She rolled her eyes. “Like I had a choice. I had to leave immediately.”
“Bullshit! You could have gotten a message to me. You’re a captain, for Christ’s sake; you would have had time to send a runner.”
“Cameron,” she said softly, “Walker told me she knew about our relationship and had turned a blind eye to it up until then. She made it clear that if I tried to tell you where I was going, she would send us to opposite ends of the Earth and make sure we’d never see each other again. And anyway, I thought I was coming back.”
He studied her. His eyes were very dark, and she couldn’t read what he was thinking. “So what happened?” he said.
“I found Brooks, infiltrated his house, got right up to him—but he was waiting for me. He had two warlocks posing as security men, and they captured me and took me to him. But he didn’t kill me. He told me he’d discovered that somebody high up in the military was working for Chaos and he was about to reveal who it was to the newspapers.”
“Who was he about to out?”
“Walker.”
He stared at her. “Surina Walker? The major-general of the Supernatural Unit of the British Army is working for Chaos?”
“Now do you see why she wanted him dead?”
“Imogen . . . .”
She stood and began to pace again, her arm throbbing. “I knew he was right, Cam, I just knew it. I don’t know how, maybe because of the way Walker had blackmailed me into going on the mission. But I believed him. I told him I would help him expose her. We worked out a plan—which included bringing you in on the secret, by the way—and I left London, intending to make my way back to HQ.”
She poured herself a glass of water and drank it in one go. She felt dizzy and knew she was losing too much blood. But she had to hang on. She had to tell him what had happened. “I was driving down the M4 in the middle of the night, and I was hit full on by a black military van. My car rolled, but luckily, I was unhurt, and I managed to crawl out of the window. At first, I thought it was an accident, but then I saw them looking for me—six of Walker’s personal guard. I made it over the bank and into a copse of trees on the other side, and I was able to obscure in the trees.” She had shown him on one of the missions they’d carried out together how she could camouflage herself in natural surroundings.
A frown had appeared above his eyes. How could she make him believe her?
“What happened then?” he said.
“I tried to contact Brooks and found out he’d been murdered.”
“By you.”
“So the papers said.”
He glared at her. “So you took off? You didn’t try and contact me?”
She stepped forward into the light. She was so angry she could have punched him. “Of course I tried! I came to HQ, but they’d set up a perimeter watch. Tim Mitchell was one of the guards, and I went up to talk to him, not realising he was there to keep me out! He chased me through half of goddamn Devon before I managed to bring him down.”
“You put him in hospital.”
“The bastard was trying to kill me!” She sat back on the bed, rubbing her wounded shoulder. “I’d lost my mobile phone, and when I tried to ring you from a new one, I could hear they were listening in and I couldn’t risk talking to you. After the incident with Tim, I realised they’d turned everyone against me. I couldn’t stay in England. They’d hunt me down eventually. I went to France, hoping to find help, but Walker had gotten to them too. In every country I’ve passed through, I’ve been hunted, shot at, attacked, and chased out.”
She sat there, head bowed, the knowledge of her fate lodged in her chest like the bullet in her shoulder. “I can’t keep running. They’re too powerful.” She glanced over at him. “I should have let you kill me when you came in.”
“Imogen…” He went to move, but the vines held fast. He grunted. “Come on, let me go.”
She said nothing. In spite of her words, her survival instinct stopped her from releasing the vines. She didn’t trust him. Despite their previous relationship, his first loyalty was to the S.U.; she had no doubt he would kill her, the first chance he got.
She gave him a small smile. “I can’t believe you really thought I’d gone over to Chaos.”
He frowned. “You vanished, remember? No warning, no explanation. And they showed me evidence.”
“What sort of evidence?”
“Photos.” His silver eyes darkened, as if he were recalling difficult memories. “Of you…with a werewolf.”
“Doing what?” she snapped. He looked at her and she gave a sarcastic laugh. “You didn’t think they might have been Photoshopped?”
