Murder Game

CHAPTER SEVEN

Tansy's breath caught in her throat. Her body pulsed with need. Kadan could turn her into a melting cauldron of liquid heat with one intense look. Hot excitement poured through her veins. He was all muscle and strength. And he was completely, utterly, focused on her. He made her feel as if he had to have her. As if waiting one more moment might kill him. He didn't say much. He just looked at her, his eyes dark with lust, with possession, and every fiber of her being surrendered to the demand in his steady gaze.

His calloused hand was hot on her skin, and every muscle in her body tensed. He knew every shadow and curve intimately, and she craved his touch. Craved it. After a lifetime of never touching or being touched, she felt like a cat, pleasured by the caressing strokes, arching her back, pushing her hips upward against his hand, needy for whatever he gave her.

The pad of his thumb, with the strange feel of velvet bristles, made lazy circles on the inside of her thigh, slid upward to caress the crease between her buttocks and her thigh. A soft moan escaped, needy and hot and so unlike her, although she was afraid that with Kadan she'd turned into a very sexual being. Blood thundered in her pulse, roared in her ears, and throbbed in her clit, in time with the mounting tension in her womb.

There was something very arousing about lying sprawled across a man's lap, shirt open, bare breasts spilling out, and his hands wandering possessively up her thighs, fingers circling and disappearing inside her body, as if her body belonged to him and not her. His face was dark and intent, hooded eyes on the rise and fall of her breasts. There was satisfaction in the carved, sensual lines of his face as he watched her breathing change to ragged gasps and the wild color flush all over her.

Heat radiated from him, and in his lap his shaft grew into a monster of need. He pressed against her tightly, letting her feel the way he responded to her eager, wet body. "Look at me, Tansy." His voice was harsh. "I want to see your face when I take you over the edge."

She loved how rough he sounded, that edge to his tone, that dark, intense desire, the lines that seemed deeper, the way her skin burned as his gaze slid so possessively over her. His fingers straightened, jabbed deep, filling her sheath, stretching the soft, slick, velvet folds. She gasped and bucked, as his thumb pressed down relentlessly on her hard bud.

"You're so tight, baby," he whispered, his teeth tugging at her earlobe. "Each time I push deep inside, you get wetter and hotter." His tongue licked along her ear, swirled down her neck. His teeth teased at her skin.

He plunged into her tight depths again, watching her face, drinking in her gasps of pleasure, the way her eyes widened and her nipples peaked. Her thighs tensed; her stomach muscles bunched. It seemed so decadent, Tansy sprawled across him, her soft body open for his every touch, receptive to his every desire.

He had never thought he'd have a woman of his own, let alone one he craved, one he felt bonded to, skin to skin, mind to mind. It had happened before he'd had a chance to think, to even know or understand, but something in her drove out the cold and replaced ice with heat. Every time he looked at her, he wanted to touch, to give her pleasure, to see her eyes glaze over with heated desire just for him. Salvation. Redemption maybe. Whatever it was, and he didn't even care, she was his and he was hers.

Moisture coated his fingers, thick and hot. Her sheath was so damned tight his cock jerked with anticipation. He thrust another finger deep, stretching her a bit, plunging and retracting, watching her face, her heightened breathing, that telltale flush, and the sheen in her eyes. He took his time, bringing her to the edge of her climax, loving her face, the beauty of need. He reveled in the way her body rode his hand almost helplessly while little whimpers and pleas escaped.

If this wasn't love, he didn't know what was. He wanted her with every cell in his body. He knew she'd been born for him. And he vowed to himself she'd never have a reason to regret her choice. He plunged deeper, his thumb teasing her clit until she went crashing over the edge, crying out his name, her body nearly strangling his fingers. He let her ride it out, feeling the powerful ripples before pulling out his fingers and tasting them, savoring the unique cinnamon flavor that was Tansy.

She was panting a little, dazed by the powerful orgasm. He slid his hand over her bottom in another slow caress and leaned down to her ear. His fingers remained tight in her hair, the heavy mass wrapped in his fist. "Slide off my lap to your knees." Even as he said it, he tugged at her hair with one hand and pushed her hips from his with the other.

