“Why’d we stop?”
He unfastened his seat belt and looked at Morgan. She’d been asleep for over an hour and still sounded groggy. Exhaustion and boredom were a potent combination. “Stay down and keep quiet. If you obey, for once, I’ll allow you to sit up after the exchange.”
She looked as if she’d argue then released a loud sigh and returned her head to the seat of their borrowed car. Though she was no longer bound to the seat, her arms and legs were restrained, so she shouldn’t be able to cause too much trouble. With lingering reluctance, Nazerel left her alone in the car and went to speak with Phil.
Phil swung his door open and unfolded his tall, thin body from inside the SUV. With medium brown hair and common brown eyes, Phil went out of his way to appear ordinary, forgettable, and mistakably human. The Bilarrian trader had been recommended to Nazerel by a trusted friend before he left Ontariese. Phil was known for locating the unusual, arranging the impossible, and the exorbitant prices he charged for his miracles. All of that had been well and good, but what convinced Nazerel to contact Phil had been his reputation for keeping secrets.
Sevrin had been careless in many ways because of her belief that he was utterly dependent upon her. Such had never been the case. Nazerel had carefully crafted plan B long before he accepted her invitation to join her on Earth. He had hoped Sevrin would live up to her promises, had proceeded as if he believed every word she told him, but in secret he nurtured a few strategic contacts and Phil was one of them. It hadn’t taken long for Nazerel to realize the precautions had been wise. Sevrin was a lying, self-serving bitch who wanted to exploit the unique physiology of Shadow Assassins.
“Greetings First Son of South,” Phil said with a friendly smile.
“I’m Nazerel Southmor now and we’re beyond such formality.” They shook hands and Nazerel returned his smile.
“The provisions you ordered are packed in the vehicle and your special order is in here.” He held out his hand, a plastic bag dangling from his fingers by the handles.
Nazerel accepted the bag and quickly looked through its contents. He took out the mist dispenser and asked, “How long will the sedative last?”
“Depends on the size of the person.”
“Athletic human female.”
“Around eight hours.”
Something behind Nazerel caught Phil’s attention, so Nazerel turned around to see what had distracted him. Morgan’s shiny red hair was clearly visible between the two front seats. She had one shoulder braced against the back of the seat as she looked around. He better make this quick. His feisty prisoner was getting restless.
He turned back to Phil, continuing on as if neither of them had seen anything unusual. “Eight hours?” Phil nodded. That should give him plenty of time to reach his destination and set up camp before Morgan became a problem again. “And there are no side effects?”
“It’s harmless and effective. We’ve used it on Bilarri for decades.” He motioned toward the bag. “I loaded one of the sedative cartridges for you, but there are several other varieties included as well, analgesic, antibiotic, antitoxin.” He shrugged. “I wasn’t sure how long you planned to be tromping around in the woods.”
“Not long enough to need any of that, but I appreciate the thought.”
“All right then. Obviously your transfer of funds was successful or I wouldn’t be here.”
The sizable fortune Nazerel had brought with him from Ontariese was another advantage of which Sevrin was unaware. He had guarded every word and expression to make sure no one realized he could sever their arrangement at any moment and just walk away. Not even his men knew. He hadn’t been willing to risk Sevrin finding out about his deception. It would have been utter folly to follow her to a strange planet without any means of providing for his needs and the needs of his men.
“Disposal of the car was included,” Phil told him. “Is there anything else I can get for you?”
“Everything seems to be in order for now, but how are plans for off-world transportation going?”
“Things were much easier when you could open a portal yourself. Any hope that you’ll free yourself from the collar before you’re ready to depart?”
“It’s my top priority, but you better make arrangements for either situation.”
“Of course. It’s more complicated without your abilities, but I’ve arranged this sort of thing before. It shouldn’t take more than a day or two. Do you have a final head count yet?”
“I don’t. Is that important?”
“Not really. Smugglers prefer smaller groups, but I can accomplish most anything.”
Nazerel smiled. “I noticed.”
“I’ll contact you when everything is in place.”
“Wonderful and I appreciate the fast delivery on this. I look forward to doing business with you again.” Nazerel motioned toward the car. “Give me a minute to move my belongings.”
Phil flashed a conspirator’s smile. “Would you like me to assist you with that?”
“No need.”
Nazerel slipped his arm through the handles on the bag as he returned to the car. He opened the door by Morgan’s head. She looked up at him and he pressed the button on the top of the mister. She gasped as the cloud of mist hit her face, which was the intention of the design. Her eyes blinked and she sputtered, but the drug became more effective with each indignant breath.
Scooping her up in his arms like a child, Nazerel pulled her from the car and walked to the passenger side of the SUV. Phil had opened the door for him but then quickly turned away. His customers expected discretion and Phil never failed to provide. Nazerel set Morgan down on the seat then straightened. “We’re good. You don’t need to stick around.”
Phil needed no other prompting. “Until next time.” He climbed into the stolen car and drove away.
