by Cara Lake
She had no choice but to follow and wasn’t surprised to find herself entering the very room she had been watching on the screen the night before. Abrasax was sitting at his desk. She felt a crackle of static energy again and knew without doubt that Tyr was also present. And there he was, hands in pockets by the balcony window, watching, his hawklike black gaze, challenging her with its intensity. Oh yeah and there was ”Miss Drape all over the furniture”, doing what she did best, lounging on the sofa, eyeing her venomously. Gee, can this day get any better?
“Miss Columba!” Abrasax drawled stalking toward her. “I must apologize for my lack of hospitality in not greeting you last night. After my man rescued you yesterday from that unfortunate incident, you passed out, so I thought it best to let you sleep. I do hope you are recovered?” He took one of her hands and patted it sanctimoniously.
Irina tried to hide the shudder as her skin crawled. So that was his game. Pretend. Well she had always been good at fantasizing. Case in point: stupid daydreams of betraying bastard in corner. The energy she had tried to deny was still there, simmering between them and she cursed herself for a fool that hope still had a grip on her heart.
The betraying bastard, much to her disgust, which was directed more at herself than him, was looking insanely gorgeous this morning. Out of prison sweats, Tyr was a vision of masculine perfection in black jeans and black V-neck sweater that only accentuated the carved flawlessness of his broad chest. He looked so irritatingly handsome, with tousled black locks hanging lazily around his cheeks, having perfected such a just-out-of-bed vibe that it was all Irina could do not to walk over there and run her fingers through the silky strands.
As if she were reading Irina’s mind, the furniture whore did exactly that, slinking across the room to put her hands on his pecs while brushing the straying locks from his brow. “And how are we after last night, lover?” she purred in sultry tones, watching Irina for a reaction as she spoke. Tyr brought her wrists together and pushed them down by her side.
“I slept extremely well, if that’s what you were asking,” he replied coolly.
“Do you mean after I left?” she dragged a sharp fingernail slowly under his chin then turned away, giving Irina a sly smile of triumph.
“Now, now, Rusalka,” interrupted Abrasax. “I’m sure Miss Columba is not interested in your night-time activities and would prefer some time to catch up with Mr. Bellor.”
“I would prefer to go home if that’s okay,” said Irina, the coolness of her voice dripping icicles. Abrasax clasped his hands together in a gesture of helplessness. “I fear you will have to continue to accept my hospitality for a while longer, Miss Columba. You see, Tyr needs to lie low for a while and as his lawyer we need you to help him with a statement. You will accompany him to one of my estates to see if you can work something out.”
Irina was aghast. “You do realize this is kidnapping?”
“I prefer to call it protection,” replied Abrasax smoothly. “Your cooperation is much appreciated and I’m sure your friend, Cassiopeia will be happier if you are out of harm’s way. There are many dangers in these unsettled times. We would not want anything to happen to you…or her for that matter.” Abrasax paused, letting his words sink in. Irina couldn’t hide her fears, his satisfied smile making it obvious he knew she understood the implicit threat. He signaled to Rusalka. “Escort our guests up to the roof. Their transport is waiting.”
“Are you just going to stand there and let this happen?” Irina turned and glared angrily at Tyr.
“Why shouldn’t I?” he asked, and a cold feeling of dread washed through her bones as Tyr stood impassive before her. That lingering remnant of hope that she had been mistaken as to his allegiance crumbled under the weight of his chilly reply. He truly was the criminal she had tried to convince herself he was not.
Turning away from her, he followed the furniture whore without a glance or any kind of reassurance, his manner icy—so different from the warmth of emotion he had displayed toward her at the station. He was obviously a good liar but he was the lesser of two evils at the moment. Abrasax made her skin crawl. There was something very disturbing in the way he was looking at her. Irina had no option but to follow Tyr up to the awaiting transport, her heart heavy with fear for Cassi and the implied threats Abrasax had made. She had already lost her blood family. If anything happened to Merak or Cassi because of her, she would never forgive herself.
