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“What the hell are you doing, Lucian?” My voice was amazingly calm given the anger that surged through me. “Have you got a death wish or something?”
“The reaper may want to kill me,” he said with a half shrug. “But he will not overstep the rules to justify his own petty desires.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” My fingers twitched against Amaya’s hilt, and it took every ounce of willpower not to aim her steel at his black heart and release her. But he wasn’t a fool, and that meant I couldn’t be. Not until I knew the full length and breadth of whatever he had planned. “By kidnapping me, you’ve given him carte blanche to break the rules where you’re concerned.”
“Then he is most welcome to try to kill me. But I doubt that he will.”
His confidence was as irritating as it was unnerving. “What do you want, Lucian?”
“What I have always wanted.” His low tones were laced with amusement and slid across my skin like silk. “I want to fuck you senseless.”>I’d certainly be using mine if the damn thing hadn’t decided to die on me.
“No.” He paused. “Take three steps to your right, then five to the left. Watch the table—”
I crashed into said table and bit back another curse. “Warning me a little earlier might have been handy.”
“Sorry.”
There was little amusement in his voice, and again I frowned. This whole thing felt decidedly off . . .
“Almost there,” he added. “Just one more step.”
I hesitated, then cursed myself for doing so. Jak wouldn’t harm me. Bed me—given half a chance—yes, but not harm. Not only did he need me to get his story, but he was well aware just how thick and fast trouble in the form of Uncle Rhoan would hit him if he in any way caused me damage—physical or emotional.
I took that step.
Realized almost instantly it was the wrong thing to do when something grabbed me and held me.
But that something wasn’t flesh and blood but rather magic. I had one moment to wonder what the hell—who the hell—had me this time and even less time to fear; then thought was torn away and I knew no more.
Waking was a slow process and felt rather like the tedious climb to awareness that often accompanied a heavy alcohol binge. Thanks to our faster metabolic rate, it was harder for werewolves to get drunk than humans, but it was certainly possible if you applied yourself well enough. I had on several occasions, generally when I’d stupidly embarked on a drinking contest with Liana and Ronan, Riley’s two eldest. But at least I’d had the pleasurable buzz of consuming all that alcohol first. There was none of that joy here, just the sick queasiness and thick head that generally hit after consumption had well and truly finished.
For several minutes, I did nothing more than simply lie there, willing my head to stop pounding even as I wondered where the hell I was.
But as awareness of my surroundings grew stronger, I discovered that not only was I in a bed and naked, but I was spread-eagle, with my hands and feet tied.
What the hell was going on?
My first thought—naturally enough—was that I’d been raped, but I had no sense of violation. It didn’t feel like anyone had abused me in any way other than tying me. My body did ache, but I suspected it was more a residue of whatever magic had knocked me out rather than someone having forced themself on me.
Of course, no one ever had, so how could I be so certain that it hadn’t happened? God, the way I was tied certainly suggested that even if it hadn’t happened, it was very much in the cards. It was a thought that should have frightened me, but all it actually did was make me mad. Werewolves had a free and easy attitude when it came to sex, but force was an entirely different matter—and one that was not dealt with lightly. Fortunately, it was something that rarely happened among werewolves. But then, rape was rarely about sex and all about either gaining power over—or causing degradation to—another person.
Who the hell would wish either of those on me?
Even as the thought hit, the answer came. Lucian.
Touch not, Amaya said, her sharp voice cutting like razor blades through my brain. Tried.
Lucian?
Him, she spat. Tried to slice it off. Missed.
I blinked. As statements went, that was pretty dramatic, and it was one that had just a touch of amusement vibrating through me. At least I’d had a defender when I was unconscious.
It was just a damn shame that she’d missed.
I very much wanted to open my eyes and see where the hell I was, but caution prevailed. Until I had some sense of what was going on around me, it was better that Lucian thought I was still unconscious.
There was little in the way of movement or sound—other than the nearby rumble of traffic—to indicate there was anyone close, but the air was thick with the scent of dust and mold and age. Wherever we were, it wasn’t Lucian’s apartment. But he was here. His scent—lemongrass, suede, and musky, powerful male—was a strong undercurrent to the other scents.
