by P. Jameson
“Is the room bugged,” she mouthed, eyes big with fear, no sound leaving her lips. Just movement.
Confused, Skittles shook his head.
“Then why are you writing instead of—”
She stopped as he scribbled the answer. Don’t want to hurt you with talking.
She seemed to deflate as she read the note, finally looking up at him with a wary gaze. Or was that… guilt?
“It’s better now,” she muttered. “I’m getting used to it. You don’t need to do…” She fluttered her fingers at his notepad. “… this.”
He crouched beside the desk chair so he could see her eye to eye. “Does my voice hurt you or not?” he whispered. “Tell me the truth.”
He watched her cheeks darken and wished he could see their color. He wondered if they would be rosy pink or angry red. Either way, they were a signal that something was off.
Nyla’s gaze shifted away from his as she muttered a soft, “No.”
Skittles frowned, trying to understand. “Then why don’t you want me to speak?”
Nyla fidgeted in the chair and pressed her lips together, drawing his gaze down to them before he found her eyes again. What was it? What was wrong?
“It’s nothing,” she rushed out. “Just… you don’t have to write everything down, okay. It’s fine. Everything is fine.”
She twisted back to the screen and that’s when it hit him. The most amazing scent he’d ever taken in. Sultry and sweet. Heat and something lush. Spicy. Fuck, he couldn’t even name it except… he knew what it meant.
“You’re…” His breath came faster and deeper, pulling in as much of her smell as he could and letting it soothe the raw edges of his beast. “You’re needy.”
Her back went ramrod straight and she swung her gaze to him. “What?” The sharpness of her tone told him that it scared her, feeling this way toward him. Or maybe just feeling this way at all.
But he could help. He was meant for this. Meant to meet this need.
“Don’t be afraid,” he rumbled, holding her wild gaze. “You need me, and it’s okay.”
She shook her head. “I don’t. I don’t… need you.”
Her mouth could deny it all she wanted, but her scent told him different.
Standing, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head, tossing it aside.
Nyla’s eyes went wide. “Wh-what are you doing?”
“Getting you used to me,” he said.
“Um… used to you?” This time, the words squeaked from her throat, but her gaze roved his chest and abs, moving farther down until she noticed his erection and gasped.
Skittles lowered himself beside the chair again, pushing his shoulders back so she could look her fill of him. He didn’t say a word. Didn’t move a muscle. And her eyes didn’t stop taking him in. His heart beat double-time as her breath came faster and the scent of her arousal permeated the air of his room.
Yes, mate, his beast purred inside.
This was the way to reach her, to bond. Maybe with the others, they’d needed time and patience like Mama Kitty said. But his girl needed this. A carnal connection. Instinct and pleasure. The emotion would come later.
“You’re beautiful,” she murmured, scowling. As if she didn’t want to think it, much less say it.
Skittles swallowed hard at her compliment. He’d been told this before, but never from anyone who mattered so much.
Shit, he wanted to tell her everything right then. How he felt like he already knew her, yet didn’t at all. How he’d stared at her picture for so long his eyes hurt. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful to him too.
But he knew better.
He knew by the scowl on her face, she wouldn’t hear any of it. Wouldn’t accept it. Not yet.
“Touch me,” he said instead.
She frowned, shaking her head. But her hand reached out anyways, as if she was under a spell. She didn’t understand it now, the pull, the union they’d begun building, but she would eventually.
Her cool fingers landed softly in the center of his chest just under the dip where his throat hummed, and the feel of her was like pure relief. Like water when you’re parched. The smallest connection, but it was everything.
“Your skin is so hot.”
Skittles nodded, giving himself time to find his voice.
“Does it hurt when you burn?”
“I’ve only done it twice,” he admitted. “And it never hurt. Only felt… right.”
Her eyes found his. “Only twice?”
“Today, when I got your message. And again, when I needed to jump the electric fence to get to you.”
She tilted her head in confusion, the tips of her fingers absently rubbing a trail along his collarbone. “You got my s.o.s.?”
Skittles tightened his jaw at the memory of opening that file.
“Yes. And it brought my Firecat forward. The reality of you being in danger unlocked the beast inside me.”
“Bastian told me he intercepted the message, that you wouldn’t receive it.”
“He lied.”
“Why would he lie about that?”
A flash of anger made Skittles feel hot inside. “Because he’s a sadistic motherfucker and he wanted you to feel broken and hopeless.” His words were sharp enough to cut, but Nyla didn’t flinch this time. Instead, her eyes narrowed to slits as her gaze dropped to Skittles’s mouth.
“You hate him.”
“More than fucking anything. If there was a stronger word—”
His rant was cut off by the soft but urgent press of her lips to his.
A kiss.
Shit. He wasn’t expecting it.
It froze him right to his spot. Made him forget all sense. Forget how to breathe. Thoughtless and hot. She’d moved by instinct.
He closed his eyes, a million emotions battering him all at once.
Mine. Finally. Always mine.
And then it was over before it really even began. Before he could take her mouth and consume her the way he wanted to.
