On the Hunt

Not the reaction she'd expected. Why wasn't he scared? Did he think she lacked the guts to squeeze the trigger? Could he freeze her finger in place before she moved? Or would bullets not hurt him?

Her stomach twisted into hundreds of little knots. She hadn't considered that possibility before, but . . . Was he even human? Or was he more like those monsters than she'd realized?

"Rose. Gun. Now." Gone was the charmer, and in his place was the commander. "Right now, there's only one thing you need to know about me. I will slaughter an army before heeding an enemy's demand. Put the gun down and ask nicely for the answers you want. That's the only way you'll get them."

"So I'm the enemy?" Another distraction meant to keep him talking despite his objections.

One that failed. "Gun," he growled.

Clearly, he'd answer nothing until she complied. Biting the inside of her cheek, she sheathed the weapon and waved her empty fingers at him. "Happy?" If he made an aggressive move in her direction, she could withdraw a blade and gut him. Simple, easy. I've got this.

Negligent shrug.

All that protest, and that was what he did when he won? Bastard. He really hadn't changed. But at least he wasn't gloating. "What. Did you. Do to me?"

"Now. Isn't that better?" He tossed his glass over his shoulder. "I did what was necessary. I bound you to me."

She watched the ice scatter across the furs. Anything was better than peering at Vasili. As he'd spoken, heat had sparked in his eyes. So much heat. Her skin tingled, pulling tight over her bones, and she had to fight the urge to rub her arms, her thighs. Had to fight the urge to beg him to rub her arms and thighs. "What does that mean? Bound me to you?"

"Anytime you enter this world, you will come directly to me."

"Imposs—" No. She had long since struck that word from her vernacular. Nothing was impossible. "How? How did you do that?"

"Remember the words you spoke? The wine you drank?"

"The poisoned wine," she snapped, at last facing him again. He was closer to her, so close.

More tingling . . . no fear . . . "Because of you, my parents thought I was doing drugs."

He reached out and smoothed a lock of hair behind her ear. "And that pained you. I'm sorry."

Ignore the contact . . . the fever now spreading . . . the shock of his words. "Thank you," she said, backing as far away from him as she could get. "Now stop threatening and stop stalling. The wine? What was in it?"

Another shrug. "My blood, among other things."

"Blood?" No. No way. She would have known. Wouldn't she?

"Afraid so. Must say, watching you drink it was the grossest thing I ever witnessed." He shuddered.

Gross. Exactly what she'd said to him when he'd lapped up her blood.

Rose's eyes widened as the consequences of his consumption hit her. "You licked my wound."

A wound she'd later convinced herself she'd imagined, since a scab had never formed.

"Yes," he agreed easily. "I did."

"So you can't . . ."

"No. I can't." Anger had infused his voice that time. "And yes, that makes you my child bride. No need to thank me. Twelve months of torturous abstinence is thanks enough."

Hell. No. "Why would you do that? And by the way, we are not married."

"A moment of insanity, that's all. And yes, we are. But really, I suffer only as long as you're alive."

She raised her chin. "You don't scare me, Vasili." Much.

"Don't I?" He closed some of the distance between them. "Let's see if I can change that."

Steady.

More of the distance was swallowed by his steps. When their toes touched, when she could once again smelll the peat smoke, the corners of his lips twitched as if her refusal to run amused him. She didn't mean to, but she breathed deeply, savoring, wanting so badly to arch into him.

Why had she let him come? Why hadn't she pulled a knife?

"We're going to spar, you and I, whether you wish to or not, so I can judge your skill. But how about this? Every time you strike me, I'll answer a question."

She gulped. The one thing she couldn't resist: information. "No threats of endless pain to get what you want?" Of course, he could be lying, meaning to attack to kill, as he'd implied, and not merely to judge.

"Not this time."

She didn't trust him, but she said, "All right," and meant it. And her capitulation had nothing to do with a raging desire to put her hands on him and have his hands on her. If necessary, she would force the information out of him. "Just to be clear, I can ask any question I want?"

"Absolutely any."

"And you'll answer honestly?"

"I always do."

"Even if I ask how to divorce you? And live?"

He pretended to wipe away a tear. "That hurts, darling. It really does."

"That's only the—"

She never saw him move, but he managed to kick her feet out from under her while shoving her down. On impact, her brain rattled against her skull, and she choked on that delicious breath she'd just taken.

