Darkness Bound (10 page)

“
We
didn’t do that!” He leaned closer to her, his pulse spiking, anger tilting toward fury as her eyes widened in alarm. “
One
of us did that, and believe me when I say I’d like to kill that traitor myself for what he did! He’s a rabid dog that needs to be put down, but you judged us all based on the actions of one! Then you convinced everyone else that we were all the same, that all my kind should be exterminated like some kind of rodent infestation!”

Eye to eye, seething, they stared at one another. He didn’t realize when it had happened, but he was gripping the sofa cushions on either side of her legs so hard his knuckles were white. He’d never before felt such a strong urge to wring a woman’s neck.

“That king of yours, Caesar—”

“He’s not our king,” he snarled, moving even closer until their noses were an inch apart. “He only
thinks
he is. He thinks he’s a god, in fact, but he’s nothing more than a moron with a god complex, which are two very different things.”

One of her brows arched. With withering disdain, she said, “That must run in the family.”

Throttle her? Kiss her? She deserved the first, but he found himself struggling with the second, a magnetic attraction equally as strong as it was repellant.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The smart thing to do was stand, so that’s exactly what he did. He looked down at her—pale and livid, watching him in silent fury—and realized how wrong Morgan had been to think they could change this woman’s mind. This plan was doomed to failure.

From a safer distance, he said with deadly quiet intensity, “Let me ask you a question, Red. How would you like it if the entire human race was judged by the actions of, oh, say—Adolf Hitler? Or maybe Stalin? Or how about Charles Manson? Why is it you think only
we
must all be exactly the same as our lowest common denominator?”

Her silence throbbed.

“I’ll tell you why. Because you’re a bigot.”

“Stop saying that,” she said with a clenched jaw. She shot to her feet, and he thought for a moment she might try to kick him in the crotch.

Interesting. He’d found a sore spot. Which he intended to exploit to its fullest potential.

“I’ll stop saying it when it stops being true.”

They stood there in a silent stalemate, both breathing hard, until finally Jacqueline gave up. “Are you going to let me use the toilet or not?”

Her hair, disheveled and damp with perspiration, was falling into her face. Her lips were skewed to an I-hate-you twist, slight lavender shadows beneath her eyes belied her fatigue. In spite of himself, Hawk felt a brief, unwelcome pang of sympathy for her.

He reached into his pocket and retrieved the small metal key. “Turn around.”

She complied. Hawk turned the key in the lock, unclasped the handcuffs, and pulled them from her wrists.

Then she whirled around and slapped him hard across the face.

For a moment he was too stunned to react.

“That’s for using me.” Her voice shook. Her eyes glittered vivid, furious blue. “And for threatening me and my family, and for calling me a bigot. And for putting a fucking hood over my head like I’m a prisoner being led to the gallows. And I don’t care how big and strong and scary you are, if you ever put your hands on me again, so help me God, I’ll kill you.”

Hawk regained his composure. He slipped the cuffs into his back pocket and worked his jaw where she’d hit him; it stung. Snow White was stronger than she looked.

He leaned in close to her face. “Okay. I’m reasonable. You get
one
, Red—and that was it. And so help
me
God, if you don’t stop cursing, I’m going to take you over my knee again, and this time you won’t like it nearly as much as last time. Understood?”

Her only response was to blanch.

Hawk withdrew. He jerked his chin to the companionway that led to her berth. “Head’s in there, so’s a bed. The whole boat’s been cleared of anything you might try to use as a weapon, so forget it. Try to get some sleep. You’ll need it.”

Then he turned, slammed shut the main cabin door, went topside, and roared his frustration into the wind.

“I don’t understand.”

Standing on the narrow, silty banks of a sluggishly flowing river the color of a strong cup of coffee, Jack stared into the dense green tree line, not five yards ahead. The vegetation was so thick it appeared impenetrable, with visibility reaching only a few feet into the forest. Umbrella-shaped trees draped in moss towered over lower palms and shrubs of an infinite, endless green variety; and off in the distance a line of rolling hills climbed to taller peaks shrouded in thick mist.

Two days on a sailboat, another on a small skiff, half of a fourth in a tiny canoe, and Hawk had brought her to a rainforest?

Did he intend to
camp
?

She turned and looked at Hawk, who was pulling the small canoe they’d arrived in onto the riverbank. He dragged it a few feet into the dense underbrush, covered it with branches, then returned, brushing leaves from his hands.

His shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to the hard lines and angles of his body. Jack quickly averted her eyes from the sight of flexing muscles beneath wet cotton. She knew all too well what he looked like beneath his clothes, and was doing her damndest to forget it because he was a son of a bitch.

“I don’t understand,” she repeated, irritated with herself.
Don’t look at him. Do. Not. Look.

“That seems to be an ongoing problem for you,” he observed dryly, walking near. Big and male and rugged, with four days’ worth of beard and a mane of unkempt dark hair, he seemed perfectly at ease in this emerald wilderness, as he exuded his usual aura of danger and unvarnished sex appeal.

