Captive (16 page)

“So quick to judge,” Lana said with a throaty laugh. “Don’t forget that I know what
you truly desire. You reek of it.”

Sarah wrapped her arms around herself, hating how exposed she felt. “You said you
wanted to know if I have everything I need. I do. Please leave.”

“You’re lying, my lovely.” Lana’s gaze flickered across the hall to Tristan’s bedroom
door. “What you need is over there.”

“Shut up.”

Lana laughed again. “How precious it is when a kitten tries to show her claws.”

The succubus gazed at Sarah for a long moment, then her lips curved into a cruel smile.
“Ah. I didn’t see it before.”

Sarah edged back from the doorway. “What are you talking about?”

“You must be a bit frightened,” Lana continued, “to want something that you know so
little about. I won’t lie to you. There will be pain when he takes you—that’s the
burden of your delicate human flesh—but afterward you won’t care because the pleasure
is more than you can imagine.”

Sarah didn’t want to react but couldn’t fight off her body’s sudden visceral response.
The wrench of sickness and pain was overwhelming to the point that Sarah faltered
and had to steady herself in the doorframe.

How could she know?

“I’m sure Tristan will forgive your inexperience,” Lana said, her eyes bright with
pleasure. “If you’d like some coaching, though, don’t hesitate to ask. Though I should
tell you, when it comes to teaching, I take a very hands-on approach.”

“Go to hell.” Sarah stumbled back into her room and slammed the door in Lana’s face.

TRISTAN DIDN’T WANT
to add up the number of times he’d risen from bed and gone to his door over the course
of the night. From the moment Sarah had left after he’d almost kissed her, Tristan
couldn’t shake her from his mind: her scent, the softness of her skin, the press of
her lips against his hand. It would have been a simple thing to go to her room and
pursue the matter further. Had Sarah remained on the bed beside him for a few more
minutes, Tristan was certain she would have yielded up the kiss he’d wanted. Their
attraction was palpable, and Tristan had no doubts about its power. But he did think
Sarah likely to be skittish in their interactions. She was wary of him, and rightly
so—no matter how drawn to the Searcher Tristan might feel, neither of them could forget
that she was his prisoner.

Tristan had his own reservations about the way in which things were progressing with
Sarah as well. Seducing her in order to coax information from her seemed to be going
as he’d hoped. But he was troubled by the allure Sarah held for him. Try as he might
to justify his actions as solely the means to an end, in truth he wanted to know Sarah,
to be close to her regardless of what he might learn of his enemies by her captivity.

Despite his restless night, Tristan had fought off the impulse to go after Sarah,
instead biding his time and planning a challenge that would keep them together for
the better part of a day. He made himself wait until midmorning before he went to
knock on her door.

“Good,” Tristan said when Sarah greeted him. She was dressed in jeans and a simple
cotton button-down. “That outfit will work. Though you may need a jacket. It’s a cool
day.”

Sarah arched a brow at him. “I take it you’ve concocted another challenge?”

“I have,” Tristan answered.

Sarah went to the wardrobe and returned wearing a shearling-lined leather coat. Tristan
offered Sarah his arm, and after a moment’s hesitation, she took it.

The light touch silenced both of them, and neither Tristan nor Sarah spoke as Tristan
led them through the castle and out into the courtyard. Tristan noted the pleasant
weight of her arm linked through his, the way the sunlight pulled amber threads through
her dark hair. As they walked, he found himself drawing her steadily closer, until
she leaned against him. He was pleased when she didn’t pull away, instead curling
her fingers around his forearm.

Tristan stopped outside of the stable, and Sarah turned questioning eyes on him.

“Horses?” Sarah asked when a whinny sounded from within the building.

Noting the trepidation in her voice, Tristan asked, “You don’t ride?”

“Not that often.” Sarah shrugged and pulled free of him. “But I can hold my own.”

He smiled, knowing she was lying.

