In Like a Lion (17 page)

They were going to drown.

Then as his vision grayed, as he opened his mouth to inhale water, the pressure released. He shot to the surface, wheezing and gasping. The water he had whipped into waves with his struggles, splashed into his mouth.

Air had barely filled his lungs before Kincaid said, “Again.”

“No.” Jake’s voice was raspy. “No more.”

“We’re done when
I
say we’re done.”

Anjali’s throat ached with soundless screams.

The pole plunged him down again. His muscles burned with exhaustion, his eyes from the chlorine, and his chest from lack of oxygen.

He dislodged the rod and stole a gulp of air. Another pole skewered his solar plexus. It was blunt, but landed like a punch, more air escaped his lungs. He swallowed some water and retched. The pole lifted for a moment so he could get air, and then returned.

Again and again, Kincaid drove him to the edge of unconsciousness. Pain lanced though him repeatedly, vomit scalded his throat more than once, but still the torture continued.

Anjali sobbed as she felt every blow and every scrap of fear and helpless rage building like a powder keg inside Jake.

Finally the dragon tore from his inner cage.

A shout of savage joy impinged on her consciousness and some part of her realized it was she who shouted. Jake’s sudden increase in mass sent a wave cresting over the rim of the pool, slicking the concrete deck.

He launched out of the water, slashing at the men with taloned claws, buried his teeth in a man’s arm. Shots rang out dozens of times. Most ricocheted off his scales, but one hit true. He crashed to the deck.

When nothingness swallowed them, all she felt was relief.

Kyle rubbed his tired eyes and tried to concentrate on the paperwork he’d been too busy to handle the last few days. The mid-afternoon sun, slanting through the windows behind him, warmed his back.

John phased in. Kyle leaped to his feet, alarmed. His friend saved phasing for emergencies. “What is it?”

“I think it’s better if I show you.” John picked up the remote control for the TV hanging on the wall, and turned it on.

A male news anchor sat at a desk. The logo in the lower right-hand corner identified the station as ANN, the All News Network.

A photo with the green cast of a night vision scope dominated the upper right corner of the screen. In it the side profile of a massive male African lion could clearly be seen. The caption “African Lion Stalks Mojave National Preserve?” flashed beneath the photo.

“Fuck,” Kyle said, burying his head in his hands. “This is my fault. I should have gone to him.”

“You had a good reason for staying.” John put a hand on his shoulder.

Kyle jumped to his feet. His friend’s palm fell away. “I always have a good reason.”

“Ky, stop beating yourself up and get out there.”

“You can get there faster.” He paced, hands churning his hair.

“And then what? I can’t track him in who knows how many square miles of desert.”

“But—” Torn, Kyle gazed up at the ceiling as if he could see though it to the occupant of the second level.

“She’s sedated. I’ll keep her under until you get back. Hey—” John took him by the shoulders and spun him, pinning him with the flash of his demon fire eyes. “Go find your brother.”

The volume on the TV seemed to rise as the news anchor went to location, drawing their attention to the scene where a slim woman, teeth flashing white in contrast with her creamy caramel skin, interviewed an orange-vested hunter. “Sir, are you nervous to be in the preserve with a lion at large?”

He grinned. The smile stretched a face so wrinkled it appeared to be made of rubber. “Hell, no! I came for cottontail, but if I can, I’m gonna bag me a lion.”

“Are you seeing this?” Clara’s strident voice over the phone forced Gareth to move the instrument a bit further from his ear. His desk chair creaked as he leaned back.

The scene on the TV turned to a commercial, but he barely noticed, he was too busy thinking of some way to spin shit into gold.

“Of course.” He struggled to keep his tone even. “I’ve had someone monitoring the media since he escaped. Relax. My operative entered the preserve this morning.”

“Relax?” She almost snorted. “How can I relax when the whole world is watching?”

“There’s a bright side, if we’re lucky, maybe someone will kill him
for
us.”

Anjali came to herself and found her cheeks wet and cold with tears, her body shaking.

Jake roused. He glanced at her from his position on the bed. The expression on his face as he realized she’d lived his nightmare with him squeezed her heart.