Nyla pulled back, finding his eyes.
“I hate him too.” Her lips twisted into a smile so full of loathing that it sent a shiver across his skin. “And one day, I’m going to kill him. But not before he suffers. I want him pissing his pants in fear and crying for his goddamn mommy. I want him to beg for mercy. Beg for it while I laugh and spit in his fucking psychotic face. Then… and only then, will I finish him. That’s when it will truly be over.”
Yesssss. The new beast inside reveled in what she said. It wasn’t supposed to be fueled by vengeance. It was supposed to be different, changed. Capable of love. He wasn’t supposed to feel the inky threads of his old beast creeping in.
But he did.
And the worst part was…
He fucking liked it.
***
Nyla sat, tucked into Skittles’s bed, watching as he positioned the massive tray of food over her lap. It looked like he’d flat-out raided the kitchen—wherever it might be—and brought her the spoils. Did he expect her to eat it all?
You kissed him.
God. She had kissed him.
It wasn’t a big deal. It was just a quick peck, brought on by the fact that they had a deep hatred for Bastian in common. It meant nothing. It might as well have been a high five. With their lips though.
Yeah.
Except afterward, he’d pulled away, standing to take her hand. He had urged her up and into bed, tucked her in, and then told her it was time to eat.
It was like their two trains had been on a fast track to some hate-fueled orgasmic release destination, only to be completely derailed by a single mouth high-five.
Not that she wanted anything sexual with him, right now, but… what happened?
She couldn’t take her eyes off him. He was still shirtless. His colorful tattoos stretched across his entire chest except for one blank spot in the center of his sternum. The covered abs, both arms, and encroached on his thick neck, stopping just under his
jaw. They were every color of the rainbow and there was so many of them, they weren’t identifiable as individual images. Rather, they blended together artfully, flowers and skulls and abstract shapes, to form one bright canvas. A rainbow work of art on a powerful body. It was… it was beautiful.
And she’d told him that too.
God.
What other ways could she humiliate herself before the night was over?
“How did you know I was… uh… needy?”
Oh look, that just came out of her mouth. Add that to the humiliation list.
“Smelled it,” Skittles answered, bending to peer into the small refrigerator that sat in the corner by the closet.
Smelled it. Smelled it?
She felt her cheeks flare with heat.
“You… smelled… it? Like… it?”
He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge and turned back for the bed.
“Your arousal,” he said, cracking open the water and taking a long drink. His muscles flexed as he moved closer, his eyes on her the entire time. “My animal can scent it.”
Dear god, he was pure sex, moving across the room like he owned the fucking world, and knew it. Not fully human. Enough that he could smell her arousal.
Was that embarrassing or hot as hell?
She couldn’t decide.
Nyla bit the inside of her cheek to keep a moan inside. She didn’t need any more help embarrassing herself. Maybe she should tell him to put a shirt on before she tried to taste his rainbow.
“I can smell it now,” he rumbled, stopping beside the bed to stare down at her. “But you’re going to eat first, and give me time to think.”
Think. Oh, damn. That was usually her thing. Plan. Think. Do.
“I didn’t know what you liked so I brought you a variety,” he murmured, looking suddenly unsure. “The hot chocolate was Mama Kitty’s idea. She taught me how to make it if you… you know… like it and want more.”
Nyla stared at the tray. “I used to love hot chocolate. It’s been a while.”
“What else do you like?” He asked the question like the answer would feed him and he was starving.
“I like your tats. What do they mean?”
Skittles arched a dark eyebrow. “Eat and I’ll tell you.”
“Is this what we’re gonna do? Trade information?”
He frowned. “I’d like to. Wouldn’t you?”
“I don’t know. I prefer to keep information to myself until it can be leveraged.”
Lowering himself into the lush desk chair, he leaned back, drinking down the rest of his water. “You don’t need to leverage anything here, female. I will see that you have everything you need.”
“Yeah? How about starting with some product for this?” She fingered a strip of her abused hair and stretched the coil out so she could examine it. It was a damn surprise she still had so much of it left after barely consuming enough nutrition to stay alive for the past few years.
“Write it down,” he said, pushing the notepad and pen at her. “I’ll have it for you by morning.”
She laughed. “Sure.”
But he was serious.
“I bought what I thought you might need, but I don’t know shit about hair products. Or any of that… girly stuff.”
Nyla narrowed her eyes, digging into his expression as if it would clear up all the confusion she felt about him.
“I don’t understand. You were expecting me to be here, in this room, with you? What if Bastian had decided to kill me?”
Skittles expression turned grim and he sat forward in the chair so their eyes were level. “I would have followed you out of this world, woman. I would have found you in the fucking afterlife. There’s no me without you.”
His words felt like a chain around her heart, trapping her, pulling her in. No me without you. Why did he feel this way when they’d only just met? And why did every second she spent with him make it seem like she could feel it too?
No. Can’t care. Won’t care. Stay logical.
“Marlee says you chose me. What does that mean?”
He eyed her. “I don’t know if you’re ready to get into all that.”
