Tower in the Woods (3 page)

*

Damn she was beautiful, Dane had thought the moment he pulled himself through the tiny window and looked up at the girl who had saved him. She looked incredibly young with short, haphazardly-cut pale blonde hair framing her oval face. She had a small round nose and pointed chin, and her cheeks were so full he barely noticed her high uptilting cheekbones. Dark winged eyebrows framed the bluest eyes Dane had ever seen, ones that appeared incredibly large on that small face because of the thick fringe of lashes surrounding them. She had small but very lush lips that tilted upward at the corners, making her look as if she was slightly smiling even when she was fearfully pointing a pistol at his head.

It was difficult to determine her age since she had a surprisingly clear complexion. It was nearly impossible to find skin like that in anyone over twenty, what with the zombie apocalypse permanently shutting down the cosmetics industry. She was also incredibly pale, as if she hadn’t been under direct sunlight for years. A blue hooded fleece covered what was an unexpectedly small frame. She was slightly taller than the average woman but she had narrow shoulders and appeared slender all over. He saw a hint of breast under the fluffy cloth but the hoodie wasn’t exactly revealing. The camouflage pants covering her legs were pretty baggy, a standard military item that was probably once issued to recruits undergoing basic training. Because of its size, the waistline fell almost to her hips, which was how Dane could tell she didn’t exactly have a sticklike figure. If he had his way, he would find out exactly how curvy she was soon enough.

The blonde pointed a Glock at him, the barrel aimed perfectly between his eyes, and despite the boner that was slowly but surely filling out his jeans, Dane’s survival instincts kicked in. Holding his bloodied palms up in the air in a universal gesture of surrender, he took a step forward. “I’m not going to hurt you. Not in the way you think, anyway.”

He saw hesitation flash through those bright blue eyes, a fluttering of lashes that reminded him that he dealt with a civilian. This was no trained killer, despite her ability to lodge a bullet through a target eight hundred yards away. This girl had been taught to kill brain-eaters, not other people. This realization gave Dane the confidence to engage with her.

“If you move I will shoot,” the blonde warned in a quavering voice.

It was clear she didn’t trust him. Hell, she had good reason not to. Dane was here to gather intelligence on the cult she was part of, and he had every intention of using this delectable sniper to attain that goal. In fact, a plan was already forming in his mind, one that made his erection strain even harder against his zipper. He was going to seduce this woman, no doubt about it. After a few nights of hot and heavy sex she was going to tell him everything he needed to know about the WITCH and whether or not her cult was involved in the kidnappings.

“I’m not armed. Please put the gun down before you accidentally shoot me,” Dane said as he gauged his opponent. She stood with her legs slightly apart and her knees bent. Her slim arms were extended in front of her, her shoulders tensed and her elbows locked into position. She held the pistol correctly, both palms cupping the grip firmly but gently, her right index finger well under the slide and resting alongside the trigger. Her left eye was shut. Her sights aligned using her dominant one. All evidence pointed toward the blonde being extremely well-trained and capable of handling the weapon.

But the confusion and hesitation he saw in her gaze made Dane breathe easily. He knew she wasn’t going to shoot. He could see it clear as day as she primly corrected him.

“I have never accidentally shot anyone.”

Grinning, Dane almost chuckled as he replied. “You know what? I actually believe you. You’re probably the best sniper I have ever met.”

She very obviously didn’t expect his response, or his praise, for her face reflected that she had no idea what to do with him. There was no hint of pride in her eyes when she heard his words, as if she thought her almost supernatural shooting ability to be nothing special. Those blue eyes appeared vulnerable to Dane’s experienced gaze, and he realized in that moment that this woman was as attracted to him as he was to her. There was a slight blush on her cheeks, a hint of awareness as her body naturally responded to his. He didn’t know if she even recognized what was happening to her, but he had every intention of taking advantage of it.

“Why are you here?” she questioned, her voice startlingly earnest. She really had no idea who he was and what he was doing so far into the zombie-infested wastelands.

