Chapter Six

Bek’s breathing slowed, but her heart still raced, and heat still pooled in areas she would much rather ignore. The moment he’d pulled her into his embrace… She shivered. If not for the thick leather of his coat, he’d have felt her hardened nipples against his bare chest. And oh, what a chest it was. And on full display, too, between the remnants of his torn shirt.

Following on the heels of his heartfelt apology, her traitorous body had melted at his touch and her brain had gone on the fritz. Her hands had itched to touch him, and she’d quivered with an almost uncontrollable desire to wrap her legs around those lean hips of his and rub herself all over him.

So what if he’d apologized? He’d killed that guard. There was no mistaking she was in the presence of an apex predator. And if the way he touched her was anything to go by, she was his next prey. Then he’d growled… And she’d been all but his for the taking.

What the hell is it with me and dangerous men?

She pulled out of his grip and eyed the darkened forest, unease trickling up her spine. “Where are you taking me?”

“Somewhere safe.”

She planted her hands on her hips, wincing at the tenderness of her knuckles. “Safe for who?”

His hands firm on her shoulders, he spun her around. “Tell me what you see?”

She blinked at the vision before her. Blinked again.

No way.

A stone tower. Ancient. Medieval. It loomed out of the darkness, a stronghold against invading armies sitting atop the hill. The blood-red moon hung low behind it, staining its walls and giving it a macabre hue. She shivered. It wouldn’t have surprised her to see a horde of bats flying free from the top. What had he called it? Lonjay Keep?

Tower, my ass. It’s a freakin’ castle.

Like Rochester, only all that remained of Rochester was a hollowed-out shell, a remnant of the past and a tick box on a history tour of England. From what she’d seen—from her upside-down hazy vision of rough stone walls and antique-looking furniture—this Lonjay Keep was anything but a ruin.

She opened her hand, palm out, and stared at the coins she’d grabbed from the table. Silver and irregular. She’d seen similar ones as a kid on a school trip to the Museum of London. Slung over her shoulder was a worn leather wineskin. Not standard issue in the modern world either. Maybe medieval Thor wasn’t so delusional after all. Bek suddenly needed a long drink of the wineskin’s contents.

She pulled her arms out of his grip and turned to face him. “I don’t know what the hell is going on here, but you need to start talking.” She fisted her hands around the coins, widening her stance. “I’m not going a single step further until you explain”—she waved her hand behind her toward the keep—“that.”

He huffed, shaking his head. “We do not have time for this now.”

Bek held her ground. Maybe poking the beast wasn’t a wise idea, but now, clear of the keep, she could afford to be a little braver. A little bolder. She was not moving. Not until he gave her an explanation of how she’d wound up down Alice’s rabbit hole and in the middle some kind of medieval drama. Not until she could rationalize heading off into the woods with a complete stranger. One who, until recently, had been chained to a wall.

“ Merde. ” He tossed his arms up in the air, heaving out an exasperated sigh. “Fine. What can you remember from before you ended up here?”

Bek frowned. What do I remember?

“I’d been drinking.” Her hand slipped to her pocket and fingered the little gold disc. “I…ah…”

No way was she admitting she’d basically stolen it and had planned to hock it. The last thing she needed was some sort of bond with this guy based on a morally questionable decision she’d made.

“I found this.” She pulled the disc from her pocket and held it out in her palm, its tarnished gold stark against the silver coins. “I translated the strange writing on it. It’s some sort of rhyme or verse. Totally weird. Then everything went black. I fell. Next thing I knew, I was here. Well… in that basement…cellar…room…with you.”

“Were you bleeding?”

“No… Wait. Yes. What’s that got to do with anyth— Oh, come on . Blood magic? Really?” What is this? An episode of Supernatural ? Although… She cast her gaze over his bare torso again. Nah, Dean didn’t hold a candle to this guy.

“Yes. Truly.” The man was deadly serious. He pointed to his chest. “See this amulet?”

