Page 50 of Wraith: Lethal Impact

"So. The dungeon." His low rumble vibrates against my back. "You fantasized about me."

"Yes." My cheeks flush, and I bury my face in the military blanket.

"Tell me." His hand traces the curve of my hip. "I want specifics."

"No." I laugh, the sound muffled by the fabric. "It's embarrassing."

"There's no room for embarrassment between us. Not after I just spent the last three hours thoroughly fucking you." He pulls me closer, his mouth finding the sensitive skin behind my ear.

The truth of it sends a thrill through me.

"I wanted you to tie me down and take control." My whisper is breathless.

"And did I?"

"Yes. You did." I reach back, my fingers finding the rigid muscle of his thigh.

"Noted. My little ballerina has a wild side." He goes quiet again.

"Only for you." I trace the scars that map his body.

"Good." The word is a low growl. "Because I'm going to need you to let go of the ballerina more often."

"I can do that." I nod, my fingers tightening on his skin.

He trails his hand down my body, fingers brushing the curls between my legs. "I can't lose you." The confession carries none of his usual command. A quiet admission. "If the Consortium takes you ... I'll burn the world to find you."

I turn over in the narrow bed, facing him in the dim light. I reach up and trace the harsh line of his jaw.

"They won't take me." I refuse to let the fear win. "We're going to find Andrea. We're going to destroy the cage my father built."

The mention of my father sobers the air. The reality of our situation comes crashing back into the room.

The jungle compound was a dead end. We have no leads. Dax's team is sitting in an abandoned facility, hunting a ghost network with zero intelligence to point them in the right direction.

I sit up on the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket around my shoulders against the chill.

My father managed the network. He funded the nightmares.

He also gave me an insurance policy against a rainy day. My fingertips brush the bare skin of my earlobes. I always thought the insurance was the diamond earrings.

But maybe not.

I slide off the bed, the cold concrete biting into the soles of my bare feet. The compass swings against my bare skin as I stand—the weight I've carried since the dressing room. The one thing he told me to never take off.

I lift the chain over my head and turn back toward the bed.

Dax sits up, the blanket falling away from his scarred chest. The intensity in his expression sharpens. The operator surfaces, reading the shift in me.

I open my hand.

The antique compass gleams in the low tactical light, the heavy chain dangling between my fingers.

"He told me to never take it off." The metal casing is cold against my palm. "I had to, of course, for performances. But he always made it feel important. He used to say that if I was ever lost—if I ever truly needed something—the compass would point me in the right direction."

Dax doesn't say a word. He rises from the bed, ignoring his nakedness, and crosses to me, his focus locked on the compass in my palm.

The silence in the room shifts from intimacy to terrifying potential.