by Alyssa Day
"She's my daughter," she snarled, biting off each word. "If you think for one second that I'm going to wait here while you—"
"It's our best chance." He waited for her to argue with him, but she said nothing, so he tried again. "This? Confronting dangerous opponents while strategizing for a successful outcome? They train us in Atlantis to do this from the time we're younglings. But she's your daughter, as you say, and you have no reason to trust a man 'you don't even know' to deal with this situation. If you want to come along, so be it."
He walked to the sink to wash his hands, so he didn't have to see her face while she thought about it. Also, so she couldn't see his. He hadn't realized her comment about how they didn't even know each other had struck home as hard as it apparently had. He'd thought she'd begun to trust him, but she must not have, and he didn't like it. He didn't like it a lot, which pissed him off.
He wasn't used to having emotional reactions to other people.
He didn't like it.
"This is a terrible place," she finally said. "It smells like gallons of urine and generations of despair."
"I would have said it smells like ass, but yours is more poetic," he said, drying his hands with a towel for a change, but only because it was sparkling white. At least they knew how to do laundry at this dump.
She started pacing the short length of the room, her hands jammed in her pockets, and her face fixed in a fierce scowl. How did she still look so beautiful when she was scowling? It was against the laws of nature for those golden eyes to be so very angry. She deserved to be happy all the time, after what she'd been through with that bastard Brock. It suddenly struck him like a bolt of summer lightning that he'd do anything for her, simply to see her smile. Anything at all.
Like, for example, take on an entire wolf-shifter pack all by himself.
Poseidon's balls, I'm a complete fool
Suddenly, she whirled around and stalked across the room to him, stopping only when she stood inches away. "I do trust you, you know," she said, grabbing his shirt with both hands. "I don’t know why, it's incredibly stupid, but I do. So, go find my baby. I'll stay here. For now. But if you're not back in an hour, I'm out of here."
"Two hours," he countered, and she bared her teeth and hissed but then nodded.
"Two hours, and not a second more. I'll take a shower and put on clothes that don't smell like ass—I'm stealing that expression, by the way—and wait for one hundred and twenty minutes. If you're not back, I'm going after her myself, and if I have to kill every single shifter in this state to get Stevie back, I will do it."
"I don’t doubt it one bit," he told her, marveling at her strength. She was so fierce she almost glowed, and he would have sworn that he could see the heritage of thousands of years of warrior women flowing through her veins.
She was glorious.
She was magnificent.
He needed to kiss her, or he quite possibly might die of the longing.
She was still clutching his shirt, so he reached up and covered her hands with his. "I want to kiss you more than I want my next breath," he rasped, his voice thick with longing.
Her eyes widened, and she inhaled sharply, but then those luscious lips of hers curved in a small smile. "I was just thinking the same thing."
Lucas kissed her, and the world exploded off its axis. He put his arms around her and pulled her tightly to him, unable to touch enough of her body with his, unable to stop kissing her soft, soft lips that tasted of honey and magic and, faintly, of beef jerky.
She spread her fingers but kept her hands on his chest, touching his heartbeat. His pulse pounded beneath his skin so hard that surely, she felt it, surely, she would draw away from him any moment, surely, she didn't really mean to allow the son of a traitor to kiss her with every ounce of need and want and hunger that must have been building up in his soul until this desperation threatened to topple him.
She pulled away, just the distance of a breath, and rested her forehead against his chest. "Lucas. I don't—I didn't—what just happened? How can you affect me like this?"
He tilted her chin up, so he could see her eyes. "I don't know. I don't understand it, either, this feeling that you are the piece of my soul that has been missing for so long, but I've watched you and seen your courage. Your strength. Even your grace under the most terrible of circumstances, and I couldn’t help but admire you more than I have ever admired any person, man or woman, Atlantean or human."
She stiffened and released his shirt. "I'm not very admirable right now, standing here kissing you when every second we waste is another second that my child is gone."
"I'm going now. Your directions were very clear, and I can be invisible when I need to be. I'll scout out the situation, find your daughter, and then come to get you. Acceptable?'
She bit her lip but then nodded. "Yes. Go now."
He turned to leave, but she stopped him with a touch. "And, Lucas?"
He waited.
"I admire you, too. Maybe…maybe we can continue this conversation when we have Stevie, and we're far away from here."
He bowed, suddenly remembering his palace manners, suddenly needing to honor her with more than just a nod. "Yes. We will."
And then he grabbed the car keys and ran out the door.
It was even worse than he'd imagined.
Not the scouting; that was easy. As an Atlantean, being able to use water magic to travel as mist meant that nobody ever saw him unless he wanted them to see him. He hovered in the trees, high over the settlement of log cabins deep in the woods. The west coast of Washington coast was a study in contrasts; beautiful wilderness spaces lived side-by-side with enormous cities snarled with traffic congestion and angry, stressed-out people.
But this wilderness sanctuary inside Deception Pass State Park—this was one of the most stunning vistas of natural growth old forest that he'd ever seen. And Deception Pass Bridge was spectacular, seeming to float in midair across the space from cliff to cliff, high over the swirling water nearly two hundred feet below. It was breathtaking, even to an Atlantean.