Her gaze followed his finger. There, hanging from a chain around his neck between the shreds of his shirt, was a gold disc. It looked just like the one she had in her hand. No, wait, not the same. His had a red stone in it. How had she missed it before? Her gaze flicked over his exposed chest, tinged red by the moon. She rolled her eyes. Yeah, that was how.

He picked up the amulet, showing her the stone. “This is a binding amulet.”

She screwed up her nose. Binding amulet? Binding what?

“Before my time, someone, most likely a powerful witch, created a lot of amulets and bound them to this one with magic.” He pointed to the one in her hand. “That is one of those amulets. With blood and the words spoken, you activated the spell and the binding amulet drew you to it. Call it blood magic, call it sorcery, call it whatever you will, but that is how it works. That is how you came to be here.”

She snorted. “Sure.”

“You do not believe me? Very well. Then explain how you came to be in that underground chamber with me. A room with one entry point—a locked grate—that you never opened. To a place far from your home soil where everyone speaks a language you do not speak. To a year, I would wager, that is long in your past, centuries even.”

He held her gaze, the challenge in his eyes unmistakable. Her stomach did a little flip-flop. She ignored her body’s call to action. “I don’t know how to explain it, but…”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “The guards, did they behave like these emergency services , these boys in blue you were expecting?”

Bek remained silent, his logic irrefutable.

“Is seeing a man bound in silver shackles and chained to a wall, something you have encountered before? Is it normal in your world?”

‘Well…no, but… I wouldn’t put it past Mrs. Wu.’

“ Merde , woman. Open your eyes.”

The rasp of his voice, the lilt of French and his accent… God Almighty. Even when he swore at her, it sounded sexy. It spoke to her of smoky, dimly lit bars, of black leather stretched across broad shoulders. Of the burn of whiskey shots down the back of the throat, and God help her, it spoke of sex. Down and dirty sex. Just the way she liked it.

For fuck’s sake, Bek. Get a grip. “Okay, let’s for a moment assume you’re right—”

“I am right.”

“Let’s assume you’re right. Why should I go with you ? Why should I trust you ? They chained you to a wall! What awful thing did you do to end up down there?”

Geez, that was rich coming from her.

She brushed aside the twinge of guilt. “Maybe I would be better off with… Who did you say owned this castle? A count? Maybe I should take my chances with him. Tell him you… I don’t know…witchcrafted me here.”

“Oh, trust me, sweetheart, that is the last thing you would want to do. You are not safe with the count. Nobody is safe with Lothair de Anjou.”

She flicked her gaze to the castle. “I still only have your word on that.”

“Enough.” He sliced his hand through the air. “You are coming with me. For your own good. You can walk on your own or you can go over my shoulder again. Make your choice.”

Bek glanced back at the keep and shivered. Yeah, she’d only been bluffing about returning there. She wasn’t stupid enough to head back to the scene of the crime. Her swollen knuckles were enough evidence she had somehow been involved in that guard’s demise. Testimony from the kid when he regained consciousness would only corroborate that.

She regarded the man standing before her. She knew little of history, even less about French history, but what she did know wasn’t comforting. As a woman, dressed as she was, and with her poor grasp of the French language, she didn’t much like her chances on her own. That left going with him. For now.

He raised an eyebrow. She took an involuntary step backward. He moved toward her, ducking his shoulder.

“Wait.” She held out her hands, holding him at bay. “I’ll walk.”

He straightened.

“But”—she wagged her finger at him—“if you so much as look at me the wrong way, that sword of yours is going to go somewhere really unpleasant.”

He chuckled. Bek scowled.

She might be half his size, but she was no wilting wallflower. “Try me, buddy.”

“Though it would amuse me to see you attempt to shove my sword up my ass, now is not the time. Come.” He grabbed her arm. “The guards will think something amiss when we do not return.”

Bek cast one last glance at the castle behind her as he propelled her along with him, taking her deeper into the gloom of the forest. Had she made the right decision? It wouldn’t be the first time she’d put her trust in the wrong man.