Rapture Untamed (Feral Warriors #4)(26)

Which would be no problem. None. Because it would only be the truth.

But would it be enough? And how long could she keep it up, keep him too interested in her to give her away?

As long as she had to.

She was playing with fire. Yet what choice did she have? Ostracism, maybe even death. Or Jag.

Her pride or her life.

There was no contest. No question. None.

As her gaze dropped to his thickening, lengthening sex, her fingers unbuttoned her pants.

Chapter Eight

Jag watched Olivia unfasten her pants, all too aware of the shaking of her fingers.

Dammit.

Deep inside him, something balked. Even he had lines he refused to cross. He might be an ass, but he got no pleasure in another's pain. He stayed far away from the weak and the vulnerable.

And while there was nothing weak about this woman - hell, no - she'd just landed ass first in the vulnerable. Because he held her life in his hands now, and they both knew it. He didn't want her vulnerable. Mad as hell, yeah. He liked watching her eyes glitter with fury.

There were traces of anger in her eyes now, but that was it. Mostly she just looked shell-shocked.

Hell.

He opened his mouth to tell her to forget it, when she shrugged off her jacket and began to lift the hem of her tank. His mouth snapped shut as that creamy skin revealed itself, and the thoughts in his head dissipated, all but one.

He had to touch her.

His body grew hotter, longer, heavier moment by moment. Goddess, he couldn't have taken his gaze off her if his life depended on it. She was small, her movements stiff from the Daemon venom as well as her own reluctance, he was certain. Still, there was a sureness about her movements, an innate grace that drew him, pleasing his senses beyond anything reasonable.

She lifted her tank up and over her head, revealing ripe curves caught within the confines of a black sports bra. Her pale skin shone like alabaster in the moonlight, making his fingers curl into his fists as the need to touch her nearly overwhelmed him.

"What if the Daemon returns?" she asked him, her voice tight.

"I'll smell him long before he gets here." He tore his gaze from her creamy skin long enough to glance up at her face. Her eyes were focused on him, eyes aglow with wariness and razor-sharp resentment.

Draden-kissed. A pariah.

The knowledge rocketed through him all over again. Only in recent decades had the Therian council urged pity on those afflicted. It wasn't like they'd had any choice in the matter. You couldn't choose to be draden-kissed. You were simply one of the lucky few who hadn't died after being attacked. Though, in truth, few considered it lucky.

"How in the hell did you keep your secret when you were seven?"

He almost forgot to listen for her answer when her arms crossed in front of her, and she pulled her bra up and over her head, revealing the most perfect pair of br**sts he'd ever seen.

Pure desire shot through his body as he stared at those full mounds, their ni**les large and pink, begging to be sucked. And, goddess, he wanted to give them that.

"My father knew. The draden had killed my mother and my entire enclave, but he wasn't there that night. He kept me away from others and taught me to control my feeding."

"It's phenomenal you didn't kill him."

Her mouth compressed. "I did. Not right away, but eventually I made a mistake, and I did."

Shit. The guilt she must be living with."When were you draden-kissed?"

"Fifteenth century."

Now he stared. "Six hundred years...and no one knows?"

"No one but you has ever been able to feel me feed. My control is excellent. I'm no danger, Jag. I haven't been a danger to anyone in a very long time."

He was in no mood for empathizing.

"No danger, Sugar? You damned near let me die!" Dammit, he'd been terrified. Not for himself. He honestly didn't give a rat's ass about himself. But thinking he was going to watch her die had sent him tumbling into his nightmares, into those dreams he'd had every f**king night after Cordelia died. Into a place he never wanted to go back to again.

He'd thought the draden were going to kill Olivia, and hard as he'd tried, he couldn't do anything to stop it. Yet she hadn't needed saving. And she hadn't said a word.

Damn her.

She lifted one foot after the other, untying and removing boots and socks, then slowly unzipped her pants, pushing them down over slender hips to reveal a small scrap of black lace. She pushed the pants down her legs and stepped out of them. But as her fingers went to that tantalizing black lace, he stopped her.

"Leave the panties on."

She just stared at him. "Won't they be in your way?"

"Eventually. I'll get rid of them when they are."

She lifted her chin, the warrior beaten, but not broken. Never broken. "Are you into rape, Jag?"

"It won't be rape, Sugar. You're going to be begging me to f**k you before I'm done with you."

"That does not mean I'm ever going to want you."

"You'll want my body. You'll beg for the release I can bring you." He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. Even before he touched her, the lush, warm scent of her filled his senses, turning his limbs weak, his c**k hard. His fingers curved around one firm, perfect breast, and another breath of fire shot between his legs. "I told you I'd have you on your knees before me, didn't I? Now, Red. On your hands and knees like an obedient little slave."