Harlequin Nocturne March 2014 Bundle: ShadowmasterRunning with Wolves

by Susan Krinard

  “I wouldn’t take any woman against her will.”

  But the rough purr in his voice told her exactly what he meant by will. She’d been prepared for this. She’d been ready to offer her body in payment for what she had to have, regarding it as no more than part of her mission.

  The problem was that her body was responding to his nearness, his potent masculinity, as powerfully as he was reacting to her. And her mind was refusing to think of using that body as just a tool in a war for the Enclave’s survival. Her nerves hummed in response to the aura of sheer sexual need that surrounded him, and she realized that she had somehow developed a very personal, visceral interest in her “savior.”

  Her enemy.

  “Before we go any further,” she said, “would you mind telling me your name?”

  Her question broke the spell. “Sammael,” he said, slight annoyance in his voice.

  “That sounds familiar,” she said.

  “An archangel,” he said. “Some call him the ‘Angel of Death.’”

  “Now you’re trying to scare me again.”

  “Perhaps my bark is worse than my bite.”

  She nearly burst into highly inappropriate laughter. “Is that what the other Bosses say?”

  “Ask the ones who tried to invade my turf.”

  “Very reassuring. Okay, about that information. It could make it a lot easier for you crimin... Your smugglers to establish better contacts and get access to valuable goods outside the Fringe. And I do have a way for you to check on it before you commit yourself.”

  “What is it?”

  “I want your word that you won’t kill me as soon as I tell you.”

  He laughed, a sound that would have been pleasant under other circumstances. “That shouldn’t be a problem,” he said, running his warm, calloused hand down her arm, his skin caressing where it brushed over the hole in her uniform blouse.

  Oh, God, she thought, feeling all the heat in her body rushing to a very precise location between her thighs. “Until you...until you have a good reason to believe me,” she stammered, “you’ll continue to wonder if what I’m offering is worth your help. Just give me a chance to...prove myself.”

  “And what will you do once you’re free of the Enclave?”

  Phoenix found it increasingly difficult to concentrate on the conversation. “What do the other emigrants do?” she asked, her heart beginning to race. “Make a life somewhere in the Zone?”

  “Where they may starve or be picked up by bloodsuckers,” he said.

  “Obviously, that’s a chance they’re willing to take.” She steadied her voice. “If my choices are blood-slavery, execution or a very unlikely chance at life and freedom, I’ll take the last, thank you very much.”

  “No matter how slim the odds?”

  “Yes. Will you give me a chance?”

  It didn’t seem possible that he could move any closer, but he did. “There is no question of your leaving the Hold until your background story is thoroughly checked, your initial information proves genuine and all risks have been carefully weighed.”

  She bit her lip. She might as well bring the subject out into the open.

  “You mean you think I’m leading the Enforcers into the Fringe,” she said.

  He met her gaze sharply. “Are you?”

  “You’re thinking that I was out to find Bosses and expose them, aren’t you?”

  “A good guess,” he said grimly. “It’s been tried before.”

  “I was looking for The Preacher, but there was no guarantee I’d find him. And the only reason I’d do anything like that is if I were some kind of spy.” She laughed. “I can’t believe you’d think that for a moment. Not about someone like me, a humble govrat.”

  “I don’t know you.”

  “You’re right.” She frowned. “So what are you going to do to check out my story?”

  “That doesn’t concern you. I’ll make the decision about whether or not you stay. My crew will abide by my decision once the situation has been explained to them.”

  “What if they don’t?”

  His voice dropped to a low growl. “If you’re afraid any of them might hurt you, you can stop worrying. You’re under my protection.”

  Another silence fell, seething with sexual awareness. Use it, she told herself. Distract him. Bind him to you. Give him a reason to take this situation personally. Very personally.

  She knew she wasn’t at any risk that he might take her blood and learn what she really was. He’d be giving himself away. And she couldn’t think of any sane reason he’d do so, just as he knew he couldn’t be taking blood from his crew.

  But where he obtained his blood was a disturbing question she had to set aside for now. Deliberately striking a pose she knew would emphasize the curve of her breasts under her shirt, she turned her head toward him, sensing without sight how close his lips were to hers.

  “Perhaps you’d like a more immediate gesture of goodwill,” she said. “I’m prepared to give you something I know you want.”

  “And what is that, Lark?” he said, though Phoenix knew very well that this was only a kind of formality between them. A maneuver with only one possible ending.

  She licked her lips. “Me,” she said. “Right here, right now.”

  Chapter 4

  Sammael’s weight shifted as he drew back. “You would sell yourself, then,” he said roughly.

  “Isn’t that what you were hinting at all along?” she asked. “Isn’t it possible I want you, too?” She reached out blindly and touched his jaw. The muscles bunched under her fingertips. “Even if I can’t see your face right now, I seem to remember you’re not hard on the eyes.” Her fingers skated down his chest and ridged stomach and came to rest on his cock, straining against the confinement of his pants. “But you’re certainly hard in other ways.”

