Shadow and Ice

by Gena Showalter

  “Why are you fighting now?” he asked. “I’m not going to harm you.”

  He didn’t say it, but she heard it. Yet.

  She shuddered with dread. “Excuse me for not wanting to be tied up with a homicidal maniac nearby.”

  “Excuse me for not wanting to be stabbed while I sleep. Guess who wins this argument?” As she glared at him, he added, “Hear me well, Vale. When it comes to my safety, I take no chances. If you obey my rules and remain honest with me, we’ll get along fine.”

  She had to choke back a wheeze of dismay. She’d already lied to him about having an adoring husband. Well. There was no way she could cop to being single now. Or, you know, ever.

  Knox traced a fingertip along her jaw, something he’d done a few times before. Each time, shivers cascaded through her—and they were only growing stronger.

  “How about you keep your hands to yourself, hmm?” she said, no real heat in her tone. Because I like your touch far too much.

  “I want to. I should...” He sounded drugged and looked entranced. “Your skin is incredible.”

  It was? He was the first man to say so. And dang it! The praise further addled her mind, part of her really, really wanting to preen for him.

  He shook his head and scowled, ruining the moment, acting as if she was a galactic spy and she’d just tricked him into spilling confidential secrets.

  “No more conversation.” He tossed her a final glare, as if she were to blame for his presence and his words, and stretched out in a spot within sight of the bed but completely out of her reach.

  “Good riddance,” she muttered.

  Vale womaned up, pushed every noncritical thought out of her mind and attempted to cobble together a new plan of action—or POA. Every successful venture had one. As her professor once said, “The best POAs are fluid, adjustable as needed.”

  First, she would stick with Knox until she’d obtained Celeste’s sword and Rifters; they called to her. Once she had the items, she would make her escape. No telling when Knox would turn on her. Then, she would hide out in Celeste’s digs until she’d figured out her next move—a way to stop the All War and make Nola immortal.

  Also, Vale needed to learn as much as possible about the war and its many players. And she absolutely positively had to stay away from Nola in the meantime, just as Knox had suggested.

  He was right. As long as Earth was a full-on gladiator arena, she was a danger to her sister. And though Vale wanted to sob her eyes out, she consoled herself with the knowledge that Nola had a special power of her own. One Vale had always envied. Her sister could charm a jerk into a prince; Zion wouldn’t stand a chance. The sweet, sassy Southern belle would convince the metal-glove-wearing warrior to obtain pain pills for her, and all would be well.

  Please, let all be well.

  CHAPTER TEN

  DREAMS PLAGUED KNOX the entire night. Erotic dreams, with Vale London cast in the starring role. His hands and mouth wandered over every inch of her extraordinary body, and he felt like a conqueror who’d just discovered a new kingdom to plunder. When she rolled him over to return like for like, sensual torment for sensual torment, he nearly came undone. They writhed against each other, male to female, hardness to softness, until he could stand it no more, positioned her flat on her back, spread her legs and plunged into her hot, wet depths. Excruciating pleasure, eternal bliss. Her cries of abandon and surrender were a symphony of forbidden indulgence.

  How perfectly she gloved him. And the scent of her... In the endless eons of his life, he’d never encountered a lusher, more feminine fragrance than Vale’s. With a single inhalation, he’d had to contend with a wildfire of lust, his control torched.

  In his reverie, they finished round one, and began round two. She licked her way down his chest. Plump red lips hovered over his throbbing shaft, arousal sparkling in her luminous hazel eyes. No one had ever sucked him off. He wanted this, wanted it desperately, madly.

  “I’ll give myself to you, body and soul,” dream Vale whispered, “but first, you must lay the world at my feet... Do you agree?”

  Cede victory to another, accepting defeat, dying a slave?

  “No!” He came awake with a roar, jolting upright.

  He was panting, shallow breaths not nearly enough for his starved lungs. Sweat drenched him, his clothes sticking to his skin. Despite his emotional upheaval, he was rock hard and aching.