Tansy found herself kneeling between his legs as he sat all the way up, one leg planted on either side of her body. Her face was in his lap, right where he'd planned all along. He caught her hand and wrapped it around the thick length of him, down low at the base, even as he used the fist in her hair to guide her mouth over him. Her tongue touched him first and his cock jerked. His balls tightened. Warm air bathed the broad head. She licked a glistening drop away and watched the shudder of pleasure go through his body, felt it ripple through his mind.

Kadan clenched his teeth as she swiped her tongue in a long, slow curl over the top of the mushroom head and then teased underneath where he was so sensitive. She looked so hot, kneeling in front of him, her shirt gaping open to give him a view of her flushed breasts and flat tummy, down to the vee of curls with shimmering moisture clinging invitingly. He licked his lips and sucked in his breath as she swallowed him.

Her mouth was hot and tight and the sight of her enjoying pleasuring him, her eyes soft and loving, was so damn sexy he almost lost every vestige of control. She didn't look away from his gaze, as her cheeks hollowed and her tongue danced and she followed the graphic instructions in his mind. His language was raw, he couldn't help it; she was killing him with the tight suction of her mouth. Her nails grazed his sac and he jerked again, the air in his lungs exploding this time in a rush of sensations.

Son of a bitch, baby, like that. Hard. His fingers clutched at her hair and he drew her closer, unable to stop the sudden thrust of his hips.

There was a moment of fear at the loss of control, but he breathed for her. Relax. Let your throat relax. That's it, that's my girl. Son of a fucking bitch that feels so good.

He threw back his head, a hoarse groan escaping as he caught the nape of her neck with one hand and held her there, thrusting deeper. He wanted her to drop her hands, to cup his tightening balls in her palms. He gave her that order as well. She blinked, hesitating. Her hand at the base of his shaft was her safety net.

His fingers tightened in her hair and he tugged. I need you to trust me. Keep your mind in mine. Feel what you're doing to me.

At once fire poured through her body like hot lava, centering in her groin. Every nerve ending was inflamed, every muscle tight, from her calves to her breasts. She knew she created those sensations in him, that raw pleasure bordering on ecstasy. She wanted more for him, for herself. She wanted it all, everything she could take or give.

She needed to take him deeper, to constrict and massage, to pour more heat over him. Her hands cupped and caressed his sac, her mouth worked, and all the while she could feel his needs, dark and erotic, tugging at her for more, always more. He needed her to give herself to him without restraint. It was the only way he had to combat the ice in his soul. She burned the arctic cold away in a firestorm of lust and passion.

He held her still, drawing back, and then pushed forward, filling her mouth, pulsing along her throat, holding her gaze captive with his. He set the pace, hard and fast until she thought she couldn't take it, then slow, each stroke long and leisurely, while his voice in her mind, rough and seductive, urged her to suck harder, to bathe him with her tongue.

All the while her body ached, begging for attention, her breasts heavy and full with need, her core wet and pulsing in time to the shaft in her mouth. She dug her nails into his thigh, desperate for all of him, even though he was intimidating her just a little, controlling her head with a hard hand at her nape and a fist in her hair as his rhythm became harder and faster.

She felt him swelling, and he immediately withdrew, breathing deep. "Not like this, baby."

"I can feel your need, see it in your mind," she protested, "I want to do this for you."

"Another day I want to feel you sucking me dry." He closed his eyes briefly, the feeling, the image, in his mind of her wanting him to finish in her mouth, her desperate for all of him, anywhere, anytime, all of him. "But not tonight. Tonight I want to be so deep inside of you that you'll never get me out. I want to brand you mine forever."

She was fairly certain he already had. She couldn't imagine doing the things she was doing with anyone else. Her body was still on fire, every part of her aching and needy.

He caught her chin, forcing her to meet his suddenly cold gaze. "I'd kill them."

"You mean me," she corrected.

He loved her. She was already in his heart, buried deep in his soul. "Never you. I could never hurt you." And he couldn't.

She was one of the people in the world-maybe the only person-who was truly safe, even if she shattered his heart.

He pulled her to her feet and walked her backward until they were behind the couch. He spun her around and once again caught the nape of her neck, bending her forward over the high back, pressing her head down so that the shirt road up over her enticing curves. "I think this shirt has become my favorite." He didn't wait. Didn't give her time. He couldn't.