  Sammael didn’t so much as twitch. “You expect to manipulate me with sex. You must have a very low opinion of my intelligence.”

  With an effort, Phoenix kept herself from flinching. His body certainly wasn’t faking its interest, and yet he seemed almost offended by her offer. After putting the moves on her with his caresses and insinuating voice.

  Was this a game to him? Did he think he was manipulating her?

  She outlined his cock with the palm of her hand. “You seem to have a very ‘high’ opinion of my physical assets,” she said.

  “I can find women who have a better reason to share my bed.”

  “You said my life is yours. My life includes my body.”

  He slipped out of her grasp. “I don’t take advantage of powerless women.”

  “So you said.” She laughed. “Which is the true Boss, I wonder? The one who makes clear he wants a woman in his bed, or the gallant protector who treats a fugitive like a virgin princess?” She stretched, feeling her nipples aching under her thin bra. “I want you. There’s no reason not to mix business with pleasure.”

  “Do you make a habit of sleeping with men you don’t know, especially criminals?”

  “I’m a criminal now, too. As you pointed out.” She pressed against him again, wrapping her arms around his neck, straddling him so her thighs were clasped around his waist.

  Suddenly, he was kissing her, pushing his tongue inside her mouth and cupping her bottom as he ground into her.

  And she enjoyed it. This wasn’t some sacrifice she had to brace herself to endure. Heaven help her, these feelings of attraction—desire—hadn’t been imaginary. He was an Opir, and she was ready...eager...to have sex with him.

  She hated herself for it. She was too close to stepping over the line, forgetting that this was all part of the job—and the minute she did, all objectivity would be gone. It had happened before, and it had started the same way. With passionate, h
eedless sex.

  This wouldn’t be heedless. All she had to do was unzip his pants and her own, drag him back to the bed, pull him on top of her, inside her...

  It almost worked. She had his zipper down and his cock in her hand. He slipped his palms under her shirt to cup her breasts and kissed her again, spreading her thighs with his knees.

  An instant later his heat was gone, and she was alone again.

  “Your method needs refining,” he said. “You know you’re desirable, and you pretend to be willing. But no man or woman attains power in the Fringe without the ability to separate truth from lies.”

  “Was my body lying?” she asked, pulling her legs together as she sat up on the bed.

  “It was your test,” he said. “You wanted to see if I’d lied about taking advantage of you. I’m not playing along. You won’t buy my trust that way.”

  He was angry. Very angry. And there was contempt in his voice, as if he didn’t believe a woman had as much a right as any man to freely express her desires.

  That’s not why you’re here, she reminded herself. This is a job. Nothing more.

  “You have nothing to gain by this,” he said. “Either your information is useful, or it isn’t. You’ll be left alone until I’ve made my decision.”

  Phoenix breathed deeply, concentrating on slowing her heartbeat. “Where are you going to keep me? Do you have a cell for prisoners in this Hold of yours?”

  He paused, as if he hadn’t expected the question. “You’ll stay here.”

  “In your room?”

  “For the time being. You’ll have only minimal contact with the others. You’ll wear the blindfold when you do leave this room, and then only in my company. When you’re here alone, you can take it off. I’ll be locking you in.”

  “Thanks,” Phoenix said wryly. She pulled the fabric off and tossed it on the bed. His expression was rigidly controlled, jaw clenched, eyes hard. He was mastering his desire, but with a great deal of effort.

  He’d said he had women willing to share his bed, and Phoenix had absolutely no doubt that he was telling the truth. It wasn’t only because of his position of power in the Fringe or his good looks, but because he exuded need as well as strength, an odd kind of gentleness as well as indisputable masculinity and a sense of leashed danger tempered only by a peculiar kind of thieves’ honor.

  Gentleness? she thought. All Opiri are killers by nature, Daysider or not.

  No reluctant kindness or self-control could change that.

  “What are the sleeping arrangements?” she asked, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the dim light from a tiny lamp on the bedside table.

  “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

  “I can sleep anywhere. I’ll take the floor.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of subjecting a guest to such treatment.”

  “So now I’m a guest? How flattering.”

  “Don’t push it,” he said, turning toward the door. “I have business to attend to. Remember, your life and freedom depend on your good behavior and what you tell me.”

  “You’ve made that very clear.”

  He met her gaze again, his eyes searching her face. How ironic that he was the one Boss she couldn’t hope to fight, either through the use of her superior senses or by physical means.

  A trade-off, she thought, as he walked out the door and locked it behind him. Sammael would know about the assassin as no human would. But she was going to be fighting in other ways—fighting his nature and her own—if she hoped to get the information she wanted.

  Because if she didn’t figure out how to carry out this mission without losing her head, it was already over.

  * * *

  “So who is she?” Brita asked as Drakon sat down at the battered meeting room table.

  Remembering Brita’s warning, Drakon scanned the faces of his crew. Very few of them would be considered desirable companions by ordinary Enclave citizens. Some, both men and women, had suffered ugly lives of poverty and abuse. The majority of them had been condemned to deportation for relatively minor crimes, and had chosen to brave the dangers of the Fringe rather than submit. A few were simply dissidents with revolutionary ideas who had found their lives made “uncomfortable” by the Enclave authorities.

