Captive of the Beast

by Lisa Renee Jones

  He stepped forward and paused when he was directly beside her, his shoulder brushing hers and sending electricity darting through her body. His head tilted downward, close, and his cologne nipped at her senses with dangerously hot results. “And I do believe you like it,” he accused in a velvety smooth whisper meant for her ears only. He didn’t wait for a reply, sauntering farther into the apartment and claiming a seat on the couch directly in front of the wingback chair Kresley had just chosen.

  Rinehart spoke to Kresley as Laura sat on the opposite side of the couch. “You’re pretty sick, I hear,” he commented.

  Kresley nodded and curled her legs in the oversize chair she’d claimed. “I pretty much feel like death warmed over.”

  Rinehart chuckled. “That sounds serious.”

  “Which is why I can’t go to dinner,” Laura replied.

  Kresley frowned. “I don’t need a babysitter. It’s the flu. I’ll live. Unless there’s something both of you know that I don’t.”

  Laura grimaced. “There’s nothing you don’t know. I’ve told you that.” She glanced at Rinehart. “Kresley has it in her mind that she’s sicker than I’m telling her she is.”

  “Really?” he inquired. “Why is that?” he asked Kresley.

  “You’re here,” she said. “You and all those other men.” Abruptly, Kresley sat up, her hands digging into the cloth sides of the chair.

  “I’m sick. I never get sick. And Laura has never needed help with our treatments, but all of a sudden she does.”

  Laura’s chest tightened with emotion as she pushed to her feet. She’d intended to talk to Kresley in private, not sure she could possibly feel any guiltier than she felt in that moment. Despite the warning in her head, it was time to tell Kresley the truth. Soon. The minute she could find privacy.

  But before Laura could decide how to respond at present, Rinehart interjected. “l didn’t come to the island because you’re sick, Kresley. Quite the opposite. I came because Laura’s work is such a success. I’m hoping I can learn something from her. Hoping to bring good luck along with me.” He looked dubious. “So far it looks like I didn’t do so well. You’re sick and worried.”

  Kresley blushed. “No. I didn’t mean to blame you.” The tension in her body eased ever so slightly. “I guess I’m just not used to having other people around.”

  “You’re worried for nothing,” Laura added, her hands going to her hips, amazed at just how smoothly Rinehart had handled Kresley. But she was also hurt that Kresley had doubted her enough to ask Rinehart for answers instead of her. “You should know I’d tell you if something was wrong.”

  Kresley smirked at that. “You’re protective. You wouldn’t tell me what was wrong until you’d ruled out making it right first. I know you, Laura.”

  Laura let out a frustrated breath. Guilty as charged. What could she say? Wasn’t that what she was doing about escaping the island? “Well. I’m not doing that now.”

  “So you admit you’re protective,” Kresley said, a teasing glint in her bloodshot eyes. She really needed to rest.

  “Yes, I admit it,” Laura said. “Which is why I say you need to go to bed.”

  “Only if you let Rinehart take you to dinner. I heard him ask you, and I won’t be responsible for starving you.” Kresley glanced at Rinehart. “Her stomach was growling right before you got here.”

  Rinehart cast her a sexy half smile. “Is that right?” he asked. “Sounds like dinner might be a critical mission.”

  “I’ll survive,” Laura snapped back, arms folding in front of her again. Good grief, Kresley was working against her with Rinehart, perhaps bitten by the matchmaker bug. They definitely needed to have a talk about why he was trouble.

  Kresley acted as if she hadn’t heard Laura decline, her attention still locked on Rinehart. “Oh my God,” she proclaimed. “Now I know you’re military. You called dinner a ‘mission.’”

  Rinehart leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “My father was army, and I did a short stint in the army and the FBI. But that was a long time ago.”

  “Laura’s father was a ranger,” Kresley pointed out.

  Laura barely heard the words, her attention suddenly snagged by Rinehart’s hands—hands both strong and gentle. Hands she sensed had touched danger and death, hands that possessed the ability to kill. But she also felt the honor behind his actions, felt his desire to protect innocents. Not so unlike the way she tried to protect her patients.

