Chapter Five

A loud metal clang sounded from the rear of the van, followed by a whir Liz couldn't identify. New sounds emerged, reminiscent of bulbs popping in old-time cameras. With them, a blaze of light lit up the van's windows.

She stared at what looked to be steel walls and the line of blue-white tubes on either side of them, emitting enough illumination to make her squint. The vehicle's tires whooshed over the suddenly smooth road. Those sounds and the surroundings reminded Liz of tunnels she'd driven through when visiting New York and other major cities.

However, this was the desert, with nothing but desolation for miles. "Are we going underground?"

"We're already there."

She regarded Zeke in the sudden brightness, her body weakening with need. He was so damn gorgeous…so seemingly kind, although that part of him was lost beneath pure male temptation. He was all muscle and hard angles that would have made Michelangelo's David envious. The ends of his hair grazed his stubbled jaw, making him look deliciously mussed, as though he just rolled out of bed, having had a hell of a good time there. That was, if she didn't consider the gouges she'd put in his chest and the piece of flesh Carreon had cut from his arm. In the unforgiving light, the wounds were an angry red, the edges black with dried blood. "You have a subterranean stronghold?"

How was that possible?

He glanced at the lights and walls whizzing by. Liz estimated the van was going sixty miles an hour or more.

"It's built into the side of the mountain," he said. "A leftover, if you will, from my ancestors."

"Your people actually built this?"

He smiled at her obvious shock. "Not my clan, my ancestors, the Others. My people discovered the stronghold by accident decades ago, treating it more as a religious site than anything else. You know, making the yearly pilgrimage. Asking the Others to return and show themselves.

"That changed when Carreon came into power after his father's assassination. He's forced us to use it for shelter and protection. We explored its perimeters. There, we found holograms from the Others. When we played them, they were in our language. God, it was weird. They more or less explained how the stronghold operated…how to open doors, get lighting. What appears to be steel on the tunnel's walls is actually an alloy we don't have on this planet. My guess is it can't be detected by any means as normal metal would, not even with the so-called sophisticated technology the Feds use. If that'd been possible, this place would've been studied and restricted by them, much like White Sands and Area 51."

Liz's head spun with any number of questions. "You and your clan live beneath a mountain range?"

"Within it," he corrected. "A portion of the stronghold is between the peaks. It's still shielded from aerial view, but there the children can play outside. We've set up an area with trees and flowers. We grow our own plants."

That didn't jibe with what he'd told her earlier. "You said Carreon's men fired at Gabrielle and the other women and children at a birthday party you'd taken her to. Surely, it wasn't here." If it had been, Carreon would have already stormed this place, trying to win it for his own use.

Zeke's good humor shifted to cold fury. "As I just explained, at the time of the attack we weren't using the stronghold. We still lived above ground. The adults worked at local businesses they owned. Their children went to public school. There was no reason to do otherwise because no one in the recent past deliberately and coldly attacked the women and children. While Carreon's father was in charge, we even had a truce. His men rarely set foot into our territory. His son finally changed that."

And awakened the murderous rage of what Liz sensed was a truly good man. "Carreon thought you were at the party?"

Zeke spoke through his teeth. "My guess is he knew I wasn't. He wanted to hurt me in the worst way possible to prove his power. That he'd go to any lengths to get what he wants. Being the coward he is, he probably thought I'd cave just as he would have done, begging him not to harm me, predicting the future for him if it meant sparing myself."

"Have you tried to assassinate him before tonight?"

Zeke offered an icy smile, bringing to mind the predatory look Liz had so often seen on Carreon's face.

"I wanted to," he said without any shame.

"On the day your daughter died?"

He studied her. "Have you any idea what it's like to lose a child? To know that she won't have a chance to grow up, to become a person in her own right? From the moment Gabrielle could talk, she let me know what she thought, what she wanted. Her favorite color was yellow. Not pink. She called it a sissy color." His smile turned wistful. Sudden tears sparkled in his dark eyes. "She nagged her mother and me for a yellow top and shorts to wear to the birthday party. We surprised her with them that morning."

Liz reached out to touch him, to comfort, then thought better of it, bringing back her hand before he noticed.