No time to react. He pounced while she was prone, pinning her shoulders with his knees and her stomach with his ass. I shouldn't like this. Yet her body sighed in contentment, as if this was what it had craved the past year.

"First order of business. Disarming." Five seconds flat, he had every single one of her weapons thrown to the side. Would have been two seconds, but he studied the syringe before chucking it over his shoulder. "Bring a machine gun next time, darling. They pack more of a punch."

Terror should have filled her, but anger did instead. Mocking bastard. At least he didn't go for the killshot. And how did he know so much about her world? Had he been born there? If so, did that mean he was a Walker, too?

"Second order. Distraction." He waited, peering at her expectantly. When she remained silent, he sighed. "Darling, this is the part where you apologize for being so distracted during my brilliant tutorial."

She flashed her teeth in a snarl. "No, this is the part where I—" Smash your nose into your brain, she thought as she jabbed the heel of her open palm toward his smirking—kissable—face.

Wouldn't do to warn him.

Just before contact, he rolled out of the way. Suddenly she could breathe. She found herself gasping, sucking in mouthful after mouthful of air, shocked that she'd gone so long without it and hadn't suspected.

"Third order. Fighting past the pain. You're just lying there, daring me to attack while you're vulnerable. Were you anyone else, I would. Up."

With stars winking behind her eyes, she pushed to her feet and faced him. "You rotten piece of —"

His laughter was the only warning she had. In the next instant, he was on her, once more shoving her down. This time, he didn't pause and explain his actions. He simply taught her the consequences of daring someone to attack. For hours. She grunted, she groaned, she ached—a far different kind of ache—and she bled. Oh, did she bleed.

A few times, she thought he even broke her bones.

That didn't stop or slow him. He really was determined to killl her, she supposed. That didn't stop or slow her, either. Every time he knocked her down, she got up. Every time he cut her, she wiped the blood on her shirt and smiled. After her second smile, the instructions began. In English at first, and then in his language. She shouldn't have understood him, but as he translated his meaning, she began to learn far more easily than should have been possible. As if the language had always been stored in her brain, and she just hadn't unlocked it yet.

Vasili told her what she was doing wrong and what she needed to do to improve. Again, for hours. An eternity. But not once did she strike him.

"Stay down, damn you," he finally snarled after tossing her to her ass again. "Stay down, and the pain ends. You've had enough."

Never. Rose lumbered to her throbbing feet. Her eyes were swollen, her line of vision shit, but she waved her fingers at him. "Come on," she said haltingly, the harsh words of the new language weird on her tongue. She would not give up, and she would have her curiosity assuaged.

For a long while, he remained in place, a few feet away, panting, studying her. Then he tangled a hand through his hair, disrupting the dark locks and sending them falling over his forehead.

"Stubborn little baggage, aren't you?"

"What? Too sweet to take me?"

His lips twitched again, and her heart raced. No one should be that handsome. Especially a man who had just kicked her ass. Although, in his defense, he'd never struck her in anger. Every move he'd made had been designed to teach her.

"Darling, you just asked me if I was too sweet to take you."

As her cheeks heated, she switched to English. "You know what I meant. Too tired to fight me."

He laughed outright, then frowned, as if the laugh angered him. "One question," he said flatly.

"You can ask me one question."

Not enough, she wanted to scream. One wasn't enough. She wanted to know about this world—what he called it, what the monsters were, why those monsters deferred to him. She wanted to know what else Vasili knew about her origins, what he planned to do with her, why he'd bonded them. She wanted to know how he'd controlled her body that first time and why he hadn't this time.

She wanted to know . . . what he thought of her, if he liked her. Who he was. What he was.

"Hurry. Before I change my mind." Disgust layered his tone, as if he couldn't believe he'd even made the offer in the first place. "You don't deserve it, after all, and I have never—"

"How—how do I come here at will?" The words left her mouth before she could snatch them back. She never wanted to come here again. Even on her next birthday. Damn, damn, damn. Of all the stupid things to ask! But to her knowledge, no one else could do so. They traveled only on their birthdays. ns class="adsbygoogle" style="display:block" data-ad-client="ca-pub-7451196230453695" data-ad-slot="9930101810" data-ad-format="auto" data-full-width-responsive="true">