  “Laura?” She blinked at the sound of Rinehart’s voice, bringing his features into focus, uncomfortably aware that she was staring at him, her eyes now locked on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked.

  “Ah, yes,” she lied, her voice creaking out. Finally, she’d sensed something other than her own hormonal overload where Rinehart was concerned, but she was more confused than ever. If her senses were right, and they usually were, he was nothing she’d assumed him to be. Delicately, she cleared her throat and added, “Sorry. I started thinking about my research.” She laughed nervously, fingers touching her forehead for a moment. “My mind went elsewhere.” Trying to regain her composure, Laura fixed Kresley in a warning look. “You need to go to bed,” she said firmly before refocusing on Rinehart. “And no, I am not going to dinner. I won’t leave her alone.”

  “I can pick up something for us,” Rinehart offered.

  The man wouldn’t give up. “The mess hall is closed, and everything else is too far away.”

  “You can make our pizza,” Kresley suggested, and pushed to her feet.

  Now Laura knew Kresley was matchmaking. She had never allowed anyone near their pizza. “I thought that was our special dinner.”

  “It is,” Kresley agreed, “but it’s going to waste anyway because I am too sick to eat.”

  “Am I such bad company that you can’t share a pizza with me?” Rinehart asked, his voice demanding her attention.

  Laura’s stomach fluttered as she met his stare. No man had ever given her this fluttery feeling in her stomach. Normally, she was too edgy and on guard to feel anything but stressed. Working for Walch, Rinehart should be outside the walls she had long ago erected. But he’d gotten inside them and reached places others couldn’t find. And suddenly, she had to know why.

  “Pizza it is, then,” Laura said, and for the first time since meeting Rinehart, a genuine smiled touched her lips.

  Kresley pushed to her feet and grinned, satisfaction twinkling in her eyes. “Now I’ll go to bed.” She didn’t wait for a reply, darting away with far too much agility for someone so sick, the bedroom door shutting with a resounding thud, meant, no doubt, to tell them they were alone.

  Laura and Rinehart stood there facing each other, their eyes locking, neither moving, neither speaking. The temperature in the room spiked; the intense attraction they shared blossomed with each passing second. She’d never experienced anything like this, never had a man get past her fear of being exposed. How ironic that this man could—a man who was so close to those she considered dangerous. That he could reach beyond the emotions that kept her shielded and even create excitement inside her.

  “I’m glad you changed your mind,” Rinehart finally said, breaking the silence that should have been awkward, but somehow wasn’t.

  So am I, she realized. But she knew better than to let down her guard. “Don’t make me regret it.”

  Those blue eyes darkened, the message in them darkly sensual. “Regret is the last thing I intend to make you feel.”

  Her pulse leapt with the question he invited and knew she wouldn’t dare ask. If not regret, then what exactly did he intend to make her feel? And why was he so sure she would let him? And why did the idea of finding out thrill her to the core?

  Chapter 7

  The temperature in Kresley’s apartment had gone from icy to distinctly warm and inviting.

  Rinehart leaned against the archway leading into the kitchen and watched Laura pull the second of two pizzas out of the oven. Finally, he had her to
himself and not soon enough for his liking. She’d spent most of the last fifteen minutes behind closed doors with Kresley—no doubt talking about him. He didn’t know what was said, and at this point he didn’t really care. The heated looks she’d cast his way were proof enough that the conversation had gone his direction. In fact, Laura appeared less tense, softer and more comfortable in his presence. He could see a glimpse of the woman beneath the rigid doctor, see who existed inside the wall she’d placed around herself, and he liked what he saw.

  “All set.” She turned to him, one delicate little hand curled around the oven handle. “We can eat.”

  “Good,” he replied. “I’m starved.” But not for food, he silently added. For you.