“It’s a simple enough challenge,” Tristan said, walking into the stable. “All you
have to do is keep up with me on a ride around the island.”

His original intention had been to challenge Sarah to a race, but her wary approach
to the stable made Tristan think a flat-out race might be too dangerous. He wanted
to win this challenge, but had no desire to put Sarah at risk. And though he was reluctant
to admit it, Tristan knew what he wanted most was simply the chance to spend the day
with Sarah riding around the island.

“Can I pick our horses?” Sarah asked. She tried to make the question playful, but
Tristan picked up the nervous edge of her voice.

“If you like.”

Sarah walked along the stalls, gazing up at the curious heads that poked over their
stall doors to greet the newcomer. Ares, who occupied the farthest stall in the row,
heard Tristan’s voice and bellowed.

“Do you have an elephant in here too?” Sarah glanced at Tristan over her shoulder.

“Just a horse that wants to be one,” Tristan said, tracing her steps. “Pay no attention
to Ares; he likes to put on a show for visitors.”

Reaching the end of the stable, Sarah stopped to observe Ares. The stallion was pitching
and turning in his hall. He fixed his bright eyes on Sarah and bellowed again.

“He’s beautiful,” Sarah said.

Tristan smiled at her. “I agree.”

Sarah admired the stallion another minute and then gave Tristan a knowing glance.
“He’s yours, isn’t he?”

“They’re all mine.”

Sarah shook her head. “I meant he’s the horse you prefer to ride.”

Tristan nodded, pleased and surprised that she’d arrived at that conclusion.

With a teasing smile, Sarah said, “Anything you can do . . .”

Her eyes returned to the stallion.

When Tristan realized that Sarah intended to choose Ares, he reached out to pull her
back.

“Sarah, no!”

In her determination, however, Sarah had already opened the stall door and stepped
inside. Within the small space, Ares was agitated, blowing and stomping. The sudden
appearance of a stranger invading his stall pushed the stallion’s restlessness over
the brink. He reared up, striking the air with his hooves, missing Sarah’s face by
inches. She screamed and lost her footing. When she fell, Ares lunged toward the open
gate. Without thinking, Tristan dove forward, grabbing Sarah and rolling her beneath
him, as the stallion’s hooves came crashing down.

Air rushed out of Tristan’s lungs when Ares’s weight came down on him. He heard the
crack of bones, followed by waves of pain. He forced himself to hang on to Sarah until
the stallion had trampled over them and bolted from the stable. When Ares’s hoofbeats
began to fade, Tristan let himself slide off Sarah and onto his side. His lungs wouldn’t
draw breath. His body, from chest to back, felt as though it was wrapped in iron bands.

“Tristan!” Sarah scrambled to her knees, and Tristan was relieved to see she appeared
unharmed. “Oh God.”

He couldn’t answer her. His back and chest began to burn and throb. Dark spots crept
into the edge of his vision. He dug his fingers into the stone paving of the floor,
fighting to remain conscious.

“Help!” Sarah shouted. “Someone help us!”

Tristan heard a snarl, followed by a long howl. Sarah turned at the sound of toenails
clicking on the cobblestone of the stable floor. She gasped when the hulking shape
of Seamus’s wolf form bounded toward them.

Seamus snapped his jaws inches from her face, forcing her away from Tristan and back
against the stall. Tristan tried to speak, wanting to tell the wolf that Sarah wasn’t
responsible for his condition, but all that came out was a painful wheeze.

It was enough to get Seamus’s attention, however. The Guardian turned from Sarah to
Tristan, sniffing at his fallen master. Two more wolves appeared behind Seamus. Some
silent orders passed between them, and the newly arrived wolves shifted into human
form, each man taking one of Sarah’s arms and dragging her from the stable.

“Wait!” She struggled against them. “I need to know how badly hurt he is! Just tell
me that he’ll be all right!”

The Guardians ignored her pleas. When they were out of sight, Seamus shifted forms
and lifted his forearm to his mouth. Then he turned his arm to face Tristan, placing
the fresh puncture wound against the Keeper’s lips.