When Rusalka returned, Abrasax had his feet up on the desk, cigar in hand. Things were going well and he could afford some time to relax. She blinked curiously at him, hitching herself up onto the desk in front of him. “Are you sure it’s a good idea to send the Esseni pair off with each other? We don’t want them to get too friendly with each other. You seem to be forcing them together rather than pushing them apart.”
“The seeds of discord are sown, my pet,” he replied smiling to himself. “I believe they both have little trust in the other and what with your display, top marks for that by the way, emotions are running high. He is unsure of her loyalties and we have some insurance that Tyr wants to keep alive. An added bonus, as always, is their ignorance. The Eunomi will not fully acquaint them with the truth so that their relationship runs a natural course. That will be their downfall. We just have to continue to drive in the wedges of suspicion, greed and jealousy. Eventually one or other will turn to our cause betraying the other in the process.”
“And what will happen to the other?”
“As always, the other will die. Does that make you happy?” Abrasax watched Rusalka run her hands over her breasts, arching her back across the desk in front of him.
“Only if it’s War who survives. He is rather luscious,” she mused. “I do so hope we can bring him over to the dark side.”
* * * * *
Strapped into the helicopter, sitting opposite Irina, whose expression was one of extreme hostility, Tyr had to admit to himself that if this was an act, then she was a very good actress. He studied her profile as she sat rigid, arms across her chest, brows furrowed, gazing out of the window. She was breathtaking, the early morning rays, reflecting in the liquid gold of her extraordinary eyes. A faint blush of color tinged the creamy softness of her cheek and her full lips caught the attention of his wayward friend as he drank in the beauty of her skin. He adjusted his position trying to hide the rock in his jeans. Mile-high club, anyone?
The static buzz he always felt in her presence was still there but muted. He instinctively knew she was blocking it. The thread that bound her to him had receded back across a gaping chasm. Well, he didn’t know what this thing was between them or even if he could trust her, but he couldn’t shake the urge that drew him to Irina, as if he were a satellite in motion tied perpetually in orbit around her blazing sun. His strategy was clear. He decided to continue where they had left off.
“I thought I told you stay where you were,” he said at last.
“What makes you think you’re the boss of me?” she replied, half shouting against the noise of the helicopter’s rotator blades. Irina turned to face him, lips drawn tight in anger. “And what do you care if I’ve been kidnapped and held against my will? You seem pretty comfortable with your buddy Abrasax, oh, and your girlfriend with the whiny voice and bad taste in clothes.”
“Are you jealous?” asked Tyr, again going straight for the jugular. “You are, aren’t you? Don’t be. I’m not involved with her in any way, shape or form.” He smiled at her response. She wouldn’t be showing her claws if she were indifferent, would she?
A storm of furious emotions played across her beautiful face. “I couldn’t care less!” she snapped clenching her fists. “Whatever the two of you got up to last night is none of my business.”
“Your expression and body language are completely contradicting your words,” said Tyr, ever direct. “You can’t ignore this thing between us.” Needing to emphasize the connection, he reached for her whitened knuckles, prying them apart so his hands pressed into her p
alm. She allowed his touch for a moment then pulled away. He saw her swallow a knot of panic and wondered if she had felt the same electrical pulse he had. Then she was shaking her head and leaning forward, her eyes locked on his, her words deliberate.
“There is nothing between us. Any slight feelings I had before disintegrated the minute I found out that you are involved with a gang of murderers.”
Tyr realized the direction of her thoughts. His need for her to understand the reality was intense. He grabbed her hands again to pull her closer. “Irina, listen, I have no option but to play along. I did not kill Sal. Abrasax did. And I need to find out why so I can clear my name.”
She closed her eyes, clearly fighting the conviction in his tone, and struggled to get her hands loose. Tyr held on, his grip too strong. “Don’t worry,” she said bitingly, “I heard all that last night as I watched your little chat with him from the room they threw me in. In fact I saw and heard quite a lot of things, Tyr, like how you said couldn’t care less what he did to me, before letting that tramp run her hands all over you.”