“I got lost in the woods. This was the only shelter in the area.” He lied and not particularly well. Dane realized he didn’t need to be a very good liar, for the face he scrutinized appeared far too innocent. The sniper clearly had very little experience with other people, and she had no idea how to interrogate him. Twisting her around his little finger was going to be a piece of cake. He moved closer, and when she didn’t make any adjustment to her position in response he did it again.

“I told you to stop.” There was fear in that voice; he recognized it distinctly. She knew he had the upper hand, and she had no idea what to do in this situation. If she didn’t shoot him soon she was going to lose any ability to do so.

“You’re not going to shoot me. You’ve never shot a human, have you, sweetheart?” Dane responded calmly, the flicker of panic in those eyes confirming his suspicion. The jig was up. The sniper just hadn’t accepted it yet. Adrenaline coursed through him, readying his body for a fight. This mission was going to be a great deal of fun.

“My name is Nel,” she finally said, clearly objecting to being called a sweetheart.

Dane wondered why. Little Nel looked so sweet he wanted to eat her up, and he couldn’t possibly be the first person in her life to have vocalized that. She had one of those faces that made her look younger than she was, so he had initially pegged her to be twenty at most. Now that he had carefully looked at her for a good long while, he wasn’t quite as certain about his initial assessment. It may just be wishful thinking, for he would rather Nel be much closer to his own age than not. It would make him feel less like a bastard for what he was about to do to her.

Pitching his voice lower in order to appear less threatening, he replied, “I’m Dane. Dane Prince. Nel, I want you to put down that gun.”

Again, Nel looked utterly confused by his words. “It’s not a gun, it’s a pistol,” she corrected as she took a step back, almost tripping over a wooden crate on the floor.

Dane took a moment to look around, realizing immediately that the room was extremely cramped. It was also abundantly clear Nel was some sort of hoarder. There were enough supplies in this small space to last a year, a few more if she was careful about the rationing. Oddly enough, there were also quite a number of books scattered around. He hadn’t initially pegged little Nel as being the intellectual type. Too bad she hadn’t been born in the capitol. Squints like her were hard to come by, and they were almost all recruited into the FMA immediately after completing the aptitude test.

Once Dane’s mind processed the information his quick glance around the room gathered, however, realization began to dawn. Perhaps the girl was simply more precise with her language than most people he knew. It would make perfect sense if she had learned more of her vocabulary through reading rather than speaking. Being trained as a soldier Dane couldn’t help but acknowledge his language had been quite inaccurate. Moving another step forward, he replied, “You’re right, Nel. Guns are in ships and very big. Have you ever seen one?”

Nel shook her pretty little head, clearly feeling trapped. Her voice came out more high-pitched than before, and Dane knew he had her just where he wanted her. She was shaking like a leaf, probably due to a combination of the cold and his presence, and it was apparent to both of them that as long as she didn’t use her weapon she was nowhere near being his physical match. “I’ve seen pictures. Please, don’t come any farther. I don’t want to hurt you.”

Dane almost laughed at her words as he purposefully pushed his chest into the barrel of the sidearm, perfectly positioning himself for the attack he had been planning since he crawled through the window. “You’re not going to hurt me. I know that now. You’re not a killer, you’re just a girl.”

“I’m too old to be called a girl,” little Nel said as she struggled to breathe, her body responding to his proximity whether she knew it or not.

She was right, Dane realized as he observed the maturity of that heart-stopping face. She was closer to her midtwenties, which still meant he was over a decade older than her, but it also meant she would be able to handle what was going to come. He might be extremely sexually attracted to her. In fact, he was becoming more and more aroused with every minute they continued to breathe the same air, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to treat her like an asset. He was going to pump her for information, nicely at first, and he sincerely hoped she would cooperate. If she didn’t, then he was still going to get the information he wanted out of that kissable mouth one way or another, and he was going to enjoy every moment of it.