“Drink.” Seamus watched as Tristan swallowed the wolf’s blood.

It had been some time since Tristan had last needed this service from his Guardians,
but taking the blood wasn’t unfamiliar to him. Since the first skinning of his knees
as a boy, Tristan had benefited from his predecessors’ careful engineering of their
Guardian warriors to serve as formidable soldiers with unique blood flowing through
their veins—blood that could heal their own wounds and the wounds of fallen comrades
within moments.

Tristan pushed Seamus’s arm away when he felt warmth spreading through his limbs,
drawing the pain from his body.

He rolled onto his back, welcoming the air pouring into his lungs. Tristan lay there
until his pulse had quieted and his breath was steady.

When Tristan sat up, Seamus said, “You want to tell me how that happened?”

“She spooked Ares.”

“
She
spooked Ares?” Seamus frowned. “Then how come it’s you who had broken bones and hoof-shaped
bruises all over your back?”

Tristan cleared his throat, looking away. “I threw myself on top of her.”

“You—” Seamus stared at him. “Bloody hell, Tristan.”

“I couldn’t let him run her down,” Tristan said. “He could have killed her.”

“But you
could
let him stomp all over you.” Seamus half laughed, half growled. “Because you’re immortal
and impervious to harm . . . except you’re not.”

Tristan climbed to his feet. “I’m fine now. Let it go.”

“You were seriously hurt,” Seamus pointed out. “It’s not your job to be chivalrous.
All you’re supposed to do is stay safe. That’s why you’re here.”

“That’s why
you’re
here,” Tristan replied bitterly. “And you’ve once again kept me safe. Good work.”

Seamus shook his head, sighing. “There’s honor in wanting to protect the girl, but
not to the point of being reckless.”

Tristan didn’t answer, turning his gaze to the courtyard.

“We’ll get that ill-tempered beast back into his stall,” Seamus said. “I’m sure you
want to reassure the lady that you’ve suffered no permanent damage.”

“She did seem quite concerned, didn’t she?” Tristan said, recalling the stricken expression
on Sarah’s face as the wolves dragged her away from him.

“That she did.”

“Very concerned, even.” A smile crept over Tristan’s mouth.

“Yes, sir.” Seamus scratched his thick sideburns. “What are you getting at?”

Tristan faced the wolf. “Don’t tell her.”

Seamus frowned at him.

“Don’t tell her I’m healed,” Tristan said, still smiling. “I’d like to see how this
plays out.”

Seamus regarded Tristan curiously. “Isn’t that a bit cruel?”

“Don’t forget what you just said, Seamus,” Tristan replied. “It’s not my job to be
chivalrous.”

HOURS HAD PASSED
since Sarah had seen Tristan, and her throat felt raw from shouting at the Guardians
who’d manhandled her back to her room. Though she’d yelled and pleaded, they’d waited
until her stomach had tied itself in knots before Seamus finally arrived at the door,
first to dismiss the sentinels and second to inform Sarah that while Tristan was injured,
his life was not in immediate danger. Sarah had surprised herself by asking the wolf
how soon she’d be able to see Tristan, to which Seamus had answered, “Sunset,” which
Sarah found to be an utterly nonsensical and random time for a visit, but since Seamus
was likely to be the one watching over Tristan, she had no choice but to comply.

It had taken Sarah a ridiculous amount of effort to convince Moira that she could
manage to bring the silver service to Tristan’s room on her own. Once Sarah was crossing
the hall bearing a tray laden with a teakettle, cup and saucer, creamer, and sugar
bowl, however, she had to admit the whole business was both heavier and more awkward
than she’d anticipated.

But cumbersome as her burden might be, it set the stage for the next scene of her
plan. Sarah couldn’t ignore the truth: she wanted Tristan more with each passing day.
Accepting that fact, she’d decided to use it in her favor. She recognized the recklessness
of this new plan, but it was the only way she could justify a possible usefulness
for her unrelenting desire for Tristan.

