Obsession Untamed (7 page)

Tighe pushed through the safe-house door Hawke held open for him, the unconscious woman in his arms.

Hawke lifted a single winged brow. “Any luck?”

“None.” Frustration plucked at his fraying nerves. Nothing about this mission had gone right, with the possible exception of the ease with which he’d gotten into Delaney’s apartment. From the moment he’d touched her, every plan had taken a nosedive.

Each time he’d tried to cloud her mind, she got more excited, as if someone had gotten inside her and changed all her wiring. And maybe someone had, if inadvertently. His clone. Goddess knew what had happened when that bastard attacked her.

It almost certainly explained Tighe’s inability to catch her mind. It didn’t explain how she’d gotten under his skin. The passion he drew in her was heady, certainly, but the fire that had burned in him when he’d pressed his body against hers, that burned in him still, was way more than a simple reaction to her own fire. There was something about the woman that sent his senses into a barrel roll.

“I couldn’t cloud her mind,” he informed his companions. “She reacts to my attempts, just not in any way that’s the least bit useful.”

“How?” Hawke’s keen eyes gleamed with curiosity.

Tighe growled by way of answer. He glanced at the sofa, considered laying the woman down, then discarded the idea. Even though he knew she was fully out, some part of his brain, some instinct, made him certain she’d escape him the moment he released her. And he wasn’t letting her go.

“The information might be useful, buddy,” Hawke pressed.

Tighe scowled, then relented. “When I push into her mind, her body reacts.”

“Reacts how?”

Damned nosy Feral. “Sexually, Hawke. She reacts sexually. I pushed hard enough that she came.”

Hawke whistled, that eyebrow of his lifting again. “Interesting.”

Tighe snorted. “Yeah. And bloody useless. I’m still no closer to clouding her mind.”

“Did you try to seize control during her orgasm?”

Tighe stilled. “No.Damn .” At the moment of
sexual release, the body and mind were most open. Open to bonding with a partner. And open to being captured by a mind capable of control. “It took me by surprise.” Hell, he’d been fighting his own release so hard he hadn’t given a single thought to taking advantage of hers. Not inthat way. “I’ll try it again.”

If Jag had been there, he’d have demanded to watch, the asshole. Hawke just nodded.

“You should have killed her.” Kougar stood in the doorway of one of the bedrooms, watching them, his arms crossed over his chest, his pale eyes emotionless.

Tighe’s grip on the woman tightened. No one ever really knew what went on in that Feral’s head. For as long as Tighe had lived at Feral House, rumors and speculation had swirled around Kougar. Of all of them, his past was the most deeply cloaked in mystery. They knew he was the oldest among them, but if anyone knewhow old, he hadn’t shared it.

Centuries ago, rumors had swirled that Kougar was half-Mage, that he’d been responsible for the deaths ofthe seventeen —seventeen Ferals killed in a mysterious cave, seventeen whose animals had never again risen to mark another. But Lyon trusted him. And that was enough for Tighe. In the six centuries Tighe himself had been a Feral, Kougar had never proven himself anything but loyal.

But he rarely spoke. Instead, he watched silently, waiting, until the time came to fight. Then he fought with a skill and ferocity worthy of any berserker.

He was a good man to have on your team as long as you weren’t looking for anything approaching warmth or friendliness. Kougar didn’t possess an ounce of either.

Tighe might trust him at his back, but he was a long way from trusting him not to eliminate the human woman the moment he got a chance. Particularly since they all thought Tighe was slowly losing his mind.

A warning growl rumbled deep in his throat as he met Kougar’s pale gaze.

“Don’t even think about it.”

“Killing her might be a mistake,” Hawke said.

“Why?” Not that Tighe didn’t agree, but he was half-afraid his own reasons had more to do with fearless dark warrior’s eyes than anything remotely logical.

Hawke shrugged. “There’s no guarantee you’ll get the full visions back if she’s gone. Right now you’re still getting snippets, right?”

