Dragon Bound

FIVE

Pia kept her gaze down. She touched one abraded palm with a finger. “My ex-boyfriend blackmailed me into doing it.”

“Keith Hollins,” he said.

Startled, her head jerked up. “You know who he is?”

His black eyebrows rose. “I know a lot of things.”

His sentinels had worked fast that morning before he left New York. While the witch had cast the tracking spell for him, Aryal and several others had run a background check on Pia Giovanni. They winnowed through other possibilities until they found the right one. A team had been dispatched to search her apartment and follow any leads they found. Soon after the spell was in place and he had collected preliminary information, Dragos had taken flight, arrowing south for his prey.

“Your boyfriend is dead,” he told her.

Just like that, she had had too much. Her vision grayed and the world tilted.

Dragos leaped forward, hard arms snaking around her before she could collapse. He eased her onto a bar stool and pushed her head down. Her ponytail was a mess, he noted with disapproval as it spilled toward the floor. He kept one hand at the back of her neck. With the other, he worked the puffy elastic thing out of her hair until it fell free, if still somewhat tangled. He slipped the puffy thing into his pocket.

She asked, muffled, “Did you kill him?”

“No. Nor did my people.” The skin at the back of her neck was chilled. He felt the shiver ripple through her. “They found him earlier today. Bad death.”

“Damn that poor idiot. I tried to warn him.” She covered her face with her hands.

Jealousy spiked. His lip lifted in a silent snarl. She was his thief, nobody else’s. “You loved him.”

“No,” she said, wretchedness in her voice. “Yes. I don’t know. I thought I did once, but he wasn’t who I thought he was. After I broke things off with him, the bastard blackmailed me. I knew he was going to get himself killed. I even tried to warn him but he wouldn’t listen to me. He got what he deserved, but it’s still hard to hear about someone I used to care about.” She clenched her fists. “Let me up. I’m not going to faint.”

He released the pressure he had been putting on her neck. She sat upright in the bar stool. She looked composed but her skin was ashen. There were goose bumps along her bare arms and shoulders.

“You are too cold,” he said. “That means shock, I think. We will change that.” He noted the bottle of scotch on the counter by the sink. He retrieved the bottle along with a coffee mug from the cupboard. He poured a drink and shoved it into her hands. “Drink that while I find a blanket.”

She looked at him askance as her fingers curled around the mug.

“Yes, I know,” he said, impatient. “I am going to rend you from limb to limb. Someday. When I feel like it. In the meantime, you will not faint, you will get warm and you will stop being distressed.” His nostrils pinched. “I don’t like how it smells.”

Her pretty mouth fell open. “You don’t . . . like . . .” A hysterical giggle bubbled out and turned to outright laughter. She listed on the bar stool, the coffee mug tilting.

He covered her hands with one of his own, steadying the mug, and pressed a finger against her lips. “Stop that.”

“Sure.” She hooted. “Whatever you say.”

He wasn’t by any stretch of imagination an expert on emotions, let alone female emotions. Scowling, he tapped her lips.

“I’ll just, I don’t know, be happy until you decide to start rending.” She hiccupped. “How will that do, Your Majesty?”

“I was being sarcastic,” he said.

“Which is very reassuring, coming from a pissed-off dragon,” she told him. “Kinda like the whole ‘tell me what I want to know and I’ll let you go’ joke. Definitely has its own charm. I bet all your other prisoners love it.”

Her slender body continued to shake. She was out of control. He would get no sense out of her as long as she was this overwrought. Dragos cupped her chin. He stared into her eyes, intending to beguile her into a sense of calm. Instead he came up against a mental barrier. Intrigued, he inspected it, feeling along the borders.

The barrier seemed to be both natural and intentional. There was the echo of another feminine Power interwoven in it, a subtle presence very like her own and yet separate. It was an altogether beautiful construction, an elegant citadel that protected the female’s core.

This was why she was able to break the beguilement in the dream. He could batter that wall down if he wanted to, but that would be like taking a sledgehammer to an opal. There would be nothing coherent left to salvage of her afterward.

“Stop it,” she whispered. Her body had stiffened, straining away from his touch. “Get out of my head.”

He held fast and used his voice instead of his mind. “Quiet, female,” he murmured. “Be quiet now.”