Anxious to resume his voyage, Nazerel freed Morgan’s wrists and drew her hands in front of her. It was unlikely she’d regain consciousness, but he wasn’t taking any chances. He took out the velvet-lined cuffs and couldn’t help but smile. These would be much easier on her skin than the plastic strips, but she would likely find them even more provoking. He enjoyed annoying her. Her soft ivory skin flushed and her sky-blue eyes gleamed when she was angry. It made him hunger for the feel of her arching beneath him, rubbing her soft curves against his chest.
But such distractions needed to wait until they were in a safer location. He buckled the cuffs around her wrists then secured the buckles with a tiny padlock. A small length of chain connected the cuffs and it could be fastened with a matching padlock. Instead of bothering with the third lock, he wove the seat belt through her arms further restricting her movements. Last he located the lever for the seat back and adjusted the angle until she rested more comfortably.
With his passenger once again secured, he moved to the driver’s side and climbed in behind the wheel. He took his phone out of his pocket and launched the security program for the Team South house. He’d already checked the camera feeds twice, but he couldn’t stop hoping the images would change. Room after room scrolled across his screen, each one the same. Overturned furniture and blast marks on walls, but each room was empty. The only thing that gave him hope was the complete lack of blood. It was unlikely anyone had died in the battle, but were his men fugitives, scattered to the wind, or prisoners of the Mystic Militia?
He could do nothing to assist his men if he was caught. So escape must be his top priority. Freeing himself from the suppression collar was equally important, like it or not, that was where his prisoner became useful.
With a six-hour drive ahead of him, there was no reason to delay. He sighed at the thought. How did humans tolerate the excruciating pace of automobile travel? He plugged his phone into the power adapter and then connected it to the radio. Flynn had introduced him to a genre of music called Grunge. Nazerel found many things about humans strange, but he was fascinated by their music. Something about the distorted guitars and angst-filled
voices struck a common chord within his soul. He found his longest playlist and set it on shuffle. Hopefully that would help fill the empty hours.
* * * * *
Morgan woke up slowly, drifting back to consciousness as if she were trudging through mud. She was no longer moving. In fact she was flat on her back on something relatively soft. Her legs were no longer bent and her arms were extended above her head. There was no way she was still in a car.
She tried to move her arms, but her body felt weighted, sluggish. Or she was bound! Her eyes flew open and fear cleared her mind. She tugged against whatever was holding her hands. The bite of the zip tie was gone, but the new bindings held her firmly. She twisted her head, hoping to unravel the mystery. Her hair had come loose from its neat bun and now spread across her arms, covering her hands. She drew up her knees, thrilled to discover her legs weren’t tied down. But the next revelation was even more upsetting. She wore only her bra and panties. The bastard had even removed her boots and socks. Was he simply trying to discourage her from running away or had his motives been more licentious?
Refusing to panic, she looked around. She was in a mid-size camping tent and her bed was several unzipped sleeping bags. There was a cooler near the entrance and two large crates loaded with supplies. Where the hell was she? Her throat tightened and her mouth dried up as her heartbeat echoed in her ears. It looked as if he intended to keep her here for quite some time, but where was here?
She closed her eyes and held perfectly still, forcing on audible clues. The buzzing of insects reached her first then the distant call of a bird. There were no city sounds, no engines or car horns. They were definitely secluded, but she couldn’t tell more without seeing outside.
The tent smelled a bit stale and she detected something else as well. Smoke, faint and pleasant, like the telltale scent of a campfire. How long had she been out? More importantly, was Nazerel arrogant enough to use a public campground? She opened her eyes and turned her head toward the zippered opening that served as a door. There was one easy way to find out.
She took a deep breath and screamed as loud as she could. When no one immediately responded she screamed again.
Mocking her with each lazy movement, Nazerel made his way inside the tent. He even took time to lower the zipper before he turned to face her again. “I was beginning to wonder if you’d ever wake up.”
The smug bastard looked amused not concerned. “Where the hell are we and why am I still tied up?” Not to mention nearly naked!
“Our location isn’t important—though screaming is obviously a waste of breath—and you’re still bound because you defy me at every turn.”
“I’m your prisoner. Of course, I defy you. Humans don’t do well in captivity.”
He actually smiled. The jerk. “I think with the right master you’ll do just fine in captivity.”
She gasped at his boast, which was probably what he wanted. “You’re not my master. You’re not my anything.”
“Perhaps not, but you’re my prisoner until I see fit to release you.”
It was a little hard to argue with that while she was flat on her back and tied up to boot. She couldn’t hope to best him in a physical confrontation, she had to think, strategize. “I need some water.”
His head tilted and his brow arched. “Ask me nicely.”
Her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak. Defying him now only punished herself, but she was seriously tempted. “May I please have some water?”
Sauntering over to the plastic crates, he rummaged around for a moment and found a bottle of water. He twisted off the top and took a leisurely drink before approaching the makeshift bed. “If you kick me, I’ll restrain your legs. If you spit on me at any time for any reason, you forfeit the rest of your clothes.” He bent to one knee beside her and slipped his arm under her shoulders. Lifting her slightly, he brought the bottle to her lips and let her drink her fill.
The time for anger was past. She couldn’t escape him as long as she was bound and virtually naked. Despite her very real need to “defy him at every turn”, it was more important to earn his trust and find, or create, an opportunity to get the hell away from him. “So what will it take for you to ‘see fit to release’ me?”
