She rolled her eyes. “Don’t you ever get tired of this conversation?”
He shrugged. “I’m afraid I’m not much of a conversationalist after being in the dark for so many months.”
Her gaze flicked around the cell. “You brought this on yourself.”
His gaze dropped. Yes, well, he couldn’t argue with that. “Why don’t we start over?” He smiled, calling on his customary charm he knew worked so well with the ladies.
Her eyes narrowed, and she straightened from the wall. “You tried to kill me. There’s no starting over.”
Except for this lady.
He sighed. “How long can you hold a grudge?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. “Aren’t you bored with this yet? Isn’t it exhausting, keeping me fed and watered, dreaming up new tortures? All that effort...”
She smiled, but it wasn’t a warm, friendly smile, and she stepped closer. “Oh, I still post hate mail to my first ex. That’s since second grade.”
He eyed her. He couldn’t tell if she was joking or not.
“Look, I’m sorry. How many times do I have to say it?”
“If you mean it, only once.” The remark was quietly spoken, and gave him pause. Her green gaze was blazingly direct. He ate the rest of his sandwich, forcing the gooey mess down his throat. Her gaze dipped to his throat, then lower, before it flickered away. Not quick enough that he didn’t notice it, though—or the faint bloom of color in her cheeks.
Interesting.
He lifted his hand to indicate the gloomy room. “Trust me, I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Yeah. You’re sorry you’re stuck here. That’s what you’re sorry for.” She turned back to the door, halted, then faced him. “You tried to kill me,” she said, her voice low and shaking with anger.
He held up a finger. “No, I just wanted to destroy your shop,” he corrected her.
Her eyes rounded. “With me in it.”
He winced. “Yeah, well, that was my bad.” He did feel guilty over that. Just a little. Not that he’d let her know.
Her lips firmed, and he focused on her mouth, those full, pouty lips that were pressed together so tightly. “You torched my apothecary. Do you have any idea what you’ve cost me? Or my clients? I have had to turn away people in need because of you.”
He snorted. “Please. You create more damage than you know with your little witchy-woo spells and potions. I spend half my time cleaning up your messes.”
She tilted her head back, her vibrant red curls a blaze of color in the gloomy, torchlit cell. “Oh, that’s right. You’re their doctor.”
He’d have to be blind and deaf to miss her contempt, particularly when she talked about the shadow breeds like some stinky mess she’d stepped in and needed to wipe off her shoe. He smiled dryly. “I’m getting this vibe that you’re not really into the shadow breeds.”
Her smile was brittle and tight, and she stepped away from the wall, strolling slowly toward him. “Werewolves, vampires, shifters...your kind,” she said, casually lifting a hand to indicate him, “you all deserve to die.” She said it so matter-of-factly, he almost didn’t take offense. “You consume humans, with little or no regard for our lives. You all behave as though we are of no consequence, and yet you think the problem is ours when we arm ourselves against you.” She shook her head. “Hypocrite.”
His eyebrows rose. “I’m the hypocrite? You talk as though we’re the only ones capable of evil, yet you create the cruelest weapons for your precious humans to use against the breeds. Do you have any idea what your wolfsbane tisanes do to the intestines, to the stomach or throat? You think we are cruel, yet slipping a toxic corrosive to a living being is all in a day’s work for you.” As a shadow breed healer he’d seen the horrors humans had subjected the shadow breeds to, and had made it his mission to help them. “You’ve held me here for months, starving me of light. That’s the cruelest torture for one of my kind, yet you stand here and spout righteous indignation when you are guilty of doing the same yourself.”
“You are so deluded. You are here because you tried to incinerate me.”
“You’re fine,” he retorted. He still couldn’t figure out how that had happened. “I didn’t even singe you.”
“Only because I had defenses, not because that was your intention,” she snapped, stepping closer. This close, he could see the rosy bloom of anger high on her cheeks.
