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Her chest clenched. Why had he softened? Why hadn’t he tried to negotiate the extreme prize? Whatever the reason, it only made her like him more. Wait. A thought occurred to her. “You put on your shoes to study?”
“I did. You’ll be showering soon, and you never know when an enemy will kick down a door to fight you.”
She snorted. Then she held out of her hand and said, “We’ve got ourselves a deal.”
Chapter Fourteen
Bjorn spent the entire night with Fox. First they’d studied at his desk, then they’d climbed into bed, laying side-by-side. He maintained his distance, certain he would be the one to cave—again—if they touched even the slightest bit. A truly torturous experience for him. The best and worst night of his life.
He tossed and turned, tormented by arousal and the sounds she made while she slumbered. Breathy moans, soft purrs, and raspy gasps. A few times, she even talked in her sleep. Silly things he would love to hear again in context. Like: Go ahead. I’m into it. And: I don’t have a dollar. I don’t even have a penny.
He’d chuckled then, and he chuckled now. He’d grown to appreciate her love of money; it was her way of showing people how much she cared, especially when she locked down her emotions. She let her actions speak for her. He admired her survivor-by-proxy mentality, the preservation of her friends more important to her than the preservation of self. What Bjorn did not like about that fact? The one she adored above all others. Galen. The male continued to blow up Bjorn’s cell with death threats.
According to Thane, Galen had shown up at the Downfall last night. If Bjorn had been present, they would have come to blows. And he knew beyond a doubt Fox would have sided with the winged blond. Bjorn bit the inside of his cheek, tasting blood.
He peered at her sleeping form, and his mental chaos died down. How? How did she affect him so strongly? He craved Fox, and Fox alone. No other would do. No one else tasted as sweet, or fit him so perfectly, as if she’d been created just for him. The missing puzzle piece his life so desperately needed to be complete. But that couldn’t be right. The two of them could never make something work long-term.
The bed shook as Fox began to stretch. Arms overhead, back arching. Was she soon to awaken? He tensed with excitement.
That excitement blossomed as she fluttered open her eyes, then jolted upright. Not clasping her by the waist and yanking her against him required every ounce of his strength. Rumpled dark hair framed an exquisite face he would forever see in his dreams.
“Good morning,” he said. He was propped up against the headboard, the sheet bunched at his waist. He wore no robe, no shirt, his chest on display…and he caught himself flexing for her. Anything to tempt his vixen to make the first move, so he could win their bet.
He knew the moment she recalled their bargain. Heat flushed her cheeks, and her eyes narrowed. She traced a fingertip between her breasts and said, “Good morning, baby. See anything you want? I’m running a buy one climax, get one free special.”
He shot harder than steel. “What a coincidence. I’m running the same special.”
She laughed, the sound raspy from slumber. Why had he made a bet that involved keeping his hands to himself, anyway? No longer celibate, he longed to do anything and everything with Fox, his chosen partner. Craved contact and communion. Meaning, yes, he should have sunk inside her while he’d had the chance.
Need to get inside her.
She rubbed at her eyes, cast him a glare, as if every problem in every part of the world stemmed from him, then stumbled out of bed. “What’s on the agenda today?” she grumbled.
Not a morning person? Or just as needy as he was and trying to hide it? He worked to subdue a smile, then had to work to hold back a frown. Why did he find every aspect of her personality so charming?
“I must meet with the Sent Ones I hope to recruit for my army of one hundred.”
Worry flitted over her expression. “Right.”
That worry… She expected him to put her back in the dungeon. He should. He knew he should. Yet, he’d rather have her where she belonged—at his side.
My side? Mine? The thought should have panicked him, blown his mind, something! Instead, he nodded as if it were the most natural thought in the world.
As they readied for the day, brushing their teeth side by side, showering together, changing clothes, they barely spoke and hardly touched. But. Words and touches weren’t necessary for seduction. The heated way she looked at him…the heated way he must be looking at her. His heart raced, the rest of him overheating.
Temptation almost proved too, well, tempting.
Naked, she rooted through the clothing he’d fetched for her. She bent over. Arched her back. Made her breasts bounce. All the while, he sweated as if he’d entered a sauna while wearing sweatpants and a coat. Ultimately, she selected a black tank and matching leathers.
