Tempting the Enemy (20 page)

She touched his pillow, tempted to press her face into it and breathe deep. She would have if there wasn’t a note there, the paper clearly stamped with the name of the hotel. One simple word.
Stay
.

Her lip curled. The man had too much canine in him.

But since his scent was addicting, crisp and masculine—like fresh snow and just cut pine—she stole a deep inhalation and hugged the pillow close, ignoring the note as much as she could.

Glancing around the room, she found a digital clock on the bedside table. Since it was bright outside, she had to guess that the one-nineteen on the display meant afternoon. She’d never slept so much in her life, even if she discounted the times in the night when Pale had awakened her, his hands and his mouth stroking and kissing away the burning surges of Heat.

She brought her hands to her cheeks, her body clenching anew at the memory of him sucking at her breasts, reverently drinking at her while his strong fingers snuck between her thighs, cupping her and applying just enough pressure to send her catapulting into oblivion.

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Tempting the Enemy

There was more to this mating, she knew it. Ached for it.

From the glow of his eyes in the dark, she was sure
he
knew it. And planned to exploit it.

She lay back, frowning, wanting very much to have something not frustrating to think about. She rejected outright the inclination to ponder Jalla’s presence in her mind. Considering it would mean admitting she quaked inside because of it.

Next option.

She could lie here thinking about Pale, but that topic was circular. In the throes of Heat, he was the most amazing part of God’s creation. Powerful. Intelligent.

Satisfying. Utterly perfect. Outside it…he was demanding, ruthless and driven. And he hadn’t yet agreed to let her live. Which didn’t seem to affect her desire for him. Her hunger to know what went on behind those mesmerizing eyes or to understand why he could yell at her one second and hold her against his heart as if she were the most precious thing in his world the next. And if he was planning to try and make her stay with him, she wasn’t sure how long she’d be able to withstand that kind of gentleness. Not even for his own good.

Which left considering the clues they’d pulled together about the Woodsman. Even she knew something was wrong with your life when you brightened at the prospect of a serial killer. Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d had a lot to add to their collection of clues. The girl she’d channeled hadn’t seen her attacker. Hadn’t seen anything but darkness. The signature, for all its blatant presence, made no sense at all. Reading it wasn’t possible and, judging by its soaring arcs high through the air, the man making it had to be capable of flight, which put him Dee Tenorio

173

firmly in the realm of the shifters. A bird of some sort.

One that only left a signature in animal form. Which meant he’d had to carry dismembered body parts through town without getting noticed, shift for a second to animal form so he could leave a signature, shift back and walk away. Gritting her teeth, she grudgingly admitted she’d so far provided no help whatsoever.

She sat up, her body oddly sore as she tossed back the blankets and set her feet on the soft carpeted floor.

Considering the strains of the day before—sexual and psychic—it shouldn’t be surprising. If the moon were high, she’d simply offer herself some white light to take the discomfort away—

It never works anymore…

Her own voice echoed in her mind, much like the whisper that woke her up. A mental push that lacked any subtlety at all and made her head throb. With a huff, she gave in. “Fine, Jalla. But I’m getting dressed first.”

Unfortunately, pulling the clothes from her pack next to the bed only took minutes and left the focusing stones she’d brought with her in an untidy pile on the bed. Her clothes didn’t have much in the way of variety. Like every other scarlet still in training, her outfits were made in the enclave and differed only in color. Today was gray, the cargo pockets of the pants running down the sides of her legs. The turtleneck sweater was soft, closefitting and a regrettable choice since the Heat kept her constantly near sweating. She opted to skip it for the time being, slipping on the thin white undershirt instead. Without anything else to do, she sat on the bed, legs folded, and stared down at the glittering jewels.

Like Pale, most people believed that the Sibile collected them out of greed. They were wrong. No 174

Tempting the Enemy

manufactured stones would do. The gems they needed had to be created from the earth, designed by its particular vibration, meaning they had to be rare. Valuable. A truly strong Sibile had no use for them. Only the weak had to magnify their gifts through multifaceted stones.