“Sometimes. Hell, I don’t know if I am or not. It’s not consistent. At first I was seeing her as she got the visions, along with glimpses of the killing. Then just the glimpses. But I haven’t seen anything in hours.”

“What if she dies, and the visions die with her? We’ll have lost a powerful weapon.”

Tighe silently thanked his friend, his grip on his captive easing. Hawke was right. Maybe somewhere in the mess that was currently acting as his brain, he’d had the same thought.

“The next time she has a vision, buddy, try to
get into her head. Even if you can’t steal it back, maybe you can share it. Enough, at least, to figure out where the attack is taking place.”

He met Hawke’s gaze. “I’ll work on her. Both on clouding her mind and on accessing her next vision. But we don’t need an audience. You’re leaving.” His gaze shifted to Kougar. “Both of you.”

Kougar’s expression didn’t change, it never did, yet he sensed the warrior’s disapproval.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Tighe.” Hawke’s brows drew down. “If you lose control, you could kill her.”

Tighe’s gaze swung to Kougar’s. “Then problem solved.” He looked back at Hawke. “It’s a risk we’re going to take, Wings. This woman may be human, but she’s a fighter through and through. And FBI. She’s already seen my face. She doesn’t need to see yours, too. Not until I’m sure I can clean her memory. Besides, I’ve got to get her sexually aroused again, and I’m not having an audience for that.”

An odd protectiveness had him tightening his grip on the woman in his arms. The thought of anyone else listening to her cries of passion, to her scream of release, filled him with a strange and jealous anger.

Calm, Tighe. Calm.

He took a deep breath and met Hawke’s gaze. “Unless you want to see my claws, this discussion is over.”

“Understood. We’ll grab our things and take off, but we won’t be far, buddy. We’ll keep an eye on the house.”

Five minutes later, as the two Ferals closed the door behind them, Tighe stood in the middle of the living room, looking down at Delaney Randall. His mind told him to lay her down, but his arms refused to let her go. Why? What was this strange need in him to hold her? A need that went beyond merely keeping her from escaping. It was a need that went against every ounce of logic in his head.

Was it merely the unruly attraction he had for her getting out of hand? Or was it the madness that was slowly disintegrating his ability to act logically? To act sanely.

A madness that could ultimately destroy them both.

Delaney eased out of sleep, a purr in her throat at the feel of warmth at her back. Warmth.Man.

The killer.

A cold wash of adrenaline cramped her stomach, sending her pulse careening into her ears as her mind snapped fully awake.

He’d knocked her unconscious. Which beat the hell out of killing her, for sure, but the arms of a killer wasnot where she wanted to be.

Slowly, she opened her eyes a slit in case the man at her back wasn’t the only one in the room. But all that met her gaze were the shadowed furniture and walls of a dark, unfamiliar bedroom. A single, large window covered by sheer curtains glowed from the light of a streetlamp.

Not her apartment. He’d knocked her outand
kidnapped her. That could make escape infinitely more difficult since she had no idea where she was or who else might be around to stop her if she managed to escape him.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t going to try.

In the distance, a truck downshifted, the sound merging with the low rumble of predawn traffic. City traffic. She doubted he’d taken her far.

And why had he kidnapped her at all? Why was she still alive?

Her senses took quick inventory as she shifted slightly. He was holding her, spoon style, his thickly muscled arm heavy across her waist. But she couldn’t feel any bindings to indicate he’d tied her either to the bed or to himself.

She was still wearing the blouse she’d worn to work, the fabric soft but with little give. Her bra was tight against her rib cage. On her legs, if she wasn’t mistaken, were the sweatpants she’d been planning to put on, the ones that had been lying across the foot of her bed.

The thought of his dressing her, of him sliding the pants up her bare legs and her hips, sent a cold chill rippling over her skin. Had he touched her?Had he raped her?

