Captive (24 page)
“Bullshit. I am the mother of your child.”
“Do you know how many women have carried my children? Do you think I’ve ever seen any of them again? Or the kids? I am a stud. A fucking animal, as you had said. I do my job and I don’t get involved.”
“Wait a minute.” Addy stepped back. “This isn’t about me, is it? This is about you trying to forget who you are so you can make sense of this barbaric world. Only you can’t. Can you?”
He didn’t say anything. She didn’t give him the chance.
“In the breeding box when I asked you how many children you have, I saw the hurt in your eyes. You’re only lying to yourself by pretending you don’t give a crap. Tell me, does acting like a beast help ease your pain?”
He wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“I didn’t think so. Maybe because you’re not a beast, Max. You’re a man.”
“I
am
a beast.” In one move, Max grabbed her by the arm and the neck and slammed her up against the cavern wall.
She dropped the lantern. The light extinguished.
“Do you know,” he said, his voice cool and rough, “that I feel no remorse when I kill?”
“Let go.” She gasped and clawed at his hand around her throat. Her heart pounded uncontrollably. Her head throbbed from its collision with the ice.
“That I enjoy seeing a man take his last breath? Watching his life drain in my bare hands?”
Towering over her in all his gladiator power, his grasp tightened around her arm, each finger digging into her flesh. Hot tears streamed down her face. Why was he doing this?
“A man doesn’t lust for killing. A
beast
does. A man has a job and a family and plays catch with his kids. A beast doesn’t. A man can control his primal urges,” he said in his husky breeding-box voice. “The beast in me can’t.”
His hand was off her neck and squeezing her breast. Hot, fierce lips covered her mouth. A sudden leg sweep widened her stance, knocking her off balance until his hips pinned hers against the ice, pressing the baby between them.
Since that day in the shower, she’d imagined his hands on her body, his mouth on hers again, but never had she imagined his raw hunger. He unleashed his feral need, and her heart pounded, caught between fear and desire.
Her body burned for his touch.
But not like this.
He jerked his head back into the moonslight. Disgust lit his wild, green eyes. “I can’t control the beast.”
Unable to catch her breath in time to stop him, she watched Max’s silhouette stride into the frozen wasteland.
Alone.
“You just did,” she said, her words falling on deaf ears. “For the second time.”
* * *
The arctic air chilled his burning cheeks as he trekked out into the vast emptiness. He could feel the daggers of hate she shot him penetrating his spine.
Don’t look back.
The last few minutes replayed over and over in his mind until the memory burned itself there. He had to remember her fear of him. Remember her hate. Remember her eyes seeing him as a monster.
Because that was what he was.
And she needed to remember his brutality. She had called him a man, but she sure as hell knew better now.
Maybe there were times when he had tried to be human, but his animal instincts had always taken over. That was why he was better off alone.
That was why she was better off without him.
She’d never survive the journey to the equator, anyway. Though she hadn’t complained, he knew she’d been starving, and was exhausted and in pain. He’d seen the way she held her swollen belly.
A blast of wind from the north pressed into his back. Taking advantage of the gust as he had done so many times before, he adjusted his backpack and ran, Mother Nature pushing him over the packed snow.
Even if the damn woman managed to make the long trek to the ocean, what would she do when she got there? His plan was to hop on an iceberg, an ice floe, or driftwood and let the South Arctic Current take him to the Southland continent. There was no way in hell she could pop out a kid on an iceberg.
He’d rather she stay in the safety of the village and hate his guts than risk their lives with him. If she’d left, neither she nor his baby could survive.
And he couldn’t survive in the Tuniit village. He was no damn provider. What did an ex-gladiator have to offer anyone? All he knew how to do was fight and mate. Hell, he’d probably murder the Hyboreans for all the suffering he’d had to endure. But even if he could control that urge, he’d wind up picking fights with the men and sleeping with the women.
But only one woman’s shapely body came to his mind.
And that woman deserved a home and someone to love and look after her and his baby—
the
baby, he corrected himself. He couldn’t do that. He’d never stayed in one place since his abduction.