“They were pretty convincing.”
“Cam . . . .”
“It wasn’t just that. Do you think I didn’t argue it was a mistake? Repeatedly? But there were taped phone conversations, documents showing places you’d been, talking with people I didn’t know. Videos of you in Europe meeting people known to work for Chaos. Shots of you going into Brooks’ house. They told me you’d seduced me because you wanted to get to someone close to Walker.”
“You came up to me at the training field and ordered me to your room!” She shook with indignation.
He closed his eyes briefly. “I know. It’s just…”
“What?” Her temper flared.
“I’d never felt about anyone the way I felt about you. When I wasn’t with you, I thought about you all the time. I couldn’t wait until you were back in my arms again. I felt like I’d been bewitched, and when they told me that’s what you’d done…it made sense.”
“You thought I’d cast a spell on you?” She was furious, although not really at him. “Bastards!” She stood and took the glass from the table, and threw it with all her might at the opposite wall. It smashed into pieces, and he flinched. She clenched her fists, anger bubbling in her stomach, her hands growing hot.
“Careful,” he said. “You’ll bring the whole place down if you don’t relax.”
She spun to glare at him. “They took it away from me.” She was close to tears.
“What?”
Love. She opened her mouth to tell him, but bit the word back. She sank onto the bed, her head in her hands. What was she going to do?
“You need to get that bullet out,” he said after a short pause. “Imogen, let me go; I can do it for you.”
“No.” She stood and moved away from him, back into the darkness.
“I believe you. I didn’t know, that’s all. You can trust me.”
“No, I can’t. I really can’t.”
“So what are you going to do? Run forever? Or give up? There are others not far behind me—if I let you go, they’ll soon hunt you down. You need my help—you won’t get far without it.”
Imogen said nothing. His words had triggered a memory, and her brain worked furiously, trying to make sense of it. You need my help… Why did that phrase ring something deep within her? How could he help her? What could he do to get her out of this situation?
And then it came to her. She looked at him lying on the bed, six feet four of vibrant, virile male. She couldn’t do it. It was a ridiculous thought. There was no way she could bring herself to go through with such a mad plan, and it probably wouldn’t work anyway.
But if it did, it would save her life. Temporarily at least.
Hawke frowned, looking wary as she went still. “What?”
She turned to pace across the room. “I was thinking…”
“About?”
She faced him and took a deep breath. “Virginia Clarke.”
He frowned, and then his eyes widened as realisation sank in. “You’re thinking about Article Six.”
“Yes. It worked for her. And she was a Vampire.”
He studied her, irritation on his face. “Imogen, it’s an interesting idea, but there’s no time to get yourself pregnant; they’re going to be here in less than an hour. You’ve run out of time.”
“Have I?” Her gaze drifted to below his blac
k leather belt.
He followed her eyes, stared at his groin for a few seconds and then raised his gaze to look at her. “You’re kidding me.”
“Article Six doesn’t specify how far along the pregnancy has to be. Clarke conceived purposefully, and the embryo was only hours old—but when the S.U. broke down the door and found her, they couldn’t kill her. The Covenant forbids it.”
“Look…”
“I’m serious, Cam. This is my life we’re talking about.”
He seemed lost for words. He flexed his hands and arms, looking up at the vines tying him to the bed. “Well, I can’t do anything about it tied up like this.”
“On the contrary. It’s not your hands I need.”
His eyes widened. “Imogen… Come on, you can let me go. I believe you. I’ll help you, I promise.”
“Nuh-uh. I can’t trust you.”
“Of course you can.”
“You came here to kill me!”
“That was before I knew what happened to you.” He looked panicky. “Don’t do it, not like this.”
She stood in front of him, and, before he could say anything, pulled her black vest over her head, wincing as she moved her wounded shoulder, and dropped it to the floor. “Keep talking and I’ll put one of those vines across your mouth.”