  She laughed. “Me, too.” Her hand pressed to her stomach. “For at least an hour now. I thought we could sit in the living room and watch television or something.” He nodded his approval, and she grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet and motioned him forward as she deposited them on the counter. “Go ahead and load up a plate before it gets cold. Try the pineapple and peppers.” She smiled—a beautiful smile he felt all over—and picked up the tea glasses she’d filled a moment before. “Unless you’re one of those picky eaters afraid to try new things?”

  “Adventure is my middle name,” he declared. “A pineapple and pepper pizza isn’t going to scare me away.”

  Her smile widened, her expression alight with pleasure, her teeth perfect, white. Her lips full and inviting.

  She motioned toward the other room. “I’ll put our drinks on the coffee table and come back for a plate.”

  Rinehart pushed off the wall right as she reached his side. She stopped beside him, her mood sobering as she tilted her chin up to stare at him. They were close. So close he could lean forward and touch her—and damn, how he wanted to. “Thanks for what you did for Kresley.” Her voice was low, sincere, hinting at emotion.

  Her soft floral scent floated in the air, touching his nostrils with a rousing effect. He stiffened against the impact, the jolt damn near making him tremble. Damn it. He. Didn’t. Tremble. He’d faced death and Demons a hundred times over and remained as stoic as a statue. Yet, this sexy, petite woman had him shaking in his boots.

  Somehow, Rinehart retained his composure. He’d protect Kresley for more reasons than his duty and honor; he’d protect her for Laura. And knowing she read those things on a level beyond simple perception, he funneled those emotions into the words he spoke, into the vow they held and the conviction he felt for that vow. “She’ll be okay.”

  The statement was simple, but there was nothing simple about the way their eyes locked after its delivery. Nothing simple about the connection ignited between them in that moment.

  Laura tilted her head slightly, her eyes alight with realization. And he knew from her expression that she’d read the sincerity and conviction lacing his words. She’d felt his emotions as he had several times felt hers. She sucked in a slow, labored breath, appearing a bit rattled by what she’d experienced.

  “I…” she started to speak, then hesitated and cut her gaze for an instant. A weak smile touched her lips as her attention turned back to him. Confusion lurked in the depths of her eyes. It was clear she’d changed her mind about whatever she was going to say. On an intellectual level, Laura considered him the enemy, and he knew that. But he also could see now that emotionally she wanted to trust him. And based on what had passed between them in those past few moments, he believed that deep down she already did—she simply wasn’t ready to admit it.

  Laura motioned with a slight lift of the tea glasses she was holding. “My hands are getting cold.” The weakly delivered excuse offered her an escape and she rushed away. Actually, she was running from him—something else they both knew and knew well.

  And maybe she should, he thought. He was dangerous, on edge. Afraid he could hurt her if he wasn’t careful. The mating process walked a fine line between erotic and deadly. His teeth would sink into her shoulder, her blood seep into his mouth. No matter how many times the other Knights swore a mate could not hurt the other, he wasn’t so sure. At times he barely felt human, let alone in control.

  Rinehart walked to the stove and grabbed the handle, fingers curling around it as Laura’s had, and he forced himself to take deep breaths, to calm the rage in his body. Mine. The word rang in his head over and over as clearly as a new day. His mate. He felt it in his core. That should be a good reason to get close to her, to ensure she would aid their efforts to get off the island. But if he tasted her, if he touched her, would he hold back? Or would he lose control and claim her without her knowledge of who, and what, he was? Just thinking about sinking his teeth into her shoulder and marking her with his immortality had blood coursing through his veins like liquid fire.

  Slowly, he let out a breath that had lodged in his chest and reached for a plate, shocked to see his hand shaking. He reached out and grabbed it, cursing under his breath. He had to be strong. Lucan was right. They were needed. He was needed. His link to Laura might be the only thing that could avert the disaster her research could create in the hands of the Beasts.

  He filled his plate and didn’t give himself time to think—he headed toward the living room, where Laura was flipping the channels on the television. “I put on the news for now,” she said, and set the remote on the coffee table. “I like to see what’s going on in the real world at least once a day. But feel free to change it if you like.”

