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“You little fool,” he ground out, his arms tightening as he crushed her to him in a bone-creaking hug, a hand cupping the back of her head.
A crack of lightning made her start, followed at its heels by a boom of thunder that rattled her bones. Shaken, she burrowed against him, her hands sliding up the plains of his back before she remembered she shouldn’t be seeking comfort from her abductor. But he was so warm and lovely-smelling, like cedar wood and musk, and she scared herself more than she cared to admit. She was lucky she hadn’t been run over or cracked open her head on a rock. She drew in a wobbly breath, inhaling the soothing scent of him.
His voice softened, his strong fingers kneading the base of her skull. “What were you thinking?”
Licking her too-dry lips, she pushed, trying to put some space between them. His arms were rock-solid and unbudgeable. With a grimace, she gave in and allowed herself to be comforted. Tipping her head to rest her chin on his chest, she said, “I was thinking that you abducted me, and I didn’t want to be abducted anymore.”
Despite his unwelcome actions, she resentfully admitted she enjoyed being engulfed in his embrace. He was nearly a head taller than her, his broad torso covered in a super-soft cerulean blue button-up that clung to every muscle and emphasized the sandstone red shade of his skin. She could handle standing right here for a while, wrapped in the arms of the hot man who kidnapped her. Weird stray thoughts. Shit. Probably concussed. But she didn’t try to push him away again. Instead, she gave him a wobbly smile.
His brows drew together, and he examined her with a frown. “Are you injured?”
She blinked up at him. Holy olives, his eyes are such a lovely dark amber. Ooh, and they match that mane of hair. He’s got a mane. Like a lion. Cat-man. She giggled to herself.
“Did you hit your head?”
“Hummm?” She licked her lips again, trying to think past the pull of his lovely eyes. They looked like the whisky her mother liked to sip after dinner.
“Seraiah.” Tension strained his voice. “Where are you injured?”
Her brows drew together as she considered her answer. “My ankle kind of hurts. My head, too.”
Another crack of lightning lit up the dark sky, the sharp scent of ozone filling the air. He cursed under his breath and started barking orders at the armed men surrounding them — Where did they come from? she wondered — to find a safe place to make camp. One of them put a medi-kit into Zarin’s open hand, then took up position nearby.
Bodyguards, her brain supplied. Her processing was slower than usual, and her head pounded, making it hard to focus. She lifted her hand to the side of her head, wincing when she found the bump. “Ow.” She stared blankly at her red-tipped fingers. Oh, that’s not good.
4
SERAIAH
The king cursed at the sight of her blood. Lifting her in his arms for the second time today, he settled her on a wide sandstone boulder, put the kit on the rock beside her, and ripped open a packet containing a medi-patch. He tipped her head to the side, snapping the band half-assedly securing her ponytail, and parted her hair to see her injury. “That’s quite a bump you’ve got there, little tree nymph,” he said, carefully prodding the area around it.
“Why do you keep calling me that?” she muttered, hissing as he pressed the patch to her wound.
His chest rumbled against her arm. He’s purring, she thought, leaning more of her weight against him and accepting the comfort he offered.
The ability to purr was one of the cat-like traits the Felida people had, along with sharp, sensitive ears and the propensity to play with their prey. Or so she’d heard. His people tended to be standoffish with those they didn’t know or who didn’t have something they wanted. Whatever. It feels good. She let the calming resonance of his purr wash over her as he patched her up.
Her scalp tingled and the sharp pain faded to a dull throb, sure signs the medi-patch was doing its job. Zarin ran a scanner over her head before nodding to himself and gently rearranging her hair, fixing it so it covered the patch. “Minor concussion.” He held up an aerosol syringe. “This should fix you right up and help with any pain.”
She consented to the shot with a small nod, caught off-guard when he didn’t just jab her with it without asking.
He stroked his hand over her upper arm before pressing the syringe to it, the liquid dispersing with a long hiss. With a finger below her chin, he tipped her head back. A slow lick of heat curled in her belly as their eyes met. His thumb grazed her bottom lip before he dropped his hand.
What the fuck, Seraiah? she thought, watching as he pulled more supplies from the kit. Blowing out a quiet breath, she shifted on the hard rock as he crouched at her feet. Abductor, remember? Also, a king and someone so far above your level, it’s not even funny. Gods, she needed to get control of herself before she did something really stupid, like try to kiss him. What was going on with her libido? It had to be the concussion. Had to be.
“You don’t need to do all this. I’ll be fine.” She winced as he pulled off her shoe and assessed her ankle. At a sharp zing of pain, she tried to jerk free of his grip, but he held steady.
“Hold still and let me look,” he said in a surprisingly patient tone of voice.
“Just let me go. I can make my way home from here.”
Here appeared to be somewhere along the Willana Passage, though she didn’t know it well enough to pinpoint their location. A droplet of rain landed on her nose. She seriously regretted forgetting her comm booster at home today. Without its added oomph, there was no chance she could bounce a signal back home from here.
He snorted.
“Look, I won’t tell anyone what you did,” she added, glancing over at the bodyguards pretending not to listen to their conversation. “I’m sure this was all a mistake anyway. You’ve got the wrong woman.”
“Oh, my precious darling.” Zarin huffed out a laugh, his eyes sparkling as he gazed up at her, his big hand warm against the bare skin of her calf. “First off, I do have the woman I’m looking for. You are exactly what I need and who I want.”