Gothic chic was a good look for her. Very good.
Who was he kidding? Everything looked good on her.
When she plaited her hair, gothic morphed into mythological warrior goddess, and he seethed with arousal. Had anyone ever appeared so tough yet delicate? So arresting? So enchanting?
He cursed. As he’d waxed poetic about her appearance, he’d missed which undergarments she’d selected. Another thong, just to push him over the edge?
A moan escaped him. If he kept up this line of thought, he’d have to deal with a robe tent situation. He just…craved her more with every second that passed. He needed contact with her.
Resisted all facets of intimacy for a year. Now I can’t go a day without my captive?
Do not touch her. Do not kiss her. Remember the bet. She would make the first move, damn it. She would!
Maybe, if he reminded her of what they’d done, she would beg for more? “What we did in the shower…” he began.
“No!” She rushed over to flatten her hand over his mouth. Contact! Finally. “We’re not going to talk about that until after a winner is declared.”
Fair enough. What wasn’t fair? That body of hers. If she’d dressed to scramble his mind—mission accomplished.
If only it were missionary accomplished. One can hope.
He negated the bloodline around the bedroom, secretly disturbing the line of blood and Water he’d drawn around the bedroom’s perimeter. Now, Fox could open a portal, no problem.
Was he making a mistake, trusting her to keep her word? Time would tell.
He clasped her wrist, kissed and nipped her palm, then lowered her arm, freeing his mouth. “I have a gift for you,” he said, withdrawing a velvet bag from the nightstand. Try to resist me now, vixen.
She accepted the bag, leery, only to evince excitement as she withdrew and donned the contents—an assortment of weapons he’d selected from the club’s treasure room. He’d personally selected a necklace with a small, bejeweled dagger hanging from the center, a pair of spiked armbands, and an electrified ruby torque. A split second of contact would fry someone’s insides.
“Aren’t you afraid I’ll attack you?” she asked, brows furrowed with confusion.
“A test isn’t a true test if the variables are inaccurate.” He tilted his head and leveled his gaze on her. “Will you attack me?”
“No!”
“Will you attack other Sent Ones?”
“No,” she said, her teeth gritted.
Just to be contrary, he told her, “Be a good little vixen, then, and open a portal to these exact coordinates.” He rattled off the latitude and longitude of a sub-realm in
the heavens. A good place to meet with certain Warriors, because it led nowhere. If ever Fox returned, no big deal.
Her eyes widened with surprised excitement. But she used a grumpy tone when next she spoke. “FYI, this vixen will pee on your rug and shred your robes if you condescend to her again.”
He grinned, loving her reaction. The woman took no shit from anyone.
She flipped him off, and his grin only widened. “You are so irritating when you refuse to get irritated,” she mumbled, rolling her neck and shaking her arms. She tapped her fingers together, sparks flying from the ends. A toothy grin spread as the sparks burned a hole in the air. A hole that grew and grew until a doorway to the other location opened up.
He marveled at her ability and the undiluted power—magic—she wielded. Sent Ones had a hate-hate relationship with all things magic, a poison to their bodies.
As they walked through the magical doorway, a thousand needles seemed to prick his skin. The effects of the magic. He and Fox entered a too hot and too cold cloud-land with puffy white hills in every direction. Yes, the air was both hot and cold. It was an impossible phenomenon but true all the same. Bjorn, Thane and Xerxes often trained here. The more awful the conditions during your training, the better you fought afterward.
With Fox at his side, Bjorn trekked forward. He expected an escape attempt, but Fox never struck at him, or darted off. Of course, the woman never did anything he expected.
At his left, a demon shot from the cloud. A scaled beast with a forked tongue, two claws sprouting from each fingertip, and pus dripping from multiple gashes on his face. Probably one who’d hidden here, hoping to torment a Warrior. Or maybe one intended for use during training.
Either way, demons had the ability to solidify outside of Hell; this one made full use of his tangibility, swiping those double claws at Bjorn’s jugular.
He swished his wing to blow the bastard backward before contact. Too late. Those claws continued to descend, ready to rip into flesh.
Fox spun into the demon’s line of attack, shielding Bjorn while slicking a dagger through the bastard’s throat. Bjorn did not sustain a single injury. Nor did Fox.