His deep voice murmured. Tendrils of the sound curled into the air and wrapped around her. It soothed and reassured. Her breath shuddered and she grew still.

She stared in Dragos’s gold eyes. Impossible depths existed in those brilliant pools. She could fall into his gaze and never come out. “Valium’s got nothing on you,” she murmured. “Bottle that, and you could make another fortune.”

“You are calmer now,” he said. His severe dark face was inscrutable.

“Yes.” She wrenched her gaze away and stared into her coffee mug. She forced herself to say, “Thank you.”

He let go of her chin and hands and stepped back. “Drink.”

She looked up as he disappeared into the hall. Then she raised the mug to her lips and drank it all down. Scotch napalmed her veins, hitting her all the harder since she hadn’t eaten well the last week.

She put the mug on the counter and inspected her hands, felt along her jaw. She had taken a battering when he slammed her into the ground, but his handling of her since then had been quite careful. How remarkable. What did it mean?

He strode back into the kitchen, the light blue hoodie she had bought earlier bunched in one hand. He nodded at the empty mug and dropped the hoodie in her lap. She shrugged it on as he crossed his arms. Perched on the bar stool as she was, he towered over her even more than he would if she were standing upright. She had thought the house was quite spacious until he had walked into it.

“We will begin again,” he said.

She kept her gaze focused on his crossed forearms that looked very dark against the white silk shirt. The distance across his pectorals was extraordinary. On another man it would be too much. On him, those heavy muscles armored a body long enough to carry them with power and grace.

“Keith blackmailed me into stealing something from you,” she said. “It didn’t matter what it was. He owed some people a lot of money.”

“Gambling debts,” he said.

She lifted her head. He had settled into a hunter’s patience. “You got that far already?”

“We found his bookie. Also dead.”

Icy fingers slid down her spine. She pulled the hoodie closer around her torso. “I dated Keith for a few months. For a little while I thought—it doesn’t matter what I thought.”

He tilted his head. “You thought what?”

“You’re not interested in all that.” Color tinged her cheeks.

“Don’t make assumptions about what I am interested in or what I will think or what I will do. You have no idea what interests me,” he told her. He settled back against the edge of the dining room table and crossed one ankle over the other. “We clear?”

She nodded, her color deepening. She went on, “We’ve already established I was an idiot. Keith came along when I was feeling low, and I fell for his charm. I was . . . indiscreet. I should have known better, and I screwed up.” Her throat closed.

“You said you had broken things off,” he prompted when she fell silent.

She nodded. “I had, a while ago. Then last week he showed up. He was full of this scheme that was going to pay off all his debts and make him rich. Of course by then my rose-colored glasses were gone. I didn’t want to have anything to do with it, or him. Then he . . . made me.”

“Blackmail, you said. Over your indiscretions.”

He spoke in a neutral tone. He had throttled the aggression down. She was very aware that he was “managing” her, but he still sounded pitiless. She covered her throat with one hand as he dissected her expression.

“Can we please not talk about that?” She tried to steady her voice. “Please?”

His lids dropped down, hooding his gaze. “Go on with your story.”

“There’s what I know.” She stressed the last word. “There’s what I think, and then there’s what I’ve guessed. Keith was all about his ‘associates.’ People he met through his bookie that he was going to do business with. He was somehow a bigger man in all his stories than he was in real life, know what I mean?”

He nodded, keeping silent.

“Well, I think he was half desperate, half boasting and all-the-way manipulated. He started promising those contacts of his anything he could. His loans had come due. He said he told them he could get them anything they wanted.” She swallowed hard. “And they said, how about something from Cuelebre, then. They gave him a charm that would locate your lair, and Keith came to me.”

“Did they, now.” He hadn’t moved, but he had tensed all over. What radiated off him had her heart pounding.

She licked lips that had gone dry and whispered, “I think Keith told them something about me but not much. He would have wanted to keep me a secret because he wanted to be the big player, and he thought he could control me. He was hoping to set up a repeat business. But I think someone very nasty and Powerful was manipulating him, and now, thanks to me, they’ve got something of yours.”

“They do indeed.” He bared his teeth in that machete smile. “I’ll have to thank you later for that one.”