He slammed into her, hard and deep, through the hot, slick folds, the tight muscles that reluctantly gave way and then gripped him hard, rippling like live silk. Her cry was loud, echoing through the house, but his was hoarse, strangling his throat, pleasure ripping through his body. He couldn't believe what it was like wanting her. The intensity of his need was so strong he could barely stay in control. She was so damned hot and tight, so silky soft and slick, he had to fight to hold back his climax. Around Tansy, his control went right up in smoke.

Lightning whipped through him, scorching him. He caught her hips in his hands, and brought her back to him as he surged forward, needing to plunge deeper into the dark recesses of her tight sheath. Lust and love whirled together until he couldn't tell one from the other. Emotions surged through him, filling his mind and heart when he barely could sustain feeling any other time. Where he was cold and dark, she was as hot as the sun and bathed him in her light.

He slammed home again and stopped, feeling her tense, throb around him, tighten, and grasp with her silken muscles. Slowly he bent over her, even as he tugged on her hair, bringing her head up. His lips whispered over her ear. "You fucking save my soul, Tansy. Every time." It was stupid of him to give up so much of himself to her, but he couldn't stop himself. He needed her to know what she was to him-that he might demand her total surrender, but he was hers, all the way, and he surrendered himself completely to her.

He moved again. Long and slow, taking her to the edge, until he heard a sob escape. He wanted to do a little sobbing himself, his breath hitching, and love choking and clogging his throat. But he held on, pushing her past every limit, poising her on the edge of release, only to pull back, prolonging, building, seeing how high he could take them both.

Tansy heard the sob in her voice as she pleaded with him for release. He was relentless, burying himself deep and hard, and then just when she was certain she couldn't take anymore and she'd find release, he'd pull back, slow down, change his pace, all the while putting pressure on her most sensitive spot. Her legs shook, and her body shuddered with urgent need, aware of every inch of his thick shaft buried deep inside her.

"Hold still."

She couldn't. He couldn't possible think she could, when she was on the verge of mind-numbing pleasure. He held it just out of her reach, and she writhed and bucked in a desperate attempt to impale herself.

"Not yet. You're going to take me with you and I don't want to end this." He pressed kisses down her spine, his hands caressing her breasts, her belly, flexing at her hips. "Not yet. I want to stay here awhile."

"Please, Kadan, I can't stand it." She felt almost crazy with need, her body on fire, her insides swollen and aching and desperate for release. She couldn't help herself, pushing back, twisting her hips, finding a frantic rhythm, grinding hard against him.

The breath slammed out of his lungs. Inside his throat-in his mind-he sounded wild, feral, a demon possessed. He buried his fingers deep in her hips, holding her still, his grip hard. He surged deep and she screamed. He pistoned forward, hard and deep, each thrust driving through the bundle of inflamed nerves so that she bucked and cried out, the sensations swamping him as her sheath tightened, strangling him, clamping down so hard he thought he'd go mad with pleasure. An explosive orgasm tore through her and took him with her, destroying all control so that he speared into her harder and faster in a frantic attempt to prolong the tidal wave that ripped up his thighs, down his belly, and centered in his shaft where her body continued to tighten around him, milking him dry.

He jerked convulsively and then shuddered with pleasure as he filled her with hot semen.

He stood behind her, buried deep, his arms wrapped around her waist now while she hung exhausted over the couch. He didn't even know how they'd gotten started in the first place, only that he would never be sated. He wanted to spend every waking minute just touching her, filling her.

Kadan rested his head on her back, drawing in great deep breaths. "You know, for me, you're my woman. My wife. Whenever you're ready, say the word and we'll do it legal. There's no way you weren't meant for me." Hell, he'd never believed in God; there were too many sick, perverted people in the world, too much crime, and too many natural disasters for him to believe anyone who cared was really out there in the cosmos watching. But Tansy was a miracle. For the first time in his life, it occurred to him that if there was really such a being, Kadan owed big-time-for Tansy, because he believed absolutely that she was created for him. And he knew he'd been created for her.

"Damn it, woman, you've even got me thinking spiritual crap." How pathetic was that?

Her body shook. He straightened up, allowing his shaft to slip out of her, enjoying the ripple that ran through her belly, telling him she was having delicious little aftershocks.

"Are you laughing at me?"

She turned her head, looking over her shoulder at him, a small smile teasing her mouth. "A little, yes."

"I have what could be a revelation and you're laughing." His hands were gentle as he helped her straighten up. He drew the edges of the shirt together and rebuttoned it.

