by Tara Quan
* * * *
“Do you plan on watching me the entire time?” Scarlet asked as she placed her plastic toothbrush in the earthenware cup. It had been damp when she reached for it. Marcus’ breath had smelled minty. She tried not to put the two together and failed.
The man was sitting with his back against the doorjamb. His long legs stretched toward the tub and usurped most of the tiled floor. He was making it impossible for her to ignore his presence. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”
“I’m allowed one big mistake.” Though she tried to stay annoyed, the steaming water was too much temptation for her tired bones. Even with a well just outside, she had never summoned the energy to fill the tub. Heating this much water for a single bath was too impractical to contemplate. Faced with such an outrageous bribe, she didn’t have the conviction to stay angry.
Nor did she want to talk. Too much had happened since they were last together. The once paralyzing regret was now just a memory—the emotion replaced by mistrust. Marcus was her enemy, and she didn’t know how to handle it. How real could the past have been if they had both chosen other loyalties over each other?
Logic overruled indignation. There was no harm in letting him see her naked again. Fixing her gaze on the oil lantern hanging from the windowsill, she unzipped her hooded sweatshirt and slid it off her arms. She left the thin T-shirt on as she unfastened the buttons on her jeans. Caked undead blood had plastered the thick fabric to her skin. With a grunt and some single-legged hopping, she managed to yank it off. Not exactly a sexy sight.
But once her legs were bare, she shivered. Sensual awareness rather than the cold triggered the reaction. Perhaps her mind was playing tricks on her, but she could feel Marcus’ gaze lingering on every shadowed curve and plane. She hesitated. A vain part of her didn’t want him to see a reality less perfect than memory. Pride kept her hands moving. It shouldn’t matter what he thought.
She pulled off her top and heard Marcus’ breath come out as a low hiss. She waited for questions to start, but there was only silence. Relieved, she untied the cloth binding her breasts, hesitating for just a moment before forging on and letting the linen fall away. A second later, she slipped off her panties and stepped into the bath.
It was pure bliss. She sank into the water and let the scalding heat distract her from the man who had neither moved nor spoken. Not ready for the peace to end, she closed her eyes and submerged her head. Staying in the muffled cocoon for as long as she could, she combed her fingers through her knotted hair. When she was forced to come up for breath, she lifted her lids knowing too well what waited.
She blinked away the droplets on her lashes, breathing deeply in an attempt to slow her heart rate. Marcus’ blue eyes were less than two feet away from face. He had moved to kneel by the tub. In his hand was the lavender soap she had smelled earlier.
“Let me.” His words were a command, not a request.
Too tired to fight, she hugged her legs and bent forward. It gave him access to her hair as well as concealed her body. He didn’t seem to mind the hampered view. Dipping his large hands into the water, he worked up a lather. He handed her the soap before smoothing the foamy suds into her tresses. With his hands circling her head, he massaged her scalp as their breaths mingled.
She had never been able to banish the memory of Marcus’ face. With the room shadowed, his features appeared as a collection of hollows and planes. The cleft on his chin, the sharp turn of his jaw, the way the jagged wisps of blond hair traced his eyebrows—it all lent him a dangerous edge that reminded her of the day they first met.
It was no mystery why her mind equated him with safety. Knowing where his allegiances lay didn’t change the emotions his presence triggered. She had always known where he was from. No nomad possessed straight white teeth and a bunker full of scarce resources. Until she arrived back at the WITCH, she hadn’t known the city presented a danger.
She leaned back so her hair fell underwater. His hand supported her nape. She no longer cared if he had an unhampered view of her breasts. Almost purring as he worked his fingers through the tangled strands, she closed her eyes and let him wash the suds off her face. When he urged her to sit up again, she bit down on her lower lip to stifle a protesting moan. She didn’t want this to end.
His callused finger ran over one of the many healed lashes on her back. Reality came crashing to the fore. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”
Instead of responding, he took the soap from her hand and smoothed the bar over her neck. He lingered over each whip mark, submerging his arm in the warm liquid as he cleansed her lower back. When he was done, he gave the soap back to her and waited. “You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” His voice echoed in the small room.
Lowering her eyelashes, she scrubbed the rest of her body. The lack of pity in his tone influenced her more than any demand. When she felt clean, she looked up and faced the man who was once her savior. “I completed my task. It kept me alive. I still had to pay for what I’d done. And with the Prophet dead…it was better she took her anger out on me.”
“If you knew this would happen, why did you go back?” His words lacked emotion, but she could sense frustration behind his nonchalant mask. Lines of strain were evident on the corners of his mouth. She could see his jaw muscles protruding.
She lifted her wet fingers to smooth his furrowed brows. “Because I made a promise. Because my home is worth fighting for. Because I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if others died for my failings.”
“You were an idiot.” Heaving a deep sigh, he shook his head. “I should have taken you to the city the day we first met.”
Her lips curved into a small smile. “I would have fought you every step of the way.”
“I would have won.” His utter confidence made her laugh.
“Because you’re bigger?” she teased.
He crept forward. His hand circled her nape. His thumb rested against her collarbone. Their faces were less than an inch apart. His voice was a husky whisper. “Because you’re mine.”
