by Renee Rose
Now that my focus has returned, I scan his face, noting new hollows under his cheekbones, a half-healed cut near his temple beside a fading bruise. Why hasn’t he regenerated?
I shift beneath his heavy frame and the animal in him recedes, the gentleman I remember returning. He pulls away from me, like he just realized the position we’re in.
“I’m sorry,” he mutters and scrambles to his feet, helping me to stand. “I didn’t mean to… ah…”
“Assert your claim?” I finish wryly, brushing the dust off my ass. “Oh, I imagine you did.”
I don’t expect the misery that swims over his expression. It washes over me, his emotions bleeding over mine and I have to fight to push the darkness back. Whatever happened to Nash after that night, it left him maimed.
It drives a spike of fear through me, even as my heart squeezes.
Fix him, my lioness whispers.
But I can’t.
Just like I couldn’t go back. There’s more than one life that hangs in the mix, and that life is more important than mine or his. At least to me, it is.
Around us the birds continue singing their celebration, oblivious to the two predators who invade their territory. My house looks lonely far below past a slope of wildflowers dancing in the wind.
I fix my gaze on it to keep from looking at Nash. “How’d you find me?”
“Started searching as soon as I got out. My friends helped.”
I stiffen. How long has he been out? How much did his friends uncover?
“Don’t worry,” he soothes. “They’ll keep your location secret. They only told me.”
This doesn’t reassure me. I can’t afford for Nash to be a part of my life. There’s too much at stake.
Of course, my rash lioness is just fine with Nash turning up. She’s purring. I take a moment to sense his animal and a queasiness returns.
“Your lion is upset.”
“My lion is a sick fuck.”
I force myself to look at him, to search his haunted eyes. “They hurt you.”
“Yes. But I was fucked up before I went to them.”
“Why’d you come, Nash?”
Pain flickers over his face, dark with a storm I can’t decipher. “How could I not? I marked you. You belong to me.” He fists a hand in my curls and tugs my head to the side to find the place where his teeth scored my skin. When he lowers his mouth and traces the barely visibly mark with his tongue, I shiver. My pussy clenches as if affirming his ownership over me.
“Why’d you run from me, Denali?”
I hear hurt in his voice—or is it warning? Will there be punishment? Shockingly, the thought excites me. I push the image of him tying me to the bed and asserting his ownership over my body again and again from my mind. “Are you afraid of me? Can you tell I—” he breaks off, eyes shuttering.
“I thought you were dead.”
“You thought you were seeing a ghost?”
I shake my head. He continues to trail the tip of his tongue over my skin, tracing the column of my neck, flicking my earlobe. Memories of what he can do with his tongue between my legs crowd the rational thoughts from my mind.
His body presses against mine, long and muscular and oh so right.
“I should have died. I feel half-dead most of the time since I got out.”
“But... you cooperated.” I swallowed. “I heard you volunteered to the program.”
I’ll never forget the day the men in suits showed up at my grandfather’s place. First they were slick-talkers. Trying to tell me I’d been chosen for a special study. My grandfather and aunt stood in front of me. Said no way they were taking me.
They drew guns, asked me to come or they’d kill my family. My grandfather and aunt screamed for me to shift and run. They weren’t going to give me up.
And now they’re dead.
Rage mixes with pain in Nash’s expression. His nostrils flare, jaw flexes. “I did cooperate. Hell, I volunteered for the damn study. Until I figured out what they were doing.”
“Master race,” I mutter and his eyes blaze lion bright. His grip in my hair tightens.
When I wince, he immediately releases me, stepping back. “You escaped not long after I claimed you.”
There it is. But I don’t hear any accusation in his tone.
Still, guilt swims over me. “I saw my chance and took it.”
“Good. I’m glad. It made things… easier, knowing you got out of that hellhole.” The wind picks up. I shiver, and he shifts to block me from the chill. I don’t think he does it consciously, but his care warms me from head to toe.