He wasn't here to play tourist, though. He studied the scene before him and soon figured out who the key players were in this farce. At least twenty-five people, by rapid count, were spread out around the communal space in the center of the semi-circle of homes. Most of them were busy chopping wood or preparing food. Two of the women wrapped gifts with shiny gold paper and chatted about the upcoming feast.
Feast?
Lucas's gaze snapped to a light-haired man sauntering around like a rooster among hens. He wore a dark shirt, jeans, boots, and an attitude of smug entitlement. This would be Brock. On the other side of the clearing, an older woman who looked so much like Brock she must be his mother, Tannis, barked orders to even more women who were chopping vegetables.
There was no sign of the child.
Tannis's phone rang while Lucas tried to decide what to do next. She spoke with the caller briefly, and then she started shouting and waving her arms to get her son's attention. "They're almost here! I'm going to see my granddaughter in only ten more minutes!"
Brock pumped his fists and whooped. "I still can't believe that slut thought she could keep my kid away from me. I've lost four years of her life. If Rhi dares to show up, and you know damn well she might, she's going to pay."
Lucas had never wanted to kill someone so badly that he ached with the effort to restrain himself. He knew, though, that if he dropped into the middle of their village or commune or whatever in the nine hells this place was, they'd warn their kidnapping friends to stay away, and he might never find Stevie.
Stevie, a four-year-old child with the same golden eyes as the woman who'd staked a claim on Lucas's heart. He studied the layout, and he watched but stayed back when they brought little Stevie, who was rumpled and crying, to her grandmother, who rushed her inside one of the cabins.
Although it nearly killed him, he didn't rush in to rescue her, because the odds were stacked so heavily
against him. If he got Stevie hurt or killed while stupidly trying to be the hero that Rhiannon so mistakenly thought he was, he'd never forgive himself for it.
And once Rhiannon found out, he wouldn't live long enough to forgive himself.
So, instead of rushing in, he watched, listened, and learned for another hour or so, careful not to miss Rhiannon's deadline. The last thing he wanted was for her to show up here on her own. If they dared to touch her—if Brock dared to touch her…
Inside him, the berserker opened scarlet eyes.
Somebody is going to pay.
18
Rhiannon had never needed a shower so badly in her life.
Forty-eight straight hours in the car, after a night spent in a cage, equaled the perfect confluence of events to make a person smell like ass, as Lucas would say.
Lucas.
She didn't even know how to think about him, so she pushed the thought aside and showered three days of grunge away and then pulled her only set of clean clothes out of her go-bag and hurriedly dressed. She didn't know what to do with the clothes she'd been wearing—wash them or burn them? Finally, she shoved them in an unused plastic laundry bag she found in the closet and decided to think about that later, too.
She glanced at the clock again, for the thirtieth time in the past hour. If he didn't show up by her deadline, she was going to head out to their enclave in Deception Pass Park, even if she had to walk the whole damn way. Every muscle in her body was clenched into a giant knotted ball, and her teeth were chattering so hard with anticipation or fear that she probably looked like a meth addict.
Thinking about addicts made her think about Lucas with those Doritos, which made her even more nervous, because she had no time to think about sexy, lethal, Atlantean warriors, no matter how much he might have gotten under her skin.
And that kiss. She'd never been kissed like that in her life—like he wanted to devour her, whole. She'd wanted to devour him right back, to be entirely honest. If they hadn't had a far, far more important mission, she might have even gone so far as to tear his clothes off.
Or her own.
She wrinkled her nose. Maybe not. Maybe not here in Motel Smells-Like-Ass.
But later…
Or not.
Damn. She needed to go back to not thinking about him. Or that kiss. Or if they had any kind of future after they rescued Stevie. Because the first thing she needed to do was find a new place to live where Brock could never find her again, and she didn't think Poseidon would be so crazy about letting his warrior move to BumCrap, Idaho, or SnoozeFest, Oklahoma and play house with her.
Play house?
If the walls didn't look suspicious, she would have banged her head against them. She was getting way, way ahead of herself here, thinking about her 'future' with a man she'd only met a couple of days ago; a man who was a self-confirmed killer.
Was it fair to use the man for his warrior nature while at the same time condemning him for it?
Enough, already.
She looked at the clock again. He had twenty-two minutes, and then she was gone. The door swung open, and Rhi dove for her bag and then turned to aim her stolen gun at the intruder's head.
Lucas, framed in the doorway, grinned and held up his hands. "I surrender."
She said several very bad words beneath her breath and lowered the gun. "Knock next time. I could have shot you!"
He raised an eyebrow. "Not with the safety on. And what does 'suck my moldy gumballs' mean?"
"I can't swear around Stevie, so I had to come up with alternatives. Tell me. Did you see her? Is she okay?" She dropped the gun back into the bag and ran over to him. "Tell me!"
He pulled her into his arms and kicked the door closed. Then he took a deep breath and rested his cheek on the top of her head, his powerful body shuddering as if he'd run a marathon to get to her—or as if he desperately needed the comfort of her touch. Or maybe that last was projecting her own feelings, because she suddenly felt an overwhelming need to hold him so tightly he could never leave her.
