Deception (34 page)

“Precisely,” Guthrie agreed. “These pups got a lot to learn.”

“A few more adventures like last night and there won’t be any pups to train.”

Guthrie smirked as he took a bite. Then Slick spoke again. “Should I look forward to another trip tonight? Or should I drink myself into oblivion?”

“Do us all a favor,” a woman interjected, casting a shadow over both men, “and choose the latter.” She threw a jug at Slick, who caught it with a grunt. Then she sat next to Guthrie, a second jug in hand. “Get lost, Slick.”

The old man popped the cork on the bottle and inhaled. “Bless my bones, this is scotch.”

Guthrie looked over, finding a hint of a smile on the witch’s face.

“You better savor it,” she sternly countered. “Now get lost.”

Slick wasted no time pushing himself to his feet. Then he patted the witch’s champagne-blond hair as he turned toward the tents. “Bless you, Lynette.”

Guthrie continued eating while trying not to watch Lynette, but his eyes kept wandering her way. He hadn’t spoken to her since his promotion, and there was a reason for that. He was a dead man, and she was the only thing in the world that made him want to live.

She didn’t push him to speak, nor did she stare at him. She just watched the fire while tipping back her booze.

Once Guthrie finished eating and floated his bowl to the cleaning crew, Lynette thumped him in the chest with the clay jug then barely gave him time to grab it before letting go.

“So do you know the answer?” she asked.

“What answer?” he returned, sniffing the fumes rising from the bottle. “And where did you get all this scotch? We lost the recipe moons ago.”

“One of those soldiers you collected,” she answered. “He’s dead now, so I took his stash. So are we going out again tonight?”

Guthrie drank then shivered. It had been a long time since he’d felt the burn of quality scotch coursing down his throat. “I don’t know, Lyn. Our path is unpredictable.”

“Now more than ever,” she added. “The man’s losing it.”

Guthrie choked on his second drink as he looked for eavesdroppers. “Watch your tongue.”

“No one’s close enough to hear it,” she dismissed. “The place is dead.”

She was right. Soldiers generally spent their nights carousing around the campsite, but most of them were spending this night in their tents, awaiting their final call. Only a few gathered around the fire, and they were somber as they passed around jugs of wine, or perhaps pilfered liquor. Positioned away from the tents and fire, was a cluster of cots filled with wounded witches and wizards, who haunted the magically sealed campsite with moans. They were being tended to by a handful of magicians who knew little about proper healing.

“The end is closer than ever,” Lynette whispered. “We’re all going to die in pursuit of his witch.”

Guthrie found her profile, her slightly upturned nose and red lips. Then he drank while watching her blonde lashes glint in the firelight. He was glad she wasn’t looking at him with her piercing violet eyes, because they held far too much power over him. “Are you ready to die?” he asked, returning her scotch.

“Sure,” she answered, but her aura told a different story. “I’ve been waiting for it long enough.”

Guthrie remembered the first time Lynette entered camp. He was sixteen and had already become a good little soldier, and she’d been a soft and vulnerable six-year-old, a bonded child ripped from the hands of her dead family. She’d cried for days, and Guthrie had hated her for it. But Agro conditioned her like he did all the young ones, and now she was a mouthy bitch who could hold her own in a camp full of brutes. She could also bring lovers to their knees and did it with pride.

But there was another side to Lyn, a side more compatible with that vulnerable six-year-old than the tough woman she was now. Once, in an effort to give her a taste of her own medicine, Guthrie had used that scared little girl against her. Tired of her bossiness, he’d forced her to submit by sympathetically reminding her of the day she entered camp, of the tears in her eyes and the horror in her cries. He’d slyly used the recollection as a weapon, trying to break her down, but once he had, once she was a tender ball of emotions in his rough grasp, he found himself shattering, drinking from the only source of humanity he’d found in years… since he was the frightened child entering the deadly camp.

