A deep, guttural sound emerged from his throat as his face dropped against her neck, and she felt the grip of his free hand on her throat, holding her as the edge of his teeth scraped over the pulse beneath her skin. He didn’t bite her, but a terrible panic came over her as she realized he was fighting not to. She put a hand to his face, lifting it so that she could see his eyes.
Her ability jumped out of her like a wild thing, trying to grab whatever she could from his emotions.
Locked inside the rage that had taken over his mind, two different needs tore at Walker. Lilah realized that part of him wanted to lunge at her neck again and tear at it; another part wanted to make the parody of the sexual position Joey had placed them in real. He was fighting hard to resist both, but she could sense that he was losing.
Lilah tried to calm him with her own thoughts, and found herself abruptly shoved back out of his mind.
His hand tightened on her throat even as he put his mouth against her ear and spoke in a flat, tight monotone. “Push me. Off. Hurry.”
She couldn’t use her ability to calm him because he was human. Her throat burned from the pressure of his fingers digging in. Only his rapidly dwindling will stood between her and rape—or possibly death.
It doesn’t have to be like this.
Some tight, bleak thing inside her that was older than the forces ravaging Walker understood the brutal hunger and killing rage. It stood apart from them, reserved, almost cold. It had been so long since she had felt it that she almost didn’t recognize it. It didn’t care what happened to Walker, but it wouldn’t let him harm her.
Now it was Lilah’s turn to panic. She had to get him away from her before she lost control and did something unforgivable. But her weak limbs refused to cooperate, and he was too far gone to move.
Take him, the watcher inside her whispered. He’s yours.
Her fingertips slid across his cheek and cupped his head. “Walker, look at me.” When his dazed eyes focused on hers, she reached into him, this time giving him all her strength. “It’s all right. We can do this together.” Her words cost her what breath was left in her lungs, but his grip on her throat loosened. She struggled to take another breath before she wheezed, “Move to the right as far as you can. Use my arm as a brace.”
With some difficulty he shifted his weight over, allowing Lilah to take another, deeper breath. As he did, she brought up her free hand and pushed at his shoulder.
“Good.” The word burst from her lips as his weight pressed down on her ribs. She tugged at his shoulder, and then pushed it again. “Now … rock.”
He had very little strength, so his movements were almost imperceptible at first, but she put her weight behind his and helped him rock back and forth, a little more each time. Her ribs began to feel like dry twigs that were being bent and nearly ready to snap, and then his body rolled over so that his back lay pressed against the boxes beside them.
“That’s it.” She inched one of her legs over his to keep from being rolled onto her back by the movements of the truck. They were squashed together on their sides, and she was starting to lose the feeling in the arm that was cuffed to Walker’s, but she could breathe now. Her side and her throat didn’t hurt too much. She also saw that some of the blind, vicious fury had faded from his expression. “Better?”
His eyes shifted toward the front of the truck. “Kill them.” He almost growled the words. “Slow.”
“I’d rather get away from them, fast,” she said, and tried to smile. “We can get out of this, Walker. If we work together, I know we can.”
He frowned at her, as if he couldn’t make sense of what she was saying. “Together.”
“You and me, we’re a team now.” She wiggled her numb arm, shifting the cuffs that bound them together. “Not like you can get rid of me yet, remember?”
“No.” His confusion ebbed, and his expression grew remote. “Not yet.”
He didn’t know what to make of Lilah. He had bruised her, and come within a heartbeat of doing worse, but even with his hand wrapped around her throat she had shown no fear. Now she lay relaxed against him, her body as soft and easy as if they had been intimate for years. He knew she had felt his killing rage, but not once had she screamed or begged for mercy. Instead she had comforted him. As if he had been the one made to suffer.
He needed to understand this. “Lilah.”
She reached up to press her fingertips against his lips, and only then did he realize the truck had stopped moving.
He listened, straining to hear the men’s voices, but this time they were silent as they climbed out of the truck. He knotted his hands, sure they had heard them and were coming, but the two sets of footsteps moved forward, away from the back of the truck.
“They’re gone for now.” She relaxed. “If they come back, we’ll have to assume the missionary position again.”
She sounded brisk, as if she were discussing nothing of importance instead of what must have been an ordeal for her.