  Ready to stroke himself off, Knox gripped the base of his erection. He imagined kissing and licking every inch of Vale’s body. How eager she was—

  A soft moan drifted from her, and he frowned. That moan had sounded real.

  “Mmmm.”

  That moan was real. He stood in a rush, palming a dagger, and stalked to her bedside.

  A blistering wave of arousal nearly burned him alive. Shadows clung to her, a beautiful adornment that hid her from the rest of the world...from everyone but me.

  “Leave us,” he rasped, and the shadows scattered.

  Vale tossed and turned, her color high. On her nose was a smattering of freckles he’d somehow missed before; perhaps he’d been too enraptured with her eyes. Her lips—those plump red lips Dream Vale had used to tempt him—remained parted, and she panted in time with Knox.

  Did she dream of him?

  As gently as possible, he removed the cloth that covered her wound. Excellent. She was completely healed. And a deep sleeper. His ministrations failed to rouse her.

  He glowered when he noticed the condition of the vines; they’d twisted, pulling taut, applying added pressure to her wrists. Ignoring a spark of guilt, he untied the vines, massaged blood back into her hands, then ghosted his fingers over her bruises and abrasions. The guilt sparked hotter as he tied her back up.

  Still too tight. He loosened the shackles...a little more...until she could free herself with a single tug. Perfect.

  What is wrong with me?

  “Yes,” she whispered, shifting and arching her back, lifting her breasts in supplication. Her nipples were hard, beckoning his tongue. Explore here...

  Resist the want. Look away. Knox would never act on his lust for her. And not just because she was a combatant. She continued to exasperate and confound him. Continued to say and do adorable things.

  Hate that word.

  Reminder: He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes as Celeste’s protectors, wasn’t going to sacrifice his life for another.

  Tenser by the second, he stalked to the bathroom, washed his face and brushed his teeth. He had a war to win and, rather than stroke himself off here, in private, he would use the restless energy to his advantage, and channel it on the battlefield.

  Like him, none of the other combatants comprehended the modern world. How many safe houses and base camps had been destroyed over the years? How many warriors returned to the ice mountains, the only location that remained familiar?

  Knox could pick them off, as hoped.

  First, he would visit Shiloh’s hideout to search for Ammarie’s bow and arrow. Knox had seen the heavily wooded site through a rift the second month of the war. Once was enough. He could visit anytime, from anywhere. Maybe the area had been compromised, maybe it hadn’t. He would find out.

  Already weaponed-up and dressed in a T-shirt and leathers, he pictured the camp and clinked the Rifters together. Vibration. A wave of his hand. As a rift opened up, a wealth of shadows hiding his bunker from anyone who might be waiting on the other side, he braced, part of him expecting an onslaught of water, fire or, worse, mortals.

  A spacious, well-lit room appeared. No furniture other than display cases that contained weapons. Weapons also hung on the walls, things Shiloh had taken from vikings.

  Was this a museum of some sort?

  In Iviland, Ansel always cherry-picked, keeping the best weapons for the representatives who would compete in future All Wars and d
isplaying what remained in museums dedicated to teaching the masses about his great feats.

  Yes, he took credit for every victory won in his name, as if he had personally done the fighting.

  Knox spotted Ammarie’s bow and arrow—my bow, my arrow—locked in one of the cases at the far end of the room.

  Leaving Vale asleep in bed, he palmed two daggers and, on alert, stepped through the rift.

  Half the shadows moved with him, concealing him as his long legs ate up the distance.

  In front of the case, he wasted no time, using the hilt of a dagger to punch once, twice. The glass cracked, then shattered, and an alarm screeched to life, nearly bursting his eardrums.

  Beneath the high-pitched wail, he detected a barrage of footsteps. An army approached.

  Knox grabbed the weapon, made a mad dash to the still-open rift and dove through, rolling to a stop inside the bunker and leaping up. He left the bow and daggers on the floor, aimed his revolver and cocked the hammer. Until he’d inspected the bow, he wouldn’t risk using it.

