Enslaved (17 page)

“Thirty…eight dollars.”

“We also need some food. Little lady here can’t wait to get me alone, but she’s hungry. Think you can run to the fast-food joint down the road and get us something to eat?”

“S-sure.”

Slowly, Gryphon released the kid’s wrist, pulled money from his pocket, and slid it across the counter. The kid pocketed the cash, then reached for a key hanging from a hook to his right, moving as if in a trance. He slid the key across to Gryphon. “Number eight. Last door. Will take me about a half hour to get the food.”

“That’s fine,” Gryphon said, looking down at Maelea. “Gives us time to get…comfortable. Right, honey?”

Sickness rolled through Maelea’s stomach. This kid was her only hope, and Gryphon had easily turned his brain to butter. She didn’t answer, but her stomach turned when Gryphon leaned down and kissed her cheek.

I
need
you.

She hadn’t lived nearly three thousand years to have her life come down to this. If she was to prove her worth to the gods and earn her way to Olympus, she had to get away from him. She had to beat him at his own game and come out the winner in the end.

She didn’t fight him when he grasped the key and turned her toward the motel room. She was already thinking three steps ahead as their boots echoed across the sidewalk.

He leaned close and whispered, “You did well. As long as you cooperate, nothing bad will happen.”

She didn’t answer. His warm breath rushing across her chilled skin set off a rush of tremors deep in her body. Ones she didn’t like and were at complete odds with the sickness brewing in her stomach.

He stopped at the truck, yanked open the door, and grasped the clothes they’d taken from that army surplus store. Then he ushered her toward the last door at the end of the motel and handed her the key.

Her pulse raced as she unlocked the door. The smell of bleach assailed her nostrils as they stepped inside. A filthy green shag carpet covered the floor. A narrow hallway opened to a bathroom on the right. Ahead, a double bed sat flanked by two nightstands holding wood lamps with stained yellow shades. Across the room, an old, beat-up armoire housed a TV, and next to the sliding glass door on the far side, a mismatched table and chairs was pushed up against the wall.

Gryphon dumped the clothes on the floor near the armoire and jerked on the cuffs linking them together before she caught her bearings. “Come here.”

Her anxiety shot up as he pulled her into the bathroom and flipped on the light. Carpet gave way to dirty linoleum. She blinked twice under the fluorescent beam. A bathtub reflected in the mirror that ran along the wall above a counter and single sink. Gryphon closed the door at her back. From his pocket he produced a key and unhooked the cuff from his arm, freeing his hand and breaking the bond between them.

The cuffs clanked against her wrist where one was still locked tight. Freedom burst inside her as Gryphon slid the key back into his pocket, then peeled off his shirt, tossing it on the toilet lid behind him. But that freedom turned to unease as he unsnapped his jeans and pushed the denim down his legs.

Maelea stepped back until she hit the wall. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“We both need a shower.”

Her eyes grew wide. “I’m not showering with you.”

He kicked off his pants, leaving him clothed in nothing but gray boxer briefs—briefs he filled out really,
really
well—then reached for her. “You smell like a pond. It’s either with me or not at all.”

She swatted at his hand when he gripped the bottom of her shirt. “I’ll stay dirty.”

“You’re not staying out here alone while I shower.” He easily grabbed her hand. “Stop fighting me or I’ll handcuff you again.”

Her pulse picked up speed. And she wasn’t sure, but she thought she felt his finger moving against the pulse point of her wrist. “
Élencho
doesn’t work on me, you bastard.”

A ghost of a smile made him look devastatingly handsome. She didn’t doubt that this was a male who knew how to get what he wanted from a female. “I didn’t think it would, but it was worth a shot.”

He moved a fraction of an inch closer. Just enough so his body brushed hers. That darkness inside jolted with excitement. “I have no intentions toward you except keeping you within my sight. If you cooperate, we’ll be in and out of this shower before our food arrives.”

Liar.
He’d made it clear over and over that he needed her for something. She wasn’t stupid when it came to men, especially this one. Not after the way he’d kissed her in that cave.

Or had she kissed him? The entire moment was jumbled in her mind. But she remembered the heat. The slide of his tongue against hers. How wet and tantalizing he’d been. How tempting.

Her cheeks heated with the remembered lust and embarrassment. “I don’t believe you.”

His smile faded, and something dark crept into his light blue eyes. Something that made her catch her breath. A haunted look that spoke of pain and…torment. “I only want a shower. I won’t force you into anything else. I won’t do to you what was done to me.”

Maelea’s pulse raced beneath her breast as she stared into his eyes. He was talking about the Underworld. What had happened to him there? All sorts of scenarios raced through her mind, but she couldn’t imagine him the focus of any single one. Not the strong, commanding warrior who’d escaped the colony, battled both kobaloi and daemons, and won.

But it was the Underworld. Hell. The land of the depraved. Not Disneyland, for crap’s sake. Hades could have done any number of things to him there, and even he wouldn’t have been able to stop them from happening.

Don’t trust him.

“I promise,” he whispered, his gaze still locked with hers. “I won’t hurt you.”

That darkness inside bubbled with exhilaration, and the fight slid out of her muscles even though she willed it to stay. As if he sensed her wavering resistance, he grabbed his pants from the floor, fished the key from the pocket, reached for her wrist, and unlocked the cuff. The metal clanged against the floor. And in the echo that followed, he tugged her shirt up and over her head before she could stop him, leaving her standing in nothing but her pants and thin bra.

Her nipples tightened under his heated gaze. She crossed her arms over her stomach so he couldn’t see her inner forearms. This was a bad idea. This was not something she should be letting him do. Why wasn’t she fighting him?

