By setting Lilla free, I would severely damage the Steele case. I might doom the very people I’d sworn to protect. Breaking the very rules I worked so hard to enforce meant losing my job, my honor, the respect of my coworkers. And quite possibly gaining a lifetime of imprisonment.
I’d always feared small, dark places—a reminder of my childhood and a fear I had yet to overcome. The cold, the complete and utter blackness. The silence. But I wanted Dallas healed. God, I did. Desperately, I wanted my friend to live a long, healthy life. I hadn’t saved Dare, but now I had a chance to save Dallas.
Opening my eyes, I gazed down at Dallas, at the helpless man who now had a single hope of survival. I tore my gaze away and faced Kyrin imploringly. “What you’re asking is impossible,” I said, guilt already crashing through me because I hadn’t shouted “Yes!” immediately. “My boss would never okay such a trade.”
“I do not recall suggesting that you ask your boss.”
No, he hadn’t.
I chewed on my bottom lip. Damn it, what was I going to do? I couldn’t allow Dallas to die now that I knew there was a chance to save him, but I couldn’t release Lilla, either. “The law states I must eliminate Lilla once she is no longer useful to my case. What if I vowed to keep her alive? To let her live inside a cell for the remainder of her life?”
“Were I to say yes to that, I would be supporting the very laws I despise,” he growled. “Laws that were made because your people fear what they do not understand.”
“Our laws were made to protect us from uninvited visitors,” I replied just as darkly. Then, as quickly as my anger appeared, it vanished. “Please. Please help me. Help Dallas. I’ll beg you, if necessary, to save him. I’ll fall to my knees right here, right now. I’ll do anything you ask. Anything…except free Lilla.”
His eyes glinted like opalescent steel. “Mia Snow on her knees before me? Tempting, I must say.”
“Is that what you want?” Currents of sexual energy sparked between us as we both pictured me doing more than begging. “Me on my knees?”
“Actually, right now I would rather have your gun.”
Everything inside me shouted to deny him—a good agent never relinquished her weapon—but I closed the distance between us and pressed the barrel into his cheek. I lingered there for two heartbeats.
“I could kill you right now,” I said, staring up at him.
“But you will not.”
No, I wouldn’t. Scowling, I removed the gun from his face, saw the impression I’d left there, and felt a small surge of satisfaction. I turned the weapon hilt first and placed it into his waiting hand. I didn’t mention that I had other weapons. Blades were strapped all over my body.
I watched as he removed the detonation crystal from its chamber, rendering it completely useless, then tossed the gun in the far right corner of the room. At least he didn’t plan to shoot me.
“I did as you wanted,” I said, my eyes narrowed. “Now you owe me something in return. Give Dallas more of your blood.”
“I never promised you anything. I merely asked you to give me your gun.”
“Damn you,” I whispered hoarsely. I longed to jam my fist into his nose, but I couldn’t spill his precious blood unnecessarily. I bared my teeth in a scowl. The bastard wasn’t going to give an inch. Wasn’t going to negotiate. He’d stated his terms, and I either met them, or he walked. “I need time.”
“And so I will give you some. But do not take too much.” His expression stubborn and determined, he strode past me, saying over his shoulder, “Without my help, Dallas will die in four days. Remember that as you consider my offer.”
As if I could forget.
He exited the room.
I didn’t think about my next actions, or the consequences they could bring. I knew what I wanted, and I was going to fight for it. I followed quietly behind him. The moment Kyrin stepped from the building and into the cold air, I sprang forward, and my leg shot out; I focused all of my anger, all of my frustration and helplessness, into the blow. Contact. My foot hit the middle of his back. Kyrin stumbled. “Say hello to size seven A.I.R. special-issue all-terrain boots with my own personal cleat attachment,” I growled. “In black, white, red, and camouflage, you sorry son of a bitch.”
I was going to force him to help Dallas.
When he caught his footing, he whipped around to face me. A muscle ticked in his jaw, and his lips pressed in a tight line. “You would strike a man from behind?”
