Derek retreated, bright blue eyes locked on hers. “Call me.”
Abby kept an artificial smile in place for the policeman’s sake, cheeks aching with the effort. The moment he turned away, it vanished and she spun, forcing Samuel to either break his hold or risk hurting her. He let go.
“Was that necessary? I was about to turn him down. I know my place here.” She heard the pained hitch in her voice and was furious with herself for allowing the hurt to show.
“What the hell does that mean?” His hard gaze bore into hers.
“My circumstances. My cage. Whatever you want to call…” She spread her arms wide, twirling in a circle to indicate the entire island. “This,” she said, refusing to raise her voice. She would not shout at the infuriating shifter.
He scowled, the lines between his brows deepening. “It isn’t a prison.”
“It’s not?” She grabbed the towel from the floor and tossed it into a nearby hamper. “Then I’m free to leave the island whenever I want?”
Samuel’s head rocked back in apparent frustration. He sighed and raked his fingers ruthlessly through his untidy hair, the motion pulling his t-shirt taut against his muscular torso.
Abby couldn’t help following his bicep as it flexed, tracking the exposed length of his masculine throat to his lightly bristled chin, wondering what it would feel like to run her lips along the roughened edge of his jawline.
She wrenched her eyes from the too-tempting male a second before realization struck—Samuel wasn’t in workout clothes. He was wearing the standard black tee, green cargos, and combat boots of the Guard. He hadn’t just happened upon her and Derek. He’d purposely come to interfere. Did someone inform him she was speaking with the police?
“Am I being followed?” The question came out in a breathy rush as she retrieved her flip-flops. What did they think she would do? Involve the MPD in an escape attempt? She envisioned Derek stuffing her into the trunk of his car and sneaking past the guarded entrance. Or maybe they could jump in the Mississippi and swim for it? The thought was so ludicrous she wasn’t sure if she should laugh or cry.
Her tumultuous emotions must have shown on her face because Samuel gently clasped her shoulder. “Abby, no. You’re not being followed.”
“But I am a prisoner?”
His jaw set. “Come on,” he said, capturing her hand and towing her behind him. His gait was long, and she had to jog to keep up as he headed for the exit.
“Where are we going?”
He linked their fingers. “You’ll see.”
She remained silent, easily keeping pace after he’d shortened his strides. They made a left once free of the gym, banged through a heavy door leading to the outside, and stepped into the U-shaped courtyard.
It was a gorgeous spring day, warm but not humid. The stone tabletops in the picturesque patio were occupied by Harbor Complex employees enjoying meals from the cafeteria or Riverfront Café. Others found seating wherever there was an open space or patch of grass. They held paperbacks or e-books and sucked on made-to-order smoothies while reading or chatting amicably with friends and coworkers. Everyone was taking advantage of the kind of mild temperatures longtime residents of the Mid-South knew to be short-lived.
Skimming the edge of the courtyard, he led them to the opposite wing of the building and the indoor firing range.
“Come on, let’s see if you can shoot.”
“What does my ability to handle a gun have to do with anything?”
He slowly slid his fingers from hers in a strangely intimate untangling without answering her question. Reaching the counter, he spoke with the older shifter behind it. “Hey, Buck. Can you get me the gun from locker fifty-three and a set of synced headgear in lane twelve?”
Buck was tall and thin, his gray hair falling loose to his shoulders. He displayed none of the usual bulk a male Ferwyn carried and was the first shifter she’d seen with an abundance of wrinkles.
Samuel signed a clipboard, checked them in, and procured a pair of safety glasses from the plastic bucket. His clanmate returned quickly, handing his Alpha a rectangular container bearing a gun with its breech opened, the same make and model of Abby’s missing one. Two full magazines, an orange key, and a box of ammo were inside the tray. Buck kept his eyes averted, but she noticed the flare of his nostrils as he sniffed the air. Instead of the puzzled expression most shifters tended to have around her, he grinned.
