Last Kiss Goodnight (Otherworld Assassin #1)(71)
Author: Gena Showalter

“He’s somewhere nearby, that’s all I know. I plan to hunt him down. But first . . .” He walked down Solo’s arm and stopped at the metal bands around his wrists. He peered inside the keyhole, mumbled to himself and nodded. “If I could heal the wounds the wolves left behind or open the cuffs, which would you prefer?”

“I think that’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever said.”

X laughed. “Noted. This might take me a while, since I have to disable the motor in the needles to prevent you from losing your hands.” Then he placed his own hands inside the keyhole and a bright light erupted from him, almost blinding Solo with its intensity.

One minute passed. Two. Three. Finally, the cuffs disengaged. The bands remained attached to his wrists, the needles still embedded in his bone, but all he had to do was rip out each of the needles, causing sharp pains to lance through his arm, and he was free. Sweetly, blessedly free, able to keep both of his hands.

Vika gasped with delight.

“If you had the power to do this,” Solo said to X, “why didn’t you do it before?”

“It was the circus. The black magic. My power was limited.”

That, he understood.

Again, “thank you” hardly seemed adequate. “X . . . I don’t have the words.”

“I don’t want words. I have only ever wanted to see you happy and settled, Solo. I hope you know that.”

X loved him, Solo realized. Really loved him. He’d thought Mary Elizabeth and Jacob Judah were the only ones, but no. He’d always had X, he just hadn’t known it. And he totally should have known, should have looked deeper than the surface. But he’d been so blinded by his problems and his distorted expectations.

“I do,” he finally said. “I really do.”

“Then do whatever proves necessary to stay that way, eh?” X said, and vanished to recharge.

Next time I see him, I’m going to kiss him on the mouth.

“Oh, Solo,” Vika said, jumping up and down and clapping. “How wonderful! Jecis will never be able to find you now.”

But Solo would find him, he vowed to himself, and that was a vow he would not break. “Come on, sweetheart. Only eight more hours of travel to go.”

A little whimper escaped her, but all she said was, “Tomorrow, while we’re in the cabin, I get to plan the day’s activities.”

“As long as those activities include a bed.”

Maybe she knew what he meant. Maybe she didn’t.

“Deal,” she said, and grinned as sweetly as sugar—as playfully as a kitten. Sealing her fate.

Twenty-six

O my dove, in the clefts of the rock, in the secret place of the steep pathway, let me see your form, let me hear your voice. For your voice is sweet, and your form is lovely.

—SONG OF SOLOMON 2:14

FINALLY!

The cabin came into view, small and partially hidden by trees and snow.

Solo knew there would be a security box somewhere on the property and searched every inch in a thirty-foot perimeter, until he found it inside the trunk of a tree. He had to scrape off the ice with his claws, proving no one had been here in a while, and punched in his personal code.

Blue and yellow lights flashed, signaling that the traps set along the borders had been disabled.

Next, he typed in the code for information. It had been six months since an agent had entered the premises, and four weeks since one of the trip wires had been activated, sending bolts of electricity through the offender’s entire body. Either a human had gotten a little too close or an animal had stalked his dinner a little too long.

“Sleep now?” Vika asked.

Her words were slurred, the poor darling. He had showed no mercy, had stopped only twice to make sure she ate the extra meat he’d packed, and drank the water he melted for her.

“Sleep now,” he replied, and swooped her up in his arms.

Her head rested on his shoulder, her body instantly going limp.

He got her inside, in the warmth. The furnishings were quaint and homey, here for comfort rather than war. A long cloth couch. A love seat. A recliner. A coffee table with old magazines spread over the surface. He was glad. He wanted Vika calm and at ease here.

He entered the master bedroom but bypassed the queen-size bed. In the bathroom suite, he stepped into the shower stall. At the circus, she had used a cheap, wet enzyme spray to clean the captives. That’s why she’d had to move their clothing aside and use rags. Here, with the more expensive dry enzyme, the removal of clothing was unnecessary.

His weight on the tiles triggered the automatic switch, and the spray began to mist over them, cleaning them inside and out, as well as their clothing. His skin tingled, and a minty taste even coated his tongue.

That done, he entered the bedroom and settled Vika atop the soft mattress. A mass of pale hair spilled over the pillow, and a soft sigh parted her lips. She curled to her side. He couldn’t help himself. He reached out, traced his fingers along the curve of her ear. She was such a stubborn woman. Such a beautiful woman.

His woman.

He removed her coat and tucked the covers around her. His fingers ghosted over the diamond choker he’d left on her. The stones were cold but pretty, and he wished he had bought the jewelry for her. Still, something about seeing so delicate a woman wearing it tempted the animal inside him. The animal he would have denied with his dying breath only a few days ago.

The animal he’d once hated.

Somehow, his biggest fault had become his greatest asset. He hadn’t used his strength to intentionally harm but to protect someone precious. And she was precious, wasn’t she? Precious to him in so many ways.

The need he had for her spun into the most sublime sense of satisfaction as he realized he would finally be able to have her. In every way. No interruptions. No distractions. No danger. And she was ready for him. He knew she was. Last time . . . the way she’d moved . . .

And then, this morning . . .

“Still frustrated?” he’d asked her.

“Maybe,” she’d snipped.

He’d worked her up but hadn’t given her any kind of release.

“Soon,” he promised her now, even though she couldn’t hear him. He placed a kiss on her forehead and stalked quietly through the house. It was two stories, though the second story was underground and only a trained eye would be able to find the doorway to below.

The heat was already on, the air warm, but he started a fire in the hearth in the living room anyway. The kitchen was small, with granite counters; cherrywood cabinets held enough boxed and canned food to see a family of four through a few months of seclusion. There was only the one bedroom. The other had been turned into an office.