Page 80 of Thirst
“The garden suite. You’ll still be confined to one area, but there’s an enclosed garden, a shower, a comfortable bed.”
“What about Brien? He’s okay with this?”
“Let me worry about Brien.” I pulled the door wide. “Now, are you coming or not?”
“I’m coming.” She jammed her feet into the short black lug-soles without tying them and stumbled after me, art supplies hugged to her chest, boots clomping against the stone.
“You’re gonna break your neck.” Shaking my head, I handed the bag of clothes to the guard and crouched to tie them myself.
When I rose, her straight, dark brows were pinched together. “I can’t figure you out.”
A humorless breath escaped me. I took the clothes from the guard and guided her out of the cell.
“That makes two of us. Because I can’t figure me out either.”
20
Nyx
Cain took me through a series of torch-lit tunnels—left, left again, then two rights and another left.
“Let me guess,” I muttered. “You’re trying to get me lost.”
His reply was deadpan. “We like to fuck with intruders.”
I cut him a look, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward. Somehow, that was reassuring. If he’d relaxed enough to tease me, even a little, then that was something, right?
A tall, dark-haired man stepped out of a short passage, his stride breaking when he spotted Cain. He backed up immediately, giving us space. His gaze flicked to me—curious, assessing—before he dipped his chin in a respectful nod to Cain.
The next person we ran into stepped aside as well. Then a third.
It struck me how powerful Cain had become. When we’d first met, he’d been one of Brien’s personal bodyguards, a watchful shadow in the background. Even then, he left an impression. But now he was nobody’s shadow—he was a Maritime lieutenant, a breath beneath the primus in the hierarchy, radiating authority.
And Luna help me, it was hot.
When he put a hand on my lower back to steer me into a short hallway, a thrill rippled up my spine. My pussy clenched around empty air.
Cain’s head snapped around, and our eyes collided. His were arresting—blue ice surrounded by fiery cobalt.
I swallowed hard.
His hand slid up to my nape, gentle but firm. “Keep looking at me like that, and I’ll forget the promise I made.”
I was still recovering from being the sickest I’d ever been. I didn’t trust him. And he was holding me captive.
I shouldn’t have shivered in pleasure, but I did.
“Yeah?” I dredged up a sneer. “Well, don’t fool yourself that I want it. You’d be forcing yourself on a prisoner.”
“Would I?” he asked with a knowing smirk and turned me toward the only door in the hallway, reaching around me to open it. “After you, firefly.”
I’d expected something like Cain’s apartment: white walls and swanky leather-and-chrome furniture, that cool, immaculate order he lived in. Instead, I was enveloped in soft yellows and greens, with beachscapes stretching across seafoam walls. Through an open doorway, a massive teak bed was topped with gauzy white scarves like drifts of mist.
He dropped the bag of clothes on the pale lemon couch. “You’re confined to these two rooms.”
My gaze slid to the French door at the opposite side of the living room, its glass darkened to protect sensitive skin and eyes.
“No,” he said firmly. “And just so you know, we have eyes on the garden and both doors.”