  The door burst open and Erik rushed inside the room. Well, well. Interesting development. Erik had invaded Shiloh’s hideaway and created...what? Not a museum. Some sort of trap?

  What other hideaways had the viking found?

  Questions for another day. Mortal soldiers wearing thick black vests spilled in behind Erik.

  Knox’s shadows remained firmly in place. Only he knew the rift was there, his bunker on the other side of it. Advantage: me.

  Unseen, he hammered at the revolver’s trigger—

  Several mortals dove in front of Erik, taking the bullets for him. Then the rift closed, and Knox lowered his arm, cursing as his mind whirled. Should he return and make another play for Erik, or turn his sights elsewhere?

  Elsewhere. Definitely. Until he learned more about this modern world, he had best avoid the viking, a man who knew everything about it. While everyone else had been trapped in ice, Erik had roamed free.

  Better to concentrate on building of his own arsenal. Carrick’s dagger... Zion’s gloves... Ronan’s sword... Domino “Dom” of Rhagan had a shield able to withstand anything, including the gloves and sword.

  Knox didn’t have a bead on Carrick yet. Want that dagger! Returning to the fallen prison to retrace the prince’s steps was an option, but was it a good one? The man preferred hotter climates and would avoid the mountains, even if his base camp lay in ruins.

  Same deal with Zion or Dom. No bead.

  Before the last check-in, Knox had glimpsed one of Ronan’s hideouts. What’s more, Ronan had admitted to killing Major of Etheran, which meant he’d acquired Major’s spyglass. A piece of equipment capable of spying on competitors, wherever they happened to be.

  If Knox could spy on Carrick, he would have a better chance of finding out where the male resided. Assuming the location wasn’t mystically protected, of course.

  Ronan it is.

  Knox would take Vale with him. She would be his guide and—

  Vale! Despite the high-pitched alarm, she hadn’t roused. Fearing something was wrong with her, he stalked to the bed to give her a hard shake. No reaction.

  “Wake, female.” Shake, shake. “Now.”

  Again, nothing. Perhaps Celeste’s memories had damaged her once-mortal mind. Desperate, Knox decided to shock her system. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers. A kiss. His first, and a total shock to his system.

  Her lips were softer than he’d imagined. Sweeter. Hotter. His heart raced, and he longed for another kiss. Now. Now! A deeper one. With their mouths open, their tongues dueling.

  Treading on dangerous ground. He swallowed a moan of need as he straightened. Control.

  Hazel eyes blinked open, and he heaved a sigh of relief, even as his mind got caught up in another storm.

  No more kissing.

  Ignore the disappointment. Would she become dead to the world for a short period of time anytime she made a kill? Did a victim’s age and experience matter?

  He would have to teach her how to—

  No! He would teach her nothing. An attraction to her would not dictate his actions. Gunnar, Hunter of Klioway, and Malaki of Highgard had died protecting Celeste, and it was the last mistake any of them ever made.

  And what about Ranger, a warrior known as the god of fire, who owned a pair of boots with wings, granting him the ability to fly? He was another of the men Celeste had seduced pre-Gunnar. Ranger still lived. If Vale had memories of sleeping with him, she might crave his body, might help him launch a sneak attack against Knox. And what of Vale’s husband? What dark deeds would she commit to return to the man?

  Ignore the flare of jealousy.

  Gaze catching on Knox, she unveiled a slow, welcoming smile. “Hey.”

  Ignore the ripples of astonishment and the new currents of arousal.

  “You.” Her smile vanished. She jerked upright, multi-colored hair tumbling around her arms. “You look more constipated than usual. What’s wrong?”

  “Your laziness. We have errands.” He unfastened the vines around her wrists for good, pleased to note the abrasions had faded. “Come. It’s time to go.”

  “We’re leaving? Together?” Moaning, she rolled her shoulders. How they must ache.

  Guilt pricked him all over again. “You would rather I leave you behind?”

