Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin) (33 page)

“The New Kolyma region of the Russian Far East.”

“Siberia?”

“Yes. Don’t worry. I’ve got this.”

Up, up, faster and faster, he led her through the snow. Snow on the ground, snow on the beautiful trees. A true winter wonderland, stunning in its beauty. Harsh in its treachery. How quickly could a person freeze to death out here?

Sadly, that wasn’t the least of her troubles. Jecis would follow. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. He would feel no rush. After all, he could locate Solo at any time. But he
would
gather the troops and come after them.

Vika would be wise to ditch Solo now and strike out on her own. It was what she’d planned to do while they were trapped in the Nolands. Now . . .

She just couldn’t bring herself to leave him.

He looked back at her, saying, “Shout if you need me to stop.”

“I will.” And she almost shouted a thousand times in the next five minutes, but somehow, she held the sound inside. She wanted as much distance between them and the circus as possible, even if she had to suffer to get it.

The higher up the mountain they went, the thicker the trees became and the rockier the terrain. Eventually, Vika lost track of time. All she knew was that she was shivering uncontrollably and her muscles were as heavy as boulders. Her lungs burned.

Solo glanced back at her a second time, slowed his pace, then stopped. “We’ll stop for the night,” he said. He wasn’t winded and didn’t seem cold.

“Because you found a safe place?” she asked hopefully.

“Because you’re tired.”

As she’d suspected. “I don’t care. Keep going until you find a safe place.” They needed every advantage they could get.

He studied her intently, pride glowing in those baby blues. “Very well.”

Was that pride directed at
her
?

She expected to leap back into motion. Instead, he dropped the bag and unzipped the top. The clothes she’d stolen from her father rested on top. Although not a single garment belonged to Jecis. Rather, Jecis had stolen them from the Targon and were the perfect size for Solo.

Size—the reason no one human had bought them. The material was as black as night, and possessed a soft, luxuriant quality.

He slipped into the shirt and the pants, then with
drew the clothes she’d brought for herself and tossed them at her.

“How about we leave the bag behind?” he asked as he tugged on the socks and boots.

What?
“No!” Removing her coat was actually painful, the cold air biting at every section of exposed skin, but somehow she found the strength to do it. Next she shucked the dress.

Solo averted his eyes, saying, “It’s excess baggage, and I mean that literally.”

“It’s my life.” The sweatshirt and pants bagged on her, but oh, they were toasty warm, having been snuggled up to Solo’s body during the entire trek.

“I heard jewelry banging around in there.”

“Exactly.”

An eager gleam that rivaled the beauty of the moonlight entered his eyes. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

When she’d gone to hell and back for these? “Give the bag to me, and I’ll carry it.”

Frowning, he once again fit the strap over his shoulder.

“Solo,” she said.

“Vika.” Without another word, he linked their fingers and urged her forward.

•   •   •

Solo reveled in his freedom. He still wore the cuffs, yes, but he was no longer behind bars. He was no longer strapped to a wheel, a scratch pad for anyone with an itch. He had his woman at his side, and the only danger currently stalking them was the weather.

He’d listened, he’d watched, and he knew Jecis had
stayed behind. Still, Solo wanted as much distance between them as possible tonight. Tomorrow, he would drag Vika what would probably seem to be a thousand miles, and the more they ran tonight, the less they’d have to trek while she was sore and hungry, her adrenaline depleted.

No, he thought next, he wouldn’t allow her to become hungry. The moment he had her tucked into a warm little crevice, she would fall asleep and he would hunt. But wow, already she was holding up better than he’d hoped. His tiny little fluff of nothing had a stubborn streak that wouldn’t allow her to quit—or even slow. She might appear to be asleep on her feet, but she matched him step for step.

“What are we going to do?” she huffed.

“Avoid the towns, for one.” Many Americans had moved to Siberia immediately following the human-alien war, since Siberia was supposedly the only land free of the otherworlders’ “taint.” Actually, otherworlders were usually shot on sight here. “My boss, Michael, has a cabin on the border.” Michael had homes in every state, every country. Maybe even every city. That was how he kept his agents hidden, no matter where they were or what they had to do. “We’ll make our way there.”

