by Kresley Cole
Fast-forward. The little boy had a new home now. An orphanage. A group of older boys circled him, calling him mean names while throwing bits of food at him. Still he didn’t cry. He didn’t deserve the sweet release tears would offer. He held up his chin instead, once again accepting the abuse as his due. His mother—a back-alley whore, the boys called her—had been found dead only a few weeks ago. The scene backtracked.
I have more boyfriends than other women, she’d once told him, her eyes darkening with pain, shame, and remorse. That’s all.
When she hadn’t returned home for dinner, he’d gone looking for her. He’d come across a crowd of people blocked by a police banner, and he’d known. Momma was dead. After the cops had questioned him, he’d overheard them talking to a homeless man who’d witnessed everything. A john hadn’t wanted to pay her after having sex, so he’d killed her instead.
Fast-forward. The little boy was an adult now. Agent Dallas Gutierrez. He lay dying in a pool of his own blood. He’d taken pyre-fire meant for his partner. A woman he loved like the sister he’d never had but had always wanted. He was rushed to the hospital, but no one could help him. He’d reached the end of his life, and he knew it.
The partner, Mia Snow, never allowed herself to cry either. Not until that moment. A tear had slid down her cheek. She hadn’t realized the king of the Arcadians watched her, a witness to her despair; it had touched both men deeply, irrevocably. When finally she left the hospital room, the Arcadian had fed Dallas blood straight from his vein. Royal blood. Powerful.
Dallas had gasped, his eyelids popping open—eyes changed from brown to arctic blue, he’d realized the first time he peered into a mirror.
Emotions flooded Lilica, sorrow quickly claiming the lead. The pain Dallas had endured throughout his life . . . the guilt he still carried and hid behind a charming smile . . .
Like her, he’d known isolation and disappointment time and time again. She wanted so badly to hug him, to comfort him as she’d never been hugged or comforted.
Can’t worry about him right now. Must find Jade.
She increased security and turned on every alarm. Devyn would not be sneaking in again. And if Dallas managed to find her . . .
Still not going to worry about him.
Throughout the night, she sent countless telepathic messages to her sister. All went unheeded. In the morning, exhausted and despondent, she showered and dressed in a clean shirt and pants, hiding weapons in select places. She ate as much breakfast as she could stomach, knowing she needed to keep up her strength.
—Jade, come on! Where are you?—
Again, there was only silence.
At least she knew beyond a doubt that Dallas had survived Walsh’s attack. Otherwise she would have died with him. Had he gone to work, Lilica written off as a nuisance? Probably. The bastard! Otherwise he would have found her and attempted to break in.
Well, he wouldn’t be able to forget her for long. The bond would compel him to spend time with her, to want her, as surely as her voice had once compelled Walsh.
What would he think of her home?
She hated the fact that he’d probably already seen it, reliving her memories as if they were his own, the same way she’d relived his. Her stomach churned. Did he now pity her?
She scaled the stairs to the top floor, deciding she’d pack a bag and head out. She would go to him. He could put her in touch with John, who could tell her about Jade. Yes. Perfect plan. If he happened to make a pass at her—
She turned the corner and came face-to-face with Dallas. He wore a clean black T-shirt and black pants, his strength on perfect display. Shock jolted her.
He arched a brow at her, smug and beautiful, and her heart raced as if she’d just been injected with adrenaline. “Hello, Lilica.”
Just. Like. That. Her panties were soaked, desire for him a triple jab—one to the chest and two to her still-churning stomach. Tremors nearly rocked her off her feet. “How did you get in here?”
“Apparently there are times I know everything you know. I simply disabled the alarms.”
But . . . but . . .
“Are you going to collapse with joy? You look like you’re going to collapse.”
His smugness snapped her out of her daze. “Yes, I’m going to collapse. Catch me?” The moment he was within reach, she’d strike!
“Now, now. Plotting my harm is low, even for you. Wouldn’t you agree . . . wife?”
6
The woman reduced him to a state of desperation. She’d showered, damp hair hanging in silken waves, the ends curling at her waist. Her black-as-night irises were still lit up like the northern lights, as if she’d brought the illuminations with her. As if she’d become part of the universe—or the very heart of his.
The glittery marks in her ebony skin began to glow again. Muted, but noticeable.
He wanted to lick those marks.
There was a bruise on her left cheek and another on the right side of her jaw. Usually she healed quickly—he knew through memories of her life. Memories he shouldn’t possess. Usually he healed quickly, but he bore the same bruises on his cheek and jaw.
What happened to him would now happen to her, he realized. On the flip side, what happened to her would now happen to him. Their bond should have complemented their individual abilities but had somehow tempered them.
Anger now sparked. He lived a dangerous life, which meant she now lived a dangerous life. No matter where she was or what she did.
Another complication arose. To save her sister from his murderous clutches, she could easily kill him by killing herself.
Would she try?
No, highly doubtful. He knew her better now. Those memories he’d never lived had invaded his head all night. He’d managed to suppress most of them, but a few had weaseled past his defenses.
