To his credit, Beaver didn’t miss a beat. “Yes, ma’am.”
She watched Bishop waver, several emotions playing over his face before he grimaced reluctantly in Beaver’s direction. “I guess that’ll do. I’ll say this: Beaver is an incredible asset, and you might consider putting him up for a promotion. In fact, he’s the one who got you to safety and nursed you back to health.” Bishop didn’t sound thrilled at that, and Sirah realized suddenly that he’d meant for her to die. He’d intended to set it up so that it appeared Ronan had killed her, and then he would have every reason to take his prisoner and follow through with his plan. She’d have to ask Beaver exactly what had happened.
“Thank you, sir,” Beaver said, sounding grateful, but she knew him well enough to see the hatred burning in his eyes. Yes, he was definitely her ally in this and couldn’t stand Bishop or what he’d done.
“In the future, Bishop, avoid assaulting me with hands, weapons, or anything else for that matter, even if we disagree. In the end, you would be better off trying to reason with me. I’m a logical person, and I can see things from multiple perspectives.”
He narrowed his eyes at her but said nothing before turning to leave. Beaver stepped out of the way, and Bishop grabbed the door handle, pausing to look over his shoulder. “As all this goes down, remember whose idea it was, and keep it in mind when it’s time to give due credit.” He narrowed his eyes at Beaver, pointing a finger in his face. “If she tries anything stupid, you do what it takes to take her down, do you understand? We’ll find a way to explain it.”
Beaver gave a short, curt nod. “Yes, sir.”
Bishop left, letting the door slam behind him, and Beaver muttered, “You son of a bitch.” His shoulders sagging with relief, he gave Sirah a concerned look. “Are you alright?”
She waved away the question. “I have some lingering effects but nothing that won’t wear off. I’m guessing you were in the wrong place at the right time, or I’d be dead.”
He nodded, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Bishop found out that you’d been meeting Ronan in secret, and he used that to claim you had switched sides, started working against us. He used it as leverage to get others on board. I followed suit to make sure no one got hurt. And it’s a good thing because I walked in right after he hit you with the gas.” He crossed his arms over his chest, his body vibrating with aggravation. “I told him no one would believe he walked in and found you dead and convinced him it was in his best interest to involve you in his tale so you had no choice but to play along. It was the quickest way to talk him down.”
Sirah nodded. “It was smart. It meant he also had to hold back until I woke up, and he had to share information with me. Good thinking. So, now what?”
“I take you to the prisoner, and we find a way to discredit Bishop and turn him in, along with the other masterminds behind this scheme.” He shook his head. “I don’t know why we couldn’t just continue negotiations. Things were going well, and I don’t see any reason we can’t accept the Tyrian presence here if they’ll just back off.”
“Okay, let’s move.” But she didn’t take a step forward yet, swallowing hard. “Beaver, what has he told people about me?” She didn’t elaborate, hoping the young man could intuit what she was asking.
He hesitated, but she could see the wheels in his head turning. His expression grew serious, and he spoke in a low tone. “I don’t judge, ma’am. In fact, I’ve watched your whole demeanor change over the last couple of weeks. But not everyone is so observant, and I don’t feel it’s my job to share my conjectures with the class, as it were. As far as Bishop is concerned, he believes the two of you have been plotting to screw over both sides and aim for world domination. And that’s the wild tale he’s been spinning.”
So Beaver knew, but no one else did. She gave him an appreciative smile. “Caution and discretion are good values to have. You’ve got a long and illustrious career ahead of you.”
He beamed. “I appreciate that, ma’am. Now, would you like me to escort you to the prisoner?”
“Yes,” she told him, walking through the door he held open for her and then waiting to follow as he took the lead. She held her head high, marched determinedly forward despite the way her head throbbed with each step and her body wanted to lag behind at a slower pace. It was the fear brewing in her gut that drove her. If she couldn’t figure out how to get the charges dropped, she wouldn’t have to worry about how or if the war ended. She wouldn’t have to concern herself with the fairness of sending the Tyrians home because she would lose Ronan forever, and she wasn’t prepared to handle that.
Beaver led her out the front of the building and down the street. They walked at a quick clip, then rounded a corner. She was appalled to realize they were headed straight for the county jail, one she knew had solitary confinement with horrible conditions, including limited light and walls that could make even the most well-adjusted individual sick with claustrophobia.
“This was the best I could do,” Beaver told her, facing straight ahead. “If it had been up to Bishop, we would have thrown him in a dungeon or tied him to a tree, where he had no cover from rain, wind, sun, or anything else. It could be worse. They’ve cleaned up the place a lot.”
She felt like he was preparing her for the worst, and her heart sank. How had Ronan been treated? Was he going to be angry with her? Would he think she’d been planning this all along? She hoped not, but she wouldn’t blame him. There wasn’t exactly a history of trust between their races, and even if the two of them had found some ground to stand on together, it didn’t mean the prejudices wouldn’t get in the way.
All she could hope was that he hadn’t been too brutalized and that he would give her a chance to explain before dismissing her. Sirah needed his help putting together a plan of action. He was the inside source for Tyrian information and procedure, and she hoped he’d at least trust her enough to help her try to clean up this disaster.