4
Nash
Denali’s gone pale and my lion’s snarling, wanting to fix whatever’s broken here. Except how does a ruined lion fix anything?
“I’m sorry—I wasn’t in any position to go back for you.” Her fingers bunch and twist.
My brows shoot up. Jesus. Is that what she’s upset about? She’s suffered survivor guilt all this time?
Fuck, I know more than a little bit about that. My flashbacks aren’t only from Data-X. They’re from Afghanistan, too.
I can’t stop myself from snatching her shoulders and pulling her into me until we’re nose to nose. “You think I would’ve wanted that?” I don’t mean to sound so harsh, but I need her to understand this. Need to help her release the guilt. “Never. I never wanted you near that place. You getting free was the only goddamn comfort I had in there. Understand?”
She blinks up at me, her chocolate brown eyes glinting with gold and caramel in the light. She’s pierced her nose since I saw her last. A tiny gold hoop loops through one nostril. It’s fucking perfect on her. Her hair is back to its natural brown, too. When I met her, she’d bleached the tight curls a tawny gold.
Her throat moves as she swallows. “I’m sorry.”
I force myself to release her. “No, I’m glad you got out. And I understand why you stayed in hiding.”
For a brief moment she stiffens, and my lion knows something’s off again, but I have no idea what. She changes the subject. “I heard the lab burned down. Did you…?”
“Yeah. That’s when I got out.” I confirm. “And I helped burn the second lab, too. Bombed both places to the ground. Dr. Smyth is dead.”
“Good,” she says fiercely. Our gazes meet and for once, we’re on the same page. Both of us burning for revenge.
She clears her throat and looks down at her neatly trimmed fingernails. “I ran out of habit. Years of looking over my shoulder. Afraid someone would hunt me down and drag me back to that place. I guess... I saw you and panicked.”
Thank fuck.
I’m breathing faster than normal at her confession.
She’s not afraid of me. Her instincts took over at she ran. Except shouldn’t her instincts tell her I’m safe? That I’m the one guy who would never, ever hurt her? The one who would die to protect her?
Or are her instincts as damaged as mine?
My gut twists as a new thought hits me. She ran because I am a danger to her. I shouldn’t have come—I’m a fucking loose cannon. But I keep clinging to the hope that being with her will heal my sick lion.
I have nothing to offer but a damaged soul and a dying body. But worse, the violence in me eats me from the inside out. And I would never, ever put her in danger. I’m not my father.
“And now?”
She licks her lips and I track the movement of her tongue. My balls draw up tighter. “It’s ah… good to see you. I’m glad you made it out, too.”
It isn’t an invitation. Not really, but I can’t stop my hands from sliding onto her hips, then around to her firm backside. She’s built like an athlete—with long, lean runner’s legs and the perfect amount of junk in the trunk.
She stumbles up against me when I pull her closer. Not resisting, but not giving in yet, either. Of course, she has no reason to surrender to me. Her lioness may know its mate, but the two of us? We’re practically strangers.
She doesn’t fee
l like a stranger to me, though.
“You gonna invite me in? Just for cup of coffee or something?” My lion’s ready to throw her over my shoulder and carry her straight to her bedroom, but the more civil part of me remembers to rein it in. Take it slow. She bolted out the door the minute she saw me, for fates’ sake. She’s not going to lie back and offer herself up on a platter.
She hesitates. “Yeah. Sure. But I have somewhere to be by 4 p.m.”
I settle my hand on her lower back and guide her back to her place. As reach her back gate, I stoop to pick a little purple blossom and offer it to her. “Favorite flower.”
Some of her wariness eases, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “Wildflower.” She takes it and brings it to her nose. “I can’t believe you remembered.”
“I remember everything about that night.” That’s the truth. Sometimes I can’t remember my own name, but I will never, ever forget the moments I had with Denali. My lioness.
Denali
The door closes with a final clang. They delivered me, naked, to this male. I don’t know how long I’ve been captive—a week or so—but it’s long enough to know the guards are trouble. They treat me all right, but other prisoners aren’t so lucky.