She whispered, “That charm scared the shit out of me. If I didn’t do what he wanted, I knew Keith would sing like a canary. Would he give me up? In a heartbeat, if it would save his own ass. Then they would come after me. So I was in that damned if you do, damned if you don’t place.”

“Where’s the charm now?” His eyes had gone pure gold, all dragon.

“It disintegrated when I used it.”

His eyes narrowed. “I would have felt my spells fail if it had nullified them, but they were all still in place when I went to investigate.”

She cupped her ear with one hand and rubbed her neck, a stressed, defensive gesture as she remembered the pain from using the charm. He moved closer as that pitiless dragon gaze dissected her face. She whispered, “The charm didn’t nullify anything. Between it and your spells, I felt like I was being ripped apart.”

“Yet you still got through them.”

She didn’t bother to reply. Instead she searched his face. His expression was savage, catapulting her thoughts forward to consequences that were more far-reaching than just her own future. Her lips felt numb. “A charm that Powerful could find anything hidden, couldn’t it?”

“Depending upon the strength of the user, yes.”

Anything hidden. There were things in the world that should never be found, dangerous things, or fragile, and precious creatures whose lives depended upon secrecy. A finding charm as strong as the one Pia had used could slice like a knife through someone’s every defense. She shivered and huddled into herself. Despite her fears and preoccupation for her own safety, this had never been about her.

Dragos frowned as he considered the minefield she had maneuvered in order to get to his hoard, the unknown charm acting in opposition to his spells. The conflict of opposing magics might have killed another person. That elegant citadel inside her mind was probably what had saved her life. Despite her obvious upset, he didn’t think she realized how much danger she had been in.

He wondered if it was her conscience that made her so upset. He was fascinated by the concept of a conscience. He dropped a heavy hand onto her shoulder, gripping the slender bone and sinew. Her body shifted in subtle ways as she leaned into his bracing hold.

He shifted the conversation back to an earlier point. “Hollins might have given you up anyway, before they killed him.”

“No,” she sighed. “He didn’t, which may actually be why they killed him.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“After he blackmailed me, I blackmailed him,” she told him. She squinted at him with one eye. Was that approval gleaming in his gaze? “I wouldn’t give him what I stole unless he read the binding spell I bought yesterday. He would have lost the ability to speak if he tried to talk about me.”

Her stomach twisted as she imagined what must have been done to Keith. It had been a bad death, Dragos said, and Dragos wasn’t exactly known for being squeamish. Was Keith’s death on her conscience if he had been the one to start the whole damn thing? Or did she start the whole damn thing by opening up her big mouth? The morality of it all was getting too convoluted for her to figure out.

“How did you get past my locks and the wards?”

She closed her eyes and put her hands over her face. What did it matter anymore? “I’m a half-breed. I don’t have much Wyr blood or many abilities. I can’t change into a Wyr form, and I don’t have a lot of Power. I don’t have anything interesting about me.” She pulled her hands away and looked at him. He was staring at her. “What, have I grown two heads?”

“You believe you don’t have anything interesting about you,” he said. “Or that you don’t have much Power.”

She gave him a blank look and a shrug. “Except, I guess, for one stupid parlor trick I was too fucking stupid to keep to myself,” she said. “I showed Keith when we were both drunk and goofing around.”

“What was it?”

“It’s easier to show than tell.” She walked over to the sliding glass door, unlocked it, stepped onto the deck and shut the door again. Outside, the evening had darkened to dusk. Still staring at her, he stalked over and put a fist against the glass as if to break through it. She told him, “Go ahead and lock it again.”

His dark brows lowered in a scowl.

She just looked at him. “Oh, go on. You know you could catch me again if I tried to run.” His gold dragon’s gaze holding hers, he did as she told him.

She opened up the door and stepped back inside. “See?”

He looked at the door and back at her again. “Do it again.” She stepped outside. She walked back in after he locked the door. He said, “I didn’t feel you cast a spell.”

“That’s because I didn’t. It’s just a part of me.” Locks, wards—you name it, and she could walk through it. Nothing could cage her. Nothing, that is, unless it plummeted out of a clear blue sky and sat on her. She dug the heel of her hand into one temple where a headache was starting to throb and sighed. “That’s all I know. That, and again, I’m sorry. I suppose you’ll want to do the rending now.”