It’s not as if there aren’t precedents for this: Samson and Delilah. Judith and Holofernes.
Catwoman and Batman. How often is sex the only weapon left available for a woman to
wield?

Her attempts to rationalize the choice made Sarah feel rather empty but did nothing
to weaken her resolve. She was also uncomfortably aware that sex wasn’t the only issue
in play. Her terror when Tristan had rolled beneath the hooves of the stallion had
been visceral. That feeling had nothing to do with desire, but Sarah couldn’t bring
herself to name its source. Focusing on the physicality of her attraction to Tristan
was Sarah’s only way to keep her aims clear. The rest of it could only lead to confusion
and disaster. Sarah couldn’t completely ignore that, beneath the surface, troubling
emotions bolstered her desire for Tristan. But those were feelings she wasn’t yet
ready to face. For the moment, Sarah chose to put blinders on regarding anything other
than sheer desire and its own means to an end.

As she’d anticipated, Sarah found Seamus standing watch outside Tristan’s bedroom
door.

He raised his bushy eyebrows at the tea tray. “How thoughtful.”

“It’s sunset,” Sarah replied, suddenly defensive.

“That it is.” Seamus opened the door for her with a smile. “He’ll be glad to see you,
miss. But if he’s sleeping, please don’t wake him. He needs the rest.”

“Of course.” Sarah nodded. The old man was so kind for a Guardian. She wondered how
many years Seamus had served in the Keepers’ packs. Given his age, and that the Keepers
extended the lives of their wolves beyond normal human expectancy, she guessed he’d
seen at least a century—which meant he likely didn’t have much time left.

Seamus closed the door behind her and she crossed to the bed, where Tristan lay very
still with blankets drawn up to his neck and his hands folded over his heart. His
repose was far too similar to that of a body laid out for mourners’ viewing, and Sarah
felt a stab of relief when she heard his deep, steady breathing and saw the rise and
fall of his chest.

This is a strategy,
Sarah tried to convince herself as she carried tea to Tristan’s bedside table.
I wanted him to fall in love with me, so he’ll trust me and tell me what I need to
know. Patients fall in love with their nurses, right? All part of the plan.

A much more persuasive thought butted in:
That’s not a plan. That’s a subplot of
Back to the Future,
moron.

Setting the tray on the bedside table, Sarah bent down and whispered, “Tristan?”

His eyes opened slowly. “Sarah?”

A lump formed in Sarah’s throat. She reached out and took his hand. “I’m so sorry.
Are you in much pain?”

“A bit.” His fingers wrapped around hers. “Nothing I can’t bear.”

“What can I do?” Sarah couldn’t stop the words from spilling out. “This is my fault.
You probably saved my life. How can I make it up to you?”

Embarrassed by her outburst, Sarah lamely added, “I brought tea.”

“I don’t think I’m in the mood for tea.” Tristan’s other hand shot out, grasping her
arm. He pulled her off her feet and on top of him.

Sarah gave a startled cry as Tristan flipped them over, pinning her to the bed. Now
that he wasn’t hidden beneath the sheets, Sarah saw that he was shirtless but wearing
jeans. Half-dressed and far too agile for an injured man, Tristan could barely contain
his laughter, and Sarah knew she’d been had.

“You’re not hurt!” Eyes wide, she gazed at his bare skin. She could find no bruises.
No marks. No sign at all that he’d been stomped on by that stallion when he’d shielded
her body with his.

“No.” He smiled down at her. “I have exceptional healers at my disposal. And now I’m
good as new. Sweet of you to bring tea, though.”

“I was
worried
about you,” Sarah told him, still shocked by his sudden and total recovery.

“I can tell, and I appreciate your concern.”

“You’re a jackass.” Sarah struggled against him to no avail.

Tristan laughed. “Maybe, but if I am, why did you bring me tea?”