Zeke drove his fingers through his hair. "By the time I saw my daughter again, her pretty yellow clothes were wet with—" He stopped and swallowed then drew in a deep breath. "While I held Gabrielle's body in my arms, I was already picturing myself attacking Carreon. Not with a gun or even a knife; my bare hands. I wanted to feel that bastard's bones breaking, his throat collapsing. Jacob and my friends had to restrain me from hunting Carreon down that day. They reminded me that he's like a snake or a rat, always hiding, moving from place to place to avoid detection. We were never certain where he might actually be or where his main stronghold was. As I stated before, his men taking me there tonight changed all that."

Indeed it had.

Despite the mild temperature inside the van, a chill ran through Liz. Now that Zeke and his men knew of Carreon's principal location, would they raid his stronghold, hoping to murder him and perhaps harming her father in the process?

Before she could beg him not to, the vehicle slowed.

"Here." Zeke handed her a blanket.

Its beige and brown threads were woven into an abstract Indian design consisting of triangles, arches, and diamond shapes.

"Go on," he said when she simply held it. "Put it around yourself."

Right. The soft texture surprised her. While Liz wrapped the blanket around her as she would a sarong, Zeke grabbed a pair of worn jeans from behind the cache of weapons and got dressed.

The van stopped. Footfalls rang out. The back doors swung open. Two men Liz had never seen before stared at her, their black hair and coloring similar to Zeke's, their ages somewhere between late twenties and early thirties.

Zeke scooted out and embraced both men. Siblings? No. He'd told her the only family he had left was Jacob. These men weren't even Zeke's cousins. She tried to picture Carreon greeting one of his lieutenants with such affection. As the image formed in her mind, Liz saw Carreon pretending to welcome the man then plunging a knife into his side, twisting the blade to ensure the greatest pain before death.

Shivering at the thought, she noticed a young woman standing to the side. The girl watched Zeke, her mouth tense with worry. No more than mid-twenties, she wore her straight black hair loose, the ends grazing her waist. Her eyes were equally dark, suiting her tawny complexion. A supermodel couldn't have looked better than she did in her white tee, jeans, and moccasins, her tall, slender figure as lovely as the rest of her.

Who was she?

Biting her lower lip, the young woman waited as more men came around to the back of the van, their black clothing and weapons similar to what Liz had seen on the two guys who'd arrived with her and Zeke.

"Where's Bartholomew?" he asked the others.

A tall guy in the back spoke up. "Carreon's men trapped him. He signaled for us to leave…that he'd take care of matters."

Undisguised grief flooded Zeke's face.

Why? Because he knew Carreon would torture the man for information, or because Bartholomew would never allow that to happen, sacrificing his own life first?

One of the brawnier men rested his hand on Zeke's shoulder in a consoling gesture. The girl bounced in place as an impatient child might then stopped when she noticed Liz. Hatred blazed in her eyes.

"Kele," Zeke said.

She went to him, slipping her arms around his neck with a familiarity that Liz found more disturbing than the girl's previous hostility.

Who in the hell was she? A wife? Girlfriend? One of Zeke's lovers who wasn't happy about having to share her man with an enemy woman?

Whoa. What are you thinking?

Liz made a face. No way was she Zeke's newest conquest or jealous of whatever he had going with this Kele person. If not for tonight's events, Liz would never have met Zeke. She never would have known how deeply he could love, what it was like to lie within his arms.

How often did he and Kele make love? Did they want children, little ones to protect as he hadn't been able to with his beloved Gabrielle?

"Is that her, Carreon's lover?" Kele asked. The volume at which she spoke said she wanted Liz to hear. "How can you be so certain she'll help Jacob?"

Zeke pulled her arms from around his neck and stepped back. "She healed me." Going to the van, he extended his hand to Liz.

She accepted his help without pause or comment. The sad truth was she couldn't speak. His fingers curled around hers with such confidence and care, it awakened something deep within Liz. A longing for assurance. To be important to a man. Cherished. Her earlier thoughts of not being his newest conquest came back to mock her. Aware of the others watching, Liz fought her desire.

Kele wasn't fooled. She pressed her lips together, her disdain seeming to have more to do with distrust than jealousy. Given her worry over Jacob, Liz wondered if they were a couple. Would she be inside the room, observing, when Liz healed him?

What if Jacob mounted her as Zeke had? Not because he was aroused but because he wanted to sink deep within her core, believing that would afford him the full extent of her healing power. What would Kele do then?