When her creators had punished her, strapping her to a bed and hitting her with a cattle prod, she hadn’t responded with despair. She’d responded with determination.
She’d thought: I will survive. I will not be defeated.
He’d been filled with awe—such strength!—and with rage. If Walsh hadn’t already killed the staff, Dallas would have added their severed heads to his collection, mounting them on his wall.
But . . . he tried to read her now and came up empty.
She lifted her chin, a captivating mix of longing and rebellion. “I’m not your wife.”
“I would have sworn you told me our divorce hadn’t yet gone through.”
“We’ll find a way to negate the bond. Isn’t that what you said?”
He offered a clipped nod. It was indeed what he’d said, and what he still wanted. Which was one of the reasons he’d fought her memories so diligently. The more he knew about her, the harder a separation would be. Already he wished he could fuse her to his side and protect her from any—every—hurt.
“Where were you going in such a hurry?” he asked.
“You mean you don’t know?”
“I can’t read you right now.” He’d done his research. Extreme emotion slowed the flow of information that passed between them. Extreme arousal too. If he wanted to keep his secrets, he would need to keep her aroused.
Such a dirty job.
Secrets could also be buried. After the initial exchange of memories, only the information they specifically pondered while in each other’s presence would flow through the bond.
“Where were you going?” he asked again.
“To find you.”
Truth or lie? He would have liked to know that through the bond.
She wrung her hands. “I haven’t been able to reach Jade. Do you know where she is?”
“Yes. She’s somewhere else.”
She closed the distance to fist his shirt and shake him. “Tell me, Dallas.”
His name on those two-thousand-dollar-an-hour lips . . . better than a stream of dirty words. He was hard as a rock in seconds . . . and she was close enough to rub against. So close he coul
d feel the heat pulsing off her lithe body.
“Jade is injured but recovering in a secret location, where she’s being guarded.”
“Still injured? Tell me everything!”
The worry on her face softened the worst of his anger. “I don’t know the specifics of her wound, and the guard is a black ops agent called John No Last Name.”
She lifted her chin. “Is Jade to be bait for Trinity too?”
So. She’d picked up on his plan to lure Trinity out of hiding and end her reign of terror without hurting her. Lost my edge.
He changed the subject, gritting out, “You left me behind to deal with Walsh on my own.”
“Uh, yeah. I’m evil. That’s what I do.” She chewed on her bottom lip. “But thank you.”
The rest of his anger faded. Evil. The doctors had called her Little Wicked as a child and Lady Wicked as an adult. All part of an experiment. By calling her evil and making her believe it, they postulated whether they could predict how she would react to certain situations. She knew what they’d done, and why, but mental knowledge wasn’t the same as heart acceptance.
“You aren’t evil, Lilica.”
“Yes, I am.” The lights in her eyes brightened, swirling with the gale force of wind he couldn’t feel. “I kill without remorse.”
“So do I.”
“Yes, but you do it to protect humans. I do it just because.”
He cursed. She knew every aspect of his past, didn’t she? She’d seen his memories the way he’d seen hers. “Did you kill anyone on your way here?”
Offended, she practically spit at him. “No.”
“Then you don’t kill just because. You used to kill, when you were told to do so or suffer the consequences. You had a reason. You hoped to protect yourself and your sisters.”
She opened her mouth, closed it with a snap. He knew she wanted to refute him, to call him a liar, but she couldn’t. The bond . . .
“You’re welcome by the way,” he said. “Walsh is dead. Again.”
“How do you know he won’t—never mind. You chopped off his head with an elevator.”
Had he sent the image into her mind?
She backed away from him, and he nearly shouted a command for her return. “I won’t let you end Trinity,” she said.
“She’s diseased. A predator.” He wouldn’t lie to her about that. Not because she would sense the truth, but because he respected her. Warrior to warrior, he tried to make her understand. “She purposely infects innocents, and there’s no cure for her or for them.”
Desperation darkened her features. “I’ll keep her locked up. I won’t let her hurt—”
“That’s not an option. You don’t have the resources to deal with her. If she isn’t allowed to purge, the disease will strengthen inside her and kill her.” AIR had locked up a handful of her victims and learned that truth at a high cost. “Then it will escape her and find a new host. She must be contained the right way until we find a way to destroy the disease. By taking her in, I’ll be doing the world a favor. And when the time comes to kill her, I will do so humanely.”
Her shoulders rolled in, and she whispered, “My sisters are all I have.”
Her look, her tone . . . everything about her caused his heart to crack straight down the center. Part of him longed to tell her: You have me now.
He ran his tongue over his teeth. Not going there.
Her eyes widened. “Not going where?”
“Nothing. And I’m sorry you’re going to suffer when she dies, sweetheart, but I won’t change course. I can’t. There’s no other way.”
Lilica drew in a deep breath, held it, then slowly released it. Dallas was somehow more beautiful to her right now, and it actually hurt to look at him. But it hurt to look away from him too. Like, her ovaries were seriously considering exploding.
The worst part? Desire for him no longer felt like a want but a need, as he’d once tried to tell her.