He hadn’t moved back when she stepped inside. She was so close she could feel his body heat on her skin. He had a kind of strength and vitality that was a constant shock to the system. She felt small and cold and pale by comparison. Despite the colossal danger this creature represented, she had quite an irrational desire to curl up in his warmth.

He cupped her head. The broad palms and long fingers cradled her skull. Oddly, she didn’t feel afraid and she didn’t resist when he tilted her face up.

The predator bent over her. “You committed a crime,” he said. “And you owe me. Say it.”

What was this? She could gain no hint by searching his face. Her shoulders sagged and her mouth drooped. “What if I don’t want to say it?”

“You will make recompense,” said the Lord of the Wyr. “You will serve me until I deem the debt is paid. Is that clear?”

“No rending?” she asked. Her gaze clung to his. Could she believe him this time, or was this another cruel joke?

He shook his head and smoothed back her hair. “No rending. You told me the truth,” he said. “I could sense it as you talked. You committed a crime, but you were also a victim. This is justice.” He bent his head until his nose just touched the top of hers, inhaling. His voice was much softer as he continued, “But when I go after who orchestrated this? That will be vengeance.”

She shuddered, going limp with relief. Her hands smoothed over the heavy muscles in his chest. She felt encompassed by him, and against all good sense or sanity, she felt safe. Her spine lost its starch. She leaned against him. Just a little. She did it sneakily so he wouldn’t notice. “I don’t like that word ‘serve.’ What would you want me to do?”

“I’ll make use of you somehow,” he said.

“What if I don’t want to do it?” Her head started to lower, a drooping flower on a stalk. His hands guided her to rest on his chest. “I’m not stealing again,” she warned. “So if that’s what you want, we might as well get back to the rending right now.”

Listen to her. Big tough girl.

“There is nothing you could steal that I couldn’t get in any number of other ways. I will not put you in harm’s way.” He kept her head cradled in one hand and put an arm around her. He murmured, “I do not endanger my treasures.”

What did he mean by that? She was mesmerized by his hold in a way that had nothing to do with beguilement. She tried to focus. “I’m not agreeing, mind you,” she grumbled. “I’ll have to think about it.”

But it didn’t sound so bad. It was much better than rending. And she did steal from him, along with telling him too much about herself. She bit her lip. What if he decided to blackmail her too?

“I wasn’t aware that I gave you a choice,” he said. Was that amusement in his voice? “Crime and judgment, remember, not negotiation. You lived in my demesne, you lived by my law. But you go ahead and think about it all the way back to New York.”

A car horn sounded from the street side of the house. She jumped and yanked herself away. He looked at her with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh God,” she said, “that’s the . . . that’s the delivery. I’ll go get it. Be right back.”

She charged for the door to be brought up short by his hand circling her wrist. “I’ll get it,” he said.

“Don’t be silly,” she told him. A wild horse galloped in her chest. “I said I would buy you supper, and I will. It’s the least I can do.”

“No.” He brushed past her, long legs eating up the distance to the front door.

Oh damn. She caught him by the arm just before he opened it and tried one last time. “Please, Dragos. Let me do it.”

He put his hands to her shoulders and nudged her back into the living room. “Something is not right. I can feel it. You are not going out there,” he said. He had turned into a stone-cold killer. His Power revved like fighter plane powering up. “It’s not safe.”

How did this get so messed up? She wrung her hands. He not so much walked outside as flowed, that great magnificent body of his turning into a weapon.

A sound sliced the air. Dragos spun backward, his legs buckling. It all happened too fast. She caught up a heartbeat later. She stared at Dragos, who had collapsed on the walk. A dozen tall Elves stepped out of various hiding places, from behind her Honda, the nondescript Ford idling at the curb and nearby shrubbery. They held weapons trained on the sprawled figure. Six-foot longbows.

She launched toward Dragos, who was lying on his back. Darkness appeared on one white-clad shoulder. It began to spread. She fell to her knees beside him.

“You shot him!” she shouted. She stared at the stern-eyed Elves encircling them. “Do you know who he is?”

