THIRTEEN - Alana

THIRTEEN

Alana

Istretch in the big bed—my bed—as drowsiness tries to overwhelm me. After a very nice bath, my brain returned, and I decided I'm not ready for a night with Thorn.

True, I'm not sure any woman could be ready. But I'm still confused, and frankly, I don't want to encourage his bad behavior.

Even if it did almost lead to the unicorn of all orgasms.

I tilt my head on the pillow and then fight the urge to punch myself in the face. Submitting to him, the absolute dark pleasure in doing so, feels like a drug in my system. One I have to purge before I get even deeper into this, before I drown in every sensation he evokes.

I'm not stupid. The only way to fight both of us is to escape him and his pull. But right now? I'm actually listening for him.

He's been gone for hours.

I'm an intelligent woman, usually, but I can't wrap my head around the badass enigma. There's no doubt he enjoyed spanking me, but then he held me safe while I cried, finally walking away when I would've definitely torn off his clothes. He's dangerous, and I'm not entirely sure which way his moral compass points. Or if he even has one.

Then there's the burn of his eyes. A sadness lives there—one that calls to me.

That is a good enough reason to avoid him for the night and then figure out a way to escape his sprawling fortress tomorrow.

I fall asleep finally, thinking of that kiss and wanting more.

My dreams are a kaleidoscope of ocean storms and lightning strikes, until I go deeper into dreamland, where I'm both vulnerable and too young to handle the world I was born into.

I'm six years old again, clutching my stuffed blue teddy bear with its sparkling blue eyes. My fingers curl over the bear's rose quartz necklace; the one that makes me feel better. There's yelling.

I shut my eyes and huddle on the cold floor, my feet bare and one cut.

What is happening?

I don't understand. Tears slide down my face and I rock, my shoulders hitting the wall. Then I stop. Mama told me to be quiet.

Quiet is my friend.

I don't know where I am, and it's so cold. Freezing, really. What is happening? A screech of tires comes from nowhere.

Somebody is screaming.

"Alana. Wake up. Now." The voice is a low command that must be obeyed.

I jerk awake, sitting up and gasping. My ears ring. Furiously, I wipe tears off my cheeks. I'd screamed.

"What the hell?" Thorn strides to the velvet curtains and tears them open.

"No!" I shriek. "Shut them."

He instantly does so, partially turning.

I fumble for the bed table light. Then I wish I hadn't.

He stands against the cream-colored velvet drapes in formfitting black boxers. The good cotton kind. His hair is mussed and his eyes sharp. But that body. I try to swallow but every ounce of liquid in my throat has headed south. His tatted chest is a scarred masterpiece with slashes, burns, whip marks, and bullet holes.

The evidence of past pain somehow—and I'll never explain to anybody how—promises strength. Muscles play beneath his skin, not lazy and natural, but sharp and deadly. Life is terrifying, and he's strong enough to beat it down. Every time. Ink covers the right side of his body and flows down his arm. Garnets, roses, knives . . . and skulls. The intricate design isn't meant to be beautiful.

It's a warning.

I make sure to breathe in through my nose, not wanting to pass out. The echoes of the nightmare weigh down my limbs.

"You a vampire now?" he asks, still watching me. Missing nothing.

I blink. "Huh?"

He gestures with his head back at the curtain. "No light. It's barely after dawn. Explain."

I don't want to talk about it. Instead, I memorize his chest and muscled arms before noting how his body tapers to a slim waist and masculine hips. Who knew that hips could be masculine?

"I'm not going to ask again. You were screaming bloody murder."

Embarrassed at the screaming, I curl my fingers into the bedclothes, having found a new T-shirt to wear to bed. "I don't want to talk about it."

"What makes you think you have a choice?" He moves then. Right at me.

I scramble back but the headboard keeps me from going through the wall. As if I could.

He twists off the light, lifts the covers, and shoves his inferno-hot body into me.

I sit there. "Wait a minute." My lungs feel like I've been buried under the ocean.

With an exaggerated sigh, he clasps my bare thigh and pulls me beneath the covers. "I swear, you're more contrary than a country cow." His warmth seeps right beneath my skin, yet his fingers are freezing.

Left with no choice, I snuggle into him, my back to his front. "Did you just call me a cow?"

"Of course not. Why did you scream?"

In the darkness, bracketed by his brutalized body, I feel safe. Somewhat. Kind of? "You said you'd leave me alone."

"I meant in the sexual way." His breath brushes my hair. "Not in the cuddling-after-nightmares kind of way."

Against my will, a smile tugs at my lips. "Do you have a lot of nightmares?"

"More than I can count."