"And your revelation is what?"

"You don't deserve to know." He leaned down to kiss her because he couldn't resist her beautiful mouth. "We've got work to do. Stop distracting me."

"You can set up the game pieces while I take a bath. If I don't, I'm going to be too sore to walk."

"I like that idea."

"You're so bad, Kadan." She tossed another grin over her shoulder and left him.

Kadan listened to the bathwater running as he pulled on jeans and padded barefoot into the war room. He didn't want her here, not where the photographs of the dead would surround them. He took the pieces out into the dining room and, wearing gloves, positioned them on the table in the order of the murders on the East Coast and then the West. He hated that she was going to do this, but he was going to make damned certain she didn't have the same repercussions as she'd had the time before.

Tansy surveyed the ivory pieces Kadan set on the table. The game pieces were beautifully carved. Whoever had made them knew what he was doing. Each figurine was detailed meticulously. She held her palm over the pieces, an inch or so above the tallest, and passed her hand over them, feeling the waves of excitement and violence embedded in the ivory. Taking a breath, she dipped her hand lower.

Kadan's hand slid beneath her wrist so fast it was a blur, his fingers circling hers and jerking her hand away before she could pick up one of the ivory carvings. Standing behind her, he held her wrist away from the game pieces. As he placed a proprietary hand on her shoulder, his body curved over hers so that his heat enveloped her.

"Wear gloves."

"But…" She frowned at him over her shoulder. "I won't pick up the details you need unless I touch the objects with my skin."

His grip tightened, fingers digging through the thin material of his silk shirt, into her soft shoulder and into the sensitive skin of her wrist. "Gloves." His voice brooked no argument. "See what impressions you get. We'll start there. If we're lucky, it will be enough."

"You know better, Kadan."

He pushed a pair of gloves into her hands.

"Do the men on your team ever tell you that you're a tyrant?"

She pulled the material over her hands and felt some of the tension leave his body. He'd already grilled her for an hour on the layout and security of the house, going over every single detail a hundred times, until she considered hitting him over the head with something. He was very thorough when it came to questioning-no, interrogating-someone.

"You're so dramatic." He slid his hand down her arm, tugged on the glove, and then splayed his fingers across her belly.

Heat spread as if he'd branded her. She felt the familiar ache beginning. His pressed even tighter around her, so that she felt him breathing in the same rhythm.

"You're distracting me."

"That's the point. Well…" There was grim amusement in his voice. "The point is, I want to touch you."

She was very aware of his body pressed tightly against hers. His shaft was full and heavy, rubbing along her bottom with only the thin tail of the shirt separating them. How could he be so ready so fast? A part of her was inescapably pleased. "I'm working here. Do you want to get this information or not? You're already handicapping me by insisting on the gloves."

"I'm protecting you. And I'm going to keep protecting you. I have the feeling that once you get started, you can't stop yourself."

She frowned and leaned forward to look over the game pieces. Kadan didn't move, and the action only pressed him tighter against her.

"You're going to have to go stand over there if you want this to work."

"I'm staying. Just get on with it."

Tansy sighed and forced herself to concentrate. Kadan had separated the game pieces into two groups. The first were the objects left behind at each crime scene on the East coast. The stallion, frog, snake, and blade. There were two stallions.

"Was the stallion the first murder?"

He nodded his head.

"Then they have a sequence. Like cards or a board game, they have a certain order and each player takes his turn. If you lined them up in the order you found them, the frog would commit the next murder."

"That's right." His breath fanned her cheek, moved the strands of hair falling around her face. His lips whispered over the nape of her neck.

"Kadan. Really. I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. But you're going to know where you are, and who you're with. You're not going to be pulled down that long tunnel into a nightmare. I'll be right here, real and solid, and nothing is going to take you from me."

She shook her head. "You're so crazy. Fine. I'll try."

She had to admit to herself she was a little afraid. There were so many of the game pieces, and the energy was strong, radiating out to her palm even through the material of the glove as she passed her hand over them. In a way, she was thankful for the distraction of Kadan's hard body and gentle hands. She knew once she began picking up impressions, there would be no feelings like she had now, the arousal peaking her nipples and teasing her thighs, the feel of his hand slipping under the tail of the shirt and shaping her bottom, his fingers doing their silky slide as he stroked her skin possessively.

