Spider Game

by Christine Feehan

  At first she thought maybe she hadn't used enough strength to reach him, but their connection was so strong she couldn't imagine that, so she stayed still and waited.

  Coordinates.

  Just that. His touch was every bit as subtle as hers had been. He knew. He understood she was compromised and he was already coming to her. A part of her didn't like that she'd reached out, asking for help. Not in a combat situation. She always worked alone and that suited her, but she couldn't deny that there were moments she could have used help and it was sheer luck that she survived and not her enemy.

  She sent the coordinates and the information that she was pinned down. One sniper in the tree with her and the other focused on the first marksman. She didn't want Trap dead, so that meant risking communicating even more information. She kept her gaze just to the right of the marksman below her. She didn't want a steady gaze to alert him, but she had to see what he was doing at all times.

  He lifted his eye from the scope and shook his head. He looked around and then pressed his hand over his ear. He'd caught an echo or backlash of the psychic conversation. She wasn't surprised. She was only a few feet from him. She didn't dare close her eyes, or change her breathing pattern. She kept it slow and even, hoping Trap didn't talk any more to her. She tried to hold the danger in her mind, so if he touched her, he would see it. She willed him to see it.

  Without warning, the man below her bent to his rifle, a smile playing around his mouth. "Got you, you big bastard." He sounded elated. He caressed the trigger with his finger and then adjusted something on his rifle.

  Her heart skipped a beat. She turned her head slowly to follow where his rifle was aimed. She could see into a tree a distance away. Trap was there, coming up behind the other sniper, the one aiming straight at the tree she occupied. There was no way in hell the marksman below her was going to kill Trap. No way.

  She used silk, wrapping it quickly around the rifle, jerking it away from him just as he fired the shot. The rifle banged against the tree just below her, and the other sniper took his shot. She was already in motion, leaping on the man below her, trusting Trap to kill the one already lining up his second shot at her. She put him from her mind as her enemy caught her in big hands and tried to throw her off of him.

  She clung to him, refusing to allow it. At once, he wrapped his hand around her throat and began to squeeze. He used his other one to keep her mouth from closing in on him. He didn't seem to need both hands to strangle her. He was strong enough with one. She couldn't reach any part of him with her mouth as long as his hand was around her throat, and worse, she didn't have much time. Already she was seeing spots and the edges of her vision had gone black.

  He had armor beneath his skin, but his throat was vulnerable. She retaliated the only way open to her, she wrapped silk around his neck, forming a noose, and pulled it as tight as she could. He was holding her off her feet, so she didn't have leverage, but she managed to plant her feet on the tree trunk and use her strength to lever backward. He was unprepared for that move, distracted by the silk strangling him, and he staggered, loosening his hold on her throat.

  She lunged at him, sinking her teeth into his wrist, trying to inject enough venom to paralyze him. His fist caught her hair and yanked her head away from him. He flung her out of the tree by her hair. She turned in midair and landed on her feet in a crouch. She couldn't drag in enough air. Her lungs burned and her throat felt swollen. It was painful to swallow. She kept her eyes on him as she landed.

  Smirking, he drew another gun from his boot. She was ready for that. The moment he pulled it out, she sent strands of silk to capture it, wrapping it up and yanking it away from him. The gun went flying out of the tree. He leapt to the ground, following it, landing right in front of her. At the last moment she caught the gleam of a blade as it raced straight at her.

  She hated knives. Really hated them. Knives reminded her of the thin needles piercing through her hands and shoulders, through her feet and ankles. So thin, but causing so much pain. The knife went into her abdomen, the tip cutting through her skin. The burn was a bear, but the woven silk stopped the blade from going any farther in spite of the strength behind the stab.

  Their bodies were close. She stared up at the triumph in his eyes as she leaned into him and bit his wrist where he held the knife, still certain he could push the blade into her. She was just as certain he couldn't. She didn't feel triumph when she delivered the lethal dose of venom into his veins. She felt nothing at all. She was--empty.