His lips closed over hers. His tongue demanded entry. She closed her eyes and allowed him to take control. Her palms flattened against his chest. Water droplets from her hair dampened his shirt. She arched her back to give him better access. Her body shuddered as he bit down on her lower lip.
He could have pushed; he could have demanded and taken far more than she was ready to give. But his hands remained where they started, holding her steady as he continued to explore her mouth. She forgot to breathe. Her body burned with the need to have his palms move lower. She clenched her fingers on his collar and tried to pull him closer. He resisted. Breaking the kiss, he closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against hers.
Her breath came in shallow pants. “Why did you stop?”
He nudged her back into the water. The stress lines at the corner of his eyes betrayed the effort it took for him to end what had only just begun. “You need to rest. When we finish this, I won’t let you dismiss it as a moment of weakness.”
Her eyes widened. Restraint wasn’t something she had expected. “I can’t stay—”
He cupped her shoulders. “When was the last time you had a full night’s sleep?”
She searched her memories and came up blank.
“You’re in no shape to make the trek. If you still want to go tomorrow, we’ll talk about it. For now, why don’t you spend the night here?”
It had been so long since anyone had taken care of her. She closed her eyes, fought for resolve, and failed. “All right. But you need to—”
He placed his forefinger over her lips. “You’ll have a better chance at convincing me when your brain cells are firing. Let’s get you dried up and into bed.”
Chapter 8
Staring out at the flickering stars, Marcus fought the urge to reenter the cottage. He wanted to be with Red, not out in the dark padlocking a bolt-hole that sealed her inside. Wrong place, wrong time—it had alw
ays been their problem. It took a week for him to realize she’d taken up squatting rights in a corner of his heart. It took three more days to convince Her Royal Stubbornness the problem was mutual. But she had still left, and he hadn’t been able to keep her from getting hurt.
Fast asleep in a thigh-length T-shirt, with damp tresses plastered to her cheek and neck, Red managed to stir his protective instincts despite what he knew she was capable of. How she could appear adorable while snoring, he didn’t know. Even after exiting the cottage, he couldn’t put her out of his mind.
Memories of the lashes on her back made his teeth grind together. Whoever was responsible for torturing Red would have to answer to him.
But she wouldn’t talk about what happened. She refused to tell him why she was tethered to the cult like a dog on a leash. They were holding something over her, but he didn’t know what. For both their sakes, he needed to break her silence.
The kidnappings had drawn insane amounts of media attention to the WOLF. Every general with a star pinned got an hourly report on their progress. Casualties weren’t acceptable. The brass wanted the cult taken down without spilling a drop of blood. Marcus didn’t envy Dane Prince the poster boy role in this impossible mission. The WITCH was armed to the teeth and had land mines buried along every approach. It didn’t matter if their disciples were once kidnapping victims. They were all trained to kill.
With a low whistle, Marcus called Gold. Grabbing fistfuls of mane, he braced his weight on the withers and hoisted himself up. His long legs circled the horse’s thick torso, allowing his body to respond to the animal’s movements. He squeezed his legs and urged Gold to trot.
An illogical part of him hesitated at leaving Red behind. He couldn’t explain the sick feeling in his stomach as the distance between them widened. The cottage was as secure as any bunker. The four windows were boarded up. A heavy crossbar safeguarded the door. He had left through the basement, which was now chained and padlocked. Red was asleep. No undead were getting in, and he had convinced her to stay the night.
But he wanted to be inside the cottage, not racing into the dark woods on horseback. All that once mattered—the FMA, his mission, and the city—they paled in comparison to keeping her safe. Muttering a low curse, he moved his right leg back and kicked. The signal sent Gold into a fast canter. The effort it took to remain seated distracted him from his frustration.
Dismounting less than three feet away from Dane, Marcus hissed, “Let’s get this over with.”
The agent seemed unfazed by both Marcus’ approach and his surliness. “You’re the one who has some explaining to do. The faster you talk, the sooner you can go back.”
Though he hated to admit it, Marcus needed an ally. Dane happened to be the single friend he had in the vicinity. “No one lays a hand on her, and that includes you.”
Dane snorted. “I got that message a while back. I bought you some time, but you’ll have to hand her over to your esteemed colleagues soon enough. The team has a mission, and your little redhead is squarely in the enemy camp. Unless she gives us something useful, she’s going straight to the stockade.”
“Or we can disappear,” Marcus snapped. The joined pronoun rolled off his tongue with ease. They were a unit. She just wouldn’t admit it. “I never could stomach the city.”
“Don’t be stupid. Washington, D.C. is one of the last bastions of civilization. Abandoning your home for her isn’t the answer.” Dane sounded sincere. It was surprising since neither of them had ever held the city in high regard. Long before they were born, freedom had fallen victim to survival. The FMA ruled the city with an iron grip, and even those born to privilege could feel the stifling weight of a heartless legacy.
“Fuck civilization. I don’t need it.”
“I once thought that,” Dane replied, “and then I started wanting what was best for my family. There is nothing out here but day-to-day survival.”