Tyr thought back to that conversation and considered what she may have heard. He understood now. Abrasax was certainly covering all bases. Divide and rule.
“Now I know you’re jealous.” Tyr smiled triumphantly. “Believe me, I said that to keep you safe. If they thought you were important to me in any way then Abrasax would use it as leverage, could use you as leverage against me. I don’t want to see you hurt, Irina. That’s the last thing I want.”
He stopped talking willing his words sink in and hoping his logic would make sense to her. His need for her to understand was overwhelming. “Okay…” she said carefully. “Say I choose to believe you, not that I have many options here, what exactly is your plan? Are we just going to Abrasax’s lair like lemmings and let him play with us like we’re food?”
Tyr relaxed now sensing her emotions had calmed, relieved that she had stopped fighting him. It staggered him to realize just how much he wanted her trust. The connection intensified, a silver thread, weaving its way back across the chasm. He understood her caution. She was genuinely pissed off over Rusalka and his involvement with Abrasax, but there was something deeper hidden behind her words, an underlying fear that she wasn’t ready to reveal to him. He knew that what she had heard last night was only the things Abrasax wanted her to hear. As yet he couldn’t tell her everything and he needed her to find a way into Eunomi circles. She was his “in” with Merak. He also wanted to kiss her. Badly.
Her closeness, the scent of her hair and the defiant sparkle in her eyes were all conspiring to elicit strange stirrings in his body. The electrical current that ran between them was firing a burning in his veins that insisted on contact. His hands moved from her wrists to cup her face. “I have a plan,” he murmured, his forehead pressed to hers, “but first I need to do this.” He leaned in slowly, pressing his lips to hers in a searing fusion that sent the blood racing around his body, an out-of-control torrent that threatened to drag him in its wake.
Tyr had kissed many women since becoming famous but experienced as he was, kissing Irina was a revelation. Once his mouth found hers, he was lost, savoring her sweet cherry taste that made his head spin and his pulse skyrocket. Of course, his wayward friend perked up.
Irina had never experienced such a kiss in her whole life. His mouth hard against hers, gently probing, teasing her lips apart as his tongue flicked inside, challenging her to a duel. It was nothing like the kiss they had shared at the station. That kiss had been a whisper, a promise, a featherlike caress of possibility. This…this was an explosion that threatened to consume. No thought of resistance, a fire burst into life in her chest, her heart speeding up to outrun the flames that licked through her veins like a fuse on its way to ignite a bomb. She had no control. He claimed he was trying to protect her and when she glimpsed the hot intensity burning in his eyes, she found it hard to believe he was lying. It was so hard to fight against the tidal wave that was Tyr, the force of his presence a storm breaking over her resistance and shattering the steel of her resolve. I’m so easy. Giving in to the onslaught of his mouth, Irina surrendered to the kiss, her arms rising up of their own accord to grasp him around the neck. As she found herself inching closer, his hands roamed up her spine, imprinting her flesh with the memory of his touch even through the fabric of her shirt. His hands began to pull her forward but her body jerked suddenly as the safety belts held her in place.
She watched as Tyr fell backward, his attempt to close the distance between them foiled by the restraints. His hands moved over hers and again Irina caught a glimpse of the expression she had seen on his face when they had merely brushed lips at the police station. It was one of shock. She sucked in some air, trying to compose herself and noticing that he was breathing just as heavily. She knew he was trying to give her reassurance when he clasped her hands tighter. Their eyes locked together as the helicopter began a sudden descent. “I think we’ve arrived,” he said cutting the connection. The air lay cold on her flesh as he withdrew and Irina could only lament the loss of his heat.
Leaning back, Tyr let go of her hand and pulled away, his heart pounding. What this woman did to him! He needed to play it cool with her, keep some distance until this situation was resolved and Melanie and Delora were safe. But every time he was near her it was as if some positive-negative force of attraction was exerting a pressure that was impossible to break. Struggling to find words, he was saved moments later by the door opening and Tyr was surprised to see Jaro Rodach standing outside.
