission, our people or especially our mates, your life will be forfeit.” “Understood. As the same understanding should be had by any who would attempt to endanger my mate.” Brett’s words, void of all bravado, resonated with the same somber oath as Wyc’s. A new respect glinted in the cousins’ eyes. “Of course. We would expect no less.” Myrra stiffened at her commander’s words and Wyc smiled at her. “Though I doubt you’ll have a chance at anyone who threatens my captain before she takes care of the problem herself.” 95
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Brett tuned to Myrra just as the door to the study opened. Bethany walked in and came to an abrupt stop when she saw them gathered there. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were meeting in here.” Wyc waved her in. “We’re done. This is Myrra’s mate, Brett Canon. Brett, my mate, Bethany Kilth.” Bethany’s knowing smile wasn’t lost on Myrra. Wyc’s mate could be extremely intuitive and she’d been buzzing about with questions Myrra had refused to directly answer since she returned. Reaching out to take his hand, Bethany shook her head in exasperation, her green eyes sparkling with impish glee. “I keep trying to get him to use to the term ‘wife’, since ‘mate’ sounds so primal, but he’s stubborn like that. Regardless, it’s still very nice to meet you.” Brett returned the smile, but as his large hand wrapped around her much-smaller one, his face paled. “You’re going to die—” Before he could finish, Wyc and Rordyc had leapt on him, pinning him flat on his back and firing questions at him while Siriyn moved to stand between Brett and Myrra. “When?” “Who’s trying to kill her?” “How do you know?” “How is the attempt to be made?” Brett wasn’t fighting back. He’d gone totally lax beneath them, providing no threat other than what his words had carried. “He can’t answer if you don’t let him breathe,” Myrra said. Wyc released his throat, but neither cousin made any other concession to grant him freedom. “She’s in no danger from me,” Brett said, calmly holding Wyc’s gaze. “She’s already been poisoned.” “What?” Bethany gasped, one hand flying to her throat, the other one protectively covering her stomach. The Ilyrian curse Wyc used was one so vile she’d never actually heard it spoken aloud before. Anger seethed through the room like a living, blasting inferno. Myrra stepped forward, around Siriyn. “It’s not what he’s done,” she said, “it’s what he’s seen in the future.” “What he’s seen?” Wyc looked up at Myrra without moving off Brett. “Explain.” “He sees things that are going to happen in the future if events are allowed to continue unaltered. That’s how he found me. He was waiting on the mountain for me when I was dumped over the side.” “How do we know he’s telling the truth?” This question from Rordyc who, though his mate hadn’t been threatened, looked no less ready to tear Brett limb from limb. “Ask him what he saw and judge for yourselves.”
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Slowly, the men released Brett and they all rose to their feet, Wyc and Rordyc never taking their eyes off Brett as he rolled his shoulders and straightened. The clenched muscle in Wyc’s jaw started to tic. He nodded and waited. “I don’t know how Bethany was poisoned or by whom. I only know what I see and sometimes it doesn’t make much sense.” “So what exactly did you see?” Wyc’s skepticism and fury underscored his words. Brett crossed his arms over his chest. “It was just a flash in time. Not a full vision. Your wife was lying in a bed, poisoned and not much further along in her pregnancy. She was dead, as was the child she carries.” A strangled half sob, half denial came from Bethany, Rordyc’s hands slowly curled into fists and Wyc’s rage seemed to crackle through the air like wild lightning loosed from a malevolent god. “You said it was poison,” Wyc snapped. “What kind?” “I don’t know—” “What the hell do you do know?” Wyc spat. To Myrra’s surprise, it was Siriyn who stepped forward and put a restraining hand on Wyc’s shoulder, backing him up a couple of steps. “Can you tell us anything else?” he asked Brett. “Different poisons affect the body in unique ways, even in death. What color was her skin? Black, a pale white? Gray? Were her eyes open or closed in your vision? Any detail you can give us will help us narrow down the possibilities so we can start administering antidotes least likely to hurt the child.” Brett closed his eyes and stood silently. The tension in the room escalated as he neither moved nor spoke. “Her skin is pale,” Brett said, “her lips and fingernails are a bluish-gray.” “Anything else?” Wyc asked. Letting out a deep breath, Brett opened his eyes. “Yes. Her eyes are open and there is no color to them. No pupil. No iris. They are completely white.” Dread, heavy and dark, coiled like a waiting serpent in Myrra’s belly, slithering around latent knowledge and waking it to new fear. There was only one poison she knew of that fit that description. All three heirs turned to her when she nodded. “You know what it is.” Wyc’s statement carried the ominous weight of realization. “Is it fatal?” “I’ve read of it. It’s a drug that can lie dormant in a person’s system for months. It was most likely injected by the Predator with the other drug. It would give them time to administer the antidote if he was successful with her capture, yet would ensure her death later if he failed.” “Do we have the antidote with us?” Myrra shook her head. “This isn’t a common poison, even on Ilyria.” “How long do we have?” Rordyc asked.