“Buck, this is Abby.”
Samuel’s introduction seemed to be an unspoken signal. Buck looked directly at Abby for the first time.
“Pleasure to meet you, ma’am.” His smile was huge, voice almost tender.
“Please, call me Abby.”
After a glance at the commander, Buck captured her hand without warning. Her returning smile wobbled as she attempted to tug free discreetly, the fear of discovery rearing its ugly head again. Unrelenting, the Ferwyn’s brown eyes danced with merriment as his weather-beaten palms drew her fingers to rest above his heart. The crinkles around the dark orbs added to his grandfatherly appeal, and her apprehension faded, replaced by the strongest urge to adore him instead.
“Everything is ready on the line,” he said, releasing her after a gentle squeeze.
“I appreciate it.” Samuel placed one of the thick glasses onto her nose, adjusted them, and used the spare for himself. He led her to the shooting gallery, the previously muffled staccato of gunfire transforming into loud bursts of nerve-jangling explosions when he opened the door.
Three other firing lanes were presently in use. He ushered her to the farthest from the entry.
Samuel set the tray on the nearby table and collected the headgear his pack member supplied. “These are wireless for teaching purposes. We can hear each other speak without removing them. Just push the button on the housing to talk.”
He placed the padded sound protectors over her ears and tested the slim built-in microphones before retrieving the compact 9mm short-barreled pistol. He loaded the magazine but didn’t chamber a round, motioning for her to follow him to the partitioned lane.
“Let’s see what you can do.” He handed her the weapon.
Abby took a deep breath and released the safety, placing her right hand on the grip and cycling the slide with her left. Spacing her legs apart, she extended her arms, aimed at the target fifteen yards away, and fired three rounds in quick succession. She hit the shoulder area of the target, missing the heart by a wide margin. She hadn’t shot a gun since leaving the facility, and Samuel’s scrutiny wasn’t helping her aim.
He tapped her on the shoulder, and she lowered the gun. “I’m assuming you didn’t attend the weapons training course all Untouched take in high school?” he asked, voice teasing.
“The one where they hand you a 9mm Glock at graduation?” She stared blankly at the damaged target. “The one giving humans a false sense of confidence against a species that could snap our necks before we squeezed the trigger? That class?”
“Yeah, that one.” His tone added an unspoken smartass.
“You had to be a senior, so yes, I…missed it.” Abby swallowed around the sudden mass in her throat. “But the director didn’t allow us to rely exclusively on our magic. I’m a decent shot, just a bit rusty.”
“Your hands aren’t high enough on the grip,” he said after a long silence, his jaw working silently. “You need to stabilize the recoil more.”
Samuel’s deep voice rumbled through the speaker in her ears and made a beeline to her stomach. His arms came around her shoulders, hands on either side of hers, knees bent to compensate for their differing heights. Her heart raced at his nearness, and she prayed the headgear would muffle the sound of its erratic beating from his advanced hearing.
“Push with the dominant hand and pull with the supporting one,” he said, activating the button on his mic. His breath whispered along her nape. Tiny goosebumps raced up her arms and scalp. “And don’t aim for the heart unless you’re shooting at a human or a witch. I kno
w you’ve been taught the chest is the largest area so you’d be less likely to miss. But if you need to slow one of us down, close is not close enough. Always target the head. It’ll do the maximum damage and give you time to run.”
Right. She knew that.
He wrapped both hands around hers, lining up her thumbs horizontally with the SIG’s slide. The compact gun was a perfect fit for Abby but was swallowed by Samuel’s broad palms. Evidently satisfied with Abby’s grip, he slid his fingers from her forearms to her elbows, adjusted their alignment, and then settled on her hips.
His big body enveloped her smaller frame. The enticing scent of spring grass drifted from his skin. The temptation to twist in his arms, lift onto her toes, and bury her nose in his throat was embarrassingly hard to resist.