A low growl rumbles in the male’s throat, but it’s not for me. His arms banded around me protectively the moment they pulled the sheet away and tossed me in. He’s big, solid. His hair is military short, and his stance reminds me of a soldier. But he’s not a human. He’s a lion, like me.
“So.” I blow out a breath. “What do we do now?”
He holds me, his body angled in a way I realize hides me from the cameras. I’m tall, with a strong, athletic build, but he’s even bigger. I hunch against him, grateful for the protection.
“They shouldn’t bother us the rest of the night, if we cooperate,” he says. “I’m Nash. What’s your name?”
“Denali Decker.”
“Pleased to meet you,” he says.
I take a step away from him. Is he serious? This isn’t a fucking date. As soon as I pull away his hands drop. I sense him being careful not to move, scare me, and it makes me even more angry. “What does it mean to cooperate?”
He glances to the bed, and away. I’ve been in this place long enough to know what he means.
I shake my head. “This is fucked up.” I whirl on my toes to face the door, ready to rant, ready to pound the walls and demand to be let out, to be treated with common decency.
“Don’t.” There’s urgency in his tone. I turn. His shoulders are tense, and his eyes blaze—not with anger or defiance. No, it’s worry. Warning. He’s afraid for me. “Please, don’t.”
Fates. To see such a big strong warrior afraid sends spikes of fear through me. What chance do I have in here? “You’re not going to fight?”
He shakes his head. “Not with you here.”
“You’re strong enough to take them.”
“Some of them. But not all. And then they’ll hurt you.”
Just like that my bravado is gone. Who am I kidding? They killed my pride right in front of my eyes. Shot them with quick, military precision. My beloved grandfather with a bullet through the skull. I’d do anything to go back and cooperate. If I had, I might have saved them.
I wrap my arms around myself. “So we’re just supposed to…” I nod to the bed. “And if I don’t…”
Again, he shields me from the camera, herds me back toward the cot without touching me. “We’ll do what they tell us to do,” he says, but I think it’s more for the watchers. I sense he’s trying to convey something else to me. His gaze is intent, bursting with a message. Or a promise. He’s not going to hurt me.
The backs of my knees hit the cot and I sit down. He crouches in front of me, hands on my thighs. The silent communication is still there. Like he’s willing me to understand something.
Every cell in my body is suddenly aware of the nearness of his masculine form. Even though I’m appalled by our situation, a slow thrum begins to pulse between my legs. I imagine those strong hands sliding higher.
“Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?” I try to joke.
His thumbs stroke tiny circles on the insides of my legs.
Something flutters in my belly. Excitement? Can’t be.
“This is so fucked up,” I repeat. “We don’t even know each other.”
“Gold,” he says.
“What?”
“My favorite color is gold. What’s yours?”
“I... purple.” If he wants to play this inane game while the guards watch via camera, who am I to argue?
“Purple and gold,” he muses. “The colors of royalty.”
“The lion is the king of the beasts,” I point out dryly, and, sure enough, his mouth twists in a grimacing smile at the irony. Two powerful apex predators, locked in a cell together. Forced to breed.
My breath catches. My gaze falls to his hands, large and rawboned. Powerful enough to kill, but his touch is gentle. Maybe tonight won’t be so bad. Fates, what if it was actually… good?
When I meet his gaze, he’s watching me. My cheeks heat.
“Favorite flower?” he asks.
“I don’t have one. I like whatever’s in season—growing in the wild.”
“Wildflowers.” He tilts his head, a half-smile spreading over his handsome face. It makes him look younger, almost boyish. “See?” He squeezes my leg playfully. “We’re getting to know each other.”
I blink at the flower, willing myself not to tremble. Nash and I shared only one night, but it seemed to encompass an eternity.
He tucks the flower behind my ear, and I gasp at the state of his knuckles, the swollen, bruised skin. Why hasn’t he regenerated? Something’s wrong with his lion.