“Fine.” Sarah gritted her teeth, anger at the deception seeping through her veins.
“Joke’s on me. Now, let me up.”

“Why would I do that?” Tristan asked. His voice had gone low, quiet in a way that
made Sarah’s pulse jump. “You said yourself you want to make this up to me.”

“There’s nothing for me to make up for,” Sarah said. “You’re fine.”

“But I was hurt,” Tristan replied. “Ares takes his tramplings quite seriously.”

Tristan’s grip on her wrists was unyielding but not painful. Where his fingers wrapped
around her skin warmth began to spread—up her arms, over her shoulders, spilling through
her chest.

Sarah swallowed hard, but her voice came out hoarse anyway. “What do you want?”

Why the hell did I ask that?

His smile somehow managed to be gentle and wicked at the same time. “I have another
challenge for you.”

“I’m tired of your challenges.” Sarah tried to wriggle out of his grip, but he held
her down.

“Really?” Tristan’s gold-flecked eyes teased her. “But you’ve done so well. I’ve barely
had the chance to question you.”

Sarah pulled her gaze from his, hoping that might help her focus on something other
than how warm she felt. She tried to shut out the image of the taut muscles of his
arms and shoulders. The way his jeans hung loose on his narrow hips so that they slid
dangerously low when he moved.

“If I accept this challenge, will you let me up?” she asked, still looking away.

“Possibly.”

Bringing her narrowed eyes back to his, Sarah snapped, “Why should I accept, then?”

“My answer was ‘possibly’ because of the nature of the challenge.” Tristan surprised
her when he released one of her wrists. He touched her cheek. His fingers trailed
over her jaw and stroked her neck.

“What’s the challenge?” Sarah’s pulse was dancing at her throat. She wondered if Tristan
could feel it.

“Kiss me,” Tristan said, running his fingers lightly over her collarbone. “But that’s
all.”

“That’s all.” Sarah stared at him. Her breath was coming in shallow pulls. “How is
that a challenge?”

Tristan leaned down. His breath caressed her ear when he murmured, “Because I think
you’ll need more.”

As her eyes closed, Sarah didn’t doubt that he was right. If she did kiss Tristan,
she’d want much more from him. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t overpower her own
desires with the force of her will. If Sarah was anything, she was stubborn.

How hard could it be to stop at one kiss?

“Fine,” Sarah said, but angled her neck away from his face. “I accept.”

Tristan moved so he hovered over her once more. “Good.” His teasing smile was gone,
and there was a softness in his gaze, but behind that Sarah saw hunger.

He bent toward her, but Sarah put her hand firmly against his chest.

“I thought you were taking on the challenge,” Tristan said.

“I am,” Sarah replied, giving him a push until he was kneeling above her instead of
pressing her into the mattress. “But the challenge is for me to kiss you. Not the
other way around.”

Though he frowned, Tristan let Sarah slide up until she was seated beside him.

Grasping the small advantage she’d gained, Sarah told him, “If I’m kissing you, I
get to decide how it happens.”

“Fair enough.” Tristan shrugged, a curious smile flitting over his mouth. “So, how
do you want me?”

Sarah swallowed a groan but didn’t take the bait. “Right there is fine,” she answered,
keeping her tone nonchalant.

She moved into a kneeling position that mirrored Tristan’s. Facing him, she leaned
forward slightly. As she closed the small distance between them, Tristan’s gaze slipped
from her eyes to her mouth. He reached for her.

“No.” Sarah grasped Tristan’s wrists and placed his hands at his sides. “I’m kissing
you, and that’s all.”

He laughed quietly but nodded.

Drawing a long breath in a vain attempt to slow her heartbeat, Sarah rested her fingers
lightly on either side of Tristan’s jaw. She let her eyes close just before her lips
touched his, feather soft—it was the barest whisper of a kiss.

Even from that slight contact, Sarah had to quell the shudder of intense pleasure
that wanted to grab hold of her. Knowing that if she pulled away now, Tristan would
argue she hadn’t managed a real kiss, Sarah parted her lips. Tristan’s mouth opened
in reply, and Sarah took his lower lip between her teeth.