Get a grip, Abby!
The region’s commander was judging her shooting skill before returning what she suspected was her gun. That was it. He was not interested in the short girl with sweaty hair and smashed b-cups.
Her wandering thoughts were interrupted by a gruff, “Try again.”
Three out of the four bullets hit the target in the delineated face. Two rounds landed dead center, taking out what would’ve been the attacker’s nose. The third missed, tearing through the surrounding negative space. The last struck where the right eye would be on a live mark.
She turned with a smile, elated.
“Good job.” Samuel’s attention dropped to her mouth. “Reload and let’s go again.” The order was soft and husky through the headphones. His amber gaze veered from her lips to the bangs covering the huge glasses perched on her nose. He pushed the longer pieces aside with his index finger.
Abby’s heart stopped, along with her brain, thinking he meant to kiss her. Instead, Samuel broke the light touch, and collected the extra magazine from the tray, patiently offering it while she stared.
Face hot, she snatched the ammo and whirled. Removing the expended mag, she checked to make sure the chamber was empty and reloaded, determined to ignore the handsome Alpha and the dang batwings having a heyday inside her gut.
After nodding that she was ready, Samuel reached over and pushed the mechanism to send the target another ten yards farther away. His chest accidentally bumped into her shoulder.
Abby steadied the gun and attempted to control her uneven breathing.
The commander grasped her hips, his foot gently tapping the inside of her bare ankle, encouraging her to open her stance. She obediently corrected her position, bending slightly forward.
Samuel’s fingers dug into her skin. Her shot went wide.
Another twenty minutes past before he called a halt to the impromptu practice session.
“There’s a safe in your suite if you want to bring the SIG up to your room. If not, you can store it here,” he told her, handing over the locker key once they were outside the main gallery.
“So that was my gun, and you’ve decided to return it. Why now?” she asked, clenching the orange plastic in her palm.
“You’ve proven yourself competent, and it is your property.”
He started down the corridor, and she followed, the hallway silent except for the soft smacking noise her sandals made as they entered the foyer.
“Abby…” Samuel slowed, allowing her to catch up. “We never meant for you to be a prisoner here. You know it’s more complicated than that.”
She did understand, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
“As much as you might wish it weren’t true, you’re an extraordinarily rare and gifted Fae Touched,” he said, stopping at the lobby’s elevators. “And someone tried to kill your queen. As head of the region’s security forces, I’m honor-bound to use every resource at my disposal to prevent that from happening.”
Resource. Is that all she was to him? Is it all she’d ever be to anyone?
“I know. It’s not that I don’t want to help. I’m just not sure that I can.” She pushed the up button even though it was already lit, keeping her profile averted, intent on the numbers above the closed doors. Her emotions in turmoil. “And what if my heritage is discovered in the meantime?”
“Then we’ll deal with the repercussions.” Samuel gently took her arm, forcing her to confront him. “We all agree the timing isn’t right to unmask the Na’fhuil to the human populace. Throwing in a surprise magical race isn’t going to help calm things down between the species. And the attack on the queen has only added to the political unrest.”
“But it was vampires at La Bella, not the Untouched.” Abby felt sick at the thought of them succeeding in their attempt to kill the queen. In the brief time knowing the royal Dádhe, she’d come to care for her.
“The US government is threatening to view the incident as a breach of the Accord. They are arguing that we don’t have the control over our kind we promised.”
“What? That’s ridiculous. If anything, they’ve been in default for years by not doing more to stop the human hate groups.”
“I agree. But whether or not they choose to twist the letter of the law, or follow its spirit, too many lives depend on keeping the arrangement we have with our powerful neighbors intact,” he said, guiding her inside the waiting elevator. “You falling into the wrong hands could give those set against us more ammunition.”
“Me? But I’m not even a Jumper.” She sagged against the planked wall, tilting her chin high to meet his gaze.
