Caged Warrior

TWENTY-TWO

Nynn awoke by slow, slow, slow degrees. At first only her mind worked, behind the dark of her closed eyes. She never thought her sense of smell could be so powerful. Wherever she was, she was surrounded by masculinity—leather, metal, musk. That wasn’t just any man. It was Leto. She could smell him in ways she’d never imagined, as if each of her cells had been designed for taking in his fragrance, appreciating its notes as she would scent the blood of a warrior soon to be bested.

Now that she knew he was near, she wanted her other senses back. Soon. Which would return to her first? Taste, apparently, which wasn’t nearly as rewarding. Blood stained her tongue with the bitterness of copper. Overwhelming it was the sweet remains of the golish that had sent her into this nightmare tunnel where her body and mind had parted ways.

Make that stop. No more.

She wanted to hear him, see him, feel him.

“Nynn.”

She nearly purred at the sound of her name. There was another sense. She could hear him. More than that, now she knew he was nearby. His voice was quiet thunder and distant winds. Elemental. Stronger than man, and even stronger than Dragon King. She wanted to hear her name again, even as she imagined the shape of his lips as he formed the word.

Warmth enveloped her. She was protected. She was safe in ways she hadn’t felt in . . . Her memory didn’t go back that far. Or couldn’t. Some dark force blocked the way. She preferred sinking into the comfort of the moment, no matter how disorienting her awakening.

That warmth moved. His hands. He was touching her, skin to skin, maybe even body to body. That delicious heat was all around her, from her cheek to her toes. Was she lying with him? In his room? She shivered, and he pulled her closer.

“Nynn, come back.”

On her first try, her voice was barely more than a rasp. She swallowed past that painful ache—the most immediate of so many aches clamoring for her attention—and tried again. “To you?”

“Yes.” He stroked her forehead. “Come back to me.”

Big, assured hands caressed up and down her arm. She melted into that rhythm. She must’ve been lying near him, perhaps on top of him, because every concession her body made elicited more from him. She shifted closer, and he gave her more. Deeper strokes of his fingers along her sore muscles. Longer pulses of his wide palms, until her hip and thigh came within his reach.

“Give me a reason,” she said, the words breathy. “Dark is safer.”

He kissed her temple. That such a ferocious, unyielding man could deliver a kiss so soft made her closed eyes prickle with tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been comforted, and she couldn’t remember the last time she cried. Abnormal, some deep corner of her mind screamed. Impossible.

Remember.

“Dark is safer.” She would keep saying it until it was true and she could hide there forever.

Another kiss. “But then I can’t see your eyes.”

Nynn groaned. Unfair. So beautifully unfair.

“Open your eyes for me.” His breath brushed her temple as he spoke. Another form of touching. Another comfort. “I want to see your eyes and know that you want to be here.”

“Where?”

“In my bed. In my arms.” Those arms flexed subtly, as if she needed a reminder of his brawn. The beat of his heart sped as he talked. “I want to keep touching you. I want to do more than touch you. But I won’t do it if the golish still poisons your thoughts and leaves you unable to say no.”

“I won’t say no.”

“You need to look at me when you say that.”

She was identifying more detail now. His chest was bare. He was on his back. She was lying on her side. Was he wearing any clothes? Was she? The thrill that she could be naked in his bed shot tingles of electricity through the rest of her numb places. She was Tigony. Gathering electricity was her gift. She imagined it to be the key to bringing her body back to life.

Slowly she opened her eyes, expecting a sharp shaft of light. Yet the room was nearly dark. No fluorescents in here. No bare bulbs. Details came into focus with the same sloth. A gleam caught her attention. The scant light that shone from a far corner caught on a pristine set of armor hanging on a wall. And three other sets of armor, actually, of different designs.

They hung . . . at the end of a narrow bed.

Aside from a sink, a footlocker, and a few hygiene products, the room was empty. Stark. The lack of decorations accented what was most important to Leto of Garnis. His armor. His life’s work.

Then why was she in his bed? Nothing else mattered to him. In that violent place, there was no room for distractions.

Maybe that’s why they lay together in the near darkness. It was a violent place. If two people could find a moment’s respite, why deny herself? She wanted him. Her body—beaten and aching—craved his. As long as she was condemned to surviving, forced down in the underground darkness, she might as well enjoy what pleasure they could give one another.

Condemned?

Forced?

Shivering fear tingled up from her toes and lodged at the base of her skull. A headache exploded with the concussive force of releasing her gift. She groaned and pushed her forehead against Leto’s chest.

“What is it?”

“Headache,” she gasped. “Fuck.”

He sat up, urging her to do so. The blackness was back as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. “Head between your knees. Bend low.”

Deadly hands turned tender as he massaged up the back of her neck. Nynn groaned again, this time because of the relief he provided. The headache burned like a brand in her skull, but he forced it back, back into a corner. Soon he was paying equal attention to the tense flesh between her neck and shoulders. Only when he kissed along the top of her spine did her body react with want rather than gratefulness.