One of them stepped forward. He was a silver-haired male, beautiful in the way that all Elves are, with a gracious light that somehow made all other creatures leaden by comparison. Despite his slender build, he not only looked powerful, he carried more Power than anybody else in the clearing except for Dragos.

“We know who he is,” said the Elf. He stared down at Dragos, his beautiful face cold. “Wyrm.”

She turned back to Dragos. Even though he lay wounded, he looked utterly without fear, his raptor’s stare turning from the Elves to focus on her. She tore open his shirt to stare at the bleeding hole over his left breast. Her uneven breathing sounded loud in her ears.

“I don’t get it. None of you are carrying guns. Where’s the arrow?” she asked. She tore off her hoodie and pressed it to the wound.

“Elven magic,” Dragos responded through gritted teeth.

“No simple arrow could mark him,” said the Elf. “But this one has already melted into his body. It will continue to release poison into his bloodstream for a number of days.”

“What did you do!” she shouted. Her face contorted. She clenched her fists and started to her feet. Dragos grabbed her wrist.

“Pia,” he said when she fought against his hold. “It would take a lot more than this to kill me.”

“We have disabled him,” the Elf told her.

“You don’t understand,” she told Dragos. “I called them. It’s my fault.” She tried to pry his fingers open. It was like trying to pry open a steel shackle. She looked up at the Elf.

He had shifted his attention to Dragos. “You entered our lands without permission. Treaties have been broken. There will be consequences. For now, the poison will keep you from changing into the Great Beast. Since we have clipped your wings, we will give you twelve hours to get beyond our borders. If you are not gone by then, there will be more than twelve of us who will come for you.”

“I broke his law,” Pia said. “He was just coming after me.”

“His law is not our law,” said the Elf. “And he broke ours. Wyrm, release your hold on the female.”

“She is mine.” Dragos bared his teeth, gold eyes flaring to lava. His growl shivered through the ground at her knees, and long fingers clenched on her wrist. He tensed and began to rise.

The other Elves sighted down their longbows at him. “You will release her now or forfeit the twelve hours’ grace,” their leader said.

Pia flung her free hand out at the Elves, fingers spread and palm out. “Stop!” She leaned over Dragos. Bending close to that feral face was one of the braver things she had done in her life. Some instinct she could not have verbalized had her gentling her voice. “Dragos,” she murmured. Calm and quiet, like she would speak to a wounded animal. “Can you look at me, please? You know how normal people say ‘please.’ Pay attention to me, not them.”

That lava gaze turned to her, burning and alien. He may not be able to change, but he was immersed in the dragon.

“Thank you,” she breathed. She dropped her free arm and stroked at his black hair. Dragos tracked the movement and then looked at her face. “I know you’re very angry, but I promise you, this is not worth fighting over,” she whispered. She tugged just a little at the inky ends. Inspiration struck. “And you promised me you wouldn’t put me in harm’s way. Just a few minutes ago. Remember?”

His dangerous face clenched. “You’re mine,” he told her.

For a blistering instant, she had no idea what to say to that. Then hey, another lightbulb moment came along and she was on a roll. “Letting go of my wrist doesn’t change a thing,” she murmured. She mimicked what he had done to her earlier and stroked a finger down the side of his face, then laid her hand against his cheek. “Please.”

His fingers loosened and he let her pull away.

She got to her unsteady feet, somehow managed to stay upright and turned to face the Elven leader, who gave her a slight bow. He stared at her. “Do I know you from somewhere?”

Interior alarm bells started to ring, but all the lightbulbs had left her high and dry. She shook her head and said, “We’ve never met.”

“I’m sure I’ve seen you before. You look—” The Elf’s sea-colored gaze widened. “You look exactly like—”

Dragos curled a hand around her ankle.

“Yeah, I look like Greta Garbo,” she interrupted in a loud voice. A pulse of dread dampened her skin. Shut up, Elf. “I get that a lot.”

“My lady, I am so honored to meet you,” the Elven leader breathed. He bowed low to her, his previous generic respect turned to reverence. When he straightened, his face was alight with joy. “You have no idea how we hoped and prayed that something of your mother still remained in this world.”

All the other Elves stared at them, their faces alight with curiosity. She scowled at the Elven leader. “I have no idea what you are talking about,” she told him.