Chapter 12
Thankfully, it could have been worse, Sirah thought as she entered the lockup and followed Beaver to the holding cell. The place was brighter than it advertised based on its dim exterior, with dirty windows still allowing a lot of light through that reflected off a fresh coat of paint. Or, at least, the paint couldn’t have been more than a year old, based on the condition.
Ronan, too, looked better than she expected. He’d obviously been roughed up, with a cut on his lip and some swelling beneath one eye. But mostly, he looked unscathed, and she sagged with relief. He looked up when she and Beaver came into view, his expression changing instantly upon seeing her, and heat filled her body. She tried to keep her reaction in check, not wanting to act overly excited with Beaver around.
He stood, wincing a little, and that told her volumes about the injuries he’d sustained that weren’t readily visible. Anger flared inside her, and she grew impatient as Beaver unlocked the cage door and let her inside. She rushed forward, running her hands over him, inspecting him. The only time he showed any sensitivity was as she touched his ribs, and she gritted her teeth at that. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing that won’t heal quickly and leave me good as new,” he assured her softly, eyeing Beaver standing outside the cell. “I didn’t exactly put up a big fight.”
“We can trust him,” she assured him, nodding at Beaver. “He’s the reason I’m alive right now.” Obviously, he didn’t know what had happened to her, his pupils constricting with the maddening news. “I’m alright, just a little groggy from the poison gas Bishop used to knock me out before he decided to take me out and blame you. Beaver stepped in, sort of redirecting the course of action.”
Ronan shared a respectful look and a nod of approval with Beaver before turning back and kissing her forehead. “You shouldn’t be here.”
She gave a rueful smile. “It’s fine. The way Beaver worked things out, there’s no suspicion. It looks like I’m just getting caught up on what the story is,” she sighed. “I’m so sorry, Ronan. I
should have realized I didn’t have full control of everyone. I’m not sure how we’re going to deal with this.”
He shook his head, drawing her closer to him. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got it covered.” She frowned at him, confused, and his lips curled in that devastating grin of his that wasn’t the least bit marred by his split lip or swollen eye. “I didn’t get taken by accident, Sirah. It’s part of the plan.”
She gaped at him, not quite comprehending. “You arranged to be a prisoner? To be charged with treason?”
“Yes. And no. There won’t be any charges of treason. First of all, my loyal men have the real traitor. Second, I have enough backing that no one is going to argue when it comes time to negotiating my release and put me in charge.” He sounded sure, but Sirah had doubts.
Beaver stepped forward. “Bishop’s a lot more determined than you give him credit for. I’ll stand by the two of you because I hate him, and I have every respect for the way my leader handles things, but I can’t guarantee there won’t be plenty of others backing his wild tales.”
“I’m not worried about what the human powers want,” Ronan told him. “This Bishop—he’s trying to smear my name with my people. It’s my people who could turn on me and have me executed. They’re far less forgiving than your council.”
That was true, and it was Sirah’s biggest concern. “Are you sure you’ll be safe? We could keep you here, refuse to turn you over without assurance they won’t try you as a traitor.”
He laughed, highly amused. “That would never fly. And my men are expecting you to start making demands soon, so we should start planning what we both want out of this.” She didn’t miss the underlying meaning in his words, and it gave her hope. She didn’t know why, but it felt like there was more chance when the end goal was more personal than political. It was almost cliché, similar to the ‘love conquers all’ adage, but this seemed more concrete.
Beaver cleared his throat, and Sirah tore her gaze from Ronan long enough to see the smirk on his face as he told her, “I’m just going to find somewhere to hang out for a while, give you two the time and space to strategize. That’s not exactly my forte.” Which was bullshit, Sirah thought, considering how he’d managed to create a manageable situation out of the mess Bishop had created. But she knew he was politely excusing himself so they would have privacy.
“Thanks, Beaver. I’ll come find you in a bit.”
He winked at her and gave Ronan a respectful bow with a bit of a teasing glint in his eye. Ronan returned the gesture, his grin turning salacious as he faced her.
“What is that expression all about?” she asked, quirking a brow at him, even as his arms slid around her waist and hauled her against him. Muscles low in her stomach clenched, and she pressed her thighs together to help ease the ache between them. It didn’t help, especially as his fingers crawled slowly and sensually up her spine until he cupped the back of her neck with his large hand and leaned in for a deep, seductive kiss.
She opened to him fully, welcoming his advances as her excitement rose like a high tide and flooded her body till it pooled between her legs. She threaded her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer, taking the kiss deeper. He inhaled sharply at her fervor and turned them until she was pressed against the wall, pinned by his large, firm body and could feel his erection, swollen and ready, biting into her pelvis. She shifted, rubbing against it, and he grunted, his hands finding purchase on her hips and guiding them in a rolling, grinding rhythm that drove her wild.
His lips swept over to her hair, and his breath tickled her skin and hair as he whispered, “You think your soldier can hear us?”
