The Darkest Night. Gena Showalter
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windows, casting rainbow flecks on the stone walls. Fatigue and lack of nourishment must have weakened her, because she fell a few steps behind. “Maddox,” she said, a low entreaty.
“No conversation,” he replied, his gait never slowing as they climbed a flight of stairs. “Perhaps later.”
Later. Not what she’d hoped for, but better than never. “I’ll hold you to that.” She stumbled and winced, sharp pains shooting through her ankle.
Maddox stopped abruptly. Before she realized what he’d done, she’d slammed into his back with a pained cry. Immediately that tingling warmth returned, sparking, catching fire and spreading.
As she struggled to find her balance, he hissed a breath through his teeth and spun around, pinning her with a vicious stare. His eyes were black, the violet gone as if it had never been. “Are you hurt?”
A tremor swam through her. Yes. “No.”
“Do not lie to me.”
“I twisted my ankle last night,” she admitted quietly.
His features softened as his gaze slowly perused her, lingering on her breasts, her thighs. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. It was as though he were stripping away her clothing piece by piece, leaving her in nothing but flushed skin. And she liked it. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest; moisture pooled between her legs.
Suddenly she didn’t care about answers, the pain in her ankle or the lethargy in her muscles. Her nipples hardened and strained. Her stomach clenched and unclenched with need. Her skin felt too hot and tight for her bones. She wanted his arms around her, comforting her, holding her close.
A moment later, she realized she was reaching out.
“No touching.” He jumped onto the step behind him, widening the distance between them. All hint of softness left him. “Not yet.”
Her arms fell to her sides as disappointment crashed through her. No answers, no touching, she silently mocked, fighting off the decadent rush of pleasure that came with finally being close to the man who’d consumed her thoughts all night. His warmth, the silence…a combination lethal to her common sense.
One stroke, that’s all she’d needed—all she’d wanted, surely—but he was determined to deny her. “What about breathing?” she asked dryly. “Can I do that?”
His lips twitched, smoothing the edges of his fierceness. “If you do it quietly.”
Her eyelids narrowed to tiny slits. “Well, aren’t you a sweetie. Thanks a lot.”
That twitch became a full-fledged smile, the blinding force of it knocking the air from her lungs. He was beautiful. Absolutely mesmerizing. Ashlyn found herself caught in his snare yet again—how did he do that to her?—and again reached up without thought. Craving that spark of contact, yes, yes. Needing…needing…
He gave a sharp shake of his head, humor suddenly gone. She stilled, annoyed with him, herself.
“There is something I need to do before the touching can commence,” he said, the words so husky and low she felt them as deeply as a caress.
“What is it?” she asked, biting her bottom lip as violet began to reclaim his eyes, trickling from his pupils to overshadow the black. Amazing.
“Doesn’t matter.” Frowning, he reached out as if he meant to stroke her cheek. He caught himself and dropped his arm to his side, a mirror of her own actions a few moments before. “What does matter is that you never answered me. Were you in that cell all night?”
His heady, masculine scent wafted to her nose, summoning her closer. She tried to resist, truly she did, but found herself leaning toward him despite his warning. “Yes.”
Again, fury darkened his face. “Were you fed?”
“No.”
“Given blankets?”
“No.” Why did he care?
“Did anyone hurt you?”
“No.”
“Did anyone…touch you?” A muscle ticked in his jaw, once, twice.
Her face scrunched in confusion. “Yes. Of course.”
“Who?” he demanded. His face began that freaky change, gnarled skeleton flashing and churning under his skin as if he wore a see-through mask. Even his eyes changed again. Black covered violet, then red covered black, glowing ominously.
Another of those hard lumps formed in her throat and she struggled to catch her breath. Not even in the forest, not even while chained to a bed, a sword slicing through his organs, had he exuded such ferocity.
Why are you still standing here? Run!
His expression twisted, as though he knew what she planned to do. “Don’t,” he said, confirming her fear. “You will only incite me further. This will pass in a moment. Now tell me who touched you.”
“All of them,” she forced out, remaining in place. “I think. But they had to,” she hurried to assure him. She couldn’t believe she was defending his murderers, but it seemed the fastest way to calm him down. “It was the only way to get me inside the cell.”
He relaxed, but only slightly. The skeletal image receded and the red glow faded from his eyes. “They didn’t touch you sexually?”
She shook her head, relaxing a bit herself. He’d been angry with the men, then, not with her for resisting.
“I will allow them to live. Barely.” Forgetting his own rule, he cupped his palms over her temples and forced her attention on his face.
She experienced those electric tingles again as his warm breath fanned her nose. He was so big he dwarfed her, his shoulders so wide they engulfed her.
“Ashlyn,” he said gently.
The swift change in him, from beast to concerned gentleman, was dizzying.
“I didn’t want to discuss this yet, but I find I must hear your response now.” Heavy pause as he stared at her. “I killed those four men last night. The ones following you.”
“Following me?” Had someone from the Institute seen her and come after her? Had they—the rest of his words finally registered. She gasped as a high-voltage shock-wave slid down her spine. “You killed them?”
“Yes.”
“What did they look like?” she choked out. If Dr. McIntosh had been slain because of her… She pressed her lips together to cut off a pained moan.
Maddox described the men—tall, strong warriors—and she slowly relaxed. Most of the employees she’d met at the Institute were older, like McIntosh. Many were pale, with thinning hair and glasses, eyes weakened from constantly staring at computer screens. Relief speared her, which in turn made her feel guilty. People had died last night. It shouldn’t matter whether she knew them or not.
“Why would you do something like that?”
“They were armed and eager for battle. I had a choice—kill them or let them kill me.”
He said it without a single hint of remorse, as though it were a simple point of fact. What a bloody, violent place this fortress had turned out to be. Maddox, too. Her savior spoke like a veteran soldier…or a cold and callous killer like his roommates. He didn’t, and wouldn’t, hesitate to slay.
So why did she still want his arms around her?
Whatever emotion Maddox saw on her face seemed to answer his unspoken question. His brow puckered and his mouth thinned. In displeasure? But why? Before she could study him further, he turned away and climbed two more steps, saying, “Forget I mentioned it.”
“Wait.” She leapt forward, winced at the renewed pain in her ankle and