Page 16 of The Warrior's Captive

She hadn’t been able to stop looking at him.

No matter what excuses she gave herself, she knew that was the real reason she’d fled. She was supposed to be afraid of Hades. She was supposed to hate him. She wasn’t supposed to stare longingly at his body until she was burned to ash with her desire to touch him, to taste him, to teach him that a touch could be tender and sweet instead of brutal and breaking. She thought she could make her way home, so she’d fled out into the night, trusting her sense of the stars to put her on the right path. If only she could have found a house and begged to use their phone. She could have called her family.

She was stupidly relieved now that Hades got to her before she found anyone. Stupidly glad that he’d picked a place so remote and so far removed that it was hours of walking before they’d seen another house.

But now she was in a room with a phone. She could place any call she wanted.

She knew she wasn’t going to. Her brother was understanding, but understanding only went so far. If she called, then he might think she was coerced and increase whatever measures he had taken to find her, putting both herself and Hades at risk. Better to just arrive so he could see her, and sense that she was unafraid of this man, that they had both returned willingly. She was going to trust this man to get her back home and he had to trust that she’d do right by him when she did. That was their fate. That and that alone She had no right to be looking at his tense position now, the muscles straining to keep him upright when he was clearly in pain.

She stood up, but she didn’t go to pour water into the bath. She walked to him instead. He spun around before she got there and caught the hand she’d innocently extended to set on his shoulder by the wrist. His grasp wasn’t light, and she winced. He released her immediately but didn’t apologize.

“You’re still hurt. Let me see.”

He shook his head, dismissing her. “Go bathe. You’re filthy.”

She ignored the cutting words and the tone meant to wound. “Please. Hades. Let me see.” She reached out again and this time he didn’t shove her hand away. She saw all the pain in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. Was he really even trying? He let her pull the hem of the expensive button-up shirt out of his suit pants. They rode on his muscular hips like they were tailored just to show off the ridiculous V of his lower abs.

The stitches were still holding, but the whole thing looked inflamed, an angry slash of bright pink against the blacks and grays of the ink.

“It still hasn’t healed.”

“Shifters don’t heal wounds of this magnitude that quickly.”

She wouldn’t know. She’d never seen anything like this. If someone in her pack hurt themselves badly, they went to their healer, their new alpha’s mother-in-law, Brooke Wind. She’d been healing the wolves in the area for decades and she was so good that most of the time, a hospital wasn’t needed. Hospitals were dangerous. Pain, the drugs, being in the hands of humans who didn’t know their secret, being operated on or knocked unconscious—it all made it very hard to keep the wolf in check. It also made it hard to keep their secrets, while a wound like the one on Hades’s stomach looked regular, any doctor would have noticed that the healing was accelerated. That’s if they hadn’t already noticed the abnormal heart rate or bloodwork.

“You’ve been rough with your body before. You should know, I guess. You’d tell me if something was wrong on the inside, wouldn’t you?” She looked back up into his face and saw the too bright way his eyes shone. Yes, he was in pain.

“I’m fine. It’s holding together. It’s just going to take time.”

She should have lowered his shirt and taken that bath she so desperately longed for. Instead, the dormant sparks that had been building inside her for what felt like a lifetime burst into flame at the sight of his body. He didn’t have a vulnerable spot on him, but she was staring right at one of the body’s most vulnerable spots.

Briar May planted her hand on Hades’s hip and leaned forward. Her lips met his skin right near the wound before either of them knew what she was doing. He jerked like he’d been stabbed again. His fingers fisted in her hair, both hands, dragging her face up.

“What do you think you’re doing, little wolf?”

“I…” She didn’t know. She had no answer for him. Except that she wanted more. More of the dark spice of him on her tongue. More of the salty sweat she tasted. He hadn’t showered, but she wanted him like that, craved him, musky and masculine and dirty.

The way he was looking at her was dirty. It was fucking filthy. He didn’t even bother to hide it. The raw desire. He was a hard man, barely human. He was a killer. Trained like he’d been born that way. There wasn’t anything soft about him right down to his heart and spirit. His wolf was probably a rabid thing, bloodthirsty and vicious. And there she was, sweet and innocent little Briar May. She wanted the words from him she knew would be dirty. She wanted him to command her to touch him. She wanted his permission in the form of harsh words spoken in guttural tones, she wanted to be dominated by him—and she had no idea where this came from. Despite how they had met, despite the fact that he had taken her captive, she knew deep inside that he would never harm her, and she could trust him with her life.

She wanted to dominate him too, own his body and soul, mark him, and take him as her own.

At thirty-nine she was a virgin and she literally had never been kissed. She only knew half of what she imagined because she’d read it in books.

She pushed back the burning humiliation she felt at her own innocence and gave in to what she wanted to do most, what her very instincts were guiding her to do.

She dropped down to her knees. Her hands bracketed his hips, her fingers splayed over warm skin and hard muscle. His hands weren’t soft, but he was soft there, at his sides. Still rigid and rock hard, but his skin was velvet smooth.

What she was going to do was wrong. Sinfully wrong. This man was the devil, but then, wasn’t she already living in hell? She might not even make it back to her pack. Did she want to die knowing that she’d done nothing at all in her life?

That’s not true. I’ve done everything anyone expected of me. I’ve helped, healed, listened, and followed instructions. I’ve been a good girl, a good woman, a good daughter, sister, and friend. I’ve made sure my wolf is always perfectly under control.

She’d done all the things she’d ever been asked, everything everyone ever wanted of her, but she’d never done a thing for herself. She barely left her pack lands. It felt like she hadn’t truly lived a minute in her life until this man stormed into it and took her. He should have taken her choice and her free will, but he hadn’t. He wasn’t truly her captor. She’d feared he would hurt her, but he’d sacrificed his own body to keep her safe.

She wanted him. It was that simple. She’d known it immediately. He might not have been the mate she ever imagined, and maybe he never would be her mate, but fate had already decided. Her body already decided. The magical parts of her knew that whatever time they had together had to sustain her for the rest of her life.

She didn’t love him. Maybe she never would. He didn’t love her. But this wasn’t about love. Tonight was all about need and instinct.

Briar May undid the button of his pants. Hades’s hand stopped her immediately, covering hers with his rough palms in a firm grasp. The other stayed in her hair and he tilted her face back up to his. She tried to resist, but he kept tugging at her hair until her scalp burned.

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