Immersive

by Becky Moynihan

  “Yes,” he said, once again not defending himself. Which suited me just fine.

  “I’m going to kill you.” I took another step toward him, unsure what my plan of action was. All I knew was that my fists burned with the need to punch something and Ryker’s face looked like the perfect target.

  But he raised steely eyes to mine, rooting me to the spot. “Yeah, well, you’ll have to get in line, Princess. Just about everyone wants a shot at me right now.”

  My head jerked back as if he’d struck me. “Whoa. Okay. Now that I know you’re a prince and that your clan thinks I’m your intended mate or whatever, under no circumstances can you call me princess. Got that?” The room tilted to the right and I stepped with it, almost leaning too far. Crap, the pesky black spots wouldn’t go away.

  “Sit down before you pass out on my floor,” Ryker demanded, his voice sounding farther away than it should.

  “You sit,” I mumbled, even as I took a shaky step toward the couch. “Sit, like the dog that you are. Don’t expect any treats though.”

  “Glad to know Skervvy didn’t break your terrible sense of humor. And just so you know, it’s an insult to call our kind dogs. Think twice before uttering that word around here.” He about-faced and strode down a hallway, returning before I could snark some more. A wad of fabric was shoved into my hands. “Put this on before you get sick.”

  I frowned and glanced at my trembling arms, too heated in the moment to realize how cold I was. “You’re not going to undress me,” I warned, scooting closer to the couch and away from him.

  He snorted. “I will if you keep dripping water all over my rug.”

  “It’s butt ugly anyway.”

  His lips twitched into a faint grin, which reminded me of our kiss. Nope. I was so not going there. I fisted the clothing and stormed for the hallway he’d come from. Well, stormed after my boot caught on the butt ugly rug. I heard a soft snicker as I tried to cover up the graceless move. My cheeks burst into flame despite how cold they were.

  There was only one door to choose from, so I wasn’t surprised to find a bedroom. With a bed. The sight drove lead into my veins and an overwhelming ache to sleep. But I couldn’t. I still had too many questions, and I needed to see Bren.

  Another door inside led to a bathroom—which I had no desire to enter. I imagined I must look awful. Shutting the door to the hallway, I habitually felt for a lock but found none. My nose flared with irritation. If Ryker came barging in while I was dressing, stars help me . . .

  He disappeared from my thoughts as I struggled with my water-logged boots. When I’d finally stripped down to my underwear, I was breathing heavily, like I’d run a couple miles uphill. The task of pulling a dry shirt over my head almost made me whimper. I eyed the pants on the bed that looked a few sizes too large, then inspected my shirt’s hem, which fell to mid thigh.

  I was decent enough for what my body and mind screamed at me to do. I could no longer resist the pull. I sprawled face-first on the bed, uncaring that the blanket smelled musty. I only cared that it didn’t reek of rat. Relief deadened my muscles. Just a few minutes of indulging in this luxury I had missed beyond reason. My eyes slammed shut, cementing my decision. Immediately, my brain switched off.

  The feeling of something in my hair dredged me from the endless dark pit I’d succumbed to. My first thought was of falling asleep in the filthy cell and waking to a vorax crawling in my hair. I shrieked, blindly shoving the disgusting rodent away from me.

  When fingers wrapped around my wrist, I wildly swung a fist, seeking out Skervvy’s face. My knuckles connected with flesh, but not in the area I was aiming for. Sharp pain zipped up my hand at the hard impact, jogging some sense into me. My eyes jerked open. To pitch black nothing. Panic sucked the air from my lungs.

  Instinct had me aiming for a location I had a better chance of reaching. I half expected to meet the thickness of his thigh, so when I hit my intended mark, a masculine grunt of pain drowned out my surprised gasp. I quickly drove the heel of my palm upward, connecting with Skervvy’s chin. Twisting out of his hold, I scrambled away.

  Then promptly tipped over an edge and fell.

  Oof! My shoulder struck solid ground, not the mucky dirt of the cell. Had he moved me to a new location while I slept? I rose onto my hands and knees, feeling my way across what felt like a wooden floor. Ahead, a faint light bloomed. I scrambled toward it, my heart jackknifing in my chest.

