Stealing Kathryn (35 page)

“My needs go well beyond those of my physical body,” he said to her, those green eyes flicking up from their low position in his bent head. She felt snared by that look, her throat tightening with a strange sense of having gotten in way over her head. She wanted to laugh aloud at the ludicrous idea as soon as she had it.

“Well, mine don’t,” she countered, realizing she didn’t sound as convincing as she should have. She reached out to cover that up with her touch, having already realized how easily it distracted him. She snaked her arms around his neck, drawing herself in tight and snug to his body. “Your physical body will suit me fine,” she whispered softly as her lips brushed against his ear.

Julian groaned softly as she wriggled against him, his hands tightening reflexively against her shoulders. Before she knew it, he had turned his face against her neck and was…

Sniffing her?

Asia’s brows lowered in a perplexed expression of disbelief as she felt him breathe deeply and sigh out an extraordinary exhalation against her pulse. Even more unusual was the fine tremor she felt run through him.

“Such a sweet invitation,” he breathed against her softly, his nose nuzzling against her pulse. “Too bad it is a lie.”

He had her by her throat in an instant, his hand locking hard and fast around her as he kicked her feet out from under her and sent her slamming down to the floor on her back. He controlled the entire action, however, keeping the impact minimal, if not shockingly violent, as he ended up with his grip shy of throttling her and his face mere millimeters from hers. He had thrown a leg over hers, pinning her to the hardwood floor firmly as she instinctively reached to grasp the wrist of the hand at her throat.

“For a woman who wants to fuck so badly, you smell decidedly clean of sexual arousal,” he growled harshly. “What game is it you are playing? Why are you here?”

“I don’t…are you out of your mind?” she rasped, the pressure of his hand just enough to warn her of his strength and the possible consequences if she ticked him off enough. “What the hell are you talking about?” Indignation seemed the way to go. Maybe a little fear. The more she was threatened, in actuality, the calmer and more in control Asia got. His kindnesses had rattled her much more than this would. This she understood.

This was what she had wanted.

She thumbed the catch on her ring, then grabbed his wrist again so the micro-fine needle injected into his skin. He would mistake the sensation for the cut of her diamond. In a sense it was exactly that. The heavy narcotic serum flooding into him would make him hers in instants.

“I am talking about this.”

To her shock she felt his hand sweep up under her dress. His fingertips dipped into her panties below the top elastic and it was all she could do to keep from freaking out as thick male fingers skimmed over her denuded mound and dove with intimacy between her nether lips.

“Warm. Damp, to be certain,” he observed, “but in no way bearing the heat or wetness of a woman longing for sex.”

“You’re blaming me because you haven’t done anything to turn me on?” she demanded incredulously.

“Your scent is fear-scent, and yet not. You smell of a hunter. The predator. The ziniprano. Tell me, zini,” he said in a heated, fierce whisper of threat as he wedged himself in between her legs, “if it is a fucking you so desire, will it matter to you how it comes about?”

The intent behind his devious invitation and the hard actions of his heavy body over hers triggered a hell of a lot more than fear in Asia. She knew she needed to wait, if only to see the narcotic hit him like a ton of bricks, making all of this infinitely easier, but she couldn’t. His intimate touch grew deeper as he spread her legs wide around his hips and Asia learned that there were just some things even she couldn’t do.

“I don’t know,” she countered in a rasp of pent-up fury and hurt. “Why don’t you tell me how you did it to my sister, first?”

He went still in surprise, just as she had hoped for, leaving himself wide open for her free hands to make their mark.

Asia was a jujitsu master. She had achieved black belt status at a very young age, and had only increased in degrees until the time she had become the sensei of her own dojo. The art of self-defense, the art of power in small movements. This was what she used to drive rigid fingers into his throat and eyes simultaneously. She took satisfaction in his roar of agony as she used the ripple of her fit body to buck him off of herself at the first available opportunity. She spilled his significant weight onto the wooden floor and pounced on him in fisted, violent strikes.

She hadn’t expected him to be an easy target, and he did not disappoint her. She didn’t even know how he had grabbed her and thrown her, but the next thing she knew she was getting floor burns on her bare legs as she skidded and tumbled away. She rolled up to her feet in smooth continuity, her hair whipping back as it spilled free of its twist. She ignored it, even though it was now a liability, and focused on her giant adversary as he growled with ferocious anger and crouched as if preparing to charge her. His following hesitation was a godsend. The more time he took, the more time for the drug in his system to take effect.

“What is this?” he confronted her with a roar of fury. “Why do you play this brutal game with me?”

“Because you are nothing but violent, evil filth, and this is what you deserve! You stole the single most precious thing from my life, as well as those most precious to the lives of countless others, and it’s time you paid the price for that!”

“And you are going to make me pay, zini?” His laughter irked her as it rolled in irritating waves of derision over her. “Little warrior. So coldhearted, no? To play such a game as the bait just to lure me in close. For what? What is this imagined slight I have done to you?”