Jade hated each and every one of them. She’d earned them, though, with each excruciating taste of death the Sisters had subjected her to. Her price for their answers.

They’d paid, approving of her mercenary approach to the pain. The square-cut emerald had been her first. A pittance, because emeralds were so prone to flaws that could refract the gift the wrong way. Sister-Naima had no doubt been experimenting, ruling out whether the gems would help. She certainly had nothing to lose. At least, not until Jade had nearly hung herself in the same way as the young scarlet they’d ordered her to inspect.

She picked up the octagonal ruby ring, the stone large enough to require two fingers beneath it. She slipped it on, the gem nestling above the center of her palm. She could never touch this one without thinking of fire, remembering the male who’d burned his home to the ground rather than continue living as a slave.

She curled her fingers around it and closed her eyes, pushing past the memories that really weren’t her own, reaching for her gift. As usual, she could feel it stir in her chest, but it didn’t catch. A spark leaping to life only to wisp into nothingness. Just like always. But Jalla would keep on her if she didn’t try. The strain made her head ache, her temples nearly ringing. In her chest, the power churned, disturbed, but not awakened.

She gripped the cold rock, dots of perspiration forming at her hairline. It was either that or throw it Dee Tenorio

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across the room. This was pointless. She had no power in the daylight. Jalla was wrong. She couldn’t do it and certainly couldn’t
become light
, whatever that meant. A glance at the clock told her she’d been struggling for over an hour. Her body hurt for decidedly less pleasing reasons now, and for what? So she could grind her teeth and waste time waiting for a Wolf to come free her from her tower?

At the thought of Pale, the power surged, high enough for her to grasp, then slipped away just as quickly.

Frustration hit new levels. Relying on her emotions to build her power could get her into situations where she couldn’t defend herself properly. In that, the Sisters were right. She needed to learn to use it at will. By thought, not impulse. By will. By will. By…

With a frown, she reached for her gift again, mentally directing her concentration toward the stone, pushing past the stinging scrape in her mind. Finally, the power caught, a thread of it—delicate as spider silk—

trailed down her arm and hand. Nestled in her grip, the ruby began to warm. To vibrate. Carefully, Jade released a soft, triumphant breath, smiling as the gem began to light.
Yes…

The door opened and she looked up, surprisingly relieved to see Pale walking in, a paper sack in his hand and the heavenly aroma of hot beef wafting in with him.

He’d changed his clothes. Still in jeans, but they were darker than the last pair, younger. His buttoned shirt was black, emphasizing the shining ebony of his too-long hair and heavy beard. His masculinity stood out even more in the light of day, as if he were too male, too predatory, without the shadows. Not too male for her, though. Her heartbeat began to speed up, excitement welling in her chest that he’d returned. The thread of power suddenly 176

Tempting the Enemy

widened to a full flow, the ruby becoming so bright it could have been a light bulb.

Before she could rise, his brows crashed down and his eyes narrowed with recognition on the illuminated stone. His mouth twisted with repudiation. Recoil. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Pain, sharp and digging, lanced her chest. Her eyes watered and it was all she could do to breathe. Power blasted toward the stone, unchecked, rampant now under the inertia of her effort. The ruby’s glow burst into actual flames in her open hand, then stuttered out as she flung the ring onto the bed in front of her, where it singed the golden duvet.

Curling her burned hand against her heart, Jade glared at Pale to ward him off, but he was already in front of her, his bag forgotten on the floor, reaching for her.

“Don’t touch it.”

Except he did, pulling her hand between them and unclasping her fingers. She could feel his anger, but his touch was delicate, something she didn’t know he could be. She hissed at the cool air on raw skin. The angry red burn was already beginning to blister.

“How fast do you heal?” Rysen’s head was bent over her palm.

Faster than she felt like telling him right then. “Let go of me.”

He glanced up, his sharp gaze pinning her. “No.”

Then he went back to his inspection.