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Directing Bethany to stand closer to the windows and open her mouth, Myrra looked under her tongue. A few tiny white pinprick circles were there. “The poison has started to work—but just. I’m not sure how long we have before it becomes irreversible. A day. Maybe a week. The Healers in Ilyria will know.” “Siriyn, go get Shy. Rordyc, contact Amdyn and tell him what’s going on. Bethany, you go get Brooke and prepare to leave. We’re opening a portal and taking you two back to Ilyria now.” Wyc’s orders cracked around them like a whip. Then he turned to Brett and Myrra. “What do you need to open the portal besides blood?” he asked her. “Nothing.” He nodded and turned to Brett. “You have some decisions to make. I’ll leave you to them.” After the door closed behind him, Myrra faced Brett, more afraid of what he’d say than of the responsibility of opening her first unassisted portal in a foreign world. “Blood?” he asked. “From one of the royal heirs. It doesn’t have to be much, but it has to still have their life-force in it.” “I guess I’m about to see what you mean.” He nodded toward the door. “What decisions did he mean?” Brett asked. “I have to leave this world. Most likely I won’t be back, as my place is with Wyc and Bethany.” “So what’s the problem?” “If you come with me, you’re taking the chance on leaving your entire world behind. Forever.” “I’m already dead in my world, remember?” His low, soothing voice made her chest hurt. This wasn’t a fair choice for him to be making so soon. “But you’re not. I thought we’d have time to talk about this more. Get you ready. Prepare you for the differences between our lives, worlds and histories.” “Do you breathe oxygen on your planet? Have edible plants and animals? Water?” “Except for minor differences, Ilyria is very much like your earth. Smaller. More consistent climate. And it’s not in your outer space, but in a different dimension.” “That’s where the portals come in, right?” “Yes.” He drew her close and wrapped his arms around her, rubbing her back in reassurance. “I’m failing to see the problem here, darlin’.” His deep drawl enfolded her as easily as a swaddling blanket around a babe. Made her want to curl into him and ignore the right he had to turn away from her and the sudden, dramatic turn her life had taken.
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“It’s not a decision anyone should be asked to make on such short notice and I can’t expect you to choose so suddenly.” Pain sliced through her at every word, but she held her ground and pulled back to see his face. “You think this is a sudden decision for me? Angel, whether we do or don’t talk about it, my choice isn’t going to change. Don’t you think I thought through this possibility when I saw all those freaky things your commander and his relatives could do? Ever wonder what I was doing for those weeks after you left me, though I knew exactly where you were?” He cupped the side of her jaw, skimmed the pad of his thumb over her bottom lip and across her cheek. The expression on his face was one she’d seen few times in her life but never once directed at her. A look that spoke of a lifetime of longing and needing in the moment of finding. “After you left, all I could do was think about it. The way you made love to me that last night. The way you let me make love to you. At some point, even though I was half crazed with anger that after all we’d been through you’d still try to kill me, it had settled in my heart how much I wanted you. Needed you. Even your boss turning out to be a mutant jungle cat couldn’t shake that feeling. And now that I know you never wanted to kill me…hell, darlin’, there’s no getting rid of me now.” Myrra wrapped her arms around him and looked up. “I love you too,” she whispered. Emotion—tender, triumphant, relieved—flashed through his eyes. “About damn time you mentioned it,” he said, right before he took her mouth in a consuming kiss. She made no attempt to stem the rise of love and passion she felt, but let it all pour through her kiss. Brett broke the kiss to pull away and nuzzle her neck. “You drive me crazy, and if you’re not careful, I’m going to take you here in the middle of your commander’s office.” Joy like she had never known spurted directly up from the depths of her soul and before she could stop it, it was bubbling out of her mouth. She tilted her head back and laughed with the sheer delight of being in Brett’s arms. “Shit.” She turned to find Siriyn standing in the half opened door, looking at them with a shocked expression. “The world as I know it just came to a flaming, crashing end,” he said. Brett didn’t loosen his hold on her as he frowned at the heir of the Fifth House. “You have a problem with my kissing Captain Lansyr?” he asked. Siriyn shook his head in disbelief. “Nope. I’ve just never heard her laugh before.” He gestured vaguely behind him. “I was sent to get you. Everyone else is ready to go.” With another shake of his head, he shut the door, leaving them once more alone.
