Darkest Before Dawn

“Am I dreaming?” she said in a sleepy, confused tone.

It was a compulsion, nothing more. He couldn’t have controlled it if his life depended on it. He brushed his lips over her forehead, right at her hairline.

“Yes, honey. It’s just a dream. Stay asleep and keep dreaming of the good.”

Her brow wrinkled as if she were sorting out his statement and pondering the truth of it. But then she shocked the ever-loving hell out of him, and he wasn’t a man who was shocked by anything.

“Then if this is a dream, will you kiss me?” she asked softly. “If it’s a dream, it’s not real, so it won’t hurt anything. And you’ll never know you kissed me because this is my dream, not yours.”

The thought rushed through his mind before he was even aware that it was there. No. Not just your dream. Mine as well. Fuck it all but this one mission with FUBAR written all over it.

He held his breath, unable to do anything more than lie there rigidly, her body molded to his like a glove. A perfect fit. What the hell was he supposed to do?

Another completely alien emotion gripped him by the throat.

Panic.

If he kissed her, it made his betrayal even worse. If he didn’t kiss her, he’d deny her the comfort she so obviously wanted—needed. And he’d vowed to give her nothing but good until the time came for him to hand her over to the enemy.

Goddamn it.

Fuck! He was already damned to hell. An eternity of torment and endless pain and torture. What was one more sin on top of the mountain he’d already committed? Somehow kissing a beautiful woman paled in comparison to all the blood he’d shed.

“And is me kissing you what you want to happen in your dream?” he asked in a hushed murmur, not wanting to pull her even closer to full consciousness.

He had the syringe so close to her flesh, and he didn’t want her to wake more fully. Hell, he didn’t even want her to remember this. It would only make it worse when . . .

He shook the thought off again just as she whispered and nuzzled against his neck.

“Yeah. You aren’t the badass you want everyone to think. I see you, Hancock. Maybe others don’t, but I do.”

His breath escaped in a hiss of shock and surprise, and guilt gutted him, consumed him until he was literally shaking with it. Before he could venture further into territory best left alone, he quickly inserted the needle and pushed the medication into her body.

She gave a flinch, her mouth parting against his throat, but he flung the syringe off the bed and quickly lifted his free hand to her chin, tilting it upward so his mouth could capture hers, swallowing any protest or question she might have voiced.

His entire body jolted as though he’d been struck by lightning. Every corny description ever penned about chemistry, compatibility, a first kiss was suddenly only too real. Even in an airplane, he felt as though the entire earth shifted beneath him. An earthquake in mid air.

He deepened the kiss because he was powerless to do anything else. Her mouth was like the strongest magnet. He couldn’t have pulled away. An entire army couldn’t have separated their lips.

It was like drinking liquid sunshine. As soon as his lips had met hers, she opened her mouth in a breathy sigh and he inhaled her. Consumed her. She tasted sweeter than anything he’d ever known.

He’d intended it to be a soft peck, nothing more. Just enough to satisfy her desire for a brief moment of intimacy. Human contact. Tenderness instead of the pain and violence she’d experienced for so many days. But as soon as he tasted her, felt the electric shock all the way to his toes, all thoughts of a chaste kiss and holding her until she fell back under fled.

She made a throaty hum that vibrated over his tongue. He licked at the inside of her mouth. Tasted every inch of the luscious haven. Satin and silk, velvety soft. The heat between them rivaled the scorching desert they’d traveled. Her fingers curled more tightly into his chest, her nails, the few that hadn’t been broken to the quick, digging into his skin.

He’d wear the marks from those nails, and for a brief time he’d have a reminder of her brand on him. Her mark. He wished to hell he could have them permanently tattooed on his skin. It would mark one of the best memories—and serve as a reminder of what he’d callously destroyed.

His grip on her chin tightened and then loosened as he fanned his fingers out to grasp her jaw, holding her in place as he devoured the sweet innocence she offered him. He was already going to hell and this . . . this would be a memory that could sustain him through the upcoming darkness. One single moment captured in time that he could pause and replay over and over so it was this he remembered and saw instead of other horrific images of Honor.

“I’ve never had a better dream,” she slurred, her eyes already half lidded as the draw of the medication pulled her deeper into its web. “So many nightmares. They never stop. First time I’ve dreamed . . . good. Thank you . . .”

Her voice drifted off even as he kissed her again, and he kept kissing her even when she went utterly limp and her lips went slack. And when he swept his lips higher, feathering them over her cheek, his gut clenched when he tasted her tears.

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arm around her, dragging her more firmly against his body while being mindful of her injured side.

She’d thanked him. God help them all. And she’d wept because for once her sleep wasn’t filled with terror and death. He wanted to ram his fist into the walls until his hands bled. He wanted to kill someone. Bristow, Maksimov, ANE. The whole sorry lot of them. Every single person who would put hands to Honor, hurt her, terrorize her, he wanted their blood. But most of all he wanted his own. He was the biggest monster of all. Because if not for him, the bastards would never get their hands on her.