  “Yes. No. Maybe?” Next, she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “I should probably use the bathroom first. Even though I don’t feel like I need to use the bathroom.”

  “You’re immortal now, remember? You process foods differently.”

  “Immortal. Right.” Determination hardened her features. “I’d still like a moment to freshen up.”

  Impressed by her quick resolve, he said, “By all means. I hope you also remember my previous warning. Do not make a play against me.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” She rose to shaky legs and lumbered into the bathroom. As he waited, he stuffed a bag full of things they might need.

  When she returned, the top half of her hair was plaited, her face scrubbed pink and her teeth brushed. She’d commandeered a dark T-shirt and leathery pants, and he derived a strange mix of satisfaction and possessiveness in knowing his garments hugged her curves.

  “By the way,” she said, shifting from one booted foot to the other. “I’m usually a much better dresser.”

  “You look good just as you are.” Too good. His gaze lingered on her, his blood heating.

  “Apparently I do,” she muttered, motioning to his straining fly. “So where are we going?”

  Brazen female. Going to act nonchalant? Very well. He would do the same. “We’re going hunting. After I ensure you aren’t smuggling a weapon under your clothes.” He moved behind her to perform a pat down.

  “Is this how you get your thrills?” she asked, suddenly breathless.

  Breasts. Stomach. Thighs. His temperature jacked up a few thousand degrees.

  Wait. She’d said something. Respond! “You assume I want to be thrilled.”

  He should double check her breasts...and her stomach...and her thighs... Her feminine softness beseeched him: linger, savor...give me more pleasure than I’ve ever known.

  Wishful thinking. Lethal thinking. Resist!

  “Don’t you?” she asked.

  “Want? No.” Need? Oh, yes. But only here. Only now. With her.

  Voice filled with smoke and promise, she said, “Why don’t you do something to thrill yourself? See if you like it.”

  A dare. A taunt. Perhaps even a play to beguile him so that she could make her escape.

  Did it matter? Silent, he settled his hands on her waist, clasped her tightly...and drew her closer. When her back pressed against his chest, she purred her approval.

  “What are you going to do next?” she whispered.

  I should stop.
He grazed his cheek over hers, imagined pushing his hands down her pants and shoving his fingers into her feminine sheath. Would he find her wet?

  “What do you want me to do?” he rasped.

  “Surprise me.” She arched her back, rubbing her ass against his erection, thrilling him.

  Sweat beaded on his forehead. Take her. All of her.

  He trembled as he cupped and kneaded her breasts. I. Am. Dead. She was plump and perfect here, her nipples hard little pinpoints against his palms.

  “Excellent choice.” She lifted her arms and reached back to comb her fingers through his hair, wrenching a ragged groan from deep inside him.

  The pulse at the base of her neck drummed erratically, mesmerizing him, a seductive provocation to desires he no longer wanted to resist. One lick, only one. Yes... He lowered his head.

  One lick—and then what?

  From white-hot to ice-cold in less than a second. Whatever the answer, it wouldn’t end well for him.

  Inwardly cursing, he dropped his arms to his sides and stepped back, severing each point of contact.

  Vale, the irresistible temptress, turned and offered him a smug grin. And yet, it wasn’t smugness glimmering in her eyes, but undeniable vulnerability.

  “I think you do want to be thrilled,” she said. “I think you are more than thrilled right now.”

  She’d rubbed against him simply to prove a point? Teeth gritted, he said, “If you’re implying you didn’t enjoy yourself—”

  “Oh, I enjoyed myself,” she stated baldly.

  “—then you—” He blinked. Would this female always amaze him with her ready admissions and frank speech? “You won’t make me a slave to my desires, Vale. You won’t use me as Celeste used so many others.”

  The color in her cheeks deepened, and she bristled, as if he’d poked at her internal armor. “Let’s forget what just happened—only a momentary bout of insanity—and go about our day. Okay?”

  He would never forget the feel of her. “We’re going after Ronan of Soloria. He has a spyglass. I want, I take.”