She wanted to stay like this forever, feeling a part of him. Sharing his mind and the pleasure he got in just touching her. He loved just being able to slide his fingers over her, slip a hand inside her shirt and cup the weight of her breast, thumb caressing her nipple. The intensity of his enjoyment at simply stroking her skin was amazing to her and she didn't want to go back to the real world, where no one ever laid a hand her and she never dared to have actual contact.

I'm not going anywhere.

He couldn't promise that. She looked at the ivory figurines. If she touched them, and she couldn't control what happened, if the voices sank into her head, were trapped in her mind, he would have no choice but to abandon her.

Kadan swore and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her shoulder. "You don't have to do this."

"Yes, I do. We can't let them keep murdering people, Kadan. They have a taste for it and they won't stop." Tears burned behind her eyes. Usually there was one killer, one depraved mind she was forced to share. This time there were eight, and they were psychic, just as she was.

His lips slid over her ear. "My mind shares yours. If you're determined to go through with this, then know wherever this takes you, you won't be alone, Tansy. I'm strong. I'll find your mind and I'll bring you back."

"Last time I broke into a million pieces."

"I'll find each one "

It was the resolve, that absolute determination, that reassured her that he meant what he said. He wouldn't abandon her no matter how bad it got. It was his nature to be completely focused and implacable. He wouldn't turn back or turn away. His willpower gave her strength. Tansy settled her fingers around the frog, lifting it from the table.

The jolt was hard. The room shifted beneath her feet as the energy rushed at her with greedy claws. She hadn't expected the frog to be so strong. She'd already formed an opinion that he was one of the lesser members of the team, but his psychic energy was intense. She felt the familiar slick oil pouring into her mind, a sludge that indicated perverse sickness. He sought power. Always power. He wanted attention. Wanted his strength known when no one saw him. He was always passed over by everyone. His commanding officers thought themselves superior, but they were nothing to him-nothing.

Each week he took people down into his world. They had no idea he held their lives in the palm of his hand. He enjoyed that feeling, deciding-live or die by his hand. Who would he choose to let live? He wanted them to know, but only the ones who died knew, at last, looking into his eyes while he held them under. See me. Drowning, drowning. See me.

Tansy! Kadan's voice was sharp, filled with menace, with command.

She dared not disobey him. His fingers forced her hand open. She hadn't realized she was sobbing, or that the whispers had grown loud in her mind. Tears poured down her face. The screams were loud now, victims screaming as water poured into their lungs and he stood toe to toe, holding them down, forcing them to stare at his mocking, exultant face.

Revere me. I'm a god. I condemn you to death. See me. Damn you, look at me. You will stay with me and always see me.

Kadan shook her. "Look at me. Look at me now."

Her dazed eyes, shimmering with opaque violet, jumped to his. Kadan dragged her away from the table to the center of the room. He could feel the thick oil clouding her mind, hear the screams and whispers threatening to take over. He refused to allow her to look away from him. Deliberately he filled her mind with emotion, with warmth and tenderness, his hands gentle.

"Are you with me, baby?"

She moistened her dry lips, blinking rapidly. He could feel her mind clinging to his. "I'm all right. He was stronger than I expected." She shivered again, trying to drown out the sound of his voice. Thankfully, Kadan's firm, velvet-soft voice, although low, pushed over the top of the other. Kadan had established his dominance, and his power and control over her was absolute. His voice took over in her mind. We're together, baby, one mind, one skin. They can't touch you.

His voice was a caress, sliding over her, into her, so that she grasped at the feel of him as if he was a life preserver.

"I'm all right. I'm good." It wasn't altogether true; she retained the sludge, but it was easier to break with the voices.

"Tell me what you saw."

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "Bodies in the water. At least six, maybe more; I couldn't make myself look. He drags them down and drowns them. He likes to watch their eyes." She frowned. "He doesn't need scuba gear; he can hold his breath a really long time, or maybe he doesn't even need to do that. He breathes underwater-is that possible? Can one of the GhostWalkers actually breathe underwater? He's killed many times. But his murder in the game wasn't satisfactory to him. Something went wrong. He wants another turn."

She was breathing hard-too hard. Already he could feel the headache beating at her, piercing her skull like an ice pick. He tasted blood in his mouth and knew she was bleeding. His belly churned in response to her pain. He detested her doing this-and they had at least six more game pieces to go through.

