I'm breathing faster than normal at her confession.
She's not afraid of me. Her instincts took over at she ran. Except shouldn't her instincts tell her I'm safe? That I'm the one guy who would never, ever hurt her? The one who would die to protect her?
Or are her instincts as damaged as mine?
My gut twists as a new thought hits me. She ran because I am a danger to her. I shouldn't have come-I'm a fucking loose cannon. But I keep clinging to the hope that being with her will heal my sick lion.
I have nothing to offer but a damaged soul and a dying body. But worse, the violence in me eats me from the inside out. And I would never, ever put her in danger. I'm not my father.
"And now?"
She licks her lips and I track the movement of her tongue. My balls draw up tighter. "It's ah… good to see you. I'm glad you made it out, too."
It isn't an invitation. Not really, but I can't stop my hands from sliding onto her hips, then around to her firm backside. She's built like an athlete-with long, lean runner's legs and the perfect amount of junk in the trunk.
She stumbles up against me when I pull her closer. Not resisting, but not giving in yet, either. Of course, she has no reason to surrender to me. Her lioness may know its mate, but the two of us? We're practically strangers.
She doesn't feel like a stranger to me, though.
"You gonna invite me in? Just for cup of coffee or something?" My lion's ready to throw her over my shoulder and carry her straight to her bedroom, but the more civil part of me remembers to rein it in. Take it slow. She bolted out the door the minute she saw me, for fates' sake. She's not going to lie back and offer herself up on a platter.
She hesitates. "Yeah. Sure. But I have somewhere to be by 4 p. m."
I settle my hand on her lower back and guide her back to her place. As reach her back gate, I stoop to pick a little purple blossom and offer it to her. "Favorite flower."
Some of her wariness eases, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Wildflower." She takes it and brings it to her nose. "I can't believe you remembered."
"I remember everything about that night." That's the truth. Sometimes I can't remember my own name, but I will never, ever forget the moments I had with Denali. My lioness.
DENALI
THE DOOR CLOSES with a final clang. They delivered me, naked, to this male. I don't know how long I've been captive-a week or so-but it's long enough to know the guards are trouble. They treat me all right, but other prisoners aren't so lucky.
A low growl rumbles in the male's throat, but it's not for me. His arms banded around me protectively the moment they pulled the sheet away and tossed me in. He's big, solid. His hair is military short, and his stance reminds me of a soldier. But he's not a human. He's a lion, like me.
"So." I blow out a breath. "What do we do now?"
He holds me, his body angled in a way I realize hides me from the cameras. I'm tall, with a strong, athletic build, but he's even bigger. I hunch against him, grateful for the protection.
"They shouldn't bother us the rest of the night, if we cooperate," he says. "I'm Nash. What's your name?"
"Denali Decker."
"Pleased to meet you," he says.
I take a step away from him. Is he serious? This isn't a fucking date. As soon as I pull away his hands drop. I sense him being careful not to move, scare me, and it makes me even more angry. "What does it mean to cooperate?"
He glances to the bed, and away. I've been in this place long enough to know what he means.
I shake my head. "This is fucked up." I whirl on my toes to face the door, ready to rant, ready to pound the walls and demand to be let out, to be treated with common decency.
"Don't." There's urgency in his tone. I turn. His shoulders are tense, and his eyes blaze-not with anger or defiance. No, it's worry. Warning. He's afraid for me. "Please, don't."
Fates. To see such a big strong warrior afraid sends spikes of fear through me. What chance do I have in here? "You're not going to fight?"
He shakes his head. "Not with you here."
"You're strong enough to take them."
"Some of them. But not all. And then they'll hurt you."
Just like that my bravado is gone. Who am I kidding? They killed my pride right in front of my eyes. Shot them with quick, military precision. My beloved grandfather with a bullet through the skull. I'd do anything to go back and cooperate. If I had, I might have saved them.
I wrap my arms around myself. "So we're just supposed to…" I nod to the bed. "And if I don't…"
Again, he shields me from the camera, herds me back toward the cot without touching me. "We'll do what they tell us to do," he says, but I think it's more for the watchers. I sense he's trying to convey something else to me. His gaze is intent, bursting with a message. Or a promise. He's not going to hurt me.
The backs of my knees hit the cot and I sit down. He crouches in front of me, hands on my thighs. The silent communication is still there. Like he's willing me to understand something.