He seemed to start and come to himself. His joy became muted but she could still feel it beating in him. He smiled at her and said, “Of course, forgive me. I am mistaken.”

Then his telepathic voice sounded in her head like deep bell chimes in the wind. My name is Ferion. I knew a woman once who looked much like you. Meeting her was one of the greatest gifts of my life.

I am honored that you would share that with me, she said. But it is dangerous for me that we talk of this, and I am not that woman. In fact, I am very much less than that woman.

Not to my eyes, he said. Please allow us to offer you sanctuary. I know our Lord and Lady would greet you with joy every bit as deep as my own. We would treasure your presence among us.

She hesitated and for a moment, oh, she was tempted. The thought of such a welcome wrung at her lonely heart. But Ferion’s reverence brought her up short. She didn’t think she could bear to live with such regard. Not when she was so much less than what he thought she was, nothing very special at all, just a glow-in-the-dark night-light and a stupid parlor trick and a big mouth that got her into too much trouble. Living with the Elves, where she would feel like a fraud while she aged and died and they remained forever the same, would just be a different kind of loneliness.

The jealous hand on her ankle tightened. She looked down at Dragos, who was watching her with a narrowed gaze.

I thank you for the offer of sanctuary. Perhaps one day I may take you up on it, she said to Ferion. While she couldn’t accept, she couldn’t bear to say no, either, to what might be the only home ever offered to her. In the meantime, I have a debt to pay.

Ferion said aloud, “Lady, I beg of you, come away with us. Do not stay with the Beast.”

She squatted by Dragos and dared to peek under the hoodie covering his wound. It had stopped bleeding. She mopped the blood streaks from his shoulder as gently as she could, wiped her hands on the material and folded the bloodied part into the rest of the hoodie.

“This train wreck all is my fault,” she said. “I have to do what I can to make it right.”

Dragos’s grip on her leg eased. His fingers slid along her calf in a subtle movement.

It annoyed her so much, she snapped at him. “But no matter what ridiculous thing you say, I am not yours. You wouldn’t be here except for me so I will see you to the Elven border. I know you lost your head, and you got all scary and obsessive and territorial, and you want to get back your property and all that, but come on. All I took was a freaking penny. Besides, I already gave you another one.”

One corner of his long, sexy, cruel mouth lifted in a smile.

The Elves refused to touch Dragos, so she had to help him as much as she could. By the time he had pushed himself off the ground and she had gotten herself insinuated under his good arm, the Elves had disappeared. She knew better than to believe they were gone.

“You took a 1962 penny,” Dragos said. His teeth were gritted. “You left a 1975 penny. It’s no replacement.”

She stared at him. “Oh my God, it’s scary you noticed that.”

“I know everything in my hoard and exactly where it is,” he told her. “Down to the smallest piece.”

“You could go to a doctor, get checked out for OCD,” she panted. “There might be medication for that.”

His chest moved in a silent laugh.

She focused on putting one foot in front of the other. He leaned on her as little as possible—otherwise they both would have crashed to the ground again. He still felt like a Volkswagen had been hung around her neck.

They got inside. He collapsed on the couch. He draped an arm over his eyes and stretched out one leg until his boot hung over the end. He left the other foot planted on the floor. Between the blood and the buttons she’d popped when she ripped it open, his Armani shirt was ruined. She eyed his chest that went both wide and far, narrowing to an eight-pack that rippled into his jeans.

For God’s sake. The male was injured and here she was ogling him like a pervert in a porn store. “I’m just not right in the head,” she muttered.

He said from under his arm, “I’ll pursue that comment later.”

She turned to the kitchen. “I’ll get you some water.”

“Scotch.”

“Okay. And water.”

She brought the bottle of scotch along with a jug of water and a cloth. He swiped the scotch bottle from her, uncapped it and drank half without pausing. She waited until he came up for air. Then she sat on the wood-framed coffee table and used the washcloth to wipe the blood off his chest. The entry wound was already nothing more than a white scar.

“Does it still hurt?” she asked, anxiety gnawing at her.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Your voice is too loud. Shut up,” he told her. She bit both her lips as she finished washing him. He sighed and shifted. While he had lost none of that lethal animal grace, it was obvious he was in pain. “Keep doing that with the cloth. It feels good.” He paused. “Please.”