For him, home didn’t exist.
She’d be safe in the Tuniit village. Neither the Hyboreans nor the humans there would hurt her. They’d find her a husband, and no other man would ever touch her.
Including him.
Never again would he feel the heat of her sleeping body curled against him as they huddled for warmth in their shelters. Never again would he watch her hands slip beneath her clothes to reapply thermal cream when she thought he wasn’t looking. But of course he’d been looking. And he’d wished it had been his hands moving over her bare flesh, caressing her breasts, her hips, her firm ass.
He wanted to taste her mouth, to run his tongue down her body, to kiss her dark birthmark on the soft, sensitive flesh just inside her pelvic bone. Oh, to feel her squirm beneath him as he made her hot and wet and ready.
Legs turning over faster now and arms pumping harder, he sprinted until his chest burned from the cold air, taking comfort in the familiar ache of his muscles. The pain would not quell his lust.
He could still see her body writhing, could hear her begging him to fuck her, could see her gray eyes filled with wanton desire...
...then tears...
...then terror.
Shit.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her, but he couldn’t stop himself. How he’d managed to not rip off her thermal suit and take her right there in the ice cavern, he didn’t know. Another minute and the beast would have consumed him.
But now she was safe.
M
ax stopped and listened. There. He heard it again, a subtle yet heavy crunch. Pivoting around, he scanned the icescape in the orange glow of dawn’s light.
Though he couldn’t see any movement, he sensed their nearness. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. Somewhere close the beasts stalked him. A lump of nervous energy formed in his gut and spilled into his veins, charging him with vital fighting power.
Still listening, still searching, he shrugged off his backpack, gripped it tight in his hand.
Then he saw one crouched on his haunches in the snow. A lone, white smilidon, its fur matted and its body thin. Its pack must have run off the sick, mangy thing. Hopefully it was as weak as it looked, though he’d learned the hard way never to underestimate the might of a starving animal.
Max slowly squatted to engage his boot’s crampons before the sabertooth charged. Too late. The beast raced toward him.
He stood, anticipating the attack of three hundred pounds of muscle, teeth, and claws.
The tiger leaped.
Max jumped left, and clubbed the beast in the head with his backpack, knocking the cat off balance. It fell to its side before quickly rebounding to all fours. The animal faced him, and its booming roar resonated within Max’s chest. With whiskers flared, the beast exposed a full seven inches of serrated fangs.
Max was weaponless.
He swung the backpack in figure eights in front of him, hoping to appear larger and more intimidating. “Come on,” he yelled, drawing strength from his battle cry.
The tiger’s huge paw swiped at him.
Hot pain tore across his chest and he landed in the snow on his back. He drew his knees into his torso, but only had time to engage one boot’s crampons before the tiger leapt. Max thrust the sharp spikes into the animal’s muzzle and across its face as the beast’s momentum followed. The tiger tumbled over him roaring again, this time from pain.
Max rolled, engaged the other boot’s crampons and waited on his back, keeping his feet between his head and the beast.
The tiger attacked.
Max thrust his feet. One boot ripped the side of the beast’s mouth. The other pierced an eye.
The smilidon roared and howled and attacked again. Its heavy weight crushed Max’s body into the snow.
He fought for air. He fought to keep the tiger’s razor teeth away from his throat. Using his backpack like a shield on his left arm, he forced it into the beast’s ripped mouth. He punched its bloodied nose and eye with his right hand.
The weight lifted off him. Precious cold air filled his lungs as the injured tiger fled.
Why’d it give up?
Lying in the snow, gasping for breath, Max heard the answer cut through the thin air in the form of barking.
Wolves.
Damn. He’d rather fight the similidon. At least he would have had a chance.
The pack’s thunderous feet grew louder as they bore down on him.
Still catching his breath, Max didn’t get up. Maybe if they didn’t see him, they’d chase the tiger. The thought was hopeful, but stupid—and he knew it. The wolves would be attracted to the scent of his hot blood. He was easy prey.