“Long time no see,” Jaro quipped as he motioned them out. Behind him stood a group of four heavily armed guards and Tyr swore he could see the glint of that same yellow in their eyes. More of those Discordant aliens, he thought, wondering if Jaro was also one of them. It was hard to tell, their Earthani form indistinguishable from that of real humans.
“Twice in two days. This is becoming a habit—can’t keep away from me, can you Rodach? Didn’t realize you loved me so much.” Tyr smirked inwardly as Rodach scowled in annoyance.
“Just biding my time for that rematch,” he growled back.
The helicopter had landed on the lawn in front of a large imposing manor house. Tyr moved his arm to guide Irina toward the entrance. Rodach pulled her aside and pushed her toward two of the guards. “She goes with them,” he said, motioning Tyr onward with his gun.
Tyr stood his ground as Irina’s eyes widened in fear. “Boss says to take care of her boys,” shouted Rodach as they ushered her away. “Show her a good time!”
Tyr lunged toward Irina. “Godammit!” he shouted. “You better leave her alone!” So much for appearing unconcerned. The remaining guards held him back but Tyr continued to struggle against them.
“Cool it, Bellor!” shouted Rodach when Tyr continued to resist. Tyr had no thought of complying, all his focus on protecting Irina. Rodach watched him a moment, giving a small shrug before smashing his gun down heavily against Tyr’s head. “I’ve wanted to do that for a while now. Thanks for giving me an excuse,” he said coolly.
“Tyr!” Irina’s screams piercing his heart, Tyr’s body sagged from the heavy blow, his vision blurring as the guards dragged her away from him.
Fear snaked around his chest when Rodach raked his eyes up and down Irina’s trembling frame. “She’s a bit skinny, lads,” Rodach said before following them, “but I guess beggars can’t be choosers.” Another savage blow to his head and this time Tyr lost consciousness.
Chapter Thirteen
Tyr awoke slowly, head aching as if crushed by a ten-ton bus. There was blood on his temple but all in all it could have been worse. Luckily he had always been a quick healer. Shaking off the grogginess, he took in his surroundings. They had thrown him into a small cell. Good going, Tyr, from one jail to another.
His next thought was Irina. If they hurt her, he would split them open and fry their intestines while they were still conscious. Especially Rodach’s. He would have the addition
of having his testicles boiled. The whole lot would look good stuffed into his mouth. Ketchup, anyone?
The burning need to find her as quickly as possible overtook other more vengeful thoughts. Think. Abrasax had made it clear what he wanted him to do and Irina was an integral part of the plan, but his minions were not party to that information and Tyr did not trust them with her for one minute longer than necessary. He had to make sure she was safe.
Tyr carefully considered his options, knowing he might end up having to seriously injure or even kill some of the guards in order to escape, but he guessed Abrasax would see that as collateral damage. He clenched his teeth in determination, he would do that and more to protect Irina and it wouldn’t be the first time.
She was right in some respects—he was a killer—he couldn’t deny it. His life on the streets had been a chaos of kill or be killed, constant battles for survival. He remembered his first lesson, not long after he had been abandoned. Having fallen in with a group of boys in a similar situation to himself, he had ended up as part of a gang run by a nefarious individual called Valac, a particularly nasty character, rather like a Fagin but much less charming. He ruled them with a rod of iron and if they ignored his instructions, they starved. The memory of his first encounter with the man resurfaced, flooding his brain with unwanted images he had tried so hard to forget.
Valac held out the bread toward him. As Tyr went to take it, Valac drew his hand back quickly, a twisted sneer on his face. “I don’t tolerate layabouts here,” he said. “You need to fight for what you want. Are you hungry, boy?”
Tyr nodded, his solemn eyes wistfully staring at the crusts as if they were a three-course banquet. His stomach gurgled. Saliva in his mouth.
