Finding the Lost

“We’re rushing things. We’ve got to slow down.”

“No. There isn’t time. I’m a fast learner. Let’s just get this over with.”

His mouth twisted as if he’d tasted something bad. “That’s not the way it works. You can’t just plow through this, or blast your way through with a shotgun. It takes time.”

“We’ve got three days. Is that enough?”

“Probably not,” he said as he turned away again, his eyes sliding to the ground.

“What are you hiding from me?”

Paul looked over his shoulder and gave her a grim, resigned stare. “I’m sorry. I won’t help you do this. I won’t let you hurt yourself.”

Frustration rose up inside her, and she shoved it at him in anger. As childish as it was, she wanted him to suffer as much as she did—she wanted him to know what it was like to have the means to help Nika so close, but still fall short.

Andra felt her frustration and anger slide through their connection and saw his face darken as he suffered through the gnawing, helpless feeling she’d forced him to endure.

Seconds after she’d done it, she already felt bad. It wasn’t his fault she couldn’t do this. It was hers. It had always been her fault when she failed.

Instinctively, she reached out for his mind, wanting to apologize, hoping to soothe him. He let her in, and his eyes slid shut as if he enjoyed the feeling of having her inside him.

Andra brushed against his thoughts. There were so many—so many intense feelings she could hardly make sense of any of it. She saw his need to keep her safe glowing like a beacon, shadowing all else. Such devotion was humbling, and she had no idea why he would care so much that she survived. It had something to do with the energy pulsing within him, but she couldn’t sort out the knot of thoughts and feelings enough to figure it out.

There was something else looming inside him, too. Something darker that hid behind that beacon. Andra reached for it and felt a hint of knowledge flicker through it—knowledge he was hiding from her.

Curious, Andra got closer to it and studied it. She felt Paul try to push her out of his mind, but she dug in her heels and refused to leave. She needed to learn what this thing was he was hiding and why it was so important to him to keep it from her.

“That’s enough,” she heard him say, but ignored it.

She shielded her eyes from the glowing light and took hold of the hidden knowledge with an unbreakable grip.

His power. She could have it all if she were close enough to him. That was what he’d been hiding.

“You’re not ready,” he gritted out between clenched teeth. “It’s too soon.”

Trust, love, intimacy. That was what she needed to have to strengthen their connection enough for her to save Nika. No wonder he said it would take time. Those things couldn’t be had overnight. At least, not all of them.

Intimacy. Sex. She could share that with him.

Andra felt another strong push against her as he tried to drive her from the truth. “I don’t want you whoring yourself out like that.”

“It’s not like I don’t want you,” she said, though whether it was her voice or her mind speaking, she couldn’t tell. “I don’t normally have sex with men I’ve just met, but I’ll make an exception for you.” For Nika.

“Sex and intimacy aren’t necessarily the same thing.”

“Maybe not,” she said, “but there’s only one way to find out if it’s close enough.”

Paul groaned and she felt a wave of desire rise up inside him, eclipsing that glowing beacon. “I didn’t want it to be this way between us. I wanted to do it right this time.”

“Right is whatever works.” Whatever saved Nika.

“I don’t want to have sex with you because you think it will save your sister,” he said.

“Then don’t. Have sex with me because I want it. Because you want it, too.” And just to be sure he did, she nestled her body against his. While locked inside his mind, she couldn’t see him clearly, but she could feel the heat of his body—feel his powerful muscles trembling as he fought himself.

With an almost violent force of will, Paul pushed her from his thoughts and she landed hard back inside her body. For a brief moment, the place felt odd to her, not quite like the home it had always been. But as soon as she felt it, the sensation faded and everything went back to normal.

Paul stood before her, his hands locked around her biceps. She could feel his arms shaking as if he couldn’t decide whether to pull her closer or push her away.

Andra didn’t need any help deciding what she wanted. He was standing right in front of her—a heady combination of noble sacrifice and raw physical power. He was the kind of man women could only dream about, the kind who existed only in fantasy, and yet he stood before her, solid and real, and the answer to every one of her prayers.

She reached up and laced her fingers around his neck. His hands dropped to his sides and curled into fists. He was stiff and unyielding in her arms, but Andra didn’t relent. She went up on her tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth.

His lips tightened, but she felt his abdomen clench and knew he was fighting himself. He wanted her.

“All you have to do is give in. Give me what I want,” she whispered.

Paul clamped his eyes shut and sucked in a quick breath.

Andra moved lower, kissing her way along his angular jawline until she reached his neck, just below his ear. Her tongue flicked out, just barely grazing his skin. “I know you want it, too.”

“What I want isn’t important.” He was winded, and she swore she could hear his resolve weakening with every beat of his heart.