Kadan stepped closer to pull her into his arms, but she shook her head, waving him away from her so she could finish. She looked fragile, swaying, her skin pale and beaded with tiny drops of sweat, although there were goose bumps on her arms and she kept shivering.

"He's small and slight, barely able to make the requirements for the military. Everyone underestimates him and that makes him angry. He wants women to notice him, but he can't really perform well because deep down he's insecure. He relates better when he's feeling murderous. His friends tease him a lot. He's the butt of some very ugly jokes, but after he gets over his mad, he convinces himself it's their way of showing him affection."

"And this particular murder?" Kadan began to rub her shoulders. He didn't want to share her mind while it was pounding with pain, and he had to ignore her suffering in order for her to get the rest out. He wanted to stop her, hold her, wipe her mind clean. He felt like a bastard, twisting the knife deeper, looking for more to help him uncover the killers.

She shook her head adamantly. "He was so angry, angry enough that for a moment he thought about killing…" She frowned, pressing her fingertips to her eyes. "Who? Someone else, someone supposed to be impartial, fair. How can he be successful at this kind of murder?"

She closed her eyes, took a breath, and let herself drown in the sludge. It wasn't as thick or as bloody, but the impression of "Frog" was strong. He didn't like killing this way. The guys were bastards, helping him plan but laughing behind his back. He knew they were laughing. Hell. He didn't want to do a couple of nerdy high school kids. At least give him jocks. He might want to cut off a few body parts while they watched him. Damn bullies shoving him around just because they could. Now he was going to have off a couple of skinny nerds who'd been bullied all their lives. Paper-pushing bastard probably rigged the game-did one of his endless psych evals and saw this would make him sick.

Young voices rose into wails. Pleading. Begging.

I'm sorry, man, it's just a game, you know. I gotta do it for my team, but when this is over, I'll find that dickhead paper pusher and watch him die for you. He chose you, not me.

The pleading rose to a crescendo. She could see their eyes. So young. So scared. They'd never even been with a girl and they were going to die. Frog kept talking to them, assuaging his guilt at the expense of his two victims. He wanted them to understand that he had no choice. It was all part of the brotherhood. He needed forgiveness.

Girlish screams of fear. Tears tracking down baby faces. They couldn't be more than fifteen. Two young boys just beginning life. Mom. Dad. I love you. I'm sorry.

What did they have to be sorry about? Only that a killer had trapped them and was about to end their lives. Nothing else. They hadn't lived long enough or screwed up bad enough. Two boys who were intelligent and loved gadgets.

Her entire body shuddered, muscles locking. They were just babies, and Frog was going to kill them and then cut them into tiny pieces. At least he was merciful enough to kill them with a single shot to the head, to make certain they didn't suffer. And then he began to slice them into pieces. Thirty each.

Stay cool, baby. I'm here with you. Feel me. Look into my eyes. You're only far away in your head, but if you reach for me, they can't take you. I'm your anchor.

Why thirty? What's the significance of thirty? The number had to mean something. It meant something to Frog. A signal, a message, but to whom?

Kadan slid his hands from her shoulders to her wrists, holding tight, needing the contact more than she did. Her mind was amazing to him. cataloguing data, working fast, discarding theories. He'd never seen anything like it. But it took its toll.

Keep the barrier in place.

It wasn't second nature to her, holding that wall to keep a separation. As a rule she merged herself totally with the killer and victims. Maybe the details were a little blurry, but as far as Kadan was concerned, she was picking up enough through the gloves to destroy her mind.

"What's significant, Tansy?" she murmured to herself. 'Thirty pieces of silver is all I can think of. What would that have to do with…" She trailed off, her eyes going wide. Blood trickled from her nose.

Pull away, break off completely.

She swallowed. Blinked. Her opaque eyes looked into his. Blood leaked from her mouth and one ear.

Kadan's fingers tightened on her wrists and he dragged her into the shelter of his body, thrusting his mind into hers, dominant. Controlling. You fucking listen to me, Tansy. Break off He was prepared to use anything to get her back. Sex. A beating. Hell, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered but separating her from those whispers calling to her, beckoning, raping her mind, filling her full of oily sludge and too much blood, so that she was drowning in it.