She had to save her sister. Through any means necessary.
Not all means have to be foul. . . .
She peered deep into his eyes, trying not to lose herself in his rugged masculinity. “You will not hurt my sisters,” she said, using what remained of her power to compel him.
He simply arched a brow in a way she now despised. “So. You’re able to compel.”
Ugh! He was one hundred percent immune, most likely because of the bond.
There had to be another way to get what she wanted from him.
Sex? What about sex?
Her ovaries decided, yes, they would go ahead and explode.
“Vow to convince AIR to let Trinity live,” she said, “and I’ll give myself to you.” Gladly.
He hungered for her the way she hungered for him; she knew he did. Others might see a freak when looking at her, but he saw a sex kitten ready to be stroked.
The knowledge flummoxed her . . . thrilled and delighted her.
His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. “As much as I want you, and I do want you, I’m going to decline. The moment we have sex, the bond will solidify.”
He’d just . . . rejected her?
The realization stung in ways she’d never imagined possible. Which was odd. She’d been rejected the whole of her life. By the institute’s employees, but also by the people she’d met upon her escape. This was just more of the same.
So why did it feel so different? So personal?
Wait. The bond hadn’t yet solidified? “There’s a way to break the bond?” He shouldn’t know more about her race than she did.
He offered one of those clipped nods. “Over the next few weeks, we’re going to become little more than animals who need to rut, but only with each other. If we can resist, the bond will fade and eventually disintegrate completely.”
He wanted the bond to disintegrate. And so did she. Really. Truly. But . . .
Deep down, she also wanted to keep the man she’d chosen. Whether or not she’d chosen him wittingly or unwittingly. How was she supposed to give him up?
Um, quite easily! He was Trinity’s future killer.
“You think you can resist me while you’re in an animal state?” she asked, her gaze stroking over him. He had a hard-on.
“I don’t think. I know.”
His plan drifted through her mind: lock Lilica away until Trinity is dead.
The coldhearted intention fueled her rage. No. Hell, no. She pounded her fists into his chest. She would never be locked away again. She would fight to the death to maintain her freedom.
He caught her by the wrists. “This. This is why I want nothing to do with your bond. I have no secrets.”
“Your secrets are so unoriginal, I could have guessed!”
A stream of curses. The connection between them had gone quiet, no new information flowing.
Once upon a time, alone in her closet of a bedroom, she’d dreamed of sharing her life and her secrets with a man. He would love her and be loved by her. He would touch her all the time and welcome her hands on him. They would always be together, never alone.
But Dallas craved his solitude. And if he ever did decide to settle down and start a family, it would be with a short, curvy blonde. Someone sweet, with an easy smile. The kind of woman he wanted to want but didn’t, not really.
Well, that short, curvy blonde didn’t have a sister to save. If Lilica could get him to solidify the bond with her, he would never want to hurt her, mentally, physically, or emotionally, because hurting her would hurt him.
Her rage subsided. His must have as well. They peered at each other. She began to pant. He began to sweat. She licked her lips, and his gaze followed her tongue. Then he sucked in a sharp breath.
“You’ve got a picture of another man in your mind.” He barked the words. “Who is he?”
Her eyes widened. He was jealous of her dream man?
“I’m not jealous,” he grated.
He was. He really, really was.
I’ve so got this.
Any means nec
essary . . .
Though Lilica had never seduced anyone, Dallas had often been seduced. Through a new flood of memories, she detected a common thread. Nakedness. Not just the act of being naked, but the act of getting naked.
This is going to be as easy as taking candy from . . . anyone.
Peering into that gorgeous arctic gaze, she hooked her fingers on the hem of her shirt and lifted.
He stopped breathing altogether. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? Getting more comfortable.” She unfastened her bra, tossed the material aside, and shimmied out of her pants so that only her panties remained.
As she straightened to her full height, shoulders back to properly display her breasts, he took a step toward her. Stopped. Took another step forward.
At war with his desires? Desires now clouding the bond. Once again, she couldn’t read him.
“Do you want to touch me?” she asked, cupping her breasts. Her thumbs traced over her puckered nipples. Like the tätoveerimine, they possessed a glittery sheen, and they throbbed oh, so deliciously. “Perhaps I’ll even let you taste me.”
Agony tightened his features. “Don’t you dare . . . put your clothes back on.”
Feminine power flooded her—remade her. This man—this beautiful, perfect man—couldn’t get enough of her.
Not you, the bond.
Whatever. She rested her hands at the waist of her underwear. “What about these? Should I take them off?”
“Yes,” he croaked. “Off. Now.”
Candy. Anyone.
But beneath her confidence was a yearning she couldn’t deny, and she trembled as she drew the material down her legs. She kicked, the panties soaring. He caught them in a single fluid motion, his gaze never leaving her, but roving over her, as languid as a caress. Where he looked, she tingled and ached worse.
She traced her fingertips down her stomach, circled her navel, and delved between her legs, a moan parting her lips. A groan parted his. He closed the rest of the distance in seconds, invading her personal space.
