His nod is slower this time, but like a trapped rat in a bucket, he knows there’s only one way out if he wants to live. “I’ll find out.”
Good. False promises. That will lead to desperation and answers for me.
Justice drops Renaldo’s phone and crushes it beneath his heavy boot. My brother’s eyes burn, and I wonder at his headache. While my synesthesia localizes a certain way, his is far different.
“We’ll get you a new phone, Renaldo,” I say. It will clone the data on any phone he gets close to and then transmit all information to my computer hub. “You’ll also be watched, and if you get out of line . . . well, you know.”
He nods.
I need to get back to my woman. She’s had plenty of time for her body to stop burning and her mind to take over. She wanted me after the spanking, but that was physical as well as emotional. As her desire cooled, what has her temper done?
I tear my knife free of Renaldo’s leg and he cries out.
Wynd moves in to save his life, and I’m already outside in the night, climbing toward the stars.
Will she be waiting for me?
THIRTEEN
Alana
I stretch in the big bed—my bed—as drowsiness tries to overwhelm me. After a very nice bath, my brain returned, and I decided I’m not ready for a night with Thorn.
True, I’m not sure any woman could be ready. But I’m still confused, and frankly, I don’t want to encourage his bad behavior.
Even if it did almost lead to the unicorn of all orgasms.
I tilt my head on the pillow and then fight the urge to punch myself in the face. Submitting to him, the absolute dark pleasure in doing so, feels like a drug in my system. One I have to purge before I get even deeper into this, before I drown in every sensation he evokes.
I’m not stupid. The only way to fight both of us is to escape him and his pull. But right now? I’m actually listening for him.
He’s been gone for hours.
I’m an intelligent woman, usually, but I can’t wrap my head around the badass enigma. There’s no doubt he enjoyed spanking me, but then he held me safe while I cried, finally walking away when I would’ve definitely torn off his clothes. He’s dangerous, and I’m not entirely sure which way his moral compass points. Or if he even has one.
Then there’s the burn of his eyes. A sadness lives there—one that calls to me.
That is a good enough reason to avoid him for the night and then figure out a way to escape his sprawling fortress tomorrow.
I fall asleep finally, thinking of that kiss and wanting more.
My dreams are a kaleidoscope of ocean storms and lightning strikes, until I go deeper into dreamland, where I’m both vulnerable and too young to handle the world I was born into.
I’m six years old again, clutching my stuffed blue teddy bear with its sparkling blue eyes. My fingers curl over the bear’s rose quartz necklace; the one that makes me feel better. There’s yelling.
I shut my eyes and huddle on the cold floor, my feet bare and one cut.
What is happening?
I don’t understand. Tears slide down my face and I rock, my shoulders hitting the wall. Then I stop. Mama told me to be quiet.
Quiet is my friend.
I don’t know where I am, and it’s so cold. Freezing, really. What is happening? A screech of tires comes from nowhere.
Somebody is screaming.
“Alana. Wake up. Now.” The voice is a low command that must be obeyed.
I jerk awake, sitting up and gasping. My ears ring. Furiously, I wipe tears off my cheeks. I’d screamed.
“What the hell?” Thorn strides to the velvet curtains and tears them open.
“No!” I shriek. “Shut them.”
He instantly does so, partially turning.
I fumble for the bed table light. Then I wish I hadn’t.
He stands against the cream-colored velvet drapes in formfitting black boxers. The good cotton kind. His hair is mussed and his eyes sharp. But that body. I try to swallow but every ounce of liquid in my throat has headed south. His tatted chest is a scarred masterpiece with slashes, burns, whip marks, and bullet holes.
The evidence of past pain somehow—and I’ll never explain to anybody how—promises strength. Muscles play beneath his skin, not lazy and natural, but sharp and deadly. Life is terrifying, and he’s strong enough to beat it down. Every time. Ink covers the right side of his body and flows down his arm. Garnets, roses, knives . . . and skulls. The intricate design isn’t meant to be beautiful.
It’s a warning.
I make sure to breathe in through my nose, not wanting to pass out. The echoes of the nightmare weigh down my limbs.
“You a vampire now?” he asks, still watching me. Missing nothing.