His hand went to the nape of her neck, thumbs under her jaw, forcing her head up. He took her mouth brutally. Desperately. His mind vibrated with sexual thoughts, with erotic visions, with need and hunger and such a craving for the taste and texture of her he shook with it.

Her mouth moved against his, and he felt that first burst of real awareness, her mind recognizing him as the sludge receded, leaving her raw and shaking but intact. He held her close, burying his face in the hollow of her shoulder, shaken beyond anything he could remember since he was that eight-year-old boy standing alone, frightened and covered in blood.

Damn it, baby. Just damn it. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his arms locking her head to his chest as if he never wanted to let go of her.

"I'm all right. I'm with you." Her voice was small and muffled. Thin. As if she was stretched beyond endurance.

"I'm not going to survive this," he said. "I'm not. We have to do better than this or you're done." He tipped her face up to his, his gaze drifting over it, brooding, edged with icy resolve. "You're done, Tansy."

"Thirty pieces of silver. Betrayal. This is huge. It was worth it."

"Fuck that. It wasn't worth it. It will never be worth it. Look at you. These are disgusting savages and they're raping your mind. They eat you alive. You think I can't feel what they're doing inside your head?" He wiped at the blood on her face. "Like pieces of glass digging at the inside of your mind, scraping you raw. Leaving scars. And in each of those scars, images, voices-sick, perverted killers who won't ever leave you alone. You're done."

She traced the rough angles and planes of his face with her fingertips. "Shh. You're so upset, Kadan. I'm all right." The pad of her finger stroked the deep scar.

"I don't get upset." He caught her wrists, dragged her hands down to his mouth and pressed kisses into each palm. "I'm not upset. I just know this isn't right and I'm not letting you do this again."

He was trembling. He didn't seem to know it, but she'd shaken him. She couldn't remember anyone ever looking at her with that stark, raw need, the fear and possession on his face. The show of emotion wrapped him around her heart as nothing else could have, because he was, as a rule, rather distant and cold. She felt the separation, the disconnect in his mind from everything around him-except her. It was both terrifying and exhilarating to know she could shake him so badly.

"The same man carved the stallion and the frog pieces. I think he carved all of them. I can't be certain, but I'll know once I handle the other pieces. If he did, and he's not one of the players, we'll know he's running the game. I get an undercurrent-"

His hand fisted in her hair, dragging her to him, his mouth taking hers hard. He swallowed her words and her breath, righting for her, wanting-needing-her wholly with him. They couldn't have her. Not the killers. Not the victims. Not Whitney. Not her bastard parents, who were connected to Whitney. None of them. She was his, and he would protect her with everything he was, every last bit of training he had, every warriors instinct, and with an ice-cold resolve that would carry him through fire, through blood and death for her.

Tansy let him have her mouth, not struggling against either his enormous physical or mental strength. He didn't realize the grip he had on her mind or her body, or the savage possession of his mouth. Even the fist in her hair twisted the strands until there was a burning sting. The combination of pain and pleasure slammed the door hard on the voices, leaving only Kadan in her mind. Kadan with his sensual, demanding mouth and his will of iron.

He kissed her until her complete submission, her absolute surrender, registered. His mouth gentled, became tender, until his kisses were slow and easy, until his breath was hers and her body molded to his. His hands slid beneath the thin material of her shirt, sliding down her back, down the tucked in waist and flair of her hips to curve over her buttocks.

"I'm so afraid I'm going to fall in love with you," she whispered when he lifted his head.

He kissed both eyelids, trailed more kisses down her face to the corner of her mouth. "Would it be so bad, loving me?"

Had there been a catch in his voice? It occurred to her that he had no family. He'd held himself apart from everyone. She smiled at him, a slow, dreamy smile that spoke volumes. She couldn't say the words aloud, but they were in her mind. Teasing him. Caressing him. You have a tendency to be a tyrant. Can you imagine if you knew I loved you like crazy?

She couldn't voice the words, because she was well on her way to feeling that way about him. In measurement of time, they barely knew him, but with their minds slipping in and out of each other, it was difficult to resist him. To resist his compelling need and his magnetic personality. Sometimes, like now, she felt mesmerized, hypnotized by him, just by the way he looked at her. Or maybe it was as simple as she was no longer alone and never would feel alone with him close to her.

"I prefer that you fall crazy in love with me," he said candidly.

Tansy burst out laughing.