He stared as she stood there, naked from the waist up. She lifted her hand, watching the moonlight illuminate her white skin and turn it to mother-of-pearl, conscious of his gaze on her. Slowly, she slid her black shorts down her legs and kicked them to one side.
“Holy fuck.” He looked at her in alarm. “That doesn’t count, it was a comment; I wasn’t talking.”
She walked up to the bed and climbed onto the mattress. Sitting astride his legs, below his knees, she lifted her left hand, palm facing toward him.
He stared as a sharp, black thorn appeared above his throat.
“Imogen . . . .”
“Shh.” She moved her right hand to the side and the vines strapping his chest retreated slightly, although they were still tight across his shoulders and legs. She moved her left hand downward. The tip of the thorn nicked the top of his body armour then cut right through the front of the Kevlar chest-piece as if it were made of butter.
She sliced right down the front of his chest, watching him hold his breath as she stopped above his belt. She then carved up the sides of the armour until she had removed the chest-piece completely. Taking the two pieces in her hands, she tossed them onto the floor. She ripped apart the buttons of his black shirt, exposing his wide chest with the dark scattering of hair disappearing in a thin line into his pants. “That’s for my white shirt.”
Hawke stared at her, breathing hard. “This is crazy.”
She glared at him, drawing a line in the air with a finger, and a wide strip of vine hovered above his mouth. “I’m not kidding, Cam. This is my life at stake. Say one more thing and I’m gagging you.”
She undid his belt, pulling it out from under him, and threw that onto the floor too. Hawke cursed under his breath and yanked at the vines pinning his hands to the headboard, but they tightened the more he struggled until eventually he could hardly move at all. As she began to undo the top button of his fly, he stopped moving and swore, looking up at the ceiling, fuming with humiliation.
Her breath coming more quickly now, Imogen began to pull down his zipper. She could already feel him hard beneath her hand and was unable to quell a surge of relief so strong that tears welled in her eyes. He still wanted her, still desired her, in spite of everything that had happened.
He opened his mouth to say something, looked at the strip of vine hovering above him, and obviously thought better of it because he tightened his jaw. His eyes met hers. They were pools of molten mercury, and she inhaled as, in spite of her perilous situation, desire swept through her. She caught his gaze and held it as she slid his underwear down, releasing him.
Hawke’s gaze returned to the ceiling. He looked furious, and embarrassed at being aroused by what she was doing. Imogen felt a surge of pleasure. Part of her wanted to make him suffer for turning on her, for believing she’d gone over to Chaos. She didn’t have long before the other S.U. soldiers found them. But she wanted to torture him—just a little bit.
Lowering her head, she ran her tongue lightly up his erection, and he rewarded her with a sharp intake of breath. When she reached the tip, she enclosed him in her mouth.
“Oh for fuck’s sake . . . .” His strained whisper trailed off as she began to move her mouth up and down. The muscles in his legs tensed under her, and when she glanced up at him, he was looking up, holding his breath.
Pleasure washed over her, and she sighed, taking him deeper into her mouth. She could feel the heat building inside him. She wanted to drive him wild—not too wild, obviously, as that would defeat the object of the exercise—but wild enough, until he was begging her to sit astride him and bring them both to release.
Suddenly, she had a flash of memory of his room back in England and the first time she’d done this, exploring his body with her hands and mouth, wanting to drive him as mad with desire as he had her. Regret knifed through her, and she stopped kissing him, lifted her head to look up at him. His eyes were closed now, his breathing shallow.
She moved slowly up him, brushing her breasts against his chest, until her face was level with his.
Hawke opened his eyes, and they weren’t filled with hate; they were warm with love and passion, and Imogen’s own eyes filled with tears.
She pushed herself upright, her hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Oh, Goddess.” She slid off him, sitting on the side of the bed, and covered her face with her hands. “What am I doing?” Tears streamed down her face.
Silence hung between them for a moment.
“Imogen,” Hawke said finally, his voice soft.