“No more,” he promised. “I will. Tear his. Head off.”
She touched his cheek. “My friend, you’ll have to stand in line.”
After nearly being crushed under him, and coming within inches of having her throat torn out while he ravaged her body, she was smiling at him. She was calling him her friend. He didn’t know what to say or think.
Lilah pushed away the canvas and looked around the interior of the truck. “What is all this stuff?” she asked, her voice low.
He regarded the stacks of unmarked boxes, their cardboard sides white with frost, and tried to remember what he had heard the men say before they had taken her.
“Supplies. Lab.” He spotted a black duffel bag, a bulging garbage bag, and an aluminum case in one corner and nodded toward them. “Men. Their things.”
“We should check them and see if we can find some clothes.” Lilah got up on her knees and rose until their cuffed hands stopped her. “Can you try to stand?”
He was almost certain that he could, but eyed the door.
“I think we have some time before they come back. They’ve stopped for a meal.” She wrinkled her nose. “I can smell diesel and cooking grease.”
He crouched, clasping her hand in his as he found his balance. She kept her free arm around his waist to help steady him, and he fought for control of his body. His limbs felt thick and clumsy, but the maddening paralysis had gone.
“Wait,” she said when he would have taken a step toward the bags. “Any dizziness? Do you feel sick?” When he shook his head, she pressed her fingers against the side of his throat. “Your pulse is still too slow. If you feel like you’re going to pass out, tell me and we’ll stop and rest, okay?”
He knew now that he wouldn’t lose consciousness unless they drugged him again, and he would not stop or rest until they were free. But she knew nothing of him, and to dismiss her worries would likely require explanations he had no desire to make. “Okay.”
Steam rolled off her skin, and she didn’t seem to notice how cold it was as she moved carefully with him over to the men’s belongings. He glanced down and saw that wherever she stepped on the frigid, ice-covered floor, she left a small puddle of water. Then he saw that he was doing the same. Although sweat still ran freely down their bodies, they were not wet enough to be leaving such a trail.
The soles of their feet were melting the ice on contact. Given the frigid condition of the truck’s interior, that did not seem possible.
Lilah stooped to open the top of the duffel bag. “Clothes,” she confirmed, glancing up at him. She removed a blue and green flannel shirt and shook it out. A small key ring fell at her feet.
“Keys!” Excited, she grabbed them and fit one into the cuffs’ lock, but only the cuff around her wrist sprang open. After twisting the key several times, she frowned. “Yours is jammed, I think.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He took it from her as she continued to search, and soon had his arms filled with men’s garments. After she had found enough for him, Lilah turned to the garbage bag and untied it. From the bag she removed a pile of dark T-shirts and black jeans, all so faded most of them were gray. She shook out one T-shirt and inspected the cracked decal on the front, which depicted a pile of silver skulls around a brutal-looking long sword.
“Charming.” She sniffed the fabric. “Well, at least it’s clean.” She pulled it over her head before reaching for a pair of black boxers. “Do you see any jackets or shoes?”
Something dark on her lower back caught his eye, and he touched her shoulder. “Wait.” He turned her away to get a better look at the bruise. Which turned out not to be a bruise at all, but a tattoo of three interlocked spirals in dark green ink. He almost touched them before he pulled back his hand. “You are marked?”
“Oh, you mean my body art,” she said, her voice wry. “Yeah, it’s a little odd. Norelco should pay me for the free advertising.”
He bent closer. What he thought were lines were actually strings of tiny numbers, letters, and shapes. “What is it?”
“I don’t know. It wasn’t my idea. I’ve had it since I was a baby.” She stepped into the boxers and pulled them up over her hips. “When did you get yours? While you were overseas?”
“I have no tattoo.”
She stopped dressing and glanced up at him. “You do now, Marine. It’s on the back of your left shoulder.”
He turned his head as far as he could, but saw only the top of a dark blue curve.
“Don’t remember it? It’s two dark blue circles, and they overlap in the middle.” She traced the outlines with her fingertip. “I’ve seen it before, but not as a tattoo. I don’t know what it’s called, but I think it’s an old symbol for something. Maybe an astrological sign like Gemini or Pisces.”
He knew what it was from her description. “Mandorla.”
“What does that mean?”