"This way," Zeke said.

Liz followed him around the van, getting her first good look at the tunnel. It arched twenty or more feet above them, dwarfing everything within. The unearthly blue-white lights and gray walls went on forever behind them. On either side were vehicles, mostly Jeeps built for the desert terrain. One was parked haphazardly, bullet holes marring the back doors, no doubt from Carreon's men firing at it tonight.

Liz sniffed, expecting to smell the acrid bite of gunpowder, oil, and gas. The air was fresh and clean, cooler than it'd been in the van. Pumped in from the outside? Were generators the source of the constant whirr, providing power for this place?

Zeke stopped at a door that was wide enough for a tank to move through, constructed of the same material as the walls. Kele placed her palm on what seemed to be a control panel.

Was it reading her fingerprints?

A series of clicks sounded from within the door. It slid sideways, disappearing into the wall, allowing entrance into Zeke's stronghold.

Liz gaped, unable to help herself. On either side of the hall, electric torches—the flameless kind one sees at summer barbeques—provided a soft, golden glow in contrast to the tunnel's sterile light. Here, the walls were mahogany, the wood gleaming, the floor made of polished stone the color of strong coffee. Priceless Indian art and Comanche blankets, similar to the one she wore, decorated the space.

A circular buffalo totem caught her attention by its sheer size and magnificence. Nearly as tall as the door she'd just seen, the figures within it were more geometric than lifelike, the red, blue, and black colors intense. Past it were niches displaying rock and sand sculptures.

"Before you came here, did you sell this artwork outside your community?" she asked.

Zeke didn't break stride. "We still do. We have agents working for us on the outside. The sales fund our needs, along with stocks."

From behind, one of the men cleared his throat. Liz glanced over then stopped, not wanting to meet Kele's glare. "Stocks?"

Zeke nodded.

She hazarded a guess. "You use your gift to pick the day's winners?"

"Not me. The other seers in my clan. We go left here." He turned down a hall in that direction, tightening his hand around hers, making certain she followed his quickened pace. Their naked feet slapped the floor. The blanket whipped around her ankles and calves. Those following them fell behind, either unable to keep up or not caring to.

In this area of the stronghold, there were the same torches and artwork, along with closed doors. From behind one, Liz heard children squealing, no doubt enjoying a game. From the next, the theme song to America's Funniest Videos played.

"Do you find that wrong?" Zeke asked.

What? His people enjoying themselves as though they lived in a safe and sane world rather than an underground fortress? "Why would I?"

"Some might consider it insider trading."

It took her a moment to follow. "You're talking about the stocks?"

"What else?"

"No, I don't think it's wrong. I've heard rumors that Carreon funds his lifestyle with drugs, weapon sales, and prostitution, since he hasn't been able to count on you or anyone else from your clan to predict the future for him. My guess is with your gift, he'd make insider trading look about as harmless as jaywalking."

Kele made a guttural sound, not even trying to hide her disgust or the fact that she alone had kept pace with them.

Liz did her best to ignore the girl, concentrating instead on light pouring from an area near the end of the hall. It proved to be a great room where numerous women and older men sat in front of a massive fireplace constructed of black stones. Children, ranging in age from toddlers to preschoolers, amused themselves with toys, prattling to each other or the adults.

One of the younger women settled a dispute between two kids, glancing up just in time to see Zeke's approach. He slowed a bit, nodding in greeting to her. A relieved smile spread across her face. Some of the men noticed. They pushed up in their sofas or chairs, lifting their hands, happy to see him until they noticed Liz.

"Zeke!" one of the preschoolers hollered, jumping to his feet.

A stout older woman, possibly his grandmother, grabbed the boy's arm before he could run into the hall. "Leave Zeke alone," she murmured, ruffling his hair. "He has work to do."

Zeke spoke over his shoulder to the boy. "I'll come by later."

"For a horsey ride?"

"Only if you promise to go to bed right after."

The child stopped jumping up and down, growing serious with Zeke's feigned sternness. "I will, I will, I will," he shouted out.

Liz caught Zeke's grin, so reminiscent of a father who adored his children. When he noticed her watching, he sobered.

No, don't. She wanted to see him happy, to witness his unguarded joy. How little of it had he experienced since Gabrielle's death? Without thinking, Liz squeezed his hand.