The idea of being overheard was scintillating, and Sirah groaned. “The question is, do I care if he hears us? And that’s a big, fat no.” With a growl of approval, he hoisted her by the backs of her thighs and slammed her against the wall again, his violent motions intoxicating her and urging her on. She wrapped her legs around his waist so his hard length pressed against her center, his cock pulsing so hard she could feel it through their clothes. She tore at his shirt, yanking the hem up and somehow maneuvering it over his head so she could put her mouth on his chest. She bit at the tiny protrusion of his nipples and ran her tongue along the firm lines that defined his solid muscles.
Holding her with one hand and the weight of his body against her, Ronan used his free hand to delve between them, somehow making deft motions in the tight space that freed his cock from his pants and worked her pants down her hips. They were skin to skin, and Sirah was too close to the edge to care about foreplay. Using the leverage she had with her heels stuck deep into Ronan’s back, she lifted her body and impaled herself on his long, hard shaft, almost sobbing with relief to feel him inside her again. She slid slowly down his length, then raised herself and repeated the motion, reveling in the sensation that took over and clouded every conscious thought. It was delicious, everything she hadn’t realized she needed so desperately to soothe her, to empty her mind of all the worry and doubt.
With her third stroke, Ronan took over, slamming into her so deeply she swore she could taste him. It seemed he needed this as much as she did and was going to take from her everything she had to give as he shoved into her over and over with brute force. And she delighted in it, loving how rough he could be with her and never cause pain or take away from the pleasure. He only added to it.
She traced her hands over the taut muscles in his back, his skin smooth beneath her hands as it melted between shades of gold and brown, blending into the light and shadows that played around them in the afternoon sun that drenched the barren jail cell. With her body and mind connected to him, Sirah could imagine they were on a beautiful beach instead, her arousal building with each wave that crashed ashore.
She didn’t care about anything else. There was nothing but this moment, no one but Ronan. There was no war, no captivity, no impending doom. There was only sensation and comfort and sexual energy flowing freely around them and enveloping them in a cloud of ecstasy.
Ronan buried his face in her breasts, his tongue drawing a line up the valley between them as he thrust into her over and over, and it sent her over the top, skittering into oblivion with her release. She screamed his name with each throb of her core, every pulse that ached in her clit, and it rolled off her tongue like a prayer to the gods. Her loss of control only seemed to make him more frantic, and he pumped faster and harder into her, grunting with each motion as sweat dripped down his forehead and coated his chest and back in a sticky sheen. She molded her hands over his chest, dug her nails into the bulk of his arms, and with a fierce cry like victory over a battle, he spilled into her, stiff and convulsing with the force of his release.
She came again, joining him in that sweet, blissful place floating just above the ground. And when the harsh wave subsided, they were left with their breath rasping out, desperate for air, and their hearts beating wildly in sync. The sound and feel of it all was so inspiring, Sirah almost heard music playing to the rhythm, and she gulped past a lump of emotion so large she almost choked on it.
“What’s wrong?” he whispered, his lips moving enticingly against the side of her neck where they’d fallen as he lost himself in physical delight.
“Absolutely nothing,” she said with a smile, though she couldn’t quite place the feelings that thundered inside, trying to get out with words or actions but not knowing how. “I’m…happy.”
He lifted his head, staring at her as if searching for answers in her expression. Something foreign, an emotion she couldn’t name, flowed from his gaze as it landed on hers, and she suddenly had the strange impression that she wasn’t herself but rather one half of a whole. She didn’t understand it, couldn’t really place the meaning, but then, Ronan grazed her lips with his and said, “I’m in love with you, Sirah. Head over heels. And that makes me happy, too.”
The confession floored her, and she inhaled sharply. Suddenly, it all made sense, these emotions and the way she felt swept off her
feet every time he spoke, how it was like a cannonball to the chest every time she saw him. No matter how adamantly she denied it, she couldn’t hide from the truth anymore. “I think…” she began but trailed off, biting her lip. Then, a half-laugh, half-sob escaped her, and she shook her head. “I’m in love with you, too.” She gazed at him in wonder and amazement. “How is that even possible? I barely know you.”
He shrugged. “Kindred spirits recognize each other. Let’s face it, we’re different than most of our kind. Our minds are open, are morals are stronger but less stringent. And somewhere in that, we just align with each other.” He smirked at her. “And it doesn’t hurt that you’re absolutely gorgeous and I can’t keep my hands off you.”
Sirah blushed. “You’re a pretty picture yourself, you know.” She kissed him then, tenderly, lovingly, letting herself feel something real and wholesome and strong for this man. This Tyrian who had turned her world upside down without even trying. When she pulled away, she knew that look. She recognized it now, and her heart soared at his open adoration. Still, she cleared her throat and told Ronan, “We should probably get dressed before Beaver comes to make sure you didn’t rip my throat out after the way I screamed and then suddenly got quiet.”
He laughed, and she let herself enjoy the richness of it as he set her on her feet. “Well, we might need to do a little planning, too, or we won’t have any leg to stand on when it’s time to propose a negotiation.”
He had a point, and this time, she felt certain they could make this work. They had to. She’d fallen in love, and she wasn’t about to let that end so abruptly.
Her Strict Captor Page 8