The words sadden me. I want to lighten the mood, and I really don't want to talk about the nightmare or the window. "Did you kill anybody tonight?" I hold my breath.

"One out of two," he says easily.

Oh. "Did the one deserve it?" Not that Thorn's moral compass of justice points north, anyway.

"He surely did." An iron-hard arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me even closer, his mouth nuzzling my ear.

Wings flutter inside me. A warning. "You said no sex."

"If you think this is sex, you need better streaming services." But he stops. "Were you even tempted to wait in my bed?"

I don't like being overwhelmed, and there's no other way to describe what he's doing holding me so close. Yet I do like this. My brain and my body have dramatically different ideas about how to handle Thorn Beathach. As if a wild animal such as he can be handled. "Stop fishing for compliments."

"I'm not. I just want the truth."

Yeah, he has a thing for the truth, doesn't he? "Yes. I was tempted."

He kisses the top of my head. "Good girl."

For telling the truth? Or for being smart enough to stay out of his bed? I'm not sure. "Do you really taste honey when I speak?"

"Yeah, though it's fleeting. Not too thick or sweet. Perfect, really."

Heat plunges into my face along with pleasure. I have no control over how my words taste to him, but I like that I can bring him comfort. How this makes sense, considering he killed a man earlier this night, I have no clue. But he did say the guy deserved it. My eyelids start to droop.

"You've stalled long enough. Tell me about the nightmare and why you're afraid of the dawn."

Part of me wants to confide in him this sleepy morning. The other part wants to tell him to get bent. Yet I figure that statement would count as defiance, and my butt is not up to another round with an irritated Thorn.

Sealing my decision, he runs one gentle palm up my arm and tugs on my ear, his body powerful as it covers me. "Trust me. Let it out."

"There isn't much to say. I have a recurring nightmare. I'm small and scared. It's raining and I hear . . . voices? Angry ones." I shiver and his arm flexes low on my pelvis. I can feel his erection probing my rear, and for the tiniest of seconds, I marvel at his control.

"What do you smell?"

"Vanilla candles," I say instantly. "And no, I don't see them. But I smell them."

He shifts his weight and groans. "Do vanilla candles mean anything to you?"

I shake my head.

He coughs out what is no doubt a healthy dose of my hair. "Have you ever been kidnapped? I mean, besides now?"

The reminder of my precarious position cools my interest in his heat and hard body. "Not that I know of." But I don't remember. "I've tried different shrinks and hypnotists, and nothing."

"What does your father say?"

"He's at a loss. According to him, I've never been kidnapped or put in danger. He has no idea where the dreams come from." I hate it when he looks at me as if there's something wrong with me. "I learned a long time ago to hide the nightmares but still sought help."

Thorn's lips brush the back of my head again, and electricity jolts through me. "Hear me when I tell you that if you need anything, I am at your disposal. I'll buy you any shrink, and when we discover the source of your fears, I'll slice off every inch until there's nothing left."

His vow rings true.

"Why?" I whisper. "We're enemies."

He rolls us over and settles his long form above me, holding the mass of his weight on his elbows. "We're not enemies."

I arch an eyebrow and try to ignore the hard-on against my core. It's impossible. My blood heats and speeds up through my veins, roaring loudly in my ears. I am so screwed up. "I'm the heir to Aquarius Social. You're the owner of Malice Media." I speak slowly because he needs to hear every word. "From the dawn of civilization, or probably before that, there have been four families." The four who have always ruled, regardless of country or even god.

"A history lesson? How intriguing." His dark gaze drops to my mouth. "From that dawn of time, men have consolidated power by creating unions."

I can't focus. "You want to create a union with me?" Should that idea terrify me?

"We're already connected, and you know it. Even though it's complicated," he murmurs, a hint of anger in his tone. "Why are you afraid of the dawn? Does it have something to do with the sun coming up?"

Complicated? Um, yeah. "No." I hate admitting this because it makes zero sense. My fear is as absurd as a porcupine in a balloon factory. "It's the windows. More specifically, the pattern in them."

He allows more of his weight to shift onto my body, and I feel every solid inch of him pressing me deep into the mattress. In addition, I learn I'm only human. My hands, I swear on their own, travel along the defined topography of hard muscle of his arms up to his shoulders. "The X pattern?"

"Yes. And before you ask, any good answer got lost in the mail somehow. The second I see that pattern, I want to scream, run, and hide. It's nauseating. It's a phobia but one that isn't common and hasn't been traced back to the source." I know the shrink talk because I've seen several established professionals. "If you want to truly drive me crazy, stick me in a room with those windows and toss in a couple of life-sized nutcrackers."