Instead, she pushed him away. "Stevie? Tell me," she demanded.
"Yes. I saw her, but only for a minute or two, until the grandmother—Tannis?—took her into a cabin." He raised his hand as if to touch her, but then let it drop. His eyes darkened, his face shifting to hard planes and angles. "I saw him, too. The man you escaped. Believe me, it took every ounce of my will to keep from killing him where he stood. Brock."
The mere sound of his name rocked her back on her heels. No. I'm not that scared girl anymore.
"Did she look okay? Was she harmed?"
He shook his head and smiled a little. "No. She was obviously upset, but I could see no injury. She's a beautiful little girl."
Rhi all but leapt the over to the bed and grabbed her bag. "We're going. Now. We have to get my daughter away from that monster."
But Lucas moved to block the door. "No. Not now."
She walked over to him and shoved him. Hard. "Get out of my way, or I'll go through you. I appreciate your help, but if you try to keep me from Stevie for one second longer, I'll go through you."
"Rhiannon. Hear me out. We can't go now, because we'd never reach your daughter. We need to wait—"
"I'm done waiting!" She felt the scream trying to claw its way out of her throat. "Move!"
He closed his eyes for a moment, then blew out a breath. "Please. Listen. We need to wait for another two hours, because they're planning a huge welcome-home feast at eight o'clock."
"So?"
"So, there will be a great deal of chaos and confusion around seven-thirty, I'm guessing, and that would be the perfect time to stage a rescue." He told her what he'd seen and heard at the shifter enclave, and her shoulders relaxed the tiniest bit.
"A big party, basically," she said bitterly. "A 'celebrate your successful kidnapping' part. Well, Brock was always one for festivity."
Lucas moved away from the door and toward the tiny bathroom, and again she was struck by the feral grace of the man. Even walking across the orange-carpeted floor of a shitty motel room, he was every inch the powerful warrior.
Suddenly, she found it hard to speak. Relief combined with exhaustion and her defenses simply collapsed around her in shattered rubble. Her breath started to hitch, and Lucas froze and then turned his head to look back at her, concern obvious in his startling gray eyes.
"Are you all right? No, that's a stupid question, of course you're not all right. But will you be okay alone for a few minutes while I shower? I don't want to meet your daughter smelling like road trip and Doritos." He offered her a smile, and a fierce rush of longing swept through her.
Longing for her daughter, for a simpler, safer life. Longing for a sense of connection. Longing to feel—just for one isolated moment in time—not so terribly alone.
"Lucas?"
"Yes?"
She pulled off her shirt. "I'll join you."
Lucas's heart stopped beating entirely as he looked at her, then resumed its pace in rapid, frantic pounding. She was so beautiful. So brave and defiant and fierce that he wanted to sweep her into his embrace and never let her go.
Wanted to kneel at her feet and beg her never to leave him.
He did neither, but waited, in an agony of hope and fear, for her to take the next step.
"If that's okay with you," she said, taking a step toward him.
He broke free of his paralysis and ripped off his shirt. "My beautiful one, nothing has ever been more okay with me in my entire life."
Suddenly, they were locked together, kissing, holding each other, desperate to get closer and closer, to fend off the outside world. Lucas wanted to hold her so tightly that she could feel him wrapped around her--feel the way she'd smashed through his defenses and found her way into his heart.
"Lucas," she gasped, still kissing him, pulling off her clothes as she pushed him back. "I need you. I need to feel real and alive and hopeful. Please. Please."
Any chance he had at resist
ing her vanished with that final please. He locked his arms around her waist and lifted her into the air, kissing her so deeply he hoped she felt him inside her soul. The feel of her smooth, warm skin against his was driving him out of what was left of his mind. She smelled like flowers and woman and possibility, and he wanted her so desperately that he would have killed to have her.
He would have died for her.
The realization startled him, but then it settled into him mind and heart with a sense of rightness so complete that he only wondered why he hadn't realized it before. This woman was destined to be part of his future.
She was definitely part of his now.
He stepped into the shower, still holding her, and turned on the water without touching the faucet. Without taking his hands off her hips, and then her ass, and then her beautiful, rose-tipped breasts.
"If you don't let me take you, right now, I may go insane," he growled, praying that she would say yes. Praying that she wanted him as much as he wanted her. Praying that she wouldn't come to her senses and push him away.
Rhiannon flashed a brilliant, almost feral smile. "Yes."
And then she reached down and grabbed his cock.
Part of Rhiannon' brain was screaming at her to stop, slow down, think about what you're doing.
She told that part of her mind to go to hell.
Right now, all she wanted was to climb Lucas's strong, muscled body until he slammed her against the shower wall and fucked her. When she wrapped her hand around his thick, hard shaft, his entire body jerked, and his muscles strained into tight relief.
"Rhiannon," he groaned. "It's killing me to even say this, but are you sure?"
She leaned forward and licked one of his flat copper nipples. "I'm very sure. I need you now, Lucas. Make me forget that we might fail. That we might die trying. Make me feel alive and wanted and needed."
He pinned her with his hot gray gaze. "You are all of those things, mi amara, but—"