After freezing for a moment, she said, “I’ll get a clean one.”

She dropped the bloodied cloth in the sink, grabbed another and hurried back. He hadn’t moved. She began to smooth the dampened cloth over his chest and shoulders. If he had felt hot before, now he was an inferno. She took the arm draped across his washboard stomach, pushed up the sleeve and bathed it. Then she put it down and reached for the arm he had covering his eyes. He let her, eyes glittering under half-closed lids.

“It was the phone call,” she said. “For the steaks. I didn’t call a number from the phone book. I had memorized a help line number somebody gave me.”

“I got that.” His reply was very dry.

She nodded, dipped the warm washcloth in the water from the jug to cool it down and started over again. The words kept pouring out of her. She said, “I was scared when I called them. I thought you were going to kill me.”

“Got that too.”

“I’m sorry,” she burst out. She grabbed the scotch bottle from him and took a deep swig.

As she lowered the bottle, she caught him smiling. “Good,” he said. “You should be very sorry. In the last two days, you have cost me an untold amount of manpower, tens of millions of dollars in property damage—”

“Hey. Let’s keep the record straight. I wasn’t the one who threw a hissy and hollered fit to wake the dead.” Her spine straightened and she glared at him.

His smile broadened, a slash of white in the room’s gathering darkness. “You’ve caused me all kinds of broken treaties with the Elven community, and now I’m sick as a dog.”

She pointed at him. “You broke those treaties. You weren’t supposed to come here. How crazy is that.” A pause. She looked at him with sad eyes. “Are you really sick as a dog?”

“Pretty much.” He gestured for the bottle and she handed it over. “My body’s fighting off the poison. It’s better than it was. In a little bit I’ll be able to move around on my own.”

She turned and sat with a small grunt on the floor. She leaned back against the couch facing away from him. She drew up her legs, put her elbows on her knees and pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. Her headache had grown. “I’m not sure where the Elven demesne ends, but it won’t take long to drive it. Couple hours. We’ve got some time.”

He dug his fingers into her hair and lifted up the strands. “I want some of your hair.”

She lifted her head. “What?”

“I said I want some of your hair. Give me a lock and I’ll forgive you for breaking and entering.”

“Oh-kay. Sure.” She squinted at him. “So I give you a lock of my hair, take you to the Elven border and drop you off?”

He laughed. “I never said I was letting you go. I just said I’ll forgive you.”

“I knew that had to be too easy,” she muttered. “You’re just not a straight road, are you? Okay, so why will you forgive me but not let me go?” Her shoulders sagged. “Never mind. I’m too tired for this conversation.”

He kept running his fingers through her hair. “Did you ever give your boyfriend any?”

Her eyes tried to close. The gentle tugging on her scalp was making it all but impossible to keep her head upright. “Ex,” she mumbled.

“Ex,” he amended.

“No.” She fought against the drugging pleasure, to wake up. She gave his hand a halfhearted push. “Stop it. I can’t keep my eyes open when you do that.”

“So don’t.” He smoothed his palm over her head. He liked how her voice got soft with drowsiness. He liked that she didn’t smell of fear any longer, that her scent was tinged with a lingering faint arousal. “Go to sleep,” he murmured.

“Gotta meet that deadline. Set an alarm.” She tried to struggle to her feet.

As she was rising off her knees, he hooked an arm around her waist and pulled her down on top of him. It wasn’t hard. She was off balance to begin with and wobbly with fatigue. She oophed and tried to push off him, but he wrapped his arms around her and trapped her in place.

“Lie down,” he ordered. “I’ll make sure we leave on time. Go to sleep.”

She collapsed on him like a house of cards. He pulled her head into a comfortable spot on his uninjured shoulder. “Quit giving me orders,” she yawned. Under the guise of shifting to get comfortable, she rubbed her cheek against his chest, wallowing in the sensation of warm, powerful male. It seeped into the cold cracks that ran deep inside her. “You’re not the boss of me.”

“Sleep,” he told her.

Just like that, from one moment to the next, she was asleep.

No one was around to witness when he experimented with pressing his lips against her forehead.

He decided he liked that too.