Marcus sighed. Now was probably not the best time to fixate on worst-case scenarios. “It won’t come to that. She has as much reason to take the WITCH down as we do. She’ll help us. I just need to figure out what’s holding her back.”
“What exactly do you think she can do?” Dane’s eyes narrowed. “We’re ready to go in now, with or without her intel.”
While Marcus was loath to reveal the extent of Red’s value, convincing Dane to help him was more important. “There’s a way to get in and out undetected, and she can show it to us. It’ll improve our chances of completing the mission with minimal casualties.”
Dane looked skeptical. “What makes you think she knows a secret way in? It’s not something she’d advertise.”
“The two refugees who escaped—I’m pretty sure she’s the one who got them out. If she can pull off a rescue, the reverse should apply.” He was basing this conclusion off what she once blabbered while delirious, but it was best to keep the questionable origins of that information to himself. If he told Dane he had put a tracker on Red, then he’d have to confess to knowing the location of the tunnel.
“Then what’s the holdup?” Dane asked. “She can’t be loyal to the WITCH if she betrayed them before now.”
“I don’t have a fucking clue.” The memory of Red’s shredded back tore at Marcus. Countless other wounds covered her body. Most of them weren’t from fighting undead. No one who suffered as she did should feel an ounce of loyalty. “But I’m going to find out. You know better than most the people we’re about to fight are victims themselves. If there were a way to end this without dropping a body, wouldn’t it be worth the wait? All I’m asking for is some time.”
He saw a flicker of hesitation in Dane’s dark eyes. The agent’s wife—the woman who had killed the cult’s prophet—was a member of the WITCH. She had also been a prisoner in one of the cult’s sniper towers for eleven years. “How much time?”
Marcus grinned. “Give me three days with her. If she stays stubborn, we’ll go with the original plan.”
Dane shook his head. “If you didn’t shut off your radio, you’d know the timetable just shifted. We go in tomorrow night, with or without your girl’s help. By the way, your boss already knows about what happened. She’s breathing down my neck to have the prisoner transported to one of her secret prisons.”
Marcus swore a blue streak. He had forgotten overt agents staffed the WOLF. The badge-flashing idiots weren’t known for their discretion. Red’s capture might as well have been blasted all over the coms.
“You could always give Her Highness a call,” Dane suggested with an innocent expression on his face. “You’re going to have some explaining to do either way.”
Something resembling a growl rumbled in Marcus’ chest. “If I did that, she’ll be curious enough to helicopter in and take Red away herself. I’ve got my hands full with one stubborn woman. I don’t have time to deal with another.”
His friend snorted. “Judging from the way you acted tonight, you’re going to have to introduce them sooner or later.”
Marcus would rather bash his own head against a wall. “Right now, I need to focus on getting Red to cooperate.”
“Then work fast,” Dane replied. “We have orders to complete the mission by midnight tomorrow.”
* * * *
With a tired sigh, Marcus approached the bed. He shrugged off his heavy leather jacket and draped it over the rickety table. Red didn’t move or say a word, but he knew she had woken the moment he came in. People who spent most of their lives in the undead wastelands slept lightly. He had made a lot of noise walking up the basement steps.
He peeled off his T-shirt and dropped it on the floor. Once more he waited for her to speak. She didn’t.
Not bothering to muffle his movements, he sat on the lone chair and yanked off his heavy ankle boots. They made loud thunks as he dropped them on the wood planks. His socks joined the heap, followed by his jeans. Red lay on her side facing the opposite direction.
He sat on the corner of the narrow bed. “If you want me to sleep
on the floor, I will.”
After a long moment, she shifted closer to the wall and gave him just enough space to lie down. He let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. They were making progress.
Tucking her small body against his, he rested his chin on her head. She made a satisfied sound in her throat—one he had missed every night they’d spent apart. He pillowed his head with one arm and circled her waist with the other. Their bare legs tangled. Her unique scent filled his lungs.
It suddenly occurred to him she wasn’t wearing much beneath the T-shirt. All semblance of coherent thought flew out the window. Every male instinct was focused in one very inappropriate direction. Blood rushed to his groin. His dick turned rock hard.
He felt her body tense. He closed his eyes and tried to conjure thoughts to shut his lower body down. Even recalling his last conversation with his mother—a ball-buster by any measure—had no effect.
Red cleared her throat. “Umm…Are you going to stay like that all night?”
If he were being honest with himself, he would have nodded. “I’m working on it. Just give me a sec.”
She let out a surprised yelp. “What do you mean you’re working on it? With what?”
His choice of words may not have been the wisest. “I mean…I’m trying to think of something else. I’m not fantasizing…or anything.” It would serve no purpose. His wildest dreams didn’t come close to matching the effect of having Red’s body pressed up against his.
His bed companion snorted. An eternity seemed to pass. His damn boner didn’t diminish in the slightest. If he were lying next to the wall, Marcus would have been tempted to bang his head against it. There were only a few things in life he had no control over. His penis was one of them.
“I could give you a hand.” Her voice held a hint of amusement.
He muttered his reply through clenched teeth. “I’m fine.”