“And I’ve been paying for it ever since. Let me go. Let me get back to my life, to my work.” Hell, what had happened to his clinic in all this time? Had his brother, Ryder, stepped in? Or did it lie in ruins? Despite what everyone thought, he did care about the business, about what they did. Well, what he did. He had been surprised to discover what his father had been doing... His work was the only good thing about him. If he didn’t have his work, then he really was the selfish, destructive bastard everyone claimed him to be.
He’d be just like his father.
Damn it, he’d been confined in this prison for long enough.
First there’d been the spiders, then the rats. She’d even covered the floor with snakes once. Sure, it had been an illusion, a spell, but he’d still felt trapped, and the hallucinations had been terrifying.
Never piss off a witch.
“And you’ll be paying for it for a long time to come,” she said fiercely.
“If you hate me so much, why don’t you kill me?” he challenged her in frustration. “Just end this. Let me go, or kill me.”
Because if she didn’t, he’d go mad. He was sure of it.
“Come on, set me free. You can trust me. I’m a doctor.” He flashed her his most charming smile.
She rolled her eyes.
“Let me go, or end this,” he urged her.
Her gaze flickered, then she masked her expression behind a cool, brittle smile. “Oh, but we’re only just getting started.”
“Red, if you still want me around after five months, maybe it’s not revenge you’re after,” he said softly, suggestively. He knew he was poking the bear, but she started it.
“You think I won’t hurt you?” She shook her head as she stepped even closer, and he measured the decreasing distance between them.
“Oh, I think you could,” he said, leaning forward ever so slightly. “But I don’t think you’ll kill me.” The realization hit him like a spark of lightning, and he wondered why the hell he hadn’t figured that out much earlier. “You’ve had five months to do it—but you haven’t.” He tilted his head. “I wonder why not?”
Something flickered in her gaze, and her lips tightened. He’d hit a nerve. Triumph washed over him. God, he’d finally found a crack, a weakness. “You. Can’t. Kill me.” He drew the words out slowly. “Am I paying for your daddy issues, little girl?”
Her eyes narrowed, and that was all the warning he got—it was all the warning he needed. She swung at him. He caught her wrist, pulling her around with one hand as he yanked at the chain tethering his other.
There was a loud crack. Bricks crashed to the floor as the old pulley tore away from the ceiling, and then he had her back pressed up against him.
“Tut-tut, Red. You got too close.”
Chapter 3
Melissa didn’t quite know how he did it, but the bastard broke his chain. Just one, but it was enough to give him dangerous freedom. With one arm around her neck and the other wrapped around her waist and trapping her arms, he lifted her clear off the floor. She experienced a brief flare of panic. She tried to kick, tried to dig her heel into his instep, but he dodged her easily.
“Let’s end this now, Red. One way or another. Let me go, or I’ll snap your pretty little neck.”
“Let me go,” she gasped past the press of his arm against her throat.
“What? You don’t like to be held against your will? Try i
t for five months,” he muttered, his lips near her ear, then grunted as she lashed out with her foot. She made contact, but her kick had no force behind it.
The strength in his arms was frightening, yet he just held her. The breadth of his shoulders easily bracketed her own body, and she could feel his muscles bunch as he bore her weight. He could crush her. He could easily do as he threatened and snap her neck—but he didn’t. He held her. Then he did something that shocked her.
He leaned forward and rubbed his chin against her neck. His beard brushed against her sensitive skin, at once soft yet prickly, and the rough sensation set her trembling. “Come on, Red. You know you don’t hate me.”
Her breath hitched, and her nipples peaked at the tingles that spread down her neck, bringing a warm flush along with it. His naked chest was a wall of heat against her back, and his hips cradled her butt. Awareness, sharp and consuming, swept over her. She could feel him against her, every ridge of muscle against her back, the strength of his thighs and something that throbbed and moved against her, which created an answering pulse deep in her core. Her breasts swelled. No. She wasn’t—she couldn’t—no.