Surprise and confusion played on his face. As if to flee both emotions, he hurried to the left, to a flight of stairs, directing her up them. The wood groaned beneath their weight and that of those following.

On the landing, Kele pushed past Liz and Zeke, running toward a group of women, some elderly, others middle-aged. They stood outside an arched doorway. Upon reaching it, Liz glanced inside.

Gaily colored snake totems graced the limestone interior. The rough walls were unaltered, as though the Others had just excavated this space. The scent of fresh air and sandalwood incense contradicted that notion. Rustic nightstands and lamps, prized in the Anglo community, flanked either side of the bed, constructed of the same dark, unfinished wood. Blankets in a variety of shades hung over the sides.

In the center of the mattress was Jacob Neekoma.

Liz stepped into the room.

His hair was long, possibly waist length, streaming past his left shoulder. Surely no more than thirty, his good looks were more refined than his brother's while remaining as masculine. An artist would have found Jacob's strong nose, full mouth, and dark brows a delight to paint or sculpt. The same held true for his body. Tall and strong, he was only a bit less muscular than Zeke. He had the same snake tattoo on his biceps without the eagle's eye, telling Liz he wasn't a seer. Visions hadn't forewarned Jacob of what Carreon's men would do to him, their viciousness.

Black circles marked the entrance wounds of numerous bullets. Several had ripped through his legs, no doubt making flight impossible, just the way Carreon's lieutenants liked their prey. Other wounds dirtied the smooth skin on his belly. His hand clutched an area just below his navel.

No blood seeped out, meaning his blood pressure had fallen to precarious levels. He'd been bathed as Zeke had been. Prepared for her arrival.

As he hadn't before, Zeke squeezed her hand now and murmured, "Heal him."

Kele made a strangled sound Liz had heard too many times before when someone's beloved relative or friend had passed. One of the elderly women kept Kele from going to Jacob. "You'll just be in the way," she said.

The girl's mouth twisted with frustration and grief. She wiggled out of the woman's grip.

"Kele." Zeke gestured to her and the rest of the women. "I want all of you to leave."

"No." She headed for Jacob.

Zeke stepped in her way, his size stopping her. "Jacob will be all right. I'll be here with Liz."

Indignation darkened Kele's expression. She spoke through her teeth. "It's because of her that he's hurt."

"That's bullshit, and you know it," Zeke shot right back. "Liz had nothing to do with the ambush. Now get out of here. The longer you argue with me, the longer it'll be before my brother gets the help he needs."

She bounced in place, fists at her side.

A woman with a long scar on her right cheek took Kele's arm, pulling her back.

She shouted, "Protect Jacob from her!"

Sighing, Zeke closed the door and went to Liz.

She wanted to run. Hell, she wanted this morning back when Zeke and Jacob had been whole, their beautiful bodies unmarred by bullets, their thoughts hopefully untroubled, their expressions serene.

When Liz had first seen Zeke tonight, he'd appeared to be sleeping. Jacob, however, was a portrait in pain, even though he was unconscious. The ends of his mouth turned down; perspiration shone on his body; his muscles bunched.

During her hospital rotations, Liz had seen people in the first throes of rigor, their features frozen in agony after a horrific death. What if Jacob was too far gone for her to help?

"Heal only those you believe will survive," her father had warned.

Why? What if her healing made Jacob worse, rendering him vegetative? What would that do to Zeke and Kele?

"Help him, please," Zeke said, bringing her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to her birthmark.

A spark flowed between them, resembling a mild surge of electricity. Although Liz knew it was from her healing power, she suspected it might also be something more. A connection that was urging her toward this man, bringing him deeper into her soul.

Having experienced Carreon's cruelty, she'd hoped to one day find someone like Zeke.

Silly, huh? None of her romantic fantasies would change the reality of their situation. It was insane for her to get involved with him, whether driven by lust or because she was so damn lonely. She had her father to think about and her people. They deserved a future without Carreon.

Pulling her hand free, Liz unknotted the blanket, allowing it to fall at her feet. Naked, she padded to Jacob, praying that she could bring him back to what he'd been. With her hand on his, she traced his long fingers.

Zeke joined her at the bed, the light from the bronze lamps causing his shadow to fall across the mattress. "What are you doing? Touch his wounds."

"Not yet. I have to move slowly, or I'll overwhelm his body."