The sheets beneath her rustled, and Sarah opened her eyes just enough to glimpse Tristan’s
fists clenched around the bedclothes. Smiling, she released his lip and slipped her
tongue into his mouth.

She almost lost control.

He tasted extraordinary. Warm and rich, with an enticing bite. Sarah’s hands left
Tristan’s face to slide around his neck. She pulled him closer, wanting a deeper kiss.
A kiss that reached inside her to touch the heat pooling so low and sweet in her body.

It was the sound of her own small sigh of pleasure that brought Sarah back from the
brink. Tristan was doing a fine job of keeping himself in check. His fingers still
dug into the sheets, and he returned her kiss, his tongue gently stroking hers, his
lips responding to each new touch, but he didn’t try to make the kiss his own.

Summoning the small shred of will she had left, Sarah gentled the kiss. She unlaced
her fingers from Tristan’s neck and touched his face in a reversal of the way their
kiss began. She parted their lips, put her hands beside her knees, and, keeping her
eyes closed, pushed back from him.

After taking another deep breath, Sarah opened her eyes. Tristan was staring at her,
disbelief naked on his face. Under any other circumstances Sarah would have laughed
at his stunned expression, but she barely could keep herself from reaching out and
pulling Tristan back into her arms. Moving with deliberate slowness, she uncurled
her legs and swung them over the edge of the bed, praying she didn’t teeter when she
stood up.

Sarah rose, straightened her shoulders, and was thankful for every steady step she
managed to take until she reached the door. Her hand was trembling as she reached
for the knob and turned it. She’d opened the door just a crack when suddenly Tristan
was behind her.

He reached over Sarah with one hand and slammed the door shut. His other hand grasped
her hip, turning her to face him.

“You win.” Tristan’s eyes were alight with something Sarah couldn’t name. Anger? Lust?
Both?

Whatever it was, it emanated from him in waves, and Sarah wondered if she should be
frightened.

“I win,” she whispered, staying very still.

Then Tristan’s mouth was on hers and there was nothing gentle in this kiss. It was
rough and demanding, and exactly what Sarah wanted. She wrapped her arms around his
shoulders and he lifted her up, carrying her across the room to lay her on the bed.

Tristan stretched over her, and Sarah let her hands roam the way she’d wanted them
to when she’d been kissing him moments ago. Her fingers tangled in his hair, traced
the shape of his strong shoulders. She pressed her palms flat against him to skim
over the carved lines of his chest and the ridges of his abdomen, then slid her hands
around his lower back.

Her lips were swollen from his kisses, but she met the force of his tongue and teeth
eagerly, her mouth asking for more in turn. Tristan broke their kiss to trail his
lips along her throat. His hands slid from her waist, up her ribs, and paused at the
swell of her breasts.

Sarah moaned and arched up into his palms, feeling her nipples harden at his touch.

This is too much, too much.
Her mind was a storm of sensation.
It’s not enough. Not nearly enough.

Her fingers dug into his back and Tristan reached up to grasp the sides of her blouse.
With one hard tug, buttons went flying, exposing the delicate lace of her bra. Tristan
bent to kiss the tops of Sarah’s breasts, at the same time reaching behind her. Sarah
arched up again to accommodate his hand and gave a cry of anticipation and relief
when he unhooked her bra, freeing her breasts. Lifting her partly off the bed, Tristan
used his free hand to pull her blouse off, then her bra, tossing both aside.

Holding Sarah tight to his body, Tristan moved to a kneeling position that left Sarah
straddling him. His hands gripped her lower back and rocked her into his hips. She
gasped when the softness between her legs met with the hard length of Tristan’s cock.
His hips thrust forward as his mouth covered the tip of her breast. Tristan’s tongue
circled her nipple, and a rush of heat and dampness at her core made Sarah whimper.