She held her hand up to him. “I had to know if it could be done voluntarily.”

“Well, now you know.” He flipped over, turned away. It seemed he was always turning away, but this time she’d earned it.

His posture, his refusal to meet her eyes, seared her with guilt. Her chest hurt. She felt as she had as a child when her lack of self-control had disgusted her father. “Jake—I . . .” What could she say? She deserved his anger.

“Get your things,” he said as he sat up and grabbed his boots. His voice sounded gruff. “We’ve got to get moving.”

Chapter 22

The remnants of the nightmare lingered as Jake stuffed his feet into the black, leather boots. He laced them with enough force to shake the metal bed frame. He didn’t blame Anjali for her curiosity. She was a doctor, a rational type.

What she had done was rational, logical. But he hated that she’d seen him at his most helpless. Could see the pity on her face, smell it in her scent.

Worse, he felt like a goddamn fool.

Kincaid had suckered him into believing his bullshit all those years. Jake closed his eyes, remembering the hundreds of crucibles he had been put through in the name of therapy or science or whatever crap Kincaid had thought of at the time. Trials clearly intended to make him change, to examine his thresholds and test his limits for what purpose he could only guess.

“Jake?” Anjali’s voice trembled.

He could hear the guilt in her voice, smell the salt of tears. His protective instincts rose up in reaction, urging him to go to her, to reassure her, but he couldn’t bear to meet her eyes.

The event he’d been dreaming about wasn’t even the worst thing Kincaid had done. A shudder gripped him as he imagined her witnessing one of Kincaid’s more degrading tests. The heavily made-up “study partners” who pawed him, using their hands and mouths to try and arouse him, or the many unsedated medical procedures he now realized were actually research tests.

The memory ignited a seething fury, reviving the lion.
God Damnit.
He snatched long, deep, gulps of oxygen, straining for mastery over the creature.

Anjali touched him, her cool hand on his shoulder transforming the fire in his belly from anger to passion. Still sitting, he faced her.

Her head wasn’t that much higher than his. He caught her wrists and towed her closer so she stood between his legs. She let him.

Her thick lashes were spiky with the remains of tears, her nose a tiny bit red. Ashy crescents marred the skin under her eyes.

She was gorgeous.

He could hear her heart fluttering in her chest like a moth against a lamp. Her teeth pinched her bottom lip briefly, making it plump and red. He lowered his head and skimmed the tip of his tongue across the place where her teeth had been, the way he’d always wanted to.

A groan rumbled in his chest. “You taste . . . so damn sweet.”

She closed her eyes for a second, refusing to look at him, her gaze on the floor. “Jake, I’m—”

“Shh,” he husked. “It’s OK.”

“I intruded on your privacy.” Her voice was a husky whisper.

A laugh huffed from his chest. “I’ve been in a facility on and off for almost fifteen years. What’s privacy? I just hate for you to know how goddamn weak I was.”

“Weak?” New tears glossed Anjali’s eyes. “After what they did to you, you
should
be a psychopath.” She brushed his hair back out of his eyes. The tenderness of her gaze sliced him to the bone, tripping his heart and robbing him of air.

He stared at the floor, but her hand, soft and warm, cupped his chin and tipped his face back to hers. She stroked her thumb along the line of his jaw as if testing the length of his stubble. The sensation sent his body leaping into aching life. Her silky dark lashes swept down for a moment, almost close enough to brush his cheekbone. He glanced at her parted lips, so full and lush, their rosy curves begging for a lick or a nip.

Her breath came faster, brushing his mouth, the moist warm rush electric as an exposed wire. Her scent swirled around him. He soaked in her closeness, his body too heavy to lift, his muscles liquefied. Even if he could, he didn’t dare move. Her eyes, her warmth, her lips, the hand on his jaw—every contact point buzzed through him with a dizzying joy. The moment spun out, unbearably thrilling, an intoxicating mixture of pain and pleasure.

The kiss was worse and so, so much better.

Her lips were soft, unbelievably soft. Heat flamed through him. The sweet, sweet ache sang through him like a melody, raising the hairs on the back of his neck and inspiring goose bumps. She shivered against him.