Samuel’s eyes blazed wolf yellow as they fell on the line of her throat, his expression a stone mask carved from marble. His mouth sealed over a suddenly bulging top lip, nostrils flaring.
The doors opened with a ding onto their floor, and he jerked away.
“You keep undervaluing yourself. Anyone coming across your secret would have taken advantage of it.” His voice was brusque, hands balled as he marched down the hallway.
Her heart beat wildly as she chased after him. “Like you and Lady Rose did?”
They reached her suite, and she leaned against the door, waiting for his reply.
“Exactly as we did,” he said, placing his hands on the casing above her, effectually caging her in. “I know you think we’re treating you like your previous government did when you were still a child. But the alternative could be much worse.”
“Worse than being held prisoner?” Abby pushed the point. “Worse than having my race hunted again because of me?”
“At the facility, you had a semblance of freedom when on assignments?”
“Yes.” She was surprised by the question, but answered it honestly. “I would be gone for weeks or sometimes months. I wasn’t followed, only required to check in frequently with my handler. Running wasn’t an option for me then.” The director would have found her easily. She was too young, inexperienced, and frightened to attempt an escape. And the thought of never seeing Conlan again was not something she had been prepared to face.
Abby had been almost twenty before the director deemed her magically ready and trustworthy enough to venture outside the narrow confines of the compound on select missions. While on the job, she’d had regular interactions with the Untouched and free time to pursue all the things normal people enjoyed without appreciating them. Even casually dating a human bodyguard who was employed by her charge during an extended stint of duty.
The years at the facility hadn’t been entirely without companionship either. She’d grown fond of her long-term tutor and even a few of her guards. A tremendous crush at seventeen on the firearms instructor had been her first taste of puppy love and heartbreak when he naturally didn’t return her feelings. The Na’fhuil who had trained alongside her for over three years was someone she considered a friend, even though she still didn’t know his real name. And of course, she had Conlan when he wasn’t away on assignments.
“There are Fae Touched and humans besides the director who would abuse you physically as well as mentally. Beyond the painful usage of your magic. Loan you to others for money or favors. Force you to help them find other halfblood
s, which we’ve promised not to do. And if you refused to acquiesce to their demands, they’d find alternative ways to ensure your cooperation. Use the ones you love against you.”
Conlan. Samuel searched her face, and Abby knew she must have paled.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he said, partially releasing the doorframe to caress her neck, the steady pressure of his thumb gliding over her throat. “We are asking for your loyalty. In return, we will protect you from the facility and anyone else who might want a halfblood for their own. I promise you’ll have as much freedom as can be safely given.”
Her eyes closed as he stroked her skin soothingly.
“You can stop running, Abby.”
She nodded. What other choice was there except to agree…for now.
Samuel sighed, and removed his hand. “I’m sorry I can’t offer you more.”
She immediately missed his warmth.
He sounded so weary. It wasn’t his fault her life was in shambles. She’d known the consequences of using her magic and chose to do it anyway.
Giving him what she hoped was a reassuring smile, Abby extracted the key from a zipper in her spandex shorts.
She jumped as he suddenly snarled, “You’re going with the queen to Chess tonight?”
“Well, yes,” she said, confused. “It was your order.”
The muscle in Samuel’s jaw flexed. The cords in his neck bulged. “Make sure you wear white.”
Chapter 12
“When in doubt, over dress”
Bridget MacCarthy
Abby squirmed in the backseat of the Hummer, plucking at the hem of her white leather shorts. She’d been happy with her outfit entering the lobby, but her confidence wavered crossing the foyer to a waiting Samuel.
The commander’s jaw clenched taut, a pained expression settling on his handsome face when his gaze dropped to her bare legs. Abby swore she heard his teeth grind as he grasped her elbow and practically dragged her to the queen’s idling SUV.
Glancing down, Abby clasped her evening bag in her lap to prevent further fidgeting and tried to determine what had pissed him off.
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