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Myrra caressed Brett’s cheek, running her fingers down from the creases that marked the corners of his eyes to the stubble on his chin. “Are you sure you want to do this?” He kissed her temple and brought her flush against his body again. “Yes. Without hesitation.” She let out a loud breath of acceptance and pulled out of his arms. “Just one thing before we go.” “What’s that?” “You must refrain from calling my commander and heir to one of the five Ilyrian thrones a mutant jungle cat.” Brett grinned as his eyes wandered down to her breasts. “And what’s in it for me if I do?” That drawl of his dipped suggestively, signaling the carnal route his thoughts had turned toward. Closing the distance between them, she brushed her body up against his and ran her hands over his chest, around his back and over his ass. “Well,” she said, bringing one hand around to rub his cock. “I’m thinking that if you do this for me…” She massaged his growing erection and kissed the underside of his jaw. “Yes?” he prompted, his own hands getting busy. Abruptly she stepped away from him. “I’ll let you live another day.” She reached down and took a firm grip on his balls. “With these intact.” Brett narrowed his eyes at her and covered her hand with his, pressing it flat over his cock. “You’re going to pay for that.” “Promises, promises.” She stepped close, brushed her lips over his ear as she whispered, “Don’t forget, it’s my turn to be on top.” With a snort, Brett ground his erection into her palm. “Like there’s a chance in hell of me forgetting that.” She turned her hand and threaded her fingers through his. “Let’s go home.” His face cleared and he lifted her hand to kiss her fingers. “Home. I like the sound of that.” His smile turned devilish as he wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and pulled her close to his side. “And now that you’re back to full strength, I don’t plan on taking it easy on you any longer.” She didn’t struggle against his hold as anticipation curled through her. “Save your strength, soldier,” she said. “You’re going to need it.”
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Epilogue Amdyn snapped his cell phone closed and stared out the window of the Denver hotel room, not seeing the snow fall inches from his face. “That was Rordyc?” Connyn’s question had Amdyn turning from the window to face his cousin and Jordyn, the head of the special military contingent assigned to find and return the four Mystic daughters lost in this world. They had found two. Were closing in on the third. His mate. “Yes. Bethany’s been poisoned and they’re opening a portal to take her and Brooke back to Ilyria.” “What?” Connyn came to his feet and stalked to the window. Though Amdyn was the eldest of the five cousins and heir to the First House, Connyn held most tightly to the traditions of their homeworld. They’d been on this planet for years and yet he refused to cut his hair that hung to his waist when he wore it loose, though normally he used the ancient double-braided strands to hold it back out of his way. Connyn, heir to the Third House, was one of the two who hadn’t been matched to a mate before the women disappeared through an unmanned portal during a raid on their homeworld. He was tireless in tracking down every lead that might take him to Magdalyne’s only unmatched daughter and now they were closer than they had ever been. Brooke had given them specific information to finding her eldest sister and his matched mate several weeks ago—right after she had warned Ellyna that they were just days from finding her. Which accounted for Ellyna’s present absenting of her condo and antique shop for an extended “business trip” out of town. Her partner was sure she’d be back tomorrow. He’d been sure every single day they’d shown up and asked. For the last two weeks. Amdyn was growing impatient. He knew she’d be back. He could feel it. And Brooke had said that she planned to return to Ilyria. Eventually. “Has the poison harmed the child?” Jordyn asked. “Not that they can tell. According to Rordyc, they caught it in time for the antidote to be administered, as long as they get her back to Ilyria. Myrra’s opening the portal and Kayn volunteered to sustain it from this side.” Moving to the couch, he sat down on the edge of the cushion as he finished relaying the information he had to the two men. He had just finished answering what he could of their questions when he felt a familiar presence lightly brush his mind.
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A presence he hadn’t felt since he was thirteen years old. But the link held. It was such a soft feathering mind touch that he could almost convince himself he’d imagined it. Even with the Matching Ritual and their Guardians in place, a mental bond established over two decades ago between children was unlikely to remain in place. The loss of it had been his greatest fear, as it had been his greatest hope in finding and reclaiming the woman who belonged to him. The connection was fragile and his entire body went rigid as he fully focused his telepathic senses on the quickly dissolving trail. Echoes of an inner voice he’d heard only in his dreams during the long years of searching rippled over the turbulence of emotions that pulled on his soul the way this world’s moon did on the ocean tides. Ellyna had returned. This time, his mate would not slip through his hands.
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About the Author I can’t recall a time when I wasn’t making up stories. As long I remember, they’ve played like movies in my mind and I love seeing what will happen next. Why did I decide to become an erotic romance writer? Easy. I didn’t. One day I was minding my own business, writing a nice sweet story, and suddenly this incredibly sexy, all-things-fantasies-are-made-of man just jumped out of my pen. He smiled at me, winked and told me to follow him. What could I do? My feet were moving before my brain had a chance to lodge any reasonable objections. Thank goodness! I’ve been on this journey with my muse ever since. And I gotta tell you, I’m loving it! He’s introduced me to some gorgeous, alpha heroes and take-no-crap, sassy heroines and the adventure has just begun. I can’t wait to introduce you to them and hope you’ll have as much fun reading their stories as I have writing them. Besides being whisked away by my muse, traveling, hiking and reading are in my top ten favorite things to do with a day, along with eating Mexican food and the most decadent chocolate dessert I can find. Drop me a line, I’d love to hear from you. Eve welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Eve Jameson Ilyrian Destiny: Bethany’s Rite Ilyrian Destiny: Brooke’s Sanctuary Chances Are anthology Saint Jillian’s Rebel
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