Hungry for more, he slid his hand up under her hair, and cupped her head, sliding his hand deep into her braid. She made a sound ripe with frustration and he drew back, skating a questioning gaze over her upturned face.

Her eyelids swept down, lashes shadowy on her cheeks. She grabbed the end of her braid and slid the holder off, holding his eyes as she shook out her hair.

Such a tiny thing, that slight undressing, but it provoked a surge of electricity down his body. “You are so beautiful.” He cast a glance at the ceiling. “God, that was inane.” His finger stroked her velvety cheek. “I don’t have the words. You make other women seem like cardboard cut-outs.”

Pink suffused her cheeks. Her gaze found the floor. “Have there been many?” She pressed her lips together as if afraid to hear the answer.

“None.”

Her mouth curved into a startled “Oh.” Her brow furrowed. “But you’re so . . .”

He searched her face for some clue to what she had been going to say. “Sooo?”

A rueful smile skewed her lips. “Beautiful.” The wisp of a chuckle escaped her. “There’s that word again.”

“It doesn’t seem inane coming from you. Delusional . . .” Yeah, woman seemed to like him, but Kincaid and the guards had taken great pains to make sure he knew he could break mirrors with his face.

She framed his features with her hands. “Jake Finn, I grew up in Bombay. Home of Bollywood. I have seen good-looking men. None of them hold a candle to you.”

He sighed. Guilt raked through him. How could he make love to her when he hadn’t been completely honest with her? When he planned to leave her? “Anjali, there’s something I haven’t told you.”

The words washed over her like a cold wave, and Anjali almost flinched. What could he have to tell her?

His mouth was set in a grim line. She sensed his reluctance to continue. Fear iced her blood. Part of her wanted to trace that stern line with her tongue, erase the words hiding behind those chiseled lips with a heated kiss, but she waited, mustering her defenses against the unknown declaration poised to crush her.

“We’re mates.”

Anjali took a moment to understand his meaning. “I take it you don’t mean like Aussie for friends.”

“No. I mean like animal kingdom mates.”

“Why do you think that?”

“It’s not an idea that comes from reason. When I’m a lion or a dragon, those animals recognize you. I think that’s why you’re so attracted to me.”

Anjali mulled over his speech, attempting to understand the implications. “So the instant connection I felt between us was not driven by how incredibly hot you are. It was just—chemistry? Well—biology, anyway.”

“Yes.”

Anjali thought for a few seconds, then shrugged. “So what?”

“So it’s not real.”

Anjali grazed the edge of his cheekbone with her thumb and stared into his blue eyes. “Humans are hard-wired to be attracted by a symmetrical face, signs that a person is a good provider or is fertile. No one claims relationships based on those things aren’t real.”

“You don’t feel . . . manipulated?”

“Is it just lust?” Her chest tightened. She didn’t want love, but she didn’t want to be a convenient body either. “Do you care about me?”

“I care.” His expression was diffident, his gaze focused over her shoulder, but the gravelly tone of his voice told her it was true.

Anjali nearly quivered with relief. She didn’t want more, but she couldn’t stand less. “Then that’s all that matters.”

She pushed him back on the narrow bunk, eased onto his lap, and kissed him. The heat between them was like nothing she’d ever known. She twisted her fingers in the cotton of his black T-shirt, straining to get closer, shedding her inhibitions like an old skin.

Despite the long night and stifling heat, he smelled like heaven to her and she nuzzled his cool neck, found the corded sinews of the muscles leading to his jaw and nipped him gently. She could feel the vibration of his groan in her chest and answered it with a moan of her own.

Jake’s lids grew heavy as Anjali laid soft nibbling kisses back up to his mouth. His whole world constricted to the places their bodies touched. He thrummed with heat. Her soft breasts molded against his chest, raising his excitement to fever pitch.

His fingers sought the buttons of her blouse and tangled with hers.

“Wait,” she said, and his heart stopped. He sought her lovely face and found her eyes brimming with tears.

“What is it?” He asked the question, but the answer gnawed in his head.
Yeller eyes
. Though the mating bond sparked her body, deep inside she didn’t want him.

