His arms accurately found their mark, circling around her waist and pulling up tightly against him, back to chest, before she could escape, and their eyes adjusted to the darkness. Small in stature, probably a head or more shorter than him, yet delightfully soft in all the right ways. And hell, she was warm. Warmer than he’d expect from a woman sneaking about at night.
“Let go of me!” she hissed, twisting like a wild creature caught in a snare.
Well.
“Not before you tell me what you are really doing here,” Drake said, his voice a rough growl meant to pin her as surely as his arms did.
“I know nothing!” she spat back.
“And you expect a man like me to believe that? Love, you could be blindfolded and drunk and still not wander into a place like this by accident.” He tightened his hold an inch, just enough to remind her he had her. “Try again.”
She stilled, and Drake’s mouth twisted into a sardonic smirk.
“There it is,” he murmured. “Sense.”
“Release me.” She wiggled against him. “You are hurting me.”
“No,” he said quietly, his breath brushing the side of her neck. Christ, she even smelled like them. A field of flowers. Flower-scented trouble. “If I meant to hurt you, you’d know.”
There was no warning. One moment, she was still, the next, her leg snapped back with startling force. The heel of her boot slammed into his shin with vicious accuracy. Pain knifed up his leg, hot enough to rip a hiss from him. His grasp loosened on reflex, and she twisted sharply, slipping free from him entirely and darting to the door.
Drake cursed.
The minx had kicked him. Properly damn well kicked him.
For half a heartbeat, fury split through his veins, clean, instinctive, ready to tear after her and drag her back by the scruff. But right behind the fury came something far more inconvenient. Grudging admiration.
She had good aim.
He pushed both aside and slapped a leash on the urge to pursue that stirred violently. Chasing her would end this evening with someone being locked in a dungeon, and it wouldn’t be him. And that would also mean touching her again. Drake drew a slowbreath, forcing his restless instinct back into submission as the pain ebbed to a dull pulse.
Footsteps sounded from the far side of the room.
Damn it.
Reaper.
“Not going after her?” his brother asked, voice flat with disbelief.
“I don’t see you going after her either.”
Drake didn’t turn right away. He stared into the dark she’d vanished into, unable to decide if he wanted to throttle her or applaud her. The smell of her lingered, all wrong for this place. Damnation. It seemed he’d have to pay a particular flower shop a visit tomorrow. There was no chance she’d wandered in here by chance. Something had driven her here, or someone had sent her. And whichever it was, it had to do with him or the arse he was meant to fight. He’d stake his life on it.
“I’m not the one who had her in my arms.” Reaper lit a torch and strode over to him. “You know her, don’t you?”
“I don’t.” Butfelther? Yes. That was the blasted issue.
“But you know who she is, or you wouldn’t have let her run off.”
Smart devil. Drake rolled his shoulder, irritation simmering. He spoiled for a fight again. He shouldn’t have ended his one match tonight with a single blow. He’d had time to draw the bout out a bit. Anything to bleed off the violent itch still prowling under his skin, further provoked by the wordsrun off.
Reaper held the torch to his face. “What are we going to do now? The plan failed.”
“It didn’t fail.” Drake’s jaw tightened. “It just took an unexpected turn.”
His brother snorted. “Feels like failure to me.”
“And notwe,” Drake corrected, dragging a hand down his face to keep from snapping. “I. You do nothing. I’ll handle this from here.”