"To hell with that," Zeke argued. "If you don't move quickly, he could die."

Liz grabbed his wrist, keeping him from forcing her to do as he wanted. Even though her strength was a fraction of his, Zeke didn't fight her. "Remember what I told you in the van about my gift being able to heal or kill? Do you want me to prove that here with your brother?"

"Your touching Jacob could kill him?"

"It might if I move too quickly. You have to trust me, Zeke."

"You do know I could pick you up and throw you across the room, right?"

Okay, so he did trust her, though not completely. "I need to move slowly. Please believe me, it's for the best. It's how I healed you."

Zeke regarded his brother, helplessness and uncertainty on his face. "Take care of him, please."

"I will. Maybe it'd be better if you left."

"No. I stay." He stepped back. "Go on."

Once more, she focused on Jacob, trailing her fingers over his toes and ankles as she had with Zeke, again noting their subtle differences. Jacob's complexion had more brown in it than copper, the shade making the hair on his legs appear quite dark. The thatch of black curls on his groin wasn't as springy as his brother's. His cock was thicker when flaccid, Zeke's longer. A mole on Jacob's left testicle further differentiated them, while Zeke sported a similar mole on his inner left thigh.

Liz ran her hands over Jacob, pausing periodically to press her birthmark to his flesh, captivated by his male beauty. Not to the degree she'd experienced with Zeke but enough to surprise her.

Perhaps it was concern over his condition she was experiencing rather than true desire, the need a woman has for a beautiful man.

Outside the room, someone paced. Probably Kele. The muffled slaps sounded as though they came from her moccasins. A female voice, raspy with age, kept saying something Liz couldn't make out. The pacing continued.

Grateful Kele wasn't in the room, Liz ran her hands over Jacob's pecs, enjoying the warmth of his skin, its silky texture, how the tiny tips of his nipples scraped her palms. He smelled of something woodsy, possibly cedar, and a man's musk.

Without warning, the scent reminded her of Zeke and what they'd done. Him rolling them over, pinning her beneath his big body, using his weight as a weapon and for pleasure. Not only trapping her but also freeing Liz. Encouraging her to respond to his deep, lingering kisses, his large hands using her breasts with a male's privilege, parting her thighs with his knees, plunging his hard rod inside her pussy, taking what he wanted, what she ached to give him.

She slid her hand to Jacob's shaft.

Zeke sucked in a breath.

His reaction to what she was doing didn't startle Liz or warn her away. She worked her fingers through Jacob's pubic hair even as her other hand went to the wounds on his legs, touching them cautiously.

Beneath her palm, she felt the cruel holes constrict and close.

Good. However, the worst injuries were in his gut.

She edged his hand aside and replaced it with her own. In her peripheral vision, Liz saw Jacob's long toes splay then curl. An involuntary reaction, or his response to her power flowing through him, healing his internal organs?

Bit by bit, the gaping holes closed over, his skin forming a solid barrier. Liz glanced up. Jacob's eyes moved beneath his lids, but he hadn't awakened. Was he fighting consciousness as Zeke had done, reluctant to leave whatever he saw on the other side?

Come on. Stop resisting me. Prove that you'll come back and be just as you were.

She pressed harder, feeling the pulse in his torso. With each second, it grew stronger, blood forcing its way through his body, sustaining him.

Jacob's back arched. He gasped, his mouth hanging open as he pulled in a full breath. Leaning down, Liz brushed her lips over his, spilling more of her healing gift into him, making certain he'd survive. That he'd be whole again.

He stiffened.

Shit. Was he about to convulse?

She eased back but didn't get far. He cradled the back of her head with purpose then pulled her down next to him, telling Liz his thought processes were more than intact. Downright male. With his lips fitted to hers, Jacob demanded entrance, plunging his tongue into her mouth.

Liz whimpered. He was so fucking masculine, so assured, her resistance faded away. However, Jacob's kiss was far different from his brother's. Demanding, yes, though not as searching, as needy of her response. He seemed to expect her to comply.

He behaved as though she was someone else…Kele.

His hunger proved it. He deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping Liz's mouth, his hand covering her breast, his skilled fondling pulling another whimper from her.