Without turning, she traced a pattern in the air with her hands, and the vines slowly receded from his body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I surrender, Major. Do with me what you will.”
*
Hawke gasped as the vines withdrew, and his body was released. He lowered his arms, flexing the stiff muscles, circling his wrists. Now she stops? He cursed under his breath, glaring at his erection, then looked across at Imogen, at her white, slender body. She made no sound, but her shoulders quivered, and he knew she was crying.
He sat up, wincing and tucking himself back into his pants as he did so. Her hair had fallen forward, revealing the back of her slim, white neck. She looked so extremely fragile. He’d dreamed of placing a thick, metal band around it and tightening it until she stopped breathing, of doing a hundred terrible things to end her life. He’d thought he hated her, but now he knew he’d mistaken hatred for hurt and frustration.
Until that moment, he hadn’t been sure what he’d do if she released him.
Now, he moved beside her and, turning her gently, wrapped her in his arms.
Imogen sat stiffly for a moment, then, like ice cream left on a radiator, she melted against him. He cradled her, worried about her shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt.
Pushing her back onto the bed, he knelt above her. He unwrapped the makeshift bandage she’d wound around her shoulder and peeled off the blood-soaked pad. “I’m going to remove the bullet,” he said. He ignored her protest and placed his left hand on her breastbone, pressing her into the bed, then put his right palm over the wound. His eyes met hers, watching the tears trailing across her cheeks, all resistance gone, and he held her gaze as he built the energy in his solar plexus and directed it down his arm. He closed his eyes, reaching out to the bullet, drawing it out of her. As it began to leave her body she groaned, then cried out, then screamed as it slid through the layers of muscle. He increased his pressure on her breastbone, refusing to let her move, and then the bullet was out and he felt it turn molten and slowly become absorbed back into his aura.
She went limp, and blood welled and flowed across her white skin. Quickly, h
e tore up the remains of the sheet she’d ripped up earlier and made a pad. He pressed it against the wound, then bound it tightly over her shoulder, across her chest above her breasts and around her back, making her gasp as he pulled the bandage taught and tied it with a tight knot.
“Done,” he said, sitting back.
At that moment, he felt his phone vibrate where it was hooked onto his belt.
He unclipped it and read the message. Fifteen minutes away.
Too late to escape. The squad had fast transport and superior electronic means of tracking as well as magical ways. Imogen had finally reached the end of the rails.
She looked up at him, her face as white as the sheet wrapped around her, her eyes huge and dark.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Anger welled deep within him, a surge of fury against Walker and the rest of them responsible for destroying their happiness. And he had been happy. He loved her, he realised, had loved her from the moment she stood before him with her hands behind her back, streaked with mud and hair plastered to her head, eyes wide as he asked if she needed anyone to scrub her back. She’d been the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen. She still was.
And suddenly he knew what he wanted to do.
He picked her up easily—she weighed almost nothing—and moved so he was fully on the bed, then lay back, pulling her on top of him.
Her cheeks were wet with tears, and dark shadows marred the skin under her eyes. “I love you,” she said.
“I know. Me too. Now shut up; I’m trying to save your life.” He cupped the back of her head and brought her mouth down. He kissed her hard, letting the full heat of his desire course through him. He knew she would be able to feel it, and he wasn’t disappointed; she gasped, her mouth opening, and he deepened his kiss in response, his tongue delving into her warmth. Passion flooded him as she tried to catch her breath. He was ready for her now, but he wanted to make sure she was ready too. There was something they had to do, and the timing had to be right.
Gently, he rolled until she lay half underneath him, her wounded shoulder untouched. He lowered his head to her breasts and traced his tongue around her nipples, sliding his hand up her thigh as he did so. He threaded his fingers through her pubic hair, slipping into the warmth and wetness of her. She sighed, opening her legs, letting him stroke her, and he caressed her for a while, waiting until he felt her shiver and he sensed the energy within her begin to build.
Two Passionate Proposals Page 3