The Jackal (Black Dagger Brotherhood: Prison Camp #1)(64)

“Really? You’re asking that?”

“I volunteered.” Besides, he had needed her for his own purposes—so they were even. “And I am volunteering my vein, if that’s what you want.”

“I can’t believe you’re still helping me.” Her eyes went back on the food, which she’d stopped eating. “You’re a saint.”

“Not even close,” he said bitterly. “Remember how I ended up in this prison?”

“You said you didn’t touch the female.” Her eyes flashed up. “You said you were falsely accused.”

“And you didn’t believe me. So I’m merely dubbing in your thoughts.”

“You don’t know what’s on my mind.”

The Jackal stretched out, crossing his feet at the ankles. “Yes, I do. Now, finish the food and we can argue about you taking my vein—”

Nyx cut him off. “I was angry at you before because I don’t understand why you wouldn’t free yourself from this. Especially if you’re here under false pretenses, because someone lied about you.” She shook her head. “I was also pissed off because you know my reason for coming here, and I resent the fact that you didn’t tell me yours for staying.”

Before he could respond, she rubbed her eyes. “Look, I know that doesn’t make any sense. And things don’t need to be fair between us. But that’s—well, that’s why I said what I did, and I’m sorry. You’re right. You’ve been nothing but good to me, and you owe me nothing. Not even explanations.”

After a moment, the Jackal sat up. “It’s safer for you not to know anything.”

Nyx shook her head. “It’s okay. You don’t have to—”

“That’s the truth, though. The less you know about me, the less danger you’re in.”

“Can you at least tell me why? Why you stay?”

As her eyes rose to his again, his heart skipped a beat in his chest. She was so beautiful to him, even in her disheveled state—or maybe especially because of it, given her unbelievable feat of self-preservation— and he entertained a brief, vivid fantasy of them on the outside, up above, back before Ellany had spread her lies and Jabon had done something about them and then so many other, more terrible things had happened.

“You’re right,” Nyx whispered in the candlelight. “There is a you and me. I didn’t want to acknowledge it because I don’t want to feel as crushed as I do—you know, when I think about me leaving . . . and you not. It kills me, even though it shouldn’t. The reason I was so mad . . . is that I want you to come with me.”



As Nyx spoke, she was aware of Jack’s utter stillness. And going by his lack of movement, she guessed that she’d shocked him.

“I suppose I shouldn’t really be saying any of this.” She shrugged to downplay the very important things she’d given airtime to. “But something about almost getting shot full of holes—for the second time in twenty-four hours, or was it the third or fourth?—makes me want to talk.”

The joke fell flat, even to her own ears. “Sorry.”

“Nyx . . .”

“I know. I’ll stop.” She forced herself to eat more even though she wasn’t tasting anything. “So what’s the new plan?”

Jack looked away to the wall. When he refocused on her, his expression was neutral. “I have to go find the others. We’re going to need them again.”

“Will Lucan and Mayhem get into another convenient ‘fight’?” She put air quotes around the word. “Or is there another strategy this time. At this point, I’m open to anything.”

As she waited for him to talk, she wanted to touch him. She wanted to hold him. But she stayed where she was and finished the food as he watched her eat.

“Let’s check your shoulder,” he said. “And then I’ll go round them up.”

“Okay.”

As Nyx went to pull off the tunic, she winced. Her shoulder did hurt, as it turned out. Who knew?

She took off her windbreaker, too, and pulled the sleeve of her T-shirt up. “Oh . . . yeah, it is bleeding.”

In spite of the fact that she had managed to save herself and had somehow gotten here, she felt like she was making a mess out of everything.

When there was a shifting sound, she glanced up. Jack had come over, and as he bent down to inspect the injury, a flush went through her body.

“It’s reopened,” he said grimly. “I wish I could stitch it up for you. And there’s no way I can take you to the infirmary.”

“It’ll be fine.”

“When you take my vein, yes, it will.”

His stark statement made her recall another ubiquitous phrase, one that was used far and wide when not-so-hot ideas were brought up in whatever way they were: Now is not the time, and here is not the place.

It covered things nicely at this moment. The problem was not his vein. It was what was going to happen the instant she took it: Now was definitely not-time/not-place for her to get him good and naked. Not that she would take it for granted that he’d be down for that again.

Meanwhile, as he stared across at her, his astonishing blue eyes were level. Calm. Reasonable. “I promise it won’t lead anywhere.”