  She stood toe to toe with him, the tip of the knife burning through her flesh, watching the venom take him. Time slowed down and for Cayenne, the process seemed to take forever. He reached for her throat again, wrapping his fingers there. He let go of the knife and tried to reach with the other hand, clearly intending to wrench her neck, to break it, knowledge that the knife refused to go any farther into her finally hitting him.

  The stunned look she'd seen before. The recognition that it was too late for him. His arms dropped. His knees went to the ground. She stepped aside, her palm cradling the knife. He toppled face-first into the vegetation. She stared down at his body for what seemed an eternity. She was exhausted and wanted to spin a cocoon, crawl into it and sleep for a week.

  "Give me the knife, baby," Trap said softly, his arm curling around her waist. "Let me take a look."

  She looked up at him--at his gorgeous, tough, all-male features. His beautiful eyes, at times so cold they could freeze a person from the inside out, or, like now, blue flames that spread warmth right through bones. His hand wrapped gently around hers and he took the weapon from her and dropped it on the fallen supersoldier.

  Trap frowned as his fingertips moved over her throat, confirming the evidence of her swollen, burning throat was there for all to see.

  "The wound is shallow. I injected the venom and he went down." Her voice sounded hoarse and it hurt to get the words out.

  "Your throat?"

  "Burns, but it will be all right. Was anyone else injured?"

  He reached down, one arm sliding behind her knees, the other around her back. He lifted her against his chest, cradling her close. She should have protested. She didn't want to be carried through the swamp for his entire team to see, but his body was warm and she was cold. Shivering. Numb. Empty.

  "Let me have this," he coaxed softly, nuzzling the top of her head with his chin. "I had to watch him strangling you. I saw him throw you out of the tree and then go after you with a knife. I need this, baby. Give this to me."

  She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest. He wasn't talking about carrying her back to the SUV. He was talking about something altogether different. She couldn't help herself. He felt strong. Warm. He felt like--hers. Hers. She'd never had anything or anyone in her life. Trap Dawkins could be as cold as ice, or he could be this man. Perfect. Gentle. Amazing.

  He was both, and accepting one meant accepting the other. She wanted him to be hers always. Whatever that took, she was willing to try. To have moments like this one, when she was so empty she needed him to fill her.

  Her arms went around his neck, the fingers of one hand curling in his unruly hair. The other curved around his neck. Her body melted into his. Boneless. Pliant.

  Are you giving this to me?

  Her lashes felt too heavy to keep up. Was she? There was no other answer but "yes." None. Because he was hers, and she wanted to keep him. She even needed that.

  I feel empty, Trap, used up and cold. I hurt everywhere. I just want to lie down and be warm. My throat is very painful. She gave him the truth. She shared the truth of her condition, made herself completely vulnerable to him. She felt completely vulnerable in that moment, giving him the raw, stark truth of what killing did to her.

  She didn't feel elated, but she didn't feel remorse. Just empty. Either he could understand or he couldn't. In that moment, she couldn't even muster up enough strength to be alarmed that she'd confessed her darkness to him.

&nbs
p; I'll get you home and take care of you, baby. You're safe with me.

  CHAPTER 12

  Trap took Cayenne straight through the house to the master suite. His bedroom. He'd wanted her in his bed since the first moment when he saw her in that cell. So beautiful. So alone. He was a cynical man. He knew that and accepted it about himself. He was pure logic and operated without nerves or fears--until he saw Cayenne. The ice in his veins had melted, and something so hot he was afraid it would consume them both had taken the place of the ice.

  Draden came in behind him and placed the bags of clothing and shoes on the dresser. "She all right? Didn't want to ask in front of the others. Her throat looks bad, bruises and swelling."

  "I'm a doctor," Trap reminded, his arms tightening around Cayenne, holding her against his body as if that could somehow undo all the damage done to her. "Same as you." His voice was clipped, and he knew it shouldn't have been. Draden really was concerned for Cayenne.

  The others had looked at her, then Trap's face, and no one had said a word. His face said it all. He was furious that she had been nearly killed--furious at himself. Terrified of losing her. Stark, raw terror had been there in his eyes and he didn't want his teammates adding to that fear. He wasn't used to the kind of emotions that tore him apart anymore. He'd been done with all feeling when the last of his family had been ripped away from him.