She realized that she was wearing her undergarments—the tank top and lightweight cotton shorts. At that moment, she appreciated that small measure of privacy, even if Leto’s legs circled around hers. He kept his distance; she couldn’t feel the press of his groin against her lower back. She had no idea whether this caress affected him as a man, or if he was once again taking care of her like he was tending a prize animal.

“Come,” he said brusquely. “I’ll take you to your dorm. You need sleep. These few days have been trying for us both.”

For the first time since regaining consciousness, she turned to face him. Leto had held her for who knew how long. Looked after her. Gave her shelter against a world that clawed at her calves, up her thighs, trying to drag her down.

His expression was the most open she’d ever seen of him. The stern set of his mouth was lax, as if he’d just exhaled. His scarred upper lip didn’t seem so stern now, just softer and more vulnerable. She could almost picture the moment of his injury—and the desire to comfort him—as opposed to seeing the intimidating scar left behind. The tight brackets around his mouth had eased. He looked younger. Powerful, yes, but without the same burdens.

He wore briefs similar to hers, made from the same cotton that felt like rough homespun cloth. The chest he’d kept covered by armor was bare. She’d always known his body was marvelous, but to see the bare, shadowed proof was overwhelming. Where to look first? Strong pectorals were swirled with a dusting of dark hair. Wide shoulders were capped with striated muscle that led down to thick biceps and the powerful cords of his forearms. His seated posture folded defined abdominals more tightly together, like masculine origami hewn of flesh. Ligaments and ridges bunched between his ribs.

She wanted to trace her teeth down every hard line and sweeping curve. She wanted to test his strength, to taste it. Even there, with so much unsaid, she had unconsciously started to touch him. Just her fingertips within the cradle of his calloused palms.

His eyes were hooded and dark, propping up shields she wanted to tear down. Why was it so important to find out his character?

I care for him. I want to know what sort of man I care for.

Cupping his jaw in both hands, she brought his gaze up to meet hers. “I’ve only been in my dorm room to change clothes and wash. Why would I want to sleep there when you’re here? For that matter, why would I want to sleep at all?”

“And your headache?”

“You made it better.” She shrugged. “They seem to . . . I don’t know. Come and go. Flashes, then gone in a few seconds.”

He hesitated. His mouth tightened in some twist of emotion she couldn’t begin to interpret. “This will change things.”

“You don’t deal well with change.”

An answering grunt.

“Leto?”

Another wordless noise in his throat. His expression might be more open, but she could do with a few more assurances.

“As champion, you have your choice tonight,” she said, pushing her fingers up, up into his soft, cropped hair. “Who would you choose if it wasn’t me? And don’t lie. By now, you should know that I can tell the difference.”

“No one else.”

His voice was as rough as when they sparred, but layered with very different feelings. The eyes he finally trained on her were just as dark, just as intense. Goose bumps raised on her arms because of the desire he couldn’t—or no longer wanted—to hide. Frank, sensual anticipation gathered in her stomach and pulsed up, down, out until her body ached to be kissed. Everywhere. She wanted that rough mouth in all the ways a man could satisfy a woman, and she wanted to worship him in return.

“And me? Do you want me to choose someone else?”

“No.”

His primal growl intensified her need. She’d fought him for so long. She’d fought beside him. Now, if they were to fight, they would do so in pursuit of release.

“This is me looking right at you. This is me making a choice that has nothing to do with Dragon-damned golish or the heat of battle’s aftermath.” She leaned forward and brushed her mouth against his. Restless, greedy hands helped her balance as she held his taut shoulders. “This is me saying you won’t sleep tonight, and you won’t spend tonight with anyone else.”

A smile livened his grim expression. “I said you’d come to me.”

♦ ♦ ♦

Leto had rarely, if ever, used an attempt at humor to disguise his real emotions. Would leading them down this path ease the strain against Nynn’s mental defenses or snap them in two?

Would it matter in a few seconds if she kept touching him?

She pushed up on her knees and positioned herself between his open thighs. The bed was not wide. He’d always been uncomfortable in the thing. Now that closeness was an unexpected benefit. He wanted her closer still.

“Yes, Leto. I’ve come to you. You win. From one champion to another,” she said against his cheek, “that’s quite a thing for me to admit.”

“You have quite an ego after only one round.”

“You like that I do. I’m what you’ve made of me.”

Again he stifled a surge of something like guilt. He had done his best to train her, but in the end, her success hadn’t been his to shape. He wasn’t some Indranan witch, able to rearrange her thoughts and make her into a whole new woman.

Yet how was he not responsible? Ulia deserved only part of the blame. He could’ve kept her alive as long as was required of them both. Instead, he’d wanted her to be a grand reflection of his prowess. The applause she’d received had eclipsed any he’d ever received, and even then, he’d been able to absorb the glory because she was his creation.

He had tried to transform her, as surely as had Dr. Aster.

Nynn of Tigony was more powerful now, more assured, but she was not free.