Lyn still didn’t know he’d gone to her tent that night with the intention of reducing her to a submissive sex-puppet choking on her own medicine. He’d never told her and he never would, for despite his better judgment, he inevitably returned to her to relive his golden youth, and despite her better judgment, she inevitably let him. But outside of those moments, they were both cold-hearted killers looking out for number one, and that person wasn’t Agro. They served him merely to keep their own skin intact. That was the only way when surrounded by genuine devotees and brainwashed laborers purged of self-identity.

A scream echoed from Agro’s tent, and Guthrie glanced over, wondering what his boss was doing to the soothsayer now.

“I don’t foresee us going anywhere tonight,” he offered, returning his gaze to Lynette. “We’re too low on soldiers. A trip to the witch’s community would leave us standing on an empty lawn again.”

“Which could mean the end for us all.”

“Then go grab you a wizard and take him for a final ride. Sign off with a bang.”

“You got time?” she asked, catching him with her dark-purple gaze. “I’ll let you lead.”

He couldn’t look away from the only eyes in camp that had seen his soul, nor could he commit. “You better find someone more available, or you’ll miss your chance.”

“You don’t like being the boss’ bitch,” she whispered.

“I live to serve,” Guthrie returned.

Her big, slanted eyes narrowed as she mouthed the word
liar
, and Guthrie’s lungs froze. Her gaze held something he’d never seen there before, not in her or anyone else in the Dark Elite, except for the boss himself. Deep in the violet glow of Lynette’s stare, Guthrie found a vehement thirst for power and freedom and the determination to make it so.

“He is weak,” she mouthed.

“And you’re crazy,” Guthrie hissed, breaking eye-contact to make sure no one was listening.

“We all are,” she casually replied, tipping up the jug.

As scotch poured over her bottom lip, Guthrie leaned close and whispered in her ear. “Any other lieutenant would have served you to Agro for that remark. Now keep that wagging tongue of yours quiet, because I’d hate to see it get cut out. We may live through this, and what purpose would that pretty mouth serve without a tongue?”

She lowered her drink and turned her head, touching her nose to his. “The way things are going, there’s only one way we’ll live through this. Now grow some balls and make it happen.”

Guthrie clutched her throat, and her features hardened as her aura swelled. A weaker woman would have dropped the jug, but she held on to it, pulling it back to use as a weapon.

“Don’t do it,” he warned, tightening his grip.

Her nostrils flared as she lowered the jug, and he loosened his hold before whispering. “This is for your own good. If you keep talking this way, he’ll kill you, just as he would me if he knew I’d let you get away with such blatant disrespect. The man has ears everywhere, and the soldiers in this camp will turn on you quicker than a death adder.”

“Now’s the perfect time,” she defiantly returned, her spirit dancing despite her captured throat. “He’s vulnerable and losing the faith of his snakes, snakes that could be yours for the taking. Think about that for a while, and when you get a chance, come to my tent. We’ll finish the fun you just started.”

The proposition of both power and sex shocked him, and he let go of her throat while absorbing the suggestion. Next thing he knew, her dainty fist struck his cheek, and his head jerked to the side before popping back up. He didn’t consider hitting her back. He deserved every hit she’d ever dealt him. Plus, he remained stunned by her outrageous insubordination.

She calmly rose to her feet and scanned the nosy soldiers watching the scuffle. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen foreplay before?”

They lazily chuckled and turned away, and she looked down at Guthrie. “Think about it,” she repeated, “then come see me. I’ll kiss your booboo all better.” After one more smack to his bruised cheek, she strutted away, spitting scotch at the men who ogled her.

Guthrie couldn’t help but watch her tight ass shake, nor could he deny the arousal tightening his shorts. Damn her. Life and death would be much easier without her around.

He slowly stood, debating whether or not he had time to follow her. Then Agro’s voice boomed from his tent. “Guthrie! Bring me a steak knife.”

Guthrie sighed, still watching Lyn walk away. Then he adjusted his shorts and retrieved the brutal torture device.

Chapter 23

Quin awoke feeling rested and alert, and when he looked down at Layla's peaceful aura, his mood soared. She was well and safe and in his arms, and he couldn’t ask for more out of life than what he held at that moment.