“Where are we?” Jack asked with growing annoyance. Christ, it was so humid you could cut the air with a knife. And what was that hideous screeching off to the left, coming from behind those bushes? A banshee would have trouble being heard over that racket.

You’re a long way from home, Dorothy.

Hawk stared off into the forest, his normally bright eyes dulled by some unknown emotion, some unspoken thought that seemed to leech all the vitality from his face and body the longer he remained silent. Finally, in a voice tinged with melancholy, he said, “Home.”

Then he strode purposefully toward the wall of green and disappeared into it.

She waited for him to return. When he didn’t, her first instinct was to run.

But where? Turning to look in both directions, she calculated her chances for escape, realizing quickly just how poor they were. With no food, no water, and no idea how to guide herself out of this wilderness and back to civilization, she’d most likely die within days. She glanced at the river, wondering what might be hiding beneath its dark surface, then jumped as the screeching in the bushes grew louder. Something began to snort and paw at the ground.

Panicked, Jack leapt into a run. Crashing through the underbrush in pursuit of Hawk, she stumbled blindly ahead, calling his name.

Was he going to leave her in the jungle? Alone? Was this the plan—some kind of twisted episode of
Survivor
?

“Hawk! Hawk!”

A hand reached out and snatched her just before she went tumbling over the edge of a narrow ravine.

“Careful!” Hawk yanked her to safety and pushed her against the trunk of a moss-covered tree. He held her there with his hand twisted into the front of her shirt, glaring at her as if she were the stupidest creature on Earth, but she didn’t respond with her usual acidic retort because behind him was a panorama of such staggering beauty she was stunned into silence.

Every shade of green, from palest celadon to brilliant jade to deepest myrtle, dominated the lush landscape. Sunlight filtered down from high above in diamond shafts that bejeweled gracefully arching ferns and black-barked trees and mossed boulders. Beyond the initial thicket of dense shrubs along the riverbank, the forest opened to a lush, Jurassic woodland that Jack imagined the Garden of Eden had looked like. Verdant. Misted. Teeming with life. Even the air was incredible. Warm and soft and perfumed, it was filled with a symphony of birdsong, the whir and hiss of insects, the echo of other animal calls high in the treetops above.

“Oh,” she said in a small voice, unable to produce another coherent thought.

Hawk released her shirt, frowning.

Staring around in awe, Jack tentatively asked, “This is where you live?”

He nodded, once, a curt affirmative.

“It’s so beautiful. So . . . untamed.” Without thinking, she added, “It suits you.”

Their eyes met. Jack colored and looked away. Hawk didn’t seem to know what to say to her blurted compliment, so, mercifully, he ignored it. Instead, he launched into a litany of instructions, delivered with the brisk economy of a drill sergeant.

“Stay close to me. Watch your step. Don’t touch anything if you can help it; many of the plants have toxins. If I tell you to stop or be quiet, do it. There’s a million ways to die in this jungle, all of them unpleasant. We’re gonna be walking for several days, and there will be places I’ll have to carry you—”

“Days! We’re going to be walking for
days
?” Eyes wide, she looked around at the tropical wilderness. “What are we going to eat? Where are we going to sleep? How are we going to—”

“I’ll take care of everything. But let’s be clear on this: I’m in charge. If you don’t want to die in this jungle, you’re going to have to listen to me.” His eyes darkened at the expression of indignation crossing her face. “Even if you don’t like it.”

Though she was loath to admit that she needed him, Jack knew she was at his complete mercy. She also knew he could have already killed her, or let her die, if that had been his intention.

“No, I don’t like it,” she said, “but I’ll make you a deal.”

His swift reply was, “You’re in no position to negotiate.”

She ignored that. “If you tell me why I’m here, I’ll be more cooperative. I need to know what I’m walking into. I’m not good with surprises—”

“Could’ve fooled me.” His lips curved with a ghost of a smile.

Jack knew he was referring to how they’d met, but she pretended ignorance. Never mind the telling heat in her cheeks that was quickly spreading to her ears.

“I’m not good with surprises,” she repeated more firmly, “and I don’t do well with mysteries, either. Tell me why you’ve brought me here and I’ll be much more likely to listen to you. Keep me in the dark . . .” She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. “And I’ll make this as difficult for you as I can.”

The smile faded from Hawk’s face. He stared at her long and hard, his green eyes calculating. In a voice that was low and uncomfortably intimate, he finally asked, “You really hate not being in control, don’t you?”

Her blush spread all the way to the roots of her hair.

“I risk my life all the time in my job,” she said defensively. “That’s not something a control freak would do.”

One of his shoulders lifted and fell, a casual gesture that perfectly managed to convey his disregard for that excuse. “So in addition to being a control freak, you have a death wish. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.”

Hawk’s words struck a nerve, sending a cold rush of shame through Jack’s body. Something dark and ugly began to unfurl in the pit of her stomach, slithering under her ribcage with reptilian menace. She had to look away from him, and spent the next several silent seconds staring at a brilliant blue-and-black butterfly flitting with bumpy grace over a bed of nodding white flowers.

