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“Things will get better,” he croons. “You’ll see. Once the colonel knows about you and assigns you your own room in the barracks with the other females, you’ll have friends and perhaps a job to keep you busy. You might… might even get used to seeing splicers. We’re not so bad.”
Shit. I hate tricking him. He’s kind of a nice guy. I think if it were up to him, he’d let me go. That doesn’t mean I’ll quit trying to run away. I’m certainly not going to spend the next twenty months here.
“I hate to do this, but before we go any further, I’ll have to confiscate your phone.” He holds out his palm.
How the fuck did he see that? Does he have eagle eyes in addition to his elk DNA?
“Phone?” I try my Oscar acting abilities again, feigning sweet, wide-eyed innocence.
He makes a gimmee motion with his hand as he clucks in disappointment. “Phone, Cally.”
“Okaay.” I reluctantly drag the word out, all while retaining hope that I can talk my way out of relinquishing the phone. Even if he confiscates my phone, there’s no way he can know about the extra car key I slipped into my pocket. I was super stealthy when I snuck it there, like a world-class criminal.
“Phone,” he repeats in that way my mom used when she’d had it up to here with me and resorted to monosyllables to remind me to do my homework.
I pull it out of where I slipped it in my backpack between my bras and panties, then hand it to him.
He rummages through everything I brought from the car. At least Tater’s bag of dog chow was unopened, or Sylas might have dumped the contents on the ground to ensure I hadn’t snuck any contraband into the kibble.
“Now I’ll have to frisk you.”
“Frisk?” The word came out as a terrified yelp.
“You can’t be trusted, and I don’t want to have to tie you up. Please, just hand over anything else you snuck through the fence.”
He allows me to mull over his request while he quite efficiently removes the battery from my phone and tosses it over the fifteen-foot fence and into the woods across the road. Shit. I was hoping I might use the phone after he went to sleep.
“There’s nothing to hand over. I’ll have you know that frisking me is against Article 4.2 of the Geneva Convention.”
Perhaps I’m not the great actress I was imagining, because his response to my threat is a poorly contained snort of derision.
“I hate to do this, Cally, but I’m going to frisk you.”
I’m having a huge internal fight with myself. The guy’s in heat, or rut, or whatever. His humongous cock, which leaves nothing to the imagination, is still trying to punch its way out of his khakis. If I look closely, I think I see the plump, plum-shaped head trying to break free under the fabric above his hip bone. The idea of his hands on me is terrifying.
Should I just give up? Hand the damn key over? No. He’s a virgin. Didn’t he say he’d never even met a female before? Surely he won’t have the balls to slide his hands into my pockets. Will he?
“You can’t frisk me. It’s… abusive. Besides. I don’t have anything for you to find.”
“Did I mention my sense of smell is ten thousand times better than yours? I smell your emotions, Cally. You’re lying. I don’t want to have to frisk you.” He shudders as his gaze rakes over my body in a way that reminds me I’m a woman who hasn’t had a boyfriend in a long, long time. “Just hand it over. Please.”
There’s something about his pleading tone that makes me believe he’s about to drop the subject, so I double down, throw my shoulders back, and insist, “No. I’ve got nothing to hide.”
“Tell Tater Tot to sit and stay. He’s not going to like what I’m about to do, and I don’t want to have to fight him off. We all know who will win. Don’t make me do that.”
“You’re really going to… touch me?” I tremble as the words escape my lips, a mix of fear and anticipation coursing through my veins. The air feels charged with tension as Sylas’s umber gaze locks onto mine.
Every nerve ending is on high alert, buzzing with electric energy that seems to connect us. My senses are heightened. Is it possible I welcome his touch?
“Tell him, Cally. Make him sit and stay.”
The trees and scrub bushes fade into the background as the heat between us becomes suffocating, intoxicating. A bead of sweat trickles down the back of my neck, and I shiver involuntarily. Time slows as I become acutely aware of every sensation surrounding me.
A subtle scent wafts through the air—an earthy musk mixed with something uniquely him—that further ignites my senses. My heart pounds, its rhythmic beat echoing loudly in my ears. It only intensifies the longing pooling within me.
This is insane! He’s an elk-man. I barely just met him. He’s holding me prisoner. Against my will! There are a dozen other reasons I should hate him. But there is a magnetic attraction between us, like a pile of metal shavings being pulled to a powerful magnet.
I could stop this now, just hand over the damn key. But between my stubborn nature and this insane desire to have his palms sweep over every inch of my body like they do in the movies, I repeatedly insist I’m not hiding anything.