“What are y—” The question turned into a shriek when he leaned in and licked her palm. A second swipe of his tongue and he let her go in time to ward off the pillow Dee Tenorio

177

she was in the process of swinging down on his head.

“What’s
wrong
with you?”

He yanked the pillow out of her hand effortlessly.

“Wolves have healing agents in our saliva. Our bodies heal most minor wounds within minutes, if they’re not too deep. It’s a benefit to shifting you don’t seem to have.”

“Because
I
don’t shift. I told you that.” She jumped off the bed to get away from him, not liking that the pain had already receded. The coiling nausea in her stomach didn’t let her go far. She stopped midstep, huffing out a breath. Couldn’t she even be angry with him? “Where were you? I’ve been here by myself for hours.”

It was hard to maintain a frown when his eyes were watching her as if he were tasting her, enjoying the flavor.

“I was called in. You were…exhausted.” That smile had better not be smug. “I thought you needed the rest.”

He looked down, scooping up her jewels in his fist. “What were you doing with these?”

She crossed her arms. He could be as prejudiced as he wanted; she had every right to exercise her abilities.

“Practicing.”

“Practicing what? Flame throwing?” He tossed the stones back onto the bed like so many rocks.

“That was an accident.”

“Pretty dangerous accident.” His arms crossed over his chest, matching her, his cool confidence in direct opposition to the agitation she couldn’t hide. He cocked his head, giving her the sense that he was sizing her up.

Then he frowned. “What’s that mark on your arm?”

“Can you please stick to one topic?” Preferably a
different
topic.

“Looks like a tattoo.”

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“Well, it’s not.” If anything, the red mark, formed beneath her skin and drawn into an elaborate design, was a brand. She forced herself not to cover it with her fingers so he’d stop looking.

“What is it?”

“Nothing you need to concern yourself with.”

His gaze flickered, something dark in it setting off her internal alarms. “Like these gemstones, right?”

“Right.”

He nodded, staying aggravatingly calm. “How’s the hand?”

Swallowing a scream, she stalked into the bathroom and slammed the door on him. Why had she been happy to see him? And what was it about him that had her power surging to life whenever he was around? Whenever she simply thought about him? Temples ringing, hand still tender, nerves drawn tight, she ran a towel under cold water and then covered her face with it, sighing in relief at the cool temperature.

This wasn’t her. It was the Heat. The man. It wasn’t her, losing control left and right, acting on instinct instead of thinking everything through. Her power might have been unreliable, even unstable at times, but she’d always been able to
leash
it. She needed to find that control again. Needed to find the will and the concentration that had kept her alive for twenty years.

Pulling the towel off her face, she faced the mirror over the sink and glared at her own reflection.

Grudgingly, she twisted her right shoulder so she could see the red mark on her upper arm. An elaborate “X”, one length a straight diagonal line, the other a double line of thick, curlicued scrollwork, the intersection marked with a Dee Tenorio

179

round dot on each quadrant. It hadn’t been put there for decoration. Her
volo
, a mark of power. A reminder of strength. The cruorlector who had drawn it to the surface, leading to her acceptance into the Order, had almost been afraid at the sight of it. Who was afraid of her now?

No one.

Jade let go of her arm with a growl. She wasn’t raised to be this weak. Submissive. She’d been brought up to take challengers and bury them without mercy, the only acceptable exception being when she faced elders. Why was she allowing this man, this Wolf, to treat her how he liked? To dictate and question her and believe he had a right to anything? Where was her sense? Her pride?

In the mirror, her cheeks pinked, her golden eyes fairly glittering, she made a decision. The next question he asked, she’d send him flying into a wall again. Yes.

Definitely. That would remind him of his place. Of
hers
.

Pale Rysen does not control me. He can’t change me.

He’s only a man.

Satisfied, she took a deep breath and stepped back into the suite. He wasn’t waiting meekly for her return.

Instead, her pack was on the bed, the jewels cleared and the bed made. All signs that they’d been there were gone, including the clothes she’d taken off the night before, apparently repacked.