Spider Game (GhostWalkers, #12)(140)

He pinned her with glacier-cold eyes. “You are getting very bossy, woman.”


She loved that he called her woman. She was a woman. His. But he had to understand, he was her man and she had his back. The danger didn’t matter.


“Honey, you’re every bit as important to me as I am to you. I’m not going to sit on a shelf while you go out and face Whitney’s supersoldiers or one of Violet’s hit squads. And I’m certainly not going to let you face those despicable uncles of yours.”


She leaned over and brushed his mouth with hers. He sat on the floor, the remnants of their picnic all around him. “Do you have any idea how much I love you? Whatever you feel for me, I feel for you. This is a partnership, Trap. You and me. Together. That’s how it has to be.”


He leaned into her, burying his face against that red hourglass, one arm slung around her hips, locking her to him. He held her for a long time. She let him. She gave him the time he needed to come to the right decision – her decision – because this wasn’t going any other way.


Trap was arrogant, rude and bossy. She was okay with that. But he had to know when she put her foot down, she meant what she said. This was a line he wasn’t going to cross.


“All right, baby,” he agreed softly, lifting his head to look up at her. “But you don’t get one f*cking scratch on you. Not one. You do, and you’re going to pay.”


She smiled at him, her fingers tunneling into his thick mass of blond hair. “I can live with that. Get dressed and let’s do this.” His little declaration was intriguing. It might just be worth it to get a scratch on her.


Hiding a smile, she hurried. She knew letting her go out to face his uncles was difficult for him, but for her, his worry was absolutely absurd. She would never let him face them alone, no matter what he said or decreed. She dressed in her vintage blue jeans, the soft ones that clung to her body but allowed her to move easily and fast in them.


She donned a turtleneck shirt, one of the few she had from her stay in the cell. She’d made it herself, spinning the silk for several years, weaving it together and then sewing it. It fit tightly on her, and came up her throat and down past her waist. Extra armor. She was already spinning the silk to weave a similar shirt for Trap, hoping to have it ready by his next birthday. It was months away and she had plenty of time to work during the times without him around to get enough silk to weave into such a large piece of material.


She slid on soft shoes, ones that allowed traction in the marshier areas of the swamp. She was light and could skim the ground or use the trees and her silk to move fast. The uncles weren’t going to be so lucky. Cayenne braided her hair and smiled at her reflection on their mirror.


Trap had dressed beside her, and he caught her small smile. “What?”


“I like the idea of hunting tonight. I know exactly where I’m going to lead them.”


“You stay where I can cover you, Cayenne,” he cautioned. “And don’t get cocky. They may be civilians, but they’re dangerous. They are sociopaths, and they’ll kill you just for fun.”


She tilted her head to one side, her gaze meeting his in the mirror. She could see her eyes had gone multifaceted, a signal that the spider in her was rising. “Hunting them is going to be fun. Does that make me a sociopath?”


“That makes you my woman.” Trap suddenly reached out and dragged her into his arms. “Giving you this isn’t easy, Cayenne. I don’t like it. My stomach is in f*cking knots.”


She was relaxed. She wasn’t in the least afraid, but she rarely was when she went into combat. She had confidence in herself. She wanted Trap to have that same confidence in her but she knew that had to come with time. Maybe it never fully would sink in that she was as lethal as he was in a battle, but as long as he treated her as his equal, she could deal with his fears.


“Watch and learn, husband.” She slid her hands up his chest and wrapped her arms around his neck, lacing her fingers at his nape. She kissed him. Hard. Wet. Pouring love into him. “I’ve got this.” Her whisper was against his lips.


He swallowed hard. “All right, baby. Do your thing. No venom if you can help it. If the bodies are discovered, we don’t want anything that might trace their deaths back to us. Accidents happen in the marsh and that’s what we want it to look like, although I’d like to put a bullet in their f*cking brains and maybe set them on fire like they did my family. Peel their skin off a little at a time like they did my aunt.”


She pressed closer to him, feeling the rage buried beneath the ice start to erupt. “This will be worse. They’ll die slow, Trap. Knowing it was coming. Seeing it come.” She kissed him again, and this time he took over, just like she knew he would. He needed her in that moment, needed her steady, calm confidence. Needed to know she was there, with him, not appalled at the extent of his rage or his need for equal justice.


Cayenne held him for a few more minutes, waiting until the ice was back in his veins, and then she stepped away, turning, squaring her shoulders and sauntering out of their bedroom, past the silks hanging from the ceiling in the great room, to their front door. She flipped on the light switch to illuminate the room so that when she pulled open the outer door she was framed there, the light behind her.