She stiffened in his arms. “No, I loathe you,” she said through gritted teeth. She twisted her wrist until her palm could make contact with his muscular forearm, and she latched on, pouring every inch of her resentment into that contact. She whispered a spell. Heat seared between them, and she tightened her grip. He grunted. Hissed. His arm moved slightly, and she managed to move her other arm until her hand could press against the outside of his thigh, and she clutched him, focusing her power on those two points of contact. The heat increased. She could feel his skin blistering under her hand, smell the fabric of his jeans burning.
His breath hitched, then he let her go, pushing her away. She whirled, hands raised, and an invisible force threw him against the wall behind him, holding him against the brick surface.
“Argh!” He tried to pull away, tried to reach for her, and she curled her fingers until he threw his head back in pain. “Stop it!”
She’d captured him initially with the help of her brother—and that was only after Hunter had exhausted himself in a battle first against his brother, and then his Warrior Prime of a father. Keeping the pyro jerk imprisoned on her own was proving a challenge. If it wasn’t for the iron cuffs he wore that bound his light warrior magic, he would have already overpowered her.
Melissa retreated and didn’t let up on the force she was directing against him until she reached the door. She clenched her hands and shoved her fists in a downward motion, and her prisoner collapsed to the floor. He moaned as he clasped his head, curling up into the fetal position, and she stormed out into the tunnel. With a flick of her fingers, the door slammed behind her, the lock sliding home. She strode up the corridor, fuming.
She’d gotten too close. She should have known better. He was like a viper, waiting for you to get within striking distance. Five months ago she’d been tempted by him, by his devilish smile and wicked brown-eyed gaze when he’d walked into her store. He’d been so confident, so darn cocky, saying he’d heard she was the best witch in Irondell with the best supplies, best spells, best concoctions—and the best strain of wolfsbane, and she’d swallowed his flattery, hook, line and sinker. She’d taken him into her apothecary, just like he’d taken her in with his false compliments.
She’d been thinking how gorgeous he was, and was even returning the flirty banter as she’d opened up her order book. Then her world had exploded. Fire, heat, and those brown eyes shot with burning flecks of red amber as he’d cast his flames throughout her little store. Then he’d backed out and closed the door, closing her inside her inferno.
He’d used her. She’d found out later he’d been trying to turn to ash any evidence of his brother’s involvement in a murder. He’d smiled at her. Teased her. Tempted her.
Torched her.
She pulled herself up the steep staircase that led back to her apothecary, trying to shoot strength into her shaking arms. That comment, though...the one about her father...that was—weird. For the past few weeks she’d been dreaming of the night he’d left—and other nightmares. She hesitated. Could he...? She shook her head. She didn’t know that anyone could do that. She closed the door behind her, engaging all the locks and wards, and then sagged against its surface, craving the unmovable support.
Tears burned beneath her eyelids. For a moment, ever so brief...she shook her head. No. Not that guy. Not ever.
“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” a woman’s voice murmured from the gloom.
Melissa startled, then peered across the room. A figure moved away from the wall, stepping into the soft pool of light. Melissa closed her eyes briefly. She wasn’t in the mood for this.
“Mother,” she greeted the woman with resignation. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see how your...” Her mother hesitated briefly, then continued “...project was coming along.”
For a moment, Melissa thought her mother was talking about the renovation. Then almost laughed. Right. The last time her mother had shown any interest in her life was five months ago, when they’d had a terrible argument.
Over the pyro jerk downstairs.
“Well, as you can see, the apothecary is coming along nicely,” Melissa said, deliberately taking the obvious direction for conversation.
Her mother’s green eyes flared briefly. “I meant our little light warrior,” her mother stated succinctly, folding her arms.
Melissa glared at her. “He’s not our little light warrior, Mother. He’s mine.” She frowned at the possessive phrasing, realizing it probably sounded completely different than the way she intended. “And he’s not so little.”