  He wasn't the kind of man to commit to a relationship, to practically force a woman to accept him as a partner--not unless he was in so deep it would kill him to lose it all. He didn't build a home inside a factory or have someone come in to decorate shit to please a woman. He didn't think in terms of pleasing anyone, let alone a woman. He kept his life void of entanglements because he never--ever--wanted to be vulnerable. Yet there he was, his woman in his arms, her throat black and blue and swollen, and he'd watched as the soldier had tried to kill her.

  He'd been too far away. He'd killed the other sniper, but even with his speed, he couldn't get to Cayenne, and that left him angry. His gut in tight knots. Bile in his throat. His heart nearly stopping. Physical. Visceral. Raw and primal. He wasn't a man to feel any of those things.

  He'd shut down his emotions. He lived the way he wanted, without any entanglements, free of all emotional vulnerabilities. Until the moment he had walked through the cell wall and laid his eyes on her. Her voice, hypnotic and sexy, had washed into his brain and left him wanting. Feeling. Too much. Far too much.

  "You need anything, Trap, give a shout-out," Draden said, and backed from the room.

  Fuck. Trap didn't want to leave it like that. Draden was a brother. Someone he'd allowed in his life, almost as close as Wyatt. He was friends on his terms, and the others let him get away with it. He didn't even know when it happened. He stayed aloof and he was rude, and went for days without talking, but still they were his friends and they had his back.

  "Draden," he said softly, his voice low. Almost wishing the man wouldn't hear. Of course he did, Draden was a GhostWalker with all the enhancements available to him, including hearing. Draden half turned, looked at him over his shoulder, face impassive. Trap lifted his chin at him in a small salute. "Thanks, man." It was small, but it was enough. Trap saw it in Draden's eyes. Draden merely sent him an identical chin lift and then turned and walked out, leaving Trap alone with Cayenne.

  He put a knee to the bed and carefully laid her down on the sheets. He hadn't made the bed that morning. He rarely made his bed. It seemed silly when he was getting into it at night. "Baby, I need to check for broken bones."

  Her lashes fluttered. Lifted. He stared down into emerald green. His heart did a curious melting thing that left him speechless. She shook her head, the tip of her tongue touching her lips.

  "No broken bones," she managed to croak out.

  "I have to make certain," he said gently.

  "My bones are too soft to break."

  He stared down at her beautiful face. Bruises were coming up around her throat. On her cheek. Her voice sounded raspy, but she seemed certain. He touched his fingers to her swollen throat. "I didn't like seeing him doing this to you, Cayenne. Fucking hated it. I don't think I can go through that again. You might have to wrap yourself in a little cocoon where only I can get to you. I'm going to be having nightmares for weeks. Months maybe." He made the confession in a low, shaky voice.

  His voice never shook. She had done something to him, and he didn't know how to undo it. He didn't even want to try. The intellectual part of his brain, which was the largest part of him, continued to tell him he'd been paired with her. That such strong feelings for her were a result of being alone too long. Loneliness. A longing for what Wyatt had. The trouble was, even if all those things were true, he didn't care.

  "Baby, I'm going to have to look at your body, see what damage he did. I saw him stick you with a knife."

  I need to sleep.

  "You can sleep, but don't bite me when I take off your clothes. I'm not going to do anything to you but look after you." His fingers smoothed back her hair, liking the way it made a dark cloud across his pillow. He'd dreamt of that thick mass, shiny black across his pillow, his fingers delving deep to find the source of those beautiful red strands with their unique pattern.

  I'm too tired to bite anyone, she whispered into his mind. But I need to go downstairs. This is too open for me. I need . . . smaller. Protection.

  He looked around his room. It was very large. Huge. He needed space. Lots of it. He liked to see what was coming at him. He had several escape routes scattered through the walls, floor and ceiling.

  "I can protect you."

  The lashes fluttered. Raised. Her beautiful green eyes sent a wicked punch straight to his gut. I can't relax like this.