Why that mattered to him was impossible to tell. He wasn’t free, and that had never bothered him.

She has a son. Her husband was murdered.

If she had remembered either of those things, she wouldn’t be kneeling between his legs. Which made him the greediest Dragon-damned bastard when he took hold of her hips.

“That’s more like it,” she said against his temple. “Show me what you can do, Leto of Garnis. Show me.”

She knelt at the perfect height to showcase her torso. The tank top concealed her breasts but hugged their firm, high shape. Her nipples had tightened. They strained against the cotton, lifting and lowering with each breath. She dug her nails into the caps of his shoulders. Wide, lush lips softened until they parted completely. She licked her upper lip. That pure sensual invitation sent a rush of blood to Leto’s cock. He’d been hard around Nynn before—and he’d been hard when atop her, there in Kilgore’s room. This was different, just as it was different from any other reward fuck after a fight.

This was intimate.

“You were right,” he rasped. “I don’t like change.”

She edged forward, changing the position of their legs so that she straddled his hips. A shift, a dip, and she settled the soft apex of her thighs over the proof of how much he wanted her. That proof made him groan, while her eyes rolled closed. “I like that change. Always so much the warrior. Always so hard.” She ground her pelvis against his. “But this is the kind of hard we need tonight.”

Leto’s control snapped. He couldn’t hold it together for both of them. She wanted to be taken. He would take her.

What had been a slow awakening to temptation became rougher, faster. He stripped her tank top in a move so quick that she gasped. Perhaps reflex made her cross her arms over bare, beautiful breasts. He caught both wrists and pinned them at the base of her spine. Any other woman—Dragon damn, any other woman—would’ve bowed to his show of strength. Nynn couldn’t escape his grip, but she still had weapons. She bared her teeth and thrust out her chest.

“Yours,” she said.

Such a dare.

Leto tugged her wrists down and back, arching her spine. He fixed his mouth on her left breast and sucked. No warning. No soft kiss. Her gasp was a molten tide that spread through his body. She shook her shoulders from side to side—small attempts to break free of his binding hands. The movements only heightened his arousal. She wasn’t going anywhere, and better still, she didn’t want to.

Her flesh was firm and soft beneath his lips and under the flick of his tongue. He toyed with her beaded nipple. Soft strokes. Deep, pulsing licks. Each drew a different noise from her throat. He wanted to learn each one and how to re-create it. The trail he left between her breasts was warm and wet. She shivered when he scored his roughened cheek against another firm nipple.

Again she struggled against how he’d restrained her wrists. “I want to touch you.”

Leto trailed hot, openmouthed kisses up her neck, to her jaw, behind her ear. “Where would you touch first?”

“Down your sides. I want to scratch you until you flinch.”

“And when I flinch?”

“You’ll fuck me.” She surged forward to catch his mouth in a fierce kiss. Passion was a storm between them, with the crackle of her electricity and the ferocity of his senses. A collision. “Because I don’t want soft anymore. Soft is for later.”

He groaned against her throat. Later. That promise. There would be more time. More encounters such as these. She would learn his shivers and groans as surely as he’d taught her how to fight.

With one more hard sweep of his tongue between her lips, he let go of her arms.

She hadn’t played coy. Nynn ripped her nails down his sides and along his flanks. He hissed. He bucked his hips. Her answering moan was exactly what he’d needed to hear. She was primal, strong—the partner he’d never known he wanted.

Needed.

“Feel that?” He growled against her lips, then clenched her ass. Pulled her hips down. Ground against her. Closer, with the rhythm that fueled their bodies. “Feel how hard I am for you?”

She shoved her hands between them. Hot, slender fingers slid inside the waistband of his shorts. “This?” She encircled him, gripped him. “This is for me?”

“Teasing bitch,” he said with a smile that was half-pain, half-ecstasy. “Should I show you what’s mine?”

“Yes.”

Even in the haze of arousal, Leto knew he couldn’t flip Nynn over and drive into her the way he wanted. Her back was too scarred and tender. She might seem oblivious to what had taken place during the last few hours, the last few days, but he couldn’t forget her pain if he tried.

Instead, he used his strength—he loved being strong when it came to dominating this woman—to turn her onto her knees. He pulled down her shorts. With firm purpose, he fit his whole palm between her legs. She was wet. Wet for him. Every time he assumed he’d reached the height of his desire, he found another reason to blow past his limits.

Nynn arched her back like a cat, pressing more firmly against his hand. They both shared a hissed moan.

Leto tugged down his own shorts and positioned his prick at her slick entrance. She stilled. He didn’t breathe as he bowed over her body. He circled his free arm low across her hips. She could struggle and thrash from the waist up, but her hips, her pussy—they were his to control.

At the sight of her fresh tattoo, he fought those misgivings. He made them disappear, just as he had the ability to make even the most vocal crowds disappear when he fought. Single-minded.

“You wanted me to show you.” Against the hollow behind her ear, he growled his anticipation. “This is mine. And this is our reward.”