He flicked her nipple in response, sending a thrum of delight down her belly to her cunt. Powerless to fight, Liz rode wave after wave of pleasure, her body growing heavy, her thoughts muddled. On instinct, she responded to Jacob, desiring him at this moment even as she continued to crave Zeke.

His unruly breathing registered beneath her and Jacob's noisy kiss, telling Liz of his eagerness to take her again. She was more than ready, her pussy damp with carnal need, every part of her screaming for his touch.

Unaware, Jacob continued to kiss her, pinching her nipple between his fingers, squeezing her breast until she was breathless with satisfaction and he was sated. Easing back, he pulled in a deep breath and opened his eyes.

His features went from relaxed to confused that she wasn't Kele. He took a moment to regard her nudity. Heat poured through Liz, flushing her skin. Jacob's brows lifted then pulled together in a frown. He glanced past her to his brother.

Liz expected Zeke to embrace Jacob much as he had his men in the tunnel.

He came to the bed and spoke in a low growl. "Idiot. What in the fuck did you think you were doing, leaving the stronghold without my permission? How in the hell could you have been so damned stupid?"

"Stupid?" Jacob pushed to his elbows, huffing with the effort, speaking as quietly as Zeke had. "I did what I had to do to keep your sorry ass safe."

"Screw that," Zeke said.

"Guys." Liz put out her hands to stop them from coming to blows. "No more bloodshed, all right? Hasn't there been enough already?"

Jacob curled his upper lip. "And you are?"

Zeke spoke before she could. "The woman who just saved your life and mine, you damn dummy."

So much for him not doing anything to escalate matters. "I'm Liz Munez," she said to Jacob.

His expression registered momentary surprise replaced by a quick scowl. "Why are you doing this if you're Carreon's lover?" He spoke to Zeke. "If you're so damn smart and right about everything, why didn't you think to ask her that before bringing her to our fucking stronghold?"

"Stop it," she ordered them both. "I'm not Carreon's lover…not any longer. I don't belong to any man."

Zeke made a noise as though to contradict her notion then spoke in a lowered tone to Jacob. "Kele's worried about you. She's in the hall." He gestured to the door. "Get your ass out there and tell her you're all right."

Jacob didn't budge. With arrogance, he regarded Liz's nudity, lingering on her erect nipples, her curly brown bush, the dried ejaculate his brother had left between her legs.

She didn't bother covering herself, nor could she deny her arousal. A pleasant ache settled in Liz's cunt, lubrication dampening it in expectation of a man's cock. Jacob's was wonderful, the skin darkened with desire, the crown plump, the shaft lengthening, growing even harder.

She imagined the taste of him on her tongue, clean and slightly salty, his skin's texture as welcome as the short dark hairs on his balls that grew plumper by the second.

"Now," Zeke ordered, breaking the heavy silence. "And give Nicholas a horsey ride too, while you're at it. He's expecting one."

Jacob acknowledged his brother with another frown. A charge of emotion passed between them that Liz sensed had to do with her, not Zeke's blunt orders. She should have gotten up and left. At the very least covered herself.

She couldn't manage either action.

Jacob studied her as though trying to read her thoughts then asked Zeke, "What are you going to be doing while I'm gone?"

Zeke didn't bother to hide his intentions. He regarded her nudity as Jacob had, the bulge behind his fly growing more pronounced, revealing his erection.

A part of Liz wanted to be alarmed or insulted at Zeke's dominance, his determination to own her.

The yearning he'd tried to hide, the way he'd looked when speaking about Gabrielle dispelled any fear, making Liz accepting of whatever he offered.

With an annoyed huff, Jacob rolled off the bed, the ends of his hair swinging above his ass. He wrapped Liz's blanket around his narrow hips and strode to the door, speaking over his shoulder, "Don't think I won't return."

Zeke offered no comment. Jacob slammed the door on his way out. In the hall, a chorus of female voices rose.

"Jacob," Kele cried, louder than the rest.

The young woman's joy went unnoticed by Zeke, his full attention remaining on Liz.

She recognized his lust, encouraged his dominance, her body softening in anticipation, her nipples growing taut.

He joined her on the bed, his weight causing the springs to squeal. Taking her wrists in one hand, he pushed her to the mattress, her body laid out beneath his.

Liz's breasts quivered with her ragged breaths. She lifted her hips, wanting her mound closer to his cock even as she relaxed her wrists, proving she'd offer him no resistance.