Eyes stinging, Jack admitted quietly, “It’s not a death wish. It’s
the opposite. It’s a way . . . it’s a way to feel more alive.”

Why? Why the hell would you tell him that, idiot?
Him
, of all people!

That palpable scrutiny again. Hawk’s gaze roved over her face with such searing intensity she felt naked. A cavernous silence stretched between them, raw and aching, as painful as a wound.

“Look at me.”

His voice was unexpectedly gentle around the command, and it was worse than if he’d been harsh. Jack closed her eyes, willing herself calm, willing the sick feeling in her gut to subside—neither of which worked.

She felt fingers on her chin, warm and firm, a soft coercion. He kept that slight pressure in his fingers when he said, “Since you want a deal, I’ll give you one.”

Jack opened her eyes and looked at him, knowing whatever would come next wouldn’t be anything she’d like.

He said, “I’ll tell you where we’re going if you tell me the last time you were with a man before me.”

Oh. Oh God.
Her cheeks flamed as if painted with fire. “None of your business!”

“It is if you want me to tell you where we’re going.”

Exasperation, embarrassment, and anger writhed like a basket full of snakes in her stomach. “Why does it matter?”

“Because you’re a puzzle, Red,” he answered gruffly, eyes burning, head tilted to one side as he examined her face. “And I can’t get any of the pieces to fit.” His fingers on her chin tightened. “How long?”

Just do it. Just tell him. What have you got to lose?

Nothing. Everything. She debated with herself a moment, then, feeling as if the ground had turned liquid beneath her feet, feeling as if she could die from shame, she told him the truth. “Five years.”

Hawk’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then he looked back into her eyes. He nodded, as if what she said had made sense. As if he was pleased by her honesty.

There was that wash of warmth through her limbs again, sweet as sunlit honey, that unexplainable ache of satisfaction that she’d gratified him in some small way.

Insanity.

He’d used her. He’d tricked her. He’d kidnapped her. And she should feel in any way glad that this animal/creature/thing was happy? There was only one explanation for this foolishness.

She was losing her goddamn mind.

With forced coldness, Jack said, “Your turn.”

She might have imagined reluctance as he dropped his fingers from her face. He raked a hand through his disheveled dark hair and looked off into the forest, his face closing off as if a door had swung shut. “I’m taking you to my colony.”

Adrenaline blasted through her nerves, setting every one ablaze. “Colony” could mean anything from dozens to hundreds to thousands—of
them
.

Her mouth went dry. Her voice rose an octave. “Why? What—what are they planning on doing with me?”

Hawk looked back at her, all the softness from before gone. He smiled, and the threat in it sent a tingle of fear down Jack’s spine.

“That’s two more questions. You want answers, I get another two questions of my own.”

So. A game of cat and mouse.
Hell if I’m going to be the mouse.

“I’m not answering any more personal questions.”

Hawk’s smile grew wider. “Well, then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see what they’re planning on doing with you when you get there.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

The first day passed without incident.

Jacqueline kept up with him better than he’d expected, and she stayed mostly silent as well, a fact he was both grateful for and oddly disappointed by. It occurred to him more than once during their silent trek through the rainforest that his curiosity about her was a dangerous thing, a distraction he should be ruthlessly smothering; but for some strange reason, the longer they walked and the more silent she remained, the stronger his urge to uncover the dark secrets beneath that deceptively porcelain façade.

He’d told her the truth when he’d called her a puzzle. With her pale skin and delicate features, she looked as fragile as a doll, but was as fierce as a tigress when threatened. Her eyes held an ocean of sorrows, which was intriguing, but her posture and bearing and even her words said she’d rather slit your throat than admit she was anything but as tough as a rhinoceros hide.

Then there were the odd moments of vulnerability that leaked from her steel-plated armor. Those were the most devastating of all.

“Five years,” she’d whispered, an admission he knew cost her greatly, evidenced by the flare of anguish in her eyes. He guessed there was a bottomless well of pain hidden behind all the attitude, guessed it was accompanied by an equal measure of shame. But he didn’t know the what, why, or when of it.

He didn’t know the reason a woman like her—sexy, smart, incredibly passionate when she let her guard down—would be without a man for five years.

And he wanted to. Damn it all to hell, he really did.

But Jacqueline Dolan was a job, and nothing more. A means to an end. A few more weeks and he’d never have to see her again. He could go back to his life.

His predictable, chafing, restricted life.

Hawk shook off that disturbing thought and stopped in front of an ancient fig tree, the gnarled buttress roots at its base snaking away over the forest floor in mossed confusion. A stream burbled somewhere nearby, which was good; they’d need water.

“We’ll sleep here for the night.” He set about clearing a space in the fallen leaves and bracken for a makeshift bed. Watching him with wary eyes, Jacqueline lowered herself to the nearby trunk of a fallen tree.