“My sister, you prick!” she screamed, months of pain and fear suddenly overriding all of her cold control. Hot fury and unwanted agony burned in her throat and clenching fists. “You stole her! I want her back! You will give her back to me, or so help me I will kill you!”

Why wasn’t the drug working? Damn it, Justin had guaranteed it would! She’d watched him test it on a gorilla, the injection taking under sixty seconds to drop the beast completely.

“I doubt that is how this will end,” he said flatly. He seemed confident of that as he straightened and strolled directly for her across the room.

She fought. With everything she had and everything she knew, she beat him off of herself again and again. But every time she made a strike that should have taken him down, he would simply shake it off and keep coming at her. It was as if he didn’t feel any pain at all, except she knew that he did when he grunted or bellowed out from her critical hits. Fighting in heels lent advantages and disadvantages. Not the least of which was when she drove a stiletto deep into the back of his thigh, shedding first blood as she yanked free.

That was when everything changed.

She had pulled free with a spin, so by the time she came full around, her fists raised in a pose of defensive aggression, blood began to pour down the back of his leg as he stumbled to a knee briefly.

At least she thought it was blood.

It was pink.

Not a thin or light red, not red of any variety or shade, but a brilliant carnation pink bordering on fluorescence.

The sight made her do a double take, the shock of it taking a moment to sink in as she stood frozen at the ready. Julian stood up slowly and turned around, his malachite green eyes glittering with a dangerous resignation. Asia had never known true and utter fear before, she realized. She knew that because she was feeling it right then when she finally understood just why the drug had not and never would work on Julian Sawyer.

He wasn’t human.

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What in hell was wrong with him? He’d been sitting there, furious at the prospect that she’d been torn up inside by those miserable Jakal bastards, and here he was thinking about touching her himself! He might be Sange, but contrary to popular outlander belief, he was no beast!

In the heat of his upset, Reule forgot that there was a huge difference between thinking and acting. For a telepath, it was the hardest and most important lesson to learn. A mind could concoct great fantasies; majestic schemes of both sinister evil and beauteous good. However, actually acting on those fantasies was quite another thing entirely. It was unfair to hold someone responsible for every stray thought. Reule neglected to forgive himself for basic inclinations of the mind.

Reule also forgot how hard his emotions could strike out at others when they emanated out of his control. He was harshly reminded of it when the woman in his arms awoke with a traumatized gasp and a forceful jerking of her body. It sent him off balance as he tried to hold her slippery body and keep her head above water simultaneously. Her bottom settled in his lap again, giving him some leverage as he verbally and mentally tried to calm her frantic flailing.

“Shh. Be easy, kebe. You’re safe,” he assured her, emanating a feeling of security to her, hoping to replace his hostile emotional disturbance of a minute ago. The rush of sorrow he’d come to associate with her assailed him once again, but he found it was fueled with fear as well this time. “Hush, kebe,” he soothed. “Hush, I will keep you safe.”

Then, all at once, she seemed to hear him. To comprehend. She went abruptly still, reached up and shoved the wet mass of hair off of her face so roughly that he heard strands tear and snap. Then she looked directly at him, allowing him to see her face for the very first time. For a long minute, where every muscle in his body seemed locked in a mystical paralysis, all Reule could do was stare at her.

It was her eyes that had the heaviest impact. They were so unreal, so brilliantly unusual, that he couldn’t quite grasp the concept for a moment. He doubted he’d ever see anything like them ever again in his lifetime, and that was quite a monumental concept considering how long-lived his breed tended to be.

How to begin to even describe them? he wondered.

They were colorless.

No. That was inaccurate. They were far too enthralling to be a null. They were as clear as crystal, yet white and silver all at once. They looked exactly like, and sparkled like, diamonds. Faceted, beautifully cut, clear and precious gemstones, with a platinum setting behind them to enhance every movement they caught in the light. She blinked thick, black, curved lashes over them, and that’s when he broke away from her eyes and saw the rest of her face. It was shaped in the delicate curves of a heart, soft bow lips chapped from thirst and neglect were tucked into a permanent but enticing little pout, and she had a slim nose that ended in the slightest uptilt. She had bruises across both cheeks, some old and yellowed, others fresher, but they did nothing to hide the sweet structure of her bones beneath skin that promised to be flawless when free of battering. Youthful, but clearly a woman; unbelievably pretty, but sorely misused; and diamond eyes that looked at him in bald confusion for several heartbeats.

Then, like electricity flooding a dark room, recognition of some kind lit up her features and she smiled so wide her delicate lips split and began to bleed a little. Wet hands lifted out of the water and framed his face and he started in surprise as her palms rubbed over his three-day beard and her fingers curled over his ears.

“Sange,” she breathed, the single word full of excitement like he’d never heard before from anyone who knew he was Sange. Not unless they were also Sange. It stole his breath even as he tried to convince himself that it was a mistake, that she was just in some sort of shock.

“Yes, Sange,” he agreed, pausing to clear the hoarse catch from his throat. “What, and more importantly, who are you, little kebe?”

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Copyright (c) 2010 by Jacquelyn Frank

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ISBN: 978-1-4201-1931-2

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