  Just a little farther and I would be free of Skervvy’s maniacal clutches.

  A handful of feet to go.

  I gathered my strength and stood, racing for the light, charging toward freedom. I burst into the hallway and paused. Where were the other cell doors? Unless . . . unless he’d moved me to a place where women were claimed. A streak of fear bolted through me.

  Crap. Crap!

  Straight ahead, a white door with peeling paint beckoned. I dashed toward it, not daring to survey my surroundings. I expected a guard to pounce on me from a shadowed corner at any second, so I willed my legs to pump faster. I all but slammed into the door, my heartbeat a wild thing as I wrapped shaking fingers around the handle.

  I turned it. Yanked. The door was stuck. Locked! I stopped breathing when I noticed five separate locks decorating the door. I fumbled with them. Snick. One down. Click. Scrape. Only two more to go.

  A throat cleared. Tingles of dread froze me in place.

  “Where are you going?”

  At the sound of his voice, a voice that was very much not Skervvy’s, awareness and memories finally caught up with me. Including the realization that I wore nothing but a shirt.

  Crap on a cookie.

  “What was that?”

  Stars, even my mouth was betraying me. I slowly straightened and, with as much dignity as I could muster, turned toward the room. And a very annoyed Ryker.

  Oops. I’d punched him in the jewels. Then again, he deserved it. I struggled not to smile. Okay, I was smirking a little. His expression darkened and he prowled toward me like I was trapped prey. I scowled at him, widening my stance as I prepared to strike again.

  But he threw me off balance when his look slowly bled into wicked amusement. Instead of swinging a fist, I tried to push him back. He easily caught my wrists, pinning them to the door above my head. My mouth popped open. When he didn’t stop there, when he pinned all of me to the door and pressed his leg between mine, I sucked in a harsh gasp.

  His head came down and I had just enough sense to jerk mine to the side. His lips landed on the shell of my ear. I tried and failed not to shiver as his breath warmed the side of my face. But it was his leg, his leg—wedged between mine where only a flimsy pair of underwear stood in his way—that sent my pulse into overdrive.

  “Ryker,” I breathed. Stars above! I had meant to snarl his name, not purr it like a kitten. What was happening to me? And why was he doing this? Revenge? Settling an old score with Bren? Because it was working. I was questioning the depth of my loyalty and love for Bren.

  And I hated every doubtful moment.

  Ryker shifted, rubbing his body against mine in ways that were far too intimate. I chomped down on my lip to keep from groaning aloud. “Good,” he whispered, the word teasing my hair.

  My eyes snapped open. I immediately stiffened, that one word a splash of ice water to the face. He was enjoying my inner—or maybe not so inner—turmoil.

  Before I could fight against his hold, he slid his fingers through mine and tightly gripped them. “We have company.” I barely caught the warning, but when it registered, my eyes widened further.

  Oh. Oh.

  I shivered again for an altogether different reason. Someone—probably his father—was watching this very public display of affection.

  And I was only wearing a shirt!

  After a lingering moment, Ryker pulled back but continued to hold my hand as we faced the room’s other occupant. Sure enough, the boss lounged on the couch, a booted leg propped over his knee. Both arms were splayed acr
oss the back cushions, and he wore a lazy grin, boldly taking in my apparel—or lack thereof.

  “She’s perfect for you,” he addressed his son. “That feisty spirit will serve you both well. I’m surprised though. After the last unsuitable female you picked, I thought you were doomed to repeat the mistakes of my brother.”

  Ryker’s grip on my hand tightened, his fingers trembling. With anger? Nervousness? Or was it fear? But when I dared peek at his expression, it was blank.

  “I’ve learned my lesson,” he replied, his tone bland. “And I have you to thank.”

  The boss guffawed. “You’ll have to do a lot better than that, boy. You ditched your clan for Tatum City. Two years I’ve been without an heir, wondering if you’d ever return. I need proof of your renewed loyalty, not flattery.” His eyes swiveled to me. “But where are my manners? We haven’t been properly introduced.”