They reached a little clearing, where a tree had fallen, the center hollowed out by weather and age. No one would be able to hide nearby. He would see and hear anyone who approached. And he could share his body heat with Vika inside the stump. This was as good as it was going to get.

He dropped the bag beside the tree, urged Vika to settle inside the center, and worked on gathering nearby stones. He’d wanted ten but could only find eight. Oh, well. That would have to do. He cleared the snow from a small section of land and used the rocks to form a circle. Next he gathered twigs and piled them inside the rocks.

He sat beside Vika, claimed two of the stones, and struck them together.

“As much as I’d love to watch you create a fire that way, because it’s very manly and impressive and everything,” she said, “I’d feel guilty if I didn’t tell you there’s a lighter in the bag.”

He paused, looked at her, and arched a brow. “You came prepared.”

“I had help,” she admitted after a brief hesitation.

“Who?”

“Well . . .” She nibbled on her lower lip as she dug into the bag. Several minutes passed, and she began to mumble under her breath. “Found it!” Grinning, she pulled out a lighter and slapped it into his hand.

“You never answered my question, Vika.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, do you remember those invisible men we’ve talked about?”

“Yes.” He lit the end of one of the twigs, flames quickly catching and crackling and spreading to the others. Heat wafted toward them, and smoke curled through the air.

“I wasn’t ever going to tell you, unless you spilled first, but waiting kind of seems silly now, after everything.
So, here goes. One of them helped me. His name is X and he—”

“X? My X?”

“Your X? You
do
see him, then.”

“I do. I’ve seen him most of my life.”

“Well, I started seeing him a few days after you were captured.”

He had no idea what to think about this development. X had never revealed himself to another person, never expressed a desire to do so, never
mentioned
doing so, and Solo had assumed it was an impossible feat.

“What has he said to you?” he demanded.

Vika groaned. “That question is the very reason I never mentioned his name.”

Same for Solo. But just like she’d inferred, they were past the point of holding back. “You’re going to spill whether you want to or not.”

“Fine.” Her cheeks bloomed a lovely pink. “X says he’s an Altilium and Dr. E is an Epoto, but I have no idea what either of those words mean.”

“They are Latin for ‘a charger’ and ‘a drain,’ and they certainly fit.” And they’d certainly told her more than that.

Mist billowed in front of her, creating a dreamlike haze. “So how is Dr. E a doctor?”

“Well, for starters he earned a doctorate in annoying me.”

She giggled as she said, “Make that two doctorates. I really like X, but I want to find a way to get rid of Dr. E.”

Solo was the reason the being had been bothering her, but she threw no blame his way. He did not deserve
this woman, but he wanted to. He wanted to do whatever was necessary to become the man she needed. “Are they with you now?”

“No. You?”

“No.” So where were they? “What else did they tell you? And you had better fess up. Otherwise I’ll be forced to utilize my world-famous interrogation technique.”

Another giggle. She assumed he was kidding. But at least she’d stopped blushing. Solo didn’t want her embarrassed with him. He wanted her comfortable enough to confess anything.

“Well, X said I’m supposed to stay with you.”

And that’s why I like him best.
He waited. She remained silent.

“That’s all?” he insisted.

“That’s the gist of it, yes, and all I’m willing to admit at the moment. Interrogation or not.”

That wasn’t so bad.

Then, she added, “Dr. E suggested I leave you behind to rot.”

His hands fisted, and he could feel the drugs begin to drip into his bloodstream.

He wanted to talk to both creatures right there, right then. He wanted to ask how and why, what else had been said, and command they leave his woman alone. She wasn’t to be bothered with their antics.

“Let’s change the subject,” he said. Before the sedatives got the better of him.

He stretched out beside her and she immediately snuggled against him, angling her head to watch his
lips and sighing with what seemed to be satisfaction. He toyed with the ends of her hair, content.

“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked.