“I would strike you from behind.” My fists were clenched and ready for the fight I knew was to come. “I want your blood, and I’ll have it, by God. Every precious drop.”
“I am disappointed.” He tsked under his tongue. “Such a cowardly action from one so brave.”
“Not cowardly. Smart. You’ll help Dallas whether you want to or not, and you’ll help him now.” I kicked out my leg, but he sidestepped the action.
He once again uttered that husky chuckle of his, renewing my irritation. “Would you like to bet on that?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and like a deadly catapult of fists and fury, I launched myself at him.
CHAPTER 8
First rule of fighting: Stay calm.
Second rule: Never let your emotions overtake you.
I’d broken both rules the moment I began following him.
Kyrin swept out of my way, and I flew past him. The storm had died, but the sun hid behind angry gray clouds, offering hazy visibility. Because of the sheen of ice at my feet, I had trouble stopping and turning.
Definitely not optimal conditions; however, I wouldn’t back down.
“You do not want to fight me, Mia.”
I whipped around. “Wanna bet on that too?” I sprang forward again, intending to kick out my leg and knock him flat this time, but he reached me first. He grappled me to the ground, pinned my shoulders to the ice, and imprisoned me with his body. Cold at my back, pure heat on top. Neither was acceptable to me.
“Still want to fight?” he asked.
“Fuck yes.” I quickly landed a blow to his groin. Yeah, I intended to fight dirty. He doubled over, and I shot to my feet, slipped, then steadied.
Slow down, I commanded myself, drawing in a deep breath. I couldn’t fly at him again, couldn’t give him another chance to evade or capture me. A full frontal attack wouldn’t work with this man; his strength was simply too incredible. I had to strike from the side, from behind, and I had to strike hard.
I relished the challenge.
Using his prone position to my advantage, I was able to land a blow to his left side and knock the deoxygenated air from his lung. He grunted in pain and sudden breathlessness. Arcadians were equipped very much like humans. Vulnerable in the groin, stomach, and head.
While he was busy gasping, I punted his left side again. Satisfied with my progress, I darted to his right and gave a booted strike. This time, he grabbed my ankle and toppled me to the ground. I lost my satisfaction, felt a moment of desperation. We struggled there, rolling on top of each other, fighting for dominance. I could smell the sweetness of his breath, the Onadyn that kept him alive.
Physically, he had me at a disadvantage, and we both knew it. He could have attempted to smother me, but he didn’t.
“It doesn’t have to be this way,” he panted.
Think, Mia, think.
I still had full use of my legs, and I made total use of them. I gave a scissor-lock squeeze around his midsection, forcing him to release my arms and focus on my legs. That’s all I needed. With a four-finger jab to his trachea, his air supply was momentarily cut off in a whoosh, giving me the perfect opportunity to spring free.
My old combat instructor would have been proud.
I took stock of my options. I had to render him unconscious if I hoped to win. He’d defeat me, otherwise. I would have to be merciless, but stop short of killing him. I needed his help, after all. His blood. I didn’t want to spill a single drop on this cold, hard ice.
“Concede, damn you,” I growled, circling him like a tigress locked on her prey.
“You first,” he said, still on his knees.
I kicked out, aiming for his head. He swept sideways, dodging me, sending me spinning. Before I could regain my bearings, he was on his feet and coming straight at me. Just as he reached me, I linked my fingers together and swung, connecting with his temple. His head whipped to the side. He remained in place, hands balled into fists, knees slightly bent. Determination gleamed in his eyes.
“I am almost done playing with you,” he said.
“Play with this.” I launched a flying spin punt into his side. I anticipated the crack of a few ribs, not a block. But block me, he did. I tried again. Somehow he was able to counter my every move. He was fast. Unnaturally fast. I followed the second punt through, letting my own momentum spin me again. Then I crouched on the balls of my feet and went low. My leg struck out in a hard sweep as I tried to knock his feet out from under him. He leapt above my leg like I’d meant to play jump rope. Damn him. His speed—no one was that fast. No one human, that is.