“Yeah. I noticed that,” Dane coldly replied. At the same time the words left his mouth, he grabbed the pistol. His much stronger hand squeezed hard enough for the metal to be jerked out of the sniper’s grip. She put up more resistance than he thought. He hadn’t expected her arms to be that strong, but she was still no match for his strength. Little Nel might be one hell of a sniper, but Dane was a master at hand-to-hand combat. In a single smooth move he dropped the Glock’s magazine and pulled back its slide before lunging into her, his momentum throwing the surprisingly toned body onto the ground. Despite the muscled leanness he felt under his chest, he doubted she weighed more than a hundred and thirty pounds. Once he settled his groin more firmly into those slim legs, he decided she was probably closer to one-twenty, and all of that was lean muscle. Despite her strength she was extremely small-boned so he was able to easily cage her with his much larger body.

Special Agent Dane Prince finally had a member of the WITCH trapped and at his mercy, and a pretty one to boot. Things were looking up.

“I’m going to let you go now, Nel,” the man said calmly as he remained motionless on top of her body. Each time he breathed, she felt that rock-hard chest inflate to crush her against the rough wood floor, pressing against her ribs hard enough she felt each expansion and contraction. He smelled like burning pinecones, the textured scent affecting her in a way she couldn’t quite describe. All she knew was she didn’t feel like struggling, didn’t particularly want to stop feeling the heat coming off his body, didn’t mind the mingling of their breaths as they gazed deeply into each other’s eyes.

Nel had never thought of herself as fragile before now. She had never been the fastest or strongest in her age group, but she had always performed well enough to be part of the top tier. Her skill with ranged weapons had gotten her noticed, and by the time she was sixteen she was considered one of the most lethal members of the WITCH. She had always believed herself supremely capable of handling her own problems, accustomed to filling the role of protector rather than victim, hunter rather than prey.

None of that seemed apparent now that she was covered by this man’s body. Compared to his massive size her rib cage was minuscule and fragile, her neck easily snapped, her small fists unlikely to do any damage. No wonder Mother Gothel had warned all the younger members repeatedly about the dangers of men. Nel had never encountered any entity that threatened her more than he. For the first time in her life she felt vulnerable, and the scariest part was she actually liked it. She had never realized before now how tired she was, how heavily the weight of responsibility sat on her capable shoulders, how draining it was to be solely responsible for every minutiae of her life. In this moment, as she lay motionless, trapped and defenseless under this man’s weight, she wasn’t in control.

Then the pressure disappeared and the man stood looming above Nel’s supine body, his large hand extended as a peace offering. Warily, she looked into those brown eyes, not quite understanding what was happening. Even though he was no longer physically trapping her, his presence was imposing. This was someone who was accustomed to being in command, someone who relished authority and grew stronger for it. She had recognized that charisma in some of her peers. She had imitated the trait and struggled to assume the banner of leadership. But she had been faking it, and Mother Gothel had seen right through the act.

“Take my hand, sweetheart. I’m not going to hurt you.” That low voice assured her as the man placidly waited, his calmness telling her that he had no doubt she would comply. The alien urge to rebel—an emotion Nel had thought beaten out of her by the WITCH’s countless drills—stirred deep within her gut. Her physical strength might be inferior to this man’s, but she refused to appear weak. She was an elite soldier of the WITCH; she had survived the training that halved the ranks of each age group, had lived when others had died. She didn’t take orders from anyone but the prophet to whom she swore allegiance.

Swatting away the proffered hand, Nel rolled up into a standing position on her own. The man didn’t move away, continuing to stand so close his body heat actually warmed her chilled bones. It was only now she realized he was wounded—his left arm hung limply against his side and both his hands were bleeding from the climb. Mother save her, if he was this strong injured what was this man capable of at his physical prime?

The man reached his hand behind his body and pulled her pistol from the waistband of his jeans, holding the barrel rather than the grip as he handed the weapon to her. Although Nel had never been more surprised in her life, she quickly grabbed the cold metal before scrambling backward. “Why?” she asked vaguely, not quite able to articulate her question.

Those wide lips twisted into what she assumed was an attempt at a disarming smile. Nel didn’t buy it, and very few people with any intelligence would. “The point of what I did was to show you that I could have hurt you but I didn’t. You saved my life. All I want is a few days’ shelter from the storm. I’m not a threat, and I need you to believe that. Tell me that you understand what I’m saying.”