If her submission pleased Zeke, he didn't show it. Nor did he comment as he unfolded his length over hers, glancing down to where their bodies touched. His hair swung forward with the movement, the ends tickling her cheek. Against her thigh, she felt his shaft getting harder. There was brutal male strength in it, and yet tenderness in his touch, his thumbs stroking her wrists.

Liz surrendered to the wondrous sensations, wanting what he did, what she'd already given him the right to take.

He nestled closer, releasing a bit more of his weight onto her. She purred in contentment, finding his heaviness a delight, not a burden. She expected Zeke to release her wrists so he could shove down his jeans and mount her as he had at Carreon's house.

He kissed her cheek instead. She trembled, grinding her body into his. Ignoring her need, Zeke pressed his lips to her ear and whispered, "Thank you for saving my brother."

He sounded so grateful Liz wasn't certain whether to smile or cry like a sentimental fool. Zeke's capacity for love stirred her in a way she couldn't resist. Feeling mischievous, she said, "Just see that I don't have to do it again."

He laughed.

The full, rich sound healed another part of her battered soul and alarmed Liz greatly. With each passing minute, she found more to like about Zeke when she shouldn't. He was still Carreon's enemy, her father a prisoner of the man.

What had Carreon done since she and Zeke had left the stronghold? She considered what Zeke had said, believing he was correct—as long as her father had the ability to heal, Carreon wouldn't risk hurting him. In her heart, she sensed he was safe. Not only that, Carreon must have heard her fighting Zeke, demanding he leave her in the mansion. Carreon couldn't believe she'd left willingly, not with her father still at risk.

Zeke's laughter wound down. The corners of his eyes crinkled with his lingering smile, pulling Liz from her worry back into his seductive embrace.

"You don't know my brother," Zeke said.

Emboldened by his desire for her and the honorable man he kept proving himself to be, she asked, "Will I before the night's over?"

"Yes."

His answer was uncomplicated, devoid of emotion, telling Liz that he intended to share her with Jacob. She sensed part of it involved Zeke wanting his brother's full recovery with no danger of relapse. The more she touched Jacob, the deeper he was within her, the stronger he'd become, just as Zeke had.

Their culture added another element to the mix. Liz had heard rumors about their men sharing women, no different from what Carreon had done with her and his lieutenants.

This didn't feel the same. Zeke wasn't using her to get a carnal high. With him, Liz felt cherished, not exploited.

She twisted her wrists within his hands. He offered no reaction but did release his hold. Liz cradled his face, running her thumb over his bottom lip, guiding him down to her.

Zeke's composure fell away, evident in his throaty growl, his tongue thrusting into her mouth, his hand dragging down her body. He kissed and touched her like a man who'd never experienced anything more exciting. There was an inner fire in how he molded his mouth to hers, taking away any chance for her to deny him.

He rolled her nipple between his thumb and forefinger, mimicking Jacob's earlier movements, making these his own. When he touched her clit, Liz gasped at its sensitivity, the riot of sensations rippling from her cunt to her anus and down her thighs. With her moan, Zeke's tongue filled her mouth even more. He ran his fingers over her vaginal lips, so plump with arousal they'd already separated, revealing her entrance.

It made him wild and Liz listless in the best possible way, eager to yield, having no will except to submit.

He touched her nub again, working it, driving Liz crazy, pulling moan after moan from her.

Beneath the sounds, she heard another—wood quivering, a door opening, then slamming shut.

Zeke didn't budge from her, taking his time, acting like the leader he was, intent on what he willed and she had to have. They necked for minutes—deep, nourishing kisses—with him manipulating her clit, bringing her so close to orgasm Liz groaned, the helpless sound muted by his tongue.

There, he stopped, leaving her near the finish line but not quite past the point of no return. Pulling her mouth free, Liz glared at him. Zeke didn't notice; he was already watching Jacob.

His brother stood at the door, the blanket at his feet, his body bared, prepared to take what he wanted.

Liz saw the truth of it on his face, his savage need of her.

Her thoughts raced with wanton images of him on top of her, behind her, using her openings as he willed. She tried to fill her lungs and couldn't.

Jacob's cocky expression said her reaction pleased him. He strode to the bed, his shaft erect, his expression pure male, his intent clear. He was going to take her now, along with his brother.