His upper lip curves. "Nutcrackers?"

"Yeah." I'm fascinated by his mouth and want to trace it, but instead run my finger along his brutal scar.

His chest rumbles in a sound I'll never be able to recreate. A cross between a purr and a growl. The lazy lion is satisfied for now. "Nutcrackers are harmless."

"Ha. Until they snap your neck in their jaws." I shiver. "Creepy. How can anybody see them as spreading holiday cheer?"

His gaze bores into mine while his heat pierces my skin and goes deeper, warming me. "I'll keep that in mind."

"You should. Those little buggers probably love big bad beasts. With their wooden bodies and fake smiles, you're lucky you haven't already turned into their Christmas dinner. I bet your overabundance of muscle would make a good roast."

"Overabundance?" He looks slightly miffed.

I chuckle. "Okay. You have the optimal blend of brawn and sinew."

"That's better." He licks his lip as if tasting the best brew of his life. "The gang members I interrogated tonight wanted you kidnapped, not killed."

Should that be a relief? I guess it is. "Kidnapping me makes more sense now that I'm on the board of Aquarius. I guess I'm glad nobody wants me dead." Does that mean he's going to release me? I wonder if he'll let me borrow a couple of the books from his library. "Since we're talking so, um, closely . . . where did you get the scar?" I run my finger across the bridge of his nose.

"Justice, his mom, and I were kidnapped when I was a child." Thorn banishes all expression from his face. "I was tortured on a live feed to gain my father's cooperation. The attempt failed, but he did rescue Justice and me. Charity was killed."

My jaw drops. "I'm so sorry."

"He at least destroyed the people who took us. They were an up-and-coming internet company that he blew up." Thorn's eyes glitter. "However, my father and I were never close, and I knew he planned to kill me at some point—even heard him talking about it to his second in command once."

I gulp. "Why would your father want you dead?"

"I'm more powerful than most, and my connection to the garnet stone is a crucial part of the way we've learned to harness the energy of social media. He was threatened by me, figured he had plenty of longevity, and had started making plans." There isn't an ounce of hurt in his voice. "All threats require eradication, but he pushed me too far one day, and I guess I won that battle."

"What happened?" My heart hurts for him.

Thorn exhales, pressing his chest against my aching nipples. I gasp and try to cover the sound with a cough. The slight amusement filtering into his hard-flint eyes shows I fail. "I killed him. I was fifteen and Justice thirteen, and our father was beating Justice almost to death for some silly infraction. I chose my brother, and I guess, myself." Thorn shrugs. "I always blamed my father for Charity's death, anyway. She was Justice's mom. Almost my mom, too." His grinds his back teeth together.

I dig into the sides of his jaw with my thumbs, forcing him to relax. "Why? Your kidnappers killed her."

He presses a kiss to my nose as if he can't help himself. "She was taken from both of us, Justice and me. Charity was good and kind, and her words tasted like blueberry jam."

My heart aches for him. "Why blame him if he didn't kill her?"

"She was his," Thorn says simply. "He took her as his wife, and it was his job to keep her safe. His woman, his responsibility. Anything that happened to her was on him."

Whoa. Old-fashioned thinking, there. "Welcome to the current century, caveman. The game has new rules." I lessen the pressure on his jaw hinge. "We women can take care of ourselves."

"You might want to look where you are right now." His face is immovable, but his tone remains indulgent.

He isn't wrong. Worse yet, there's a strange allure to his worldview. With his unyielding strength and primal attraction, I can't help but feel safe. And confused. Worse yet, a veil lifts inside me. We're both damaged by who we are and by our families in the same way. That lost desperation inside me, that dark void I won't admit to anybody, has found an answering one in him.

Together, we click.

No. That's crazy. I am not clicking with a sociopath. Panicking, I start to babble. "I have a scar, too, on my lower rib cage. From the car accident when my mother died." We're both survivors.

He rolls to his side and lifts my shirt, palming my stomach and caressing until he finds the long scar. "That had to have hurt."

"I don't remember, really." His touch is killing me. If he just goes a little lower . . .

A knock sounds on the door. "Car's ready," Justice calls out, his footsteps quickly receding.

"I have to go." Thorn rolls over and gracefully stands. "Get some sleep. We'll talk later."

My body chills as I watch his graceful movements toward the door. "When am I going home, Thorn?"

He doesn't look back. "You are home." With that, he opens the door and prowls into the hall.

I rear up. "Wait a minute." My heart thunders. He's pulling me into his world way too fast, and I can't think clearly being in his space. "You can't keep me here!" I yell.

"Watch me." Then he's gone.