The pain overwhelmed him and he wanted to tug away, but her damn hand kept him anchored in place, unable to tear his gaze from her.

She opened her mouth, then closed it and shook her head. “I have no way of knowing without running tests, but—”

Tests?
The shards of rejection lacerating his heart morphed into ice and froze the oxygen in his lungs. He scrutinized her, afraid to hear what she had to say. “But?”

She let out a sigh so heavy her whole body seemed to deflate. “I may be sick.”

“May be?” He watched her, waiting for her answer, trying to hide the fear rolling through him.

She turned her face to the rough-beamed ceiling, shaking her head, then leveled her dark gaze at him. “My doctor called a couple of days ago. I have an elevated white blood count.”

He scrambled to make sense of her words. He knew the white blood cells fought illness, but not much more. “And what does that mean?”

“Well, it could be nothing. Stress.” Her shoulders bobbed.

He almost snorted. Stress couldn’t put that expression of helpless terror in her eyes. “Or? What else could it be?” Dread settled in his belly and curled around his heart.

She shook her head at the ceiling again. “Some sort of infection—”

A damn scary infection from the way the words slipped out as if to speak them was to conjure the illness from the air. “What else?”

She was silent for a minute. He could hear the sink dripping in the cramped bathroom, but his focus centered on her, this woman who had become the fulcrum of his world in only a few short days. The lion paced inside him, pushing for release, wanting to run, unable to cope with the panic and apprehension spreading though the man. He clutched her shoulders and gave her two tiny shakes. “What else?”

She licked her lips. “Leukemia.”

He rocked back onto his knees. “Cancer.”

She nodded, her eyes solemn.

Unfamiliar with the terror swelling through him, his eyelids closed. Cancer.
Fuck
.

He cradled her cheek in his palm. “Do you feel sick?”

“I had a low-grade fever yesterday morning, but otherwise, I feel OK.”

He brushed a kiss on her brow. “We’ll get out of here and as soon as it’s safe, we’ll find you a doctor. If it’s cancer, well, we’ll deal with that. They have new treatments every day.”

Her mahogany gaze swept across his features as if memorizing them. She nodded mutely and took his hand from her cheek and guided it back to the buttons of her shirt.

He shook his head. “Are you sure? If you feel sick—?”

She smiled and something in his chest ruptured into a thousand pieces. “Neither of us knows what’ll happen next. Let’s live in the moment.”

He hesitated. God, he wanted so much more than a moment, but how could he ask for more when it might be all they had?

His fingers found the slick plastic of her buttons. Together, they peeled back her blouse. The lacy white bra she wore lifted her full breasts, but didn’t do more than veil her rosy nipples.

He reached around to find the catch and again her hands were there. The undergarment fell away. She panted as she watched him take her in, her full breasts rising and falling with each breath.

He reached out, his hand shaking, his gaze fixed on her face, to cradle her soft skin with his hand. The silky feel of her made his knees weak.

His palm tasted her turgid nipple. She quivered. The scrape of the knotted bud against his hand shot a current through him. He watched as her pupils eclipsed all but a sliver of mahogany iris.

A tiny smile stretched his mouth at her obvious excitement. His other hand closed over her.

She slid her hand down his chest and caught the edge of his shirt. He helped her strip it off. Her gaze was greedy on his chest and abdomen. Other women had admired his body, but the effect of their regard had ranged from leaving him indifferent to making him feel vaguely unclean. The excited desire in Anjali’s face pleased him beyond words.

The scent of her arousal filled the air, spicy and thrilling.

A teasing light sparked in her face. “Beautiful,” she said, covering with her hands the areas she’d admired. Her touch burned a path down to his waistband and landed on the fastening of his jeans.

He shucked them off.

Anjali didn’t know if she could take much more. Her lungs labored to process the warm air. The sight of him was so earthshaking her whole body seemed to contract.

He didn’t give her near enough time to drink him in. He grasped the belt loop of her slacks, reeled her to him and reached for the fastening.

A rush of uncertainty liquefied her knees, but she let him unbutton her, then slip them off, taking her panties with them. The hungry expression on his lean face as she stood in front of him erased her fears and sent a frisson of excitement down her spine.