She closed her eyes. And yep, that could be taken out of context, too. Her heart still pumped at being held against that large body, so much stronger than her own. She told herself the elevated heart rate, the sensitive...she folded her arms over her chest. Adrenaline. That’s all it was, adrenaline.
“Please tell me he’s still alive,” Eleanor Carter didn’t bother to hide her exasperation.
Melissa faced her mother reluctantly. “What if he’s not, Mother? What if he’s dead? How would that make you feel?”
“Do not play with me, Melissa,” Eleanor snapped. “He is a light warrior, for heaven’s sake. Do you know how rare that is?”
“With the way they make enemies? Trust me, Mother, it’s as much a surprise to me as it is to you this one has survived as long as he has.” She walked across the room to the door and the stairwell that would lead to her shop.
“He would make a useful ally, Melissa. He’s in our debt. Use it to your advantage—and for God’s sake, don’t screw it up,” her mother ordered as she followed closely. “You know we have to nurture this relationship.”
Melissa halted at the door. “That is so ironic—you talking about nurturing.” She bit off a brittle laugh.
“Melissa! You never stand back to look at the big picture. He is valuable.”
Melissa whirled. “What about me, Mother? What value do you have for me?” Anger flared to encapsulate her hurt. “He tried to kill me, Mother, and all you can talk about is creating an alliance with the pyromaniac psychopath. What about me? Don’t I matter in this? Why aren’t you angry that he tried to kill your daughter? And if not your daughter, at the very least one of your coven. Why aren’t you knocking down that door to tear his heart out?” Why won’t you fight for me? She turned and stomped up the stairs.
The door at the head of the stairs slammed shut, and Melissa halted, pursing her lips. This is how her mother had dealt with conversations when she was a teen, for Pete’s sake. She turned around to face her mother, arms folded.
Eleanor Carter slowly walked up the stairs until they were on the same tread and they could meet each other’s gaze on an equal level
. “Do not lecture me on defending my coven, Melissa,” her mother stated in a cold tone, and Melissa realized she was no longer talking to her parent. “You may be my daughter and a Coven Scion, but you are still only a second-degree witch, and I am your Elder Prime. Do not presume to discipline me on coven matters.” Eleanor lifted her chin. “You are popular with the humans, and you are gifted, but you still behave like a liability, whereas that light warrior is an asset. That is why I’m not tearing his heart out.”
Eleanor flicked her fingers, and the door opened. She walked into the bookstore, chin up and shoulders back, looking every inch the coven regent she was. Melissa stayed in the stairwell for a moment, blinking back the burn. God, she was so pathetic, always hoping her mother would for once put her daughter before her coven.
Should have known better.
She stomped up the steps and slammed the door shut behind her, closing off all thoughts of the “asset” downstairs, and the humiliating pain that her mother valued the man who’d tried to kill her more than her own daughter.
* * *
Hunter held out the remains of his sandwich to the rat. “You better fill up while you can, Steve. Might be a while before we get another feed.”
He winced as he shuffled back against the wall. His body ached. Everywhere. His burns were almost healed, though. It had taken him a few hours longer than usual to mend—a sign of his low reserves. He grimaced. “Mental note—knock her out, next time. She hits like a...witch.” He tilted his head back against the brick behind him. She hadn’t brought down the evening meal. He supposed he deserved that. He hadn’t intended to start anything with her today. It had just...happened.
He frowned. Things just happened a lot around him. She’d been right. Her surviving their meeting in her apothecary was purely based on her luck, not his design. He’d had one thought—protect his brother. He hadn’t spared the witch any consideration when he’d obliterated all records of her orders.
He and Ryder hadn’t been on speaking terms when Jared Gray, Alpha Prime to the Alpine Pack, had died in his brother’s surgery, poisoned by wolfsbane. His first instinct was to slap some sense into his brother for committing a crime that could be so easily traced back to him. His second instinct was to hide any evidence connected to the case. If they couldn’t prove his guilt, they couldn’t convict his brother.
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