  The real world. That statement kicked him in the gut, and he was thankful she rushed away to fix her plate. He claimed a cushion on the couch and settled his plate beside the remote on the glass top of the coffee table. His eyes fixed on the small television screen, which was nestled inside a black entertainment center, without really seeing the images being played. Reality seeped into his mind with bitter results. Laura wanted to live in the real world. That was what all of this was about to her, what her research was trying to achieve. She wanted her patients to control their abilities in order to hide them, just as she did with her own abilities. She wanted them to have that gift—that ability to pretend to be like everyone else. And he knew that to claim Laura as his mate would be to take her away from the very thing she was working so hard to find—a way to stop hiding, to stop living in fear. Not that he thought she could ever have that, but if he read her right—and he believed he did—she thought that one day, she could.

  “What’s the verdict?” Laura said, approaching from his left. “You like the pineapple and peppers?” She sat down on the other side of the couch, knees angled toward him and frowned. “You haven’t touched your food. I thought you were hungry.”

  Inwardly, he shook himself. He had a mission and lives were on the line. If the Beasts fulfilled their goal of making super-soldier Beasts, a lot of lives were on the line. “Lost in thought,” he said. He reached for a slice of pizza and took a bite. A combination of sweet pineapple and tangy peppers touched his tongue.

  “Well?” she asked, watching his expression.

  “It’s different,” he said and took another bite, the taste growing on him.

  “Which is a nice way of saying you don’t like it,” she said, laughing. “Liking my pizza choice won’t make me like you more.”

  “Too bad,” he said, “because I do like it.” He proceeded to prove his point by taking another bite.

  Laura snagged a pepper with her fingers and said, “You don’t have to be nice,” a second before she popped it into her mouth.

  “I doubt too many people would call me nice, period, so you don’t have to worry in that area.”

  “A hard-ass, are you?” she asked, sipping her tea.

  He shrugged. “If wanting things done right the first time makes me a hard-ass, then yeah, I guess so.”

  Laura rolled her eyes and shook her head. “You might not be military now, but good grief, you sound like my father.”

  He forgot his pizza and turned to her, his gaze brushing her pink-painted toes in the process.
His cock twitched, and he decided he was truly losing his mind. Since when did feet turn him on? “Your father was special forces?”

  She set down her pizza and drew a breath. “Yeah. I was a military brat. He was gone a lot and never home enough. And though that sounds like the same thing, it’s not. I had friends who looked forward to their fathers’ absences. I looked forward to mine coming home. He was a hard-ass.” She smiled lightly at the reference, but her eyes glistened with sadness, as if the loss were still raw. Her gaze dropped to the floor. “It’s been years, but I still remember his spicy, safe smell.”

  “And you haven’t felt safe since he died.”

  Her gaze ripped upward to latch on to his, probing, searching. She opened her mouth to speak, hesitated, then, “There’s a feeling of security we all get from our parents, no matter what our age. That’s the security I try to give to my patients—a feeling of belonging and safety. Most of them were deserted, left on their own because their families turned away from them.”

  “Because they’re different,” he stated softly, prodding her cautiously, afraid she would clam up at any moment.

  “Different isn’t easy,” she said, not confirming or denying what he’d said.

  “I know.”

  “Do you?” she asked, her voice full of hope, the air full of simmering heat.

  He was afraid to move, afraid to say the wrong thing. “I do.” And he did understand. All the Knights dealt with the reality of standing outside, looking inside, not a part of humanity, but still playing a critical role in how it survived.

  She studied him, probed, considered. Finally, “Then why are you here, trying to make them into some sort of guinea pigs?”

  Her bottom lip quivered, and he wanted to kiss it into stillness, wanted to kiss away her pain. Because she was in pain. He could feel it biting at his gut, feel the deeply rooted ache she carried inside her. “I’m not, Laura. I wouldn’t do that to them or to you.”

  “You work for Walch,” she countered with gentle force.