“Oh, is it very complicated then?” she muttered, unable to hide her sarcasm. “I asked, didn’t I? Let me decide if I can handle it.”
Skittles’s lips twitched. Did he like her snark? That would be new. Men didn’t usually like it when she got mouthy. But she’d shut that shit off for so long, trying to conform to Bastian’s rules so none of the Dolls would be punished. Now it was like a waterfall of sarcasm flowing from her.
Sarcasm and humiliation. What a winning combination.
“Fair enough.” He pitched the empty water bottle and it landed in the trashcan across the room. “It means you’re my mate.”
“Your mate. As in… we’re supposed to fuck?”
His eyes flickered in some mysterious way that nearly looked like flames behind his irises. “It’s more than that. But yes.”
“What do you mean, more?”
“You’re for me, and I’m for you. Forever.”
He said it like it was fact. Like he was certain.
“How do you know?”
Without a word, he stood and reached for a denim vest that hung on a hook near the door. Digging inside the breast pocket, he pulled out a tattered photo and passed it to her. Nyla stared at it in disbelief. It was a picture of the Dolls. The one she’d swiped for Marlee to take with her when she escaped. She was supposed to give it to the authorities when she got out of Memphis. Authorities who would listen and rescue them from Bastian. But Marlee hadn’t made it that far, had she?
“I found it in one of the storage sheds out back,” Skittles said.
The women in the photo looked ruined. She looked ruined. And not just because a big rip in the photo tore her face in two. It was in her eyes. They spoke of hopelessness. She had never really believed she’d get free, had she?
Skittles walked over to the wall opposite her and stared at the calendar hanging there. “I found it eighty-nine days ago. When I saw you, I knew you were mine.”
Mine.
Nyla froze.
Oh hell no. She didn’t belong to anyone anymore. And never would again.
“Mine to protect and watch over,” he continued, and somehow, those words helped to keep the panic in her chest from spreading. Skittles didn’t want to hurt her. She had to keep remembering that.
He’d saved her.
When no one else could, he’d saved her.
She only wished she could have saved herself. But maybe, in a way, she had. By getting the others free and surviving until help came.
“This doesn’t mean anything,” she said, avoiding his gaze when he turned to look at her. “Just because you found a picture of me and thought I seemed interesting? That’s… nothing.”
“It’s everything,” he snapped, and she got the feeling that for him, it really was. “You don’t know how finding that photo changed me. You have no idea.”
She watched him walk back to the chair and sit in it, his vibrant body rigid with frustration. The woman in her wanted to reach for him and massage those angry shoulders until he was limp.
But the curious part of her needed to understand.
“You’re right,” she said. “I have no idea. But I’d really like to know.”
There. An honesty from her lips. It wasn’t so bad, was it?
Skittles eyed her. “I’ll tell you while you eat.”
“Deal.”
She picked up the sandwich he’d made her and hastily took a bite. And then another.
Leverage.
She wanted to understand his secrets before the night was over. He wanted her to eat. It wasn’t demanding much. And her hungry ass was in full agreement with the tradeoff.
Chapter Thirteen
A lingering thread of satisfaction wound through Skittles’s chest every time his female took a bite of food. Every time her precious scent permeated the air. Ever
y time she guarded her eyes but then let the wall slip to show him anything real.
In his life, he’d endured a lot of misery, but he’d also had his fill of pleasure. Except this? There was nothing like it in the world, these sweet moments of discovery. Little victories that his heart was falling in love with. He ate up every moment of it, his mind constantly searching for new ways to see into her, to learn anything, everything.
Now he’d promised to tell her about him. He could only hope she was feeling the same sense of amazement with every minute reveal.
“I’m not a good man,” he said. And maybe that wasn’t the best way to start out, but she needed to know the truth up front.
He would never hide anything from her.
That was one of the promises he’d made when she was so far away and all he had was the photo.
“The Alley Cats used to be a fearsome clan, immoral enough to do very bad deeds for Bastian and enjoy them. There was nothing noble about my people. Still isn’t I suppose, but at least some of us have found reasons to try. That’s got to be worth something.”
Nyla chewed another small bite, swallowing before she murmured, “I remember.”
“Remember what?”
“When I worked for Bastian, before he… before he owned me. I remember how people feared the Alley Cats. Dare say even Bastian feared you. What happened?”
“A witch happened.”
“A witch.”
Skittles sighed. “That’s the short of it. But really, it started a long time ago, with how we were brought up. The Fathers raised us to be hard. The cruelest. None crueler, that was the goal. And they were successful by most accounts. As small cubs they would…” He’d never spoken it out loud. Thought about it many times, but never said the words. “They would hurt us.”
Nyla frowned, her expression carving deep crevices into her brow. “How?”
“However they wanted. Mostly with a blade. Their fists. Matches and lighters. Anything they could think of.” Sitting forward, he twisted to show her the scars that took up space with the ink on his back. When she gasped, he knew she’d seen the old knife marks that formed a crude S across his back, marking him as a Shadow. A dark shifter.
He didn’t give her time to dwell on it.