“What happened to your hands?”
“Fights.”
Panic steals my breath. “Data-X?”
Violence surges into the air just at the mention of the sadistic, government-backed company that imprisoned us. The one that promised me control of my lion but ended up being nothing but gene mining, forced breeding, and endurance testing/torture.
“Not them. I fight for a living. I have to. My lion—he needs to fight.”
I take a moment to sense his animal again. There’s a wild, reckless quality to it, almost like static, never settling. “He’s sick.”
“Definitely.” Nash slides his arms around me suddenly, and I go still as he presses his face to my neck. “I tried to stay away. But I need you.” His voice drops an octave, guttural sound. “Mate.”
My breath hitches. I have nothing to offer this male. I’m barely scraping by myself. And yet it’s literally impossible for me to push him away.
He needs me. He’s broken, and I might be able to heal him. “Shhhh.” I stroke his back. “It’s all right. I’m here.” For now.
“Denali, I can’t…” He raises his head and I kiss him. I can’t give him much, but I can give this moment. This connection. Bodies seeking pleasure together. Animals communing.
I can give him what he gave me last time. Make it good. I want to do this for him.
Oh, who am I kidding? I want this for me, too.
Instantly, his hands grip my ass, and he lifts me easily. I wrap my legs around his waist, dragging my needy core over the bulge of his cock.
“Bedroom?” he pauses enough to ask.
“Second door on the left.” I weave my arms around his neck, kissing him hard. I have a moment of panic when he almost stumbles into the wrong room, but he kicks open the correct door and lays me on the bed.
“Is this okay?” He frowns. He knows I’m hiding something. Or he’s still the gentleman.
I sit up and pull off my t-shirt. His hungry gaze lands on the swell of my breasts above my red bra. “I need you.” It’s the truth. I pull him down on top of me, craving his delicious weight between my legs. The scent of vanilla and cinnamon rises between us. I kiss him hard, tongue darting between his lips. I’m desperate for him to be with me,
to believe me, and not dig up secrets better left unsaid.
There’s a frown between his brows, but it doesn’t stop him from taking charge like I knew he would. He moves on top of me, settling his hips in the cradle of my legs as his tongue thrusts into my mouth.
“Denali,” he breathes, his hand rough on my breast. He yanks down the cups of my bra and feasts on one nipple, nipping and sucking and pinching it before he moves to the other one.
I moan, legs thrashing beneath him, pelvis thrusting up to rub my needy parts over his erection.
I pull his t-shirt up, rake my nails over his skin. He growls, hips snapping.
“Do you have a condom?” I gasp.
He jerks back, blinking as the amber glow of his eyes fades to hazel. “Yeah.” His voice is two octaves deeper than usual. He digs out his wallet and produces a condom.
I reach for the button on his jeans, but he grabs my wrists and pins them beside my head. “I need to taste you first,” he growls.
Oh fates, yes.
“You gonna be a good girl and keep your hands up here while I lick you, baby? Or do I need to tie you up?”
Holy hell, it’s like he tapped right into the fantasy I had earlier.
I push my wrists against him. “I’m never a good girl.”
It’s a challenge, and I’m not sure whether he’ll take it. We don’t know each other well enough for sex games, really. Hell, I don’t even know enough about sex with other shifters to know if this kind of play is safe.
Except it feels so right. And Nash’s answering grin is pure wickedness. Keeping my hands pinned with one of his large palms, he rolls me over and works open the clasp on my bra.
“Do you know what happens to bad girls, Denali?” He ties my hands with the bra in seconds flat. A true boy scout. Or soldier.
“What?”
He rolls my hips to the side and slaps my ass. It’s a hard, commanding slap and it goes straight to my core. My pussy clenches and a shaky mewl slips out of my mouth.
His grin widens. “Oh baby, I’ve imagined claiming you again for a thousand nights, but I never pictured it this way.”