  The ones he considered likely troublemakers were slumped in their mismatched chairs, clearly disgruntled by Drakon’s decision to bring an outsider into the Hold without consulting anyone else. Others seemed openly curious, but the majority were waiting for an explanation, their expressions neutral.

  Brita was in the last group, and as Sammael’s lieutenant she had the right to speak first. Drakon nodded to her.

  “Who is she?” Brita repeated impatiently.

  “A fugitive,” he said. “An administrative assistant who gained access to certain restricted information that may be of use to us.”

  “A fugitive,” Shank said, sitting up a little straighter in his chair. “Just what we need, more Enforcers on our backs.”

  “They never even got near us,” Drakon said, staring into Shank’s eyes. “She wanted help, and I determined that the benefits outweighed the risks.”

  “You mean you wanted her for yourself instead of selling her to The Preacher. She’s quite the looker.” Shank licked his lips. “I wouldn’t refuse, either, if I was you.”

  “If you know my mind so well, Shank, what am I thinking now?”

  The human quickly dropped his gaze, but his posture remained defiant. In spite of Brita’s repeated warnings, Drakon wasn’t concerned. If necessary, he’d make an example of the man, or any others who challenged him. He had to maintain his cover. And his connections.

  “What did she do?” Ferret, lean and tall, asked quietly. “Try to sell this information? Blackmail?”

  “I haven’t had time to learn the details yet. I’ll know soon enough.”

  “You went too easy on her,” Brita muttered.

  “She’s been here less than an hour,” Drakon said. “She wants out of the city, and is willing to pay.”

  “And you think she’s telling the truth?” Repo asked.

  “Have you ever had cause to doubt my instincts?” Drakon said, sweeping the crew with his gaze a second time.

  No one had the nerve to answer him. Brita alone shook her head. “Don’t waste your time, Sammael,” she said. “I can get this ‘information’ out of her without the bargaining.”

  “She’s to remain alone and untouched, in my room.”

  “So Shank was right,” Beachboy said, tossing his shaggy blond hair away from his forehead.

  Drakon rose abruptly. Beachboy shrank in his seat.

  “My only interest in this female is what she can give us in return for her escape,” he said. “And I’ll make sure it’s worth our help.”

  “And if it isn’t?” Brita asked.

  Drakon’s silence gave them their answer. Glances were exchanged, and Brita shook her head, clearly disgusted. Drakon ignored her.

  “So what’s next, Boss?” asked Grimm, folding his thick arms over his protruding belly. “We gonna make some real money this time?”

  “We have a shipment of fresh produce coming in from the South Bay agricultural compound tomorrow night,” Drakon said. “My contacts have arranged for one of the ships to be rerouted to the Hunters Point shipyard for repairs. From there, we’ll have to get the cargo into the city.”

  “And you’ll give half the stuff away to the Scrappers, like always,” Shank complained.

  “You know how I do business. The Scrappers know things even we don’t, because no one pays attention to them. We feed them, and they help us.”

  “Fear is enough to keep ’em in line,” Shank said.

  “Would you like to test that theory?” Drakon said, planting his fists on the table and lean
ing toward the human.

  Again, Shank backed down. A charged silence fell over the room.

  “I’m going to send most of the crew to watch the passage and make the run to the shipyard,” Drakon said. “I’ll need a few of you with me to take care of other business. Brita, you’ll remain at the Hold and keep an eye on Lark. Make sure she gets food and fresh clothes.”

  “Sammael—”

  “I need you here. No interrogation. Just provide her with necessities until I return.”

  “And if she makes trouble?”

  “There are shackles and a blindfold there if you need them. But she’s not to leave my room.”

  “Fair enough,” Brita said, though she was clearly peeved at being left behind.

  “The rest of you will receive your instructions at 1300 hours,” Drakon said. He walked away from the table, indicating that the meeting was over. The whispers and mutterings he heard as he left the room were no more than he expected under the circumstances.

  Listening carefully to make sure no one followed, he strode to the roofless room where he kept his blood stores. The refrigeration unit ran on solar power, but the door was flush with the intact room adjoining it. Drakon had no need to step into the dangerous morning sunlight. He opened the two manual locks, noting again that his supplies seemed more thin than he remembered, and withdrew a vial of blood. He took a careful, measured amount—just enough to keep him strong and alert, but never quite sufficient to ease his hunger completely.

  It seemed all he had become was hunger. Hunger for blood, for peace, for revenge. And now for a woman he’d only met a few hours ago.

  He locked the blood away again, boarded up the room and returned to the labyrinthine corridors of the Hold. Lark’s unique scent seemed to permeate the entire building, and his new and constant state of arousal was worse than a week without blood.

  “Be careful,” Brita said, coming up behind him.

  Drakon turned to face her. “More rumblings from the crew?” he asked.

  “I’ve known you too long,” she said. “Don’t forget I’ve seen the stray kitten you brought in.”

  “Your point?”