He’d rest in the snow a moment longer then spring to his feet and fight. Only without a weapon, he knew he wouldn’t survive the attack.
A shiver ran through his bones.
This time there’d be no Hyborean to bring him back from the dead.
This would be it.
His ultimortem.
Thank God the woman was safe. Closing his eyes, he pictured her face. Her hair. Her body. He could almost hear her call his name above the sound of the wolves. Any second he’d feel their teeth and claws, and then he’d feel no more.
After fifteen years of torture, he’d finally die.
Adrenaline surged through him. Damn, he thought he’d be more willing to leave this life, but his instinct to survive ran strong.
He jumped to his feet, screamed his battle cry and ran toward the pack. It took him a few strides before he registered that the wolves, running in two columns of four, were harnessed and tethered to an umiak sleigh.
He stopped and watched the sleigh halt beside him. At the reins, he saw
her
. The woman he'd left behind. The woman he had frightened into hating him. Only now her eyes weren’t terrified, they were filled with concern and distress.
He was cursed.
“Max, are you okay?”
“Hell, woman, what are you doing here?” he snapped, adrenaline still pumping.
“Saving your sorry hide,” she snapped back.
“I’m quite capable of saving my own sorry hide. Was I not clear in the ice cavern? I wanted you to stay where you’d be safe.” Why did she insist on making his life difficult? He refused to acknowledge the fact that he still had a life thanks to her scaring off the smilodon. She didn’t need the encouragement.
Her gray eyes turned as dark as the north sky before a storm. “I know what you wanted. But you fail to understand what I want. My freedom.”
“You would have had it there.”
“Yeah, right. I had the freedom to choose which of the three men Kaskae expected me to marry.”
Max paused trying to understand her words, but as the adrenaline ebbed, dizziness crept into his head. “You came after me looking for a husband?”
“Uh, no. I was on my way to the equator when I happened to see someone getting mauled. Unfortunately, it was you.”
“How did you get this umiak?” He hoped his gruffness masked his idiocy. His chest began burning as arctic air whipped across his wounds.
“I didn’t steal it, if that’s what you’re insinuating.”
He gave her a cold, hard stare. “Did I say you stole it? I just wanted to know what you traded. Because they didn’t want what I offered.”
“Really? What did you offer?”
“My gladimort. Flesheater. You.”
“Hmm. I wonder how Kaskae ended up with your sword, your knife,
and
me while you ended up boatless? Looks like you got hosed on that deal.”
He stared up at her smug mouth and sharp eyes. What game was she playing?
“So, Max.” She folded her arms and rested them on her little round belly. “If you didn’t trade your weapons for a boat, what did you trade them for?”
He could tell by her tone and body language she knew damn well. She just wanted him to say it. Well he wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction. He did what he had to do, and if she was too stupid to realize it was for the best, then the hell with her. She was nothing but trouble, anyway. And he hadn’t needed her to save him from the smilidon, either. He’d been doing just fine on his own.
“Kaskae told me you gave him your weapons in exchange for me staying.”
“Looks like I got hosed on that deal.”
“Funny.” She bent down to retrieve something in the umiak then held up his gladimort and Flesheater. “Since I wouldn’t let Kaskae keep his end of the bargain, he wouldn’t keep the weapons. You look like you could’ve used them just now.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “Yeah, well...” So that was her game, gloating. She had managed to get her hands on transportation, weapons, and food. He could smell the seal blubber. Plus she had saved him from being smilidon chow.
Ah hell, after the way he treated her, he deserved her ridicule. He might as well stand there and let her give it to him. He was already feeling like crap, anyway. At least it would make one of them feel better.
But she didn’t say anything more. Standing in the umiak with sword in one hand and survival knife in the other, head titled to the side, red-blonde hair whipping across her face, she watched him with intense eyes as if trying to decide something.
Lord, she was sexy as hell. “Will you be returning my effects, then, or do I have to retrieve them from you?”
She blinked and righted her head. “I’m sorry, I was deciding whether I should hand them over or run you through.”