He closed his eyes and magically started a pot of coffee and breakfast. Then he tightened his hug and nuzzled her hair. “Good morning, angel.”

“Yes . . . ” she purred, stretching against him, and a second later he was on his back, forced into the position by her surprisingly strong palms. She straddled his waist and flashed a bright smile. Then her lips were on his and her tongue was in mouth, kissing deeply and hungrily.

A moan muffled in his throat as his hands drifted toward her on their own accord, but then an odd thump of his heart awoke his willpower, and he flexed his fingers, stretching away tingles as well as the urge to rip off her underwear. Instead, he worked one hand into her spirals while moving the other to her waist.

Her fingernails dipped into his chest, and his hot blood thickened as conflicting desires fought over his brain – the need to take her now versus the need to take it slow. One was not compatible with the other.

He was about to murmur her name when she left his lips, trailing her kisses down his throat to his pecs, and her warm inner thighs squeezed his hips before stretching apart, making room for her satin panties to glide across his rapidly growing arousal. She moaned and shivered, and he nearly choked while grabbing her butt and holding her still.

Damn. She was wreaking havoc on his control, and there was only one way to regain the upper hand.

He squeezed and rolled her onto her back, grabbing the reins away, and she let him, stretching her head back so he could have his way with her neck. He lowered his lips to her pulse, and her hips writhed beneath his, hastening his blood, but he was no longer in danger of losing his mind. As long as he held the power, he could deny himself all day… maybe. She was prepared to put up a fight.

Running her hands down his back, she found his waistband and slid her fingers into his pants.

His kissing halted. In fact, everything about him momentarily paused, and when his vitals picked back up, they sped. “Layla,” he breathed, steaming up her neck.

She ran her hands lower and squeezed. “Hmm?”

He closed his eyes and twitched. The last thing he wanted to do was make her feel rejected, so he had to choose his words carefully. Or dismiss the use of words altogether, which seemed like a much safer idea.

He reached behind him and forced her hands from his pants, placing them on his shoulders instead. Then he took one of her alert nipples in his mouth while sliding his fingers to the satin on her hip.

“Nuh-uh,” she objected, grabbing his forearm. “I'm done with that.”

He sighed and obediently removed his hand. Then he found her eyes and stroked her warm cheek. “You're not going to let me?”

“No.”

“Why not, love? I enjoy it.”

“Me, too. You know I do, but I'm done with the one-sided stuff. I'm ready to take things further and so are you. My body feels great.”

He smiled and raised his eyebrows, his fingers creeping back down her torso. “Yes it does.”

She smiled, too, but she returned his hand to her face. “Thank you, but that's not what I meant. My body feels healthy for the first time in days. I see no reason to wait.”

“Layla . . . ”

“No, Quin. If there’s another reason you’re not willing, you should tell me, because I'm not backing down.”

“I'm very willing,” he assured. “My body’s screaming for you as we speak.”

“Then why are you being so stubborn?”

“I'm being stubborn?”

“Yes,” she countered, “you are.”

He moved his thumb to her bottom lip and gently tugged. “Layla, my beautiful angel, I have expectations for the moment to come, and these are not them.”

“Oh,” she mumbled, averting her gaze.

“Stop that,” he laughed.

“Stop what?” she asked.

“Stop feeling embarrassed,” he clarified. “You just made my day by pressing yourself on me, and you have no idea how badly I want to have my way with you right now. Spontaneity definitely has its perks, and I'll admit that if you were any other woman, I would have jumped at the offer. But you're not some random woman, Layla. You're the love of my life, and someday, when I look back on the moment I first made love to you, I don't want to see a rushed and uncontrolled, morning romp. We'll get plenty of those down the road, but we'll only get the first time once, and I’d like to take it slow and drain the moment for all it's worth.” He gently nibbled on her pout, and his hand abandoned her face, slowly trailing down her chest and stomach. “Until then, I would love to take care of you.”