Quicker than I could blink, he advanced on me. He used his weight to push into me, stumbling me backward. When my body came into contact with his, the strength hidden beneath his clothing jolted me. He was made of solid muscle, easily outweighing me by a hundred pounds, but he didn’t once use the power hidden in his fists to strike me down. Why? I wondered, even as I punched him hard in the nose. His head jerked to the side; he made no move to counter. Why didn’t he return attack? Why did he go out of his way not to hurt me?
There wasn’t time to ponder the answer. Too much was at stake. The answer didn’t matter, anyway. Right now I needed this man for one reason only, and his benevolence wasn’t it. With some fancy footwork, I managed three successive lateral blows. The last sent him flying into the windshield of a parked cherry red Mustang. His body bounced onto the hood, denting the shiny metal on impact. He shook his head, trying to clear his vision, I’m sure, since a jagged cut slashed down his forehead.
A shame about the car, but I wanted like hell to save the blood dripping off the tip of his nose. I quickly jumped him, wanting to pin him, but he rolled out of my reach.
Before my eyes, the flesh on his forehead sealed, turning from red to pink to normal. That was twice now I had watched him heal so quickly, and I was still amazed.
He shot to his feet. Studying me all the while, he wiped the blood away from his face as if it were a pesky fly. Bastard. He was taunting me.
His main blood vessel, the one that supplied deoxygenated blood to his brain, ran just below his breastbone. If I could just apply enough pressure, he would crash like a test dummy.
I circled him, intending to do just that, but he surprised me by grabbing my jacket and tugging. The ice at my feet aided him. Suddenly off balance, I tumbled into him, keeping a viselike grip. His warm breath washed over my face as he leaned close.
“Now you will concede this victory to me,” he ground out low in his throat.
“When you haven’t hit me once?” I said, a cocky edge to my tone. I’d fought enough opponents to know Kyrin had had plenty of opportunities, but I wasn’t going to admit that aloud.
His eyes darkened, revealing a hint of wickedness, and he leaned down until our lips brushed once, twice. Soft kisses, languid kisses. Innocent kisses.
And all the more searing because they lacked heat.
“Why would I hit a woman I’d rather fuck?” he asked raggedly. I felt the thickness of his erection between my legs.
I found myself dragging in air—not from exertion, but from arousal. This wasn’t like me. Couldn’t be my feelings. My eyes narrowed. “Get out of my head,” I shouted.
“I am not inside your head.” He nuzzled his cheek against my jaw. “Your mind simply recognizes what your body craves.”
“No! You’re an alien. An other-worlder.”
He paused and our gazes locked. “What are you, Mia Snow?”
“A pissed-off woman,” I ground out, trying to push him off me. I only managed to rub him against me. I gasped, savoring and despising the sensation all at once. I positioned my hands over his pecs, meaning to give a hard shove, but I only caused his nipples to press into my palms like little needles.
I wanted him off me. Now! End it! my mind shouted. End the fight.
I had to find his weakness; that was my only chance for victory at this point.
Where was he vulnerable?
The answer sprang to life the next instant. I could use his unwillingness to hurt me to my advantage. With luck, he’d leave himself vulnerable simply to protect me.
With that in mind, I pretended to go limp. As I’d hoped, he released his grip on my jacket and caught me, holding me upright, leaving the rest of his body unguarded. Quick as a cat, I spun behind him, jumped on his back, and wrapped my arms around his neck. I jerked him against me, hard, holding my fists square in the middle of his windpipe.
One, two, three, I counted. He remained conscious.
“I am different from my kind,” he said casually, as if I were giving him a hug instead of trying to immobilize him. “Just as you are different from your kind.”
How did he know how different I was? I squeezed harder, but all I received for my effort was sweat running down my temples. I was struggling to breathe. My energy was quickly draining.
I had to try something. Not knowing what else to do, I slammed the back of his knee with the heel of my foot. His legs crumpled, and as he fell to the ground, I doubled my fists and cracked him in the head. His face snapped sideways and struck the slick concrete. A pool of rich blood seeped from his mouth, and a murky stream formed where the warmth melted the ice.