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Anya might not be as easily controlled, just as he was finding his own response to her was by far less easy to handle than he had imagined.
His head lowered again, his lips touching hers. His tongue was burning for the taste of her. Desperate for another of those hot, passionate kisses, the feel of her mouth sucking at him, drawing the tightness from his tongue.
He was aware of the eyes that watched, yet he couldn’t draw back.
“They should have protected you better, little one,” he whispered against her lush lips. “They well deserved my vengeance.”
Her lashes lifted. Her eyes were dark with misery, with pain, as an exhausted sob tore from her throat.
“You betrayed me. You lied to me,” she cried again. “I’ll never trust you again, Del-Rey. I can never trust you.”
He stole the words. He couldn’t bear to hear them, couldn’t bear the pain or the anger in her eyes or her voice. He took his kiss. Her lips parted for him helplessly. He could feel her fighting the need, felt her giving in to it even as she cried out in surrender. And even as he kissed her, he realized there was something not quite as it had once been within him. A hunger, a need, a driving inferno of lust building inside him that made no sense, that defied description.
He needed this woman to survive it though. And Del-Rey always ensured he had what he needed to survive. He blamed it on the Coyote side of his genetics. Blood will tell and so, evidently, would DNA. At least in some part. Maybe he should blame it on the human side, he thought wearily. Anya might have accepted that easier.
THREE DAYS LATER
Three days. She burned. Flames licked over her flesh. Fury, confusion, betrayal and pain ate at her mind while the most horrible arousal she could have ever imagined ate at her body.
It had to be the taste of his kiss, she thought. She was craving it. It was killing her, the need for that kiss. And he kept forcing it on her, as though she actually wanted his kiss now.
She paced the bedroom of the cabin she was locked in. She was dressed in the soft cotton pants and T-shirt Sharone had brought her earlier.
She had begged Sharone to help her escape. She had it all worked out. All she had to do was get to a town and contact the embassy, they would take care of everything. They would contact her father; she could go home. She could forget Del-Rey Delgado ever existed.
And Sharone had been going for it. Anya had seen it in her eyes until Del-Rey had stepped into the room, furious, and pulled Sharone from it.
Now, she was alone. Alone to think, to worry. God, her father was lying in the snow bleeding, her cousins with him. Her cousins had family, children. Who would support them now? Times weren’t good in Russia right now; the economy was weak all over. They would lose their homes. They would be in the cold. Her father.
She sniffed. Who would bring him his vodka when he was tired and worn from trying to manipulate the Council scientists and members? Who would bandage his leg?
The tears were flowing from her eyes again. She should have more control than this. Her father had berated her for her loss of control. But that was something he did. She had red hair, he told her often, like her mother. And her mother had learned that holding her temper always helped herself and others more than losing it did.
She couldn’t control her emotions now. She hadn’t been able to since those shots had been fired. Since Del-Rey had kissed her. Since her world had exploded around her. Since something had exploded within her.
She pressed her hands into her stomach. Her abdomen rippled and she could feel the pulse of dampness between her thighs. Her nipples were so sensitive the rasp of the T-shirt was torture. Her clitoris was engorged and aching. Even when she had touched herself she had never been this aroused.
What had he done to her? He had to have done something to her. There was no other explanation.
She paced the room, she cursed. She would rage and then she would cry. She reviled Del-Rey Delgado. “Of the king” her ass. There was nothing kingly about that bastard.
“What did you do to me?” She screamed, picked up one of the few objects still in the bedroom, a wooden bowl, and threw it at the door.
It didn’t shatter. It hit the door with a resounding bang and then fell to the carpet as she collapsed on the end of the bed, curling into herself, moaning at the need rippling through her.
Her eyes closed, and she swore she tasted his kiss, felt his hands on her flesh. One touch, she told herself. She could allow one touch, just to still the demand raging through her body. Maybe one more kiss.
“No!” She gritted out between her teeth. Not even one touch. One touch would lead to another, and she would be begging. God help her if he even kissed her. She wouldn’t survive it.
And she didn’t want that liar’s kisses. Lies. Six years of lies. Promises he had broken one right after the other. She would be warned before the rescue. She would have time to make certain her father and cousins were safe. She would have time to ensure that personnel were able to get out safely rather than being murdered in the stampede to escape.
She had seen those doctors wielding automatic rifles and turning them on the innocent administrative personnel and lab techs trying to escape.
She hoped the doctors were dead. She hoped they were roasting in hell. Unlike Del-Rey. Oh, she didn’t want him dead. She wanted him alive. Alive and well so she could kill him herself.
She whimpered as another punch of sensation slammed into her stomach, her vagina, her clitoris. It was like a racking blow of electricity being shoved inside her. It sizzled and burned and left her gasping in need as the bedroom door opened.
She rolled to her feet, stumbling, staring at the man watching her with the devil’s black eyes.