  When he rose from the couch, the already small space shrunk even more. His boots thundered across the wooden planks. When he stuck out a hand, I offered him mine, wondering if his grip would crush my bones. But he did something completely unexpected and bent to kiss my knuckles.

  As he straightened, his voice became smooth as silk. “I am head alpha and King of the Recruiter Clan—better known as ‘the boss’—but you may call me Rollie, my lady. After all, we’re almost family.”

  A charmer, then, when he wanted to be.

  Just like Bren, my inner critic hissed.

  No, not like Bren, I argued back. Bren didn’t snap men’s necks simply to prove his dominance. At least, I hoped he didn’t.

  I steadied my voice before saying, “I’m Lun—a. Luna.” I inwardly grimaced, unsure why I’d given him a fake name at the last moment. Besides, it was too similar to my real name.

  Rollie cocked his head. “Luna. Meaning ‘moon.’” He glanced at Ryker’s neck, then touched a spot on his own where the same moon and claw tattoo was inked—the symbol of their clan. He barked a quick laugh. “It’s a sign. Though I sense you do not carry the predator gene. What are you exactly?”

  “Um, I’m . . . human?” I shrugged, feigning ignorance. If he knew what I could do, he would no doubt use me like he had with Bren. A worrisome thought took hold. What if Ryker told his father about my abilities to prove his renewed loyalty? He didn’t know everything, but he knew enough. His fingers briefly squeezed mine as if in approval of my answer. Which didn’t help me know whose side he was on.

  “So where did you meet my prodigal son?”

  The subject change threw me off guard. A cold sweat immediately dampened my palms. Was his father testing our stories to see if they matched? “I met Ryker at—”

  Rollie waved a hand dismissively. “Not that one. My boy, Bren.”

  If this was meant to trip me up, it was working. My mouth formed words, but nothing came out.

  His eyes did that glowing thing I’d seen Bren and Ryker’s do, like an animal’s reflecting the moonlight. Were all Sensors capable of this trick? I wondered if he did it on purpose to intimidate me. His mouth slowly curled into a smile. Yup. Definitely on purpose.

  “Sadly, I missed the spectacle, but many of my men said they witnessed you throw yourself at Bren the night he was brought home,” he said casually. “Under different circumstances, this would please me greatly, but he betrayed us. Honoring the code is the one thing I ask of my clan. Not only did he break that time and again, but he refused our clan’s mark. He must be punished for his crimes. You would do well to forget about him. Whatever feelings you once had for Bren must now be directed toward my sole heir, who I’ve overlooked for far too long.”

  He looked at Ryker, but there was no pride or warmth in his expression. It was dark. Bitter. Despite his words, there was a deep tension between him and his son. I recalled something Jaxon had once said about Bren.

  He was being hunted by the Recruiter Clan boss who valued him more than all of his goons combined.

  Did Rollie care more about Bren than his own flesh and blood? Enough to want Bren as his heir instead? Maybe Bren’s punishments would be less severe then—or worse, if his betrayal had hit the boss on a deeper level. Either way, I had to see him as soon as possible. I didn’t know how to save him from this terrible mess, or know if Ryker had a plan to do so, but there was something I could do right now. Something reckless. And irreversible. But something that would speak volumes.

  “I will accept your clan’s mark,” I said firmly. I expected surprise, and got it. Rollie’s eyebrows flew up while Ryker’s head whipped my way. Before either could say a word, I added, “But with your permission, I’d like my moon tattoo without the claws. As you pointed out, I’m not a predator.”

  The Recruiter Clan’s boss studied me shrewdly, searching for signs of treachery.

  What he didn’t know was that my real name actually meant “crescent moon.” My mum had told me the story of my birth many times and I’d never forgotten. Under a sliver of moon and a thousand twinkling stars, she had labored, unable to make it back to the community’s safety before the pain became too great.

  But she hadn’t been alone.

  I could envision what he must have looked like that night. Face etched into fierce lines of protectiveness, he bravely stood guard over his wife and unborn child, worried that predators would come investigate the screams. When I came into the world, he wasn’t able to see or hold me for several minutes, too busy fighting off a mutated beast. His first saber cat kill. Definitely not his last.