“No. Why?” Golden light danced over her, making her look as if she’d just stepped from some ancient painting of a magical land with fairies and pixies and a happily-ever-after.

“I . . . hurt people today.”

“In an effort to help others. Trust me,” she said with a yawn. “I’m beginning to understand the difference.”

Thank the Lord. “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Close your eyes now, sweetheart. You need to sleep.”

“But I’m not tired.”

She was, but she was fighting it. Too much adrenaline, perhaps. Too much concern for what the future held. “Want to play the question game again?”

Her features brightened. “Yes, please.”

“Good, because I’m wondering . . . what’s your favorite color?”

“Blue,” she’d said, and then admitted softly, “the exact shade of your eyes. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”

He stilled, not even daring to breathe.

“What’s
your
favorite color?” she asked.

“Vika.”

“Yes?”

“No,” he said, fighting a grin, “that’s my favorite color.”

Her brow furrowed with confusion, the same way it had done in the cage when he’d said something she couldn’t quite figure out. “But I’m not a color.”

“Are you sure?”

A pause. A second later, a laugh bubbled from her. A laugh that heated him far more thoroughly than the fire.

“You know, that’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever not heard,” she said, petting her fingers through his hair. “You’re the first man to ever truly compliment me, and I think I’m already addicted to it.”

“I’m truly the first?”

A beat of silence. “You will be,” she whispered, and they both knew she wasn’t just talking about the compliment.

Instantly the tide of need he’d experienced for her all these many days flooded him, his body reacting to her on a primal level. He’d known she was a virgin, but here, now, the knowledge caused a sense of possessiveness to rise up—one stronger than before.

This woman was to be his, and only his.

“Forget the game. I want to kiss you,” he croaked. They were alone. No one was watching them, no one was listening. There was no better time.

Her lips fell, the humor draining from her.

“But I won’t,” he forced himself to add. Clearly, she wasn’t ready.

Well, he would have to get her ready again.

“Why not?” she said. Then, “Oh. That’s right. It’s my turn to kiss you.” She leaned over and licked her way into his mouth.

Surprise hit him first, followed closely by intensified desire. Their tongues met, rolled together, and the sweetness of her taste arrested him. Heat blasted through his
entire body, his cells coming alive, his nerve endings shooting out electric sparks, and he groaned as the absolute, utter devastation of his need consumed him. This woman . . . he had to have her, all of her, and soon.

“Vika,” he said.

“Solo.”

He gave her sweet and he gave her tender . . . at first. The more they nipped at each other, the more concentrated his motions became. He played with the edges of her shirt, running his fingers along the hem, teasing the bare skin of her belly, trying to prepare her for a more intimate invasion.

Soon she was moaning, following his every movement for more prolonged contact.

“I want to touch you, sweetheart.”

“You are,” she whispered.

Such an innocent comment, reminding him to go slowly, to be careful—no matter how great his need. Her peace of mind was more important than any fleeting pleasure. “I know, but I want to go higher, to touch your breasts.”

Out came the pretty pink tip of her tongue, swiping over her lips, leaving a delicate sheen of moisture.

“I won’t touch anything else,” he told her. Not until she was ready.

A moment passed. She gulped, nodded.

Slowly he slid his hand under her top and cupped her, flesh to flesh, palm to female. Her skin was cool, but he quickly warmed her up. He grazed his thumb across the center peak, drawing a moan from her, this one straight from the deepest depths of her. All the
while he watched her expression. Fear never registered. Only pleasure.

And when she arched into his clasp, a silent request for stronger pressure, he fought the urge to bellow with sublime satisfaction.

He would get her there.

“Do you like this?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, yes.”

“I want to replace my hands with my mouth, all right, and—” Solo’s ears twitched, and he stiffened.

“What—”

He withdrew his hand and placed his finger against her lips, silencing her. With his other hand, he doused the flames. Darkness descended.

His eyes adjusted in seconds, and he watched as a fox pranced into and out of the clearing. No threat, then. Still. The intrusion served as a necessary reminder. He was Vika’s sole means of protection, and that had to come before anything else.