  "Spin your webs around the bed. Make us a veil, baby. I'd like that, a canopy over our bed. Do you have enough strength to do that?"

  She studied his face, her eyes brooding. Thoughtful. A little frightened. She knew what he wanted. Her. In his bed. More of a commitment.

  "Baby. I need this. You. Here. With me. I need this." He admitted it aloud to her, trying to show her. Trying to give her that vulnerable part of him to make up for being a complete bastard. After watching her nearly die right in front of him, he needed to have her close. "I wouldn't fit in your bed. I'm too tall. Weigh too much. All muscle, babe, which is good part of the time but not so good in that little bed you curl up in."

  You put the bed down there.

  "My mistake. I didn't think you'd be down there long and I was trying . . ." He trailed off. He'd tried to duplicate her cell in some ways, in order for her to subconsciously accept the apartment as her home. A good first step in accepting the place as home and then him as belonging to her.

  He held her eyes to allow her to see the complete vulnerability in him. The stark, raw need. He knew it showed. There was no hiding that deep of a need. It came from a place of terror, something he hadn't experienced since the first gunshot rang out in his childhood home. That nightmare was far too close, pressing on him, the loss of the ones he loved. He'd let her in. He needed her now.

  She nodded slowly. It will take a few minutes.

  "I'll get ready for bed. Leave a route to the bathroom." If she was feeling better later in the night, they'd need it. He didn't say that, but he turned away from her, not giving her the opportunity to change her mind. He hurried into the bathroom and shed his clothes, took care of business, concentrating on keeping his heartbeat as steady as possible.

  He'd planned out his battle strategy, trying to find ways he thought would appeal to Cayenne to lure her into staying during and after renovations of the only building she had been able to call home there in the swamp. His biggest hurdle was gaining her trust. As far as he could see, she'd never had a reason to trust anyone. He could see that in her eyes when she looked at him--her defenses working right behind all that green. Her fear. She was drawn to him, compelled to be close to him, but trusting him was an altogether different proposition. He knew the fact th
at she wanted to give him that was half the battle. If he could keep his terror--and his reaction to it--under control, he'd have a better chance.

  When he walked out from the bathroom, stark naked, his room had been transformed. He stopped, his breath catching in his throat as he stared at the lacy, artistic design shrouding his bed. Floor-to-ceiling silk formed a heavy veil, with feelers running through the room, along the walls and creeping out the door. A web covered the two entrances. Neither of those was ornate, not like the beautiful one wrapping up his bed. She'd created a tunnel for them between the bathroom and the bed and he stood upright in it. The fact that he could meant she'd calculated the height and width of the passageway so he could walk easily. He loved that she could do that. Fucking loved it.

  He padded through the tunnel to the bed. She was so small there under his covers, he might have missed her but for the black silk spilling over the pillow. Once again he put his knee on the edge of the bed and leaned so he could pull her smaller body to him.

  Cayenne didn't resist. She didn't even move her head, but her lashes fluttered as he flipped back the covers. His breath left his lungs in a rush. She had shed her clothes and was as naked as he was. Her color was better. Her body was as lush or even more so than he remembered from the night before. This time his hands were free. He couldn't help using his finger to trace the little hourglass nestled into the tiny black curls at the junction of her legs as he took in her body. Every inch of it. Looking for injuries. Memorizing the exotic luxury that was Cayenne. That was his.

  The knife had gone in low and mean. He could see the cut there, a raw wound that still seeped a little blood. He hated knives. He was adept at using them and often did when he went into an enemy camp and didn't want his presence known, but he knew often, the wound wasn't the problem, infection was.

  His fingers probed around the cut. Not deep. In fact, fairly shallow. He didn't see how that was possible when she'd fought off a supersoldier, one with enormous strength. He should have been able to drive the blade deep. Clearly the bite she'd given the soldier had saved her. Very gently Trap cleansed the area around the wound with antiseptic and then placed a triple antibiotic cream over it. He added a bandage. She didn't wince. She didn't move, just kept her eyes on his face.