  The memory of his loss struck me then, like a swift kick to the heart. I firmly pushed aside the gruesome images before I was forced to relive that terrible day.

  Inking a moon onto my skin wouldn’t be accepting the mark of a clan who’d torn me from my mother. The symbol would remind me of my humble beginnings, of the beauty that was found in the darkest hour. Of the love I had known, the fruition of bravery and sacrifice.

  By accepting the moon, I would be embracing my parent’s legacy. I couldn’t think of a more fitting reason to permanently stain my skin than that.

  Finally, after a full minute under his gaze, Rollie nodded. I couldn’t tell if he saw through my ploy—his expression remained blank—but he turned to Ryker and said, “See to it,” then unlocked the door and exited without a sound.

  After his departure, I thought the room would feel bigger again. Nope. Ryker was still staring at the side of my head, and with everything that had happened between us today, I couldn’t bear to face him. Gah, we were still holding hands! I tugged mine free and quickly rubbed my sweaty palm on my . . . shirt. Crap, I’d completely forgotten about the lack of pants.

  “What are you doing?” Ryker said softly, yet I almost jumped out of my skin.

  My focus stayed on the shirt as I muttered, “Uh, your hand was warm. I think a pound of sweat just went through my—”

  “No. What are you doing, Lune?” he cut in, facing me squarely now. At the incredulity in his voice, I almost looked up, but didn’t dare. “You don’t have to get a tattoo.”

  “Yes, I do. You said we need your father’s trust. But I’m not doing it for him. Or you.” I paused, knowing I shouldn’t look up, but wanting to see his face for what I said next. I lifted my eyes. “I’m doing it for myself. And for Bren, so I can see him again.”

  Ryker’s expression was always impossible to read. This moment was no exception. His jaw gave him away, though, the muscles bunching as he ground his teeth together. He was mad, I knew that much, but I wasn’t sure who the anger was directed toward.

  “I care about him,” I continued when he remained silent. “I’m sure you already knew that though.” His eyes darkened, making my stomach lurch. He couldn’t really be mad about . . . Ah crap. “Today was an act, Ryker. Nothing more. I did what you wanted me to do so I could see Bren again.”

  “Oh?” he snarled. The hairs on my arms raised. “So your thundering heartbeats were an act?”

  “Yes.” I stopped breathing, trying to stop my heart from skipping as well.r />
  “And the way your body responded to my touch. An act?” He leaned into my personal space, almost stepping on my toes.

  I quickly retreated, realizing too late that he’d backed me against the door again. My eyes narrowed to slits but he didn’t stop. His hand rose toward my face. I stiffened. He paused. But only for a second. His fingers gripped my chin, and I growled a warning. Ignoring it, he tilted my head up, lowering his until a scant inch separated our lips. When his breath feathered over my skin, I couldn’t hold back a shiver.

  “Is this,” he whispered gruffly, “an act?”

  Stars above, I didn’t know what this was, only that it made me feel vulnerable and confused. And if I was brutally honest with myself, I did find Ryker attractive. He stirred my blood and made me want things I shouldn’t.

  Like right now, as his other hand slid around my waist and pulled me flush against him. He shifted, rubbing his bottom lip over mine in a slow caress. Waiting for me to make a move. To prove that this wasn’t an act. My heart was undeniably pounding, my body urging me to be reckless. To embrace the danger I craved. To allow myself to lose control and revel in the fall.

  But there was Bren.

  Bren.

  My comfort. My rock. My haven.

  There were still so many things I didn’t know about him, but he’d only ever kept me safe. He had fought, bled, and sacrificed for me. Had told me I was strong, had believed in me, had protected me at all costs.

  Who would I be if I betrayed him when he needed me now? A coward, that’s what. Selfish and weak. That wasn’t who I wanted to be.

  I could feel that Ryker wanted me. The lines of his body were taut with pent-up need. His lip quivered against mine with barely restrained desire. But were we right for each other? All we did was argue and fight. We were like two deadly knives, sharpening each other's edges, when we both needed someone who could soften them. Maybe he wanted this act to be real for the same reason I had.

  To feel something other than hurt and pain. To escape the loneliness. To distract an overactive mind from an uncertain future.