Her pulse pounded in her ears, but she forced herself to breathe. To think. She didn’t feel sore down there. And she almost certainly would if he’d taken her when she was unconscious.

Besides, why would he bother raping her when she’dbegged him to take her? When she’d been so hot for him, she’d come.

Her cheeks heated at the memory even as a familiar ache started up again between her legs. The man’s scent brushed her senses, the scent of sleep-warmed male combined with the hint of wildness that had stirred her so thoroughly last night. And stirred her still.

God, what was the matter with her? Just lying beside him like this had her libido leaping all over again.

She gave a silent groan, forcing herself to tear her thoughts away from the man at her back and focus outward. If there were others in the place, the sooner she knew it, the better. But she heard nothing except the even breathing of her captor.

Apparently her plan to make him think she wanted him had worked well enough since she was still alive. Too bad it hadn’t been an act.

He was a killer.

Or the twin of one. Could he possibly have been telling the truth when he told her he wasn’t the man who’d attacked her? It was certainly a possibility. After all, shewas still alive.

Then again, how did he know she’d been attacked if he wasn’t the one who’d attacked her? How did he know who she was? Her involvement had never hit the news.

Whether or not he was the killer, he was clearly involved up to his sunglasses-covered eyeballs. And there was no denying he’d committed criminal acts. He’d broken into the apartment of a federal agent, overpowered her, and kidnapped her. For that alone, he was looking at jail time.

Either way, he had information they needed. Either way, he was going down.

She remembered how fast he’d moved last night and the lightning speed with which she’d been attacked in the laundry room. If she wanted to get him, she was going to have to move fast, without mercy. Because once he woke, her chance to take him down would be over.

Her gaze caught the gleam of the bedside lamp. Brass. Perfect. All she had to do was crack him over the skull with it and run for the nearest phone. Piece of cake. Assuming she managed to get out from under his arm without waking him. His warm breath stirred her hair on a soft rumble of a snore. He was definitely asleep. But would he stay that way?

Her pulse rose another notch as she prepared to find out.

Sending a quick prayer heavenward for luck, and keeping her body loose, as if she were still asleep, she rolled onto her stomach on the soft, cool cotton sheets, away from the man.

His arm slid away from her without protest.

Swallowing a surge of triumph, Delaney lay still as death, willing her heart’s pounding to settle down as she waited for her captor’s breathing to even out again. When she’d waited as long as she could stand, she eased the blanket off her, inch by inch, and swung her legs over the side, her bare toes settling on a soft, worn rug.

In a light, careful move, she rose from the bed and knelt by the bedside table to follow the lamp’s
cord to the outlet. When she found it, she gave a quick, silent tug and rose to her feet.

Her heart began to pound. This was it. If she hit him too hard, she’d kill him. At one point, before he’d planted the doubt in her mind that he was the man she sought, all she’d wanted was to kill him. Now she wasn’t so sure.

Legally, she needed tonot kill him. But if she didn’t hit him hard enough, she was as good as dead. And she had a feeling it would take a direct hit by a cruise missile to incapacitate the guy.

She grabbed the lamp at its neck, her fingers closing around the cool metal as she took a deep breath.Here goes nothing. In a single move, she flipped the heavy lamp upside down and swung the base of it at the sleeping man’s head as hard as she could.

The lamp collided not with skull, but with moving flesh as her captor’s hand shot out, stopping the deadly arc cold. He wrenched the lamp from her hands and flung it across the room to crash against the wall.

Delaney’s mouth dropped open. Her heart went to her throat, and she leaped back from the bed, her pulse pounding as she readied for hand-to-hand combat.

He was little more than a blur in the shadows as he grabbed her. The room spun as he flung her facedown on the bed. She dug her face out of the sheets, trying to flip over, but he pinned her with a jeans-clad knee in the small of her back. Her pulse thudded in her throat as she watched him over her shoulder, tensing for his retribution.