“It is to me. I know you’ll be careful with me.” Andra gathered his fist in her hands and unclenched his fingers. She kissed his palm, then settled his hand over her heart so his fingers cupped the swell of her breast. “I trust you.”

Those three words broke him. She felt him crumble, and his face changed from a mask of steely determination to a look of unrelenting hunger. He grabbed a fistful of her short hair and angled her head back, forcing her to look into his eyes. There was no mercy there. Not anymore.

His voice was a low rumble, almost menacing in its ferocity. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Andra was going to get what she wanted. She only hoped she was woman enough to take it.

Chapter 13

Madoc was ready to storm out of the room and leave Nika to fend for herself.

Freaking lunatic chick nearly scalded his balls off with a bowl of soup, and now she was eyeing the spoon like she had plans for that as well.

“Not going to happen,” he warned her.

Nika glared at him. “You can’t make me drink your blood no matter how well you disguise it.”

So far, he’d been Mr. Nice Guy—or at least nice for him—but that wasn’t working, so it was time to move on to plan B.

“It’s not my blood. The Sanguinar can’t have it and neither can you. Now settle the fuck down and eat something.”

Nika clamped her lips shut. She probably hadn’t meant to dare him like that, but too bad for her. She had.

Madoc eyed her frail body. He hated to manhandle her. She looked like she’d snap in two if he brushed against her skin, which was why he’d be careful not to do that, even by accident.

But what choice did he have now? He had to get some food in her or she was going to drop dead, and that couldn’t happen. She might be able to save the life of one of his brothers.

Maybe even him.

Madoc looked at his ring again for the fifty billionth time in the past ten minutes. Nothing. No swirling colors, no vibration. Not a fucking thing. All he saw was that what little color was left had faded even more since yesterday—the colors dying as his soul did.

A vicious flare of rage filled him up until he wanted to scream and break the furniture and pound his fists into the walls until there was nothing left but dust and blood. It wasn’t fair. After all these centuries of loyal service, of working and sweating and bleeding to do his sworn duty, it wasn’t fair that she couldn’t be the one to save him. Ease his pain.

It was the Solarc’s sick joke, no doubt. Someone needed to bust through the gate and pound the king of Athanasia’s ass hard. Madoc didn’t care if he was the Solarc’s descendant. Fucker deserved a good, thorough beating.

A soft gasp brought his attention back to Nika. He’d mutilated the spoon he’d been holding—bent it until it was no longer usable.

Fuck. At least he hadn’t been touching her at the time. He would have done the same thing to her fingers or arm.

Madoc flung the spoon across the room. Nika’s blue eyes widened and she tried to move away from him across the bed.

No more. He was through playing. “Enough fucking around, Nika. You’re going to eat and get strong and figure out which one of the men you can save once we get back to Dabyr. Got that? I’m not going to let you starve yourself to death.”

She was still wide-eyed and shaking, and knowing he’d done it made whatever sliver of his soul was left alive shudder in disgust.

Madoc pulled in a deep breath and gathered every bit of patience he could find. What he really needed was to spend a few hours pumping iron, then a few more pumping into a woman. He didn’t need to be playing nursemaid.

But he was, and he was stuck, so he reached out slowly and wrapped his hand around her wrist, which was about as big around as two of his fingers and a hell of a lot more fragile.

Nika froze inside his grasp and her eyes kinda rolled back in her head. Her whole body started shaking and she let out a jagged cry of pain.

Madoc let go as if she were on fire. “Oh, God. I’m sorry,” he heard himself saying, expecting blood to start shooting out of her arm where he’d touched her. He must have broken a bone or something, but he didn’t see any sign of a break. Not even a red mark.

She flopped around on the bed, sending food flying everywhere. When she started scooting off the side, Madoc rushed around the bed and kept her from falling off.

Maybe she was having some kind of seizure and it had nothing to do with him.

Yeah, right. And he was going to live happily ever after, too, surrounded by bunnies and kittens and puppies and all the cotton candy he could eat.

If he didn’t do something, she was going to hurt herself, so he crawled on the bed and pinned the blankets down over her body, using his arms and legs to pull the fabric tight, being careful not to touch her again.

Slowly, the shaking stopped and her body went still. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing, and panic filled him up until he was sweating it through his pores.

Madoc pressed his ear over her heart, desperate to hear a beat, feel her chest rise with her breath. Something.

Seconds passed and he thought he felt something, but he wasn’t sure. Then he heard a faint pulse and her tight little nipple pressed against his cheek as she pulled in a deep breath.

Madoc’s eyes closed with relief. He hadn’t killed her.

She shifted against his hold on the blankets, so he sat up, still straddling her legs, but not putting any weight on her.