He just stared at her for a moment, his arm warm and solid against her back. “I told you what I wanted before we left.” After lowering her to the bedding, he stood and returned the half-empty bottle to the crate. “Your freedom for mine.”
She shook her head despite her pounding heart. “They will never—”
“Cut the bullshit, Morgan.” His expression turned fierce as he faced her. “You’re director of the taskforce, which means you own this collar.” She felt her eyes widen and quickly relaxed her lids. “Yes, I know how it works. Anyone can close the collar, but only the owner can open it. There is no ‘they’ involved in this negotiation. It’s between you and me. Release me from the collar and I’ll release you from my tender care.”
She’d known Nazerel was smart, but she hadn’t expected him to put the pieces together this quickly. “Lor owns the collar and he will never release you.” The statement was true. Bilarrian scientists had provided her team with the coding needed to establish co-ownership. Lor was the collar’s owner, but then so was she.
“I think you’re lying.”
“I don’t care what you think. How did you find out about the taskforce? My contact said Sevrin didn’t know.”
One of his brows arched and she didn’t think he’d answer, then he said, “I stopped depending on Sevrin for reliable intel shortly after we arrived on Earth. Who’s your contact?”
“It doesn’t matter and you can browbeat me all night. I can’t unlock the collar.”
“There’s another option.”
Thank God. She did not want Nazerel focused on her personally. “I’m listening.”
His gaze moved over her body with insolent interest as he stalked toward her. “My power spikes whenever I’m feeling strong emotions, like anger.” He looked directly into her eyes. “Or lust.” He knelt beside the sleeping bags and placed his hand on her belly. He just let it rest there, a warm weight against her tense abdomen. “It might take days, even weeks, but I’ll keep trying. Once I find the perfect combination of desire and rage, I’ll access my power long enough to disable the collar.”
“I don’t respond well to threats.” She twisted around and kicked him in the shoulder.
He laughed. “It’s not a threat and your response isn’t necessary.” He grabbed her ankle when she tried to kick him again. “But you will respond.”
He couldn’t be serious. Please God, let this be a bluff. “Shadow Assassins detest rape. Everyone insists their captives aren’t abused.”
“I have no intention of raping you.” He moved closer. His knees pressed against her side as his fingers lightly caressed her skin. “I’m going to look at your amazing body and touch you in progressively more intimate ways until my senses are on fire. Then I’ll use the intensity to burn through the collar’s circuitry.” He slid his hand just under one of her breasts and pushed his thumb between, still on top of her bra. “Or you can admit you own the collar and avoid all those unwanted touches.”
“I don’t own the collar and your definition of rape must be different than mine. Any unwanted touching falls within my definition of rape.”
“Really?” His fingertips skimmed across her skin, circling her navel and tracing the waistband of her panties until she began to squirm. “Do you feel defiled?”
“Not yet, so stop now.”
He laughed and the blue rings flickered to life within his dark eyes. “Let me know when I’ve crossed the line.” He retraced his path then avoided her breasts entirely and explored her upraised arms.
“This isn’t funny.” Morgan turned her head, unable to think with his penetrating stare boring into hers. Everything about him was brutal, so how could he touch her so gently. He found a particularly sensitive spot near her elbow and she shiv
ered.
“Are you ticklish?” He teased the sensitive bend with ruthless patience until she was wriggling helplessly.
It didn’t tickle, exactly. It sent strange tingles down her arm and lower, much lower, to places she refused to think about. Her nipples were getting hard and her skin felt tight and prickly. She couldn’t let him do this to her. She would not be turned on by his sick game. Rolling away from him, she brought her knees up toward her chest and pressed her thighs together. “Leave me alone.”
“I don’t want to.”
She could see him moving in her peripheral vision. Oh God, he was taking off his shirt. Was that all he was taking off? Panic sliced through her and she looked over her shoulder. Big mistake. He knelt on the edge of the sleeping bags bare to the waist, a golden-skinned sculpture of masculine symmetry. She whipped her head back around, but it was too late. His image was seared into her brain. She found his features harshly intriguing, so full of determination and pride, but his torso was a work of art, perfectly proportioned and harshly defined. Even his eclectic collection of tattoos only added to his savage beauty.
Despite her fear and determination to remain unaffected by his seduction, her body came alive, melting and aching for the pleasures she continually denied herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t like sex, she did, quite a lot actually, but her life made intimate relationships almost impossible.
This wasn’t the beginning of an “intimate relationship”, this was cruel manipulation. So he had an amazing body. That didn’t mean she was powerless against him. Elias was well-built too and she didn’t go into heat every time she saw him without his shirt. She was just tired and stressed beyond belief.
Nazerel lay down behind her and slipped one arm beneath her neck. Then he pulled her toward him, which angled her upraised arms away from her head. It also took the slack out of the restraints so she couldn’t slam her elbow into his face, she realized. The man didn’t miss much. He pressed against her back and wrapped his other arm around her waist. He did nothing else for a long time, just lay there and let the heat of his body surround her.
Rebel Heat Page 3