Warmth unfurled in her stomach as he moved closer. And oh, gods, she had to put a stop to this. But before she could find the words, he dropped to his knees and reached for the button at her waistband.

Chapter Ten

Beside Gryphon, Maelea tensed. Her hands landed against his bare shoulders, but she didn’t push him away. And when he unzipped her boots and slid her pants down her legs, tugging both off in one fluid motion, she didn’t try to stop him.

His gaze traveled up her bare legs as he tossed her clothes on the ground at his side, hovered on the nude-colored panties she wore, which weren’t sexy in the least but made his blood pulse hot in his veins. Then traveled over her flat stomach to the swell of her breasts hidden behind the plain nude fabric of her bra.

He cringed at the bruises he saw on her skin, but in the light couldn’t help but notice curves he’d felt in the tunnels. Her stomach quivered and memories of that kiss, of how warm and alive she’d been against him, rushed through his mind, reigniting an arousal he hadn’t felt in months.

Except with her.

He pushed to his feet, looked down at her face, and saw the unease in her eyes. Then ground his teeth against the desire burning in his veins. He hadn’t lied to her. Even though he was keeping her with him against her will, he wouldn’t force her to do something she didn’t want to do. He’d never give her the nightmares he lived with on a daily basis.

Grasping her hand, he tugged her toward the tub. He pushed the curtain aside, flipped on the water, waited for it to warm, then turned on the shower.

Steam filled the room. Maelea grew tense all over again as he stepped beneath the spray and pulled her in after him, drawing the curtain closed behind her. Water soaked the boxer briefs he still wore, plastered them to his body. As he moved aside to make room for her under the spray, he forced himself not to look at her bra. Instead he let go of her hand and reached for the soap.

He rubbed the bar between his hands until it created a lather, then brushed his fingers over her shoulders.

She jumped, tried to move back, but the shower wall stopped her momentum. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Washing you.” He trailed soap down her biceps, back up again. Bubbles formed a frothy path along her skin that shimmered under the fluorescent lights.

“I can wash myself.”

“Relax.”

Her mouth snapped shut. She didn’t fight him, only stood rigid with her arms wrapped around her middle as he moved the bar down her chest and over to her side. Though he knew he shouldn’t be touching her, knew she was throwing off every
I
don’t like this or you
sign in the book, he didn’t stop himself because any kind of distraction was better than waiting for the bloody voice to come back. And taking charge also guaranteed they’d be in and out of this shower as fast as possible, which was all he wanted right now.

He soaped her neck, her collarbone, moved his hands in quick, clinical sweeps. And managed to remain somewhat detached until his gaze hovered on a path of bubbles sliding down her pale skin. The soapy mass disappeared beneath the edge of her bra, and before he could stop them, his eyes dropped to her dark pink areolas, easily discernible behind the now-translucent fabric, then finally lingered on the hard nubs of her nipples.

Blood rushed to his groin. That arousal roared in his veins. Without thinking, he trailed his hands down the outsides of her breasts, pushed her arms aside and rubbed the soapy lather all over her soft, silky abdomen and down to her perfectly flared hips.

She drew in a startled breath but he didn’t look at her face, was suddenly too entranced by her body. His gaze slid farther south, to her wet panties, to the dark vee of hair now easily seen behind the thin satin fabric. To that place he desperately wanted to see more of.

His cock grew thick and hard as he studied each gorgeous inch of her body. As he remembered what she’d felt like in that cave, how she’d tasted against his tongue. And in the silent steam circling his head, he knew without a doubt that he wanted her. More than he had before. More than he’d fathomed possible when he’d decided to pull her into this shower in the first place.

Common sense told him to
get
the
hell
out
right
now
, but he ignored it, wanting only to prolong this moment. He dropped to his knees, dragged the bar of soap across one hip and down her thigh. She sucked in another breath and held it, then gently rested her hands against his shoulders as if trying to balance. And this close, with the only sound the rush of water from above, he caught her scent. Jasmine and…the sharp tang of her own arousal.

His gaze darted up in surprise. Her eyes were closed. Her lips tightly compressed. Against his shoulders, her hands tensed as he continued to rub soap all over her legs, but she didn’t push him away. And when his fingers brushed her inner thighs, she
moaned
.

Holy hell. She was as turned on as he was. The realization made his balls tingle; shot an image of him sliding off her panties, brushing his fingers against her most sensitive flesh ricocheting through his mind until it was all he could focus on.

No.
No.
He couldn’t do that. He’d promised her he wouldn’t.

Swallowing against the urge, he pushed to his feet. Knew he needed to finish this and refocus. “Turn around.”

She let go of his shoulders, did as he said without a word. And then it was his turn to groan. It had been too dim to see well in the caves but in the fluorescent glow of the bathroom he got his first good look at what he’d only barely had his hands on earlier. Strong toned shoulders, a slim waist, and a firm, tight ass he definitely shouldn’t be staring at now.

Shower…shower…think about showering. Not sex. Definitely not sex. This is about getting clean. Not getting off.

Heat seared his skin, sent sweat slicking his forehead. He swept the soap over her spine harsher than he intended, and only barely brushed her backside before turning her around again. And though he tried not to notice the pink tinge to her cheeks that said she knew exactly what he’d been thinking, he couldn’t ignore the way her eyes remained tightly shut as if she couldn’t stand to face him. As if she were repulsed by him. As if he were every bit the monster she believed him to be.

The arousal he’d felt before swept out on a wave. A mixture of disappointment and anger rushed in to fill the void. What did he expect? That she’d
like
his touch? That she’d
want
him after everything he’d done? He really was psychotic if he thought she’d ever see him as a man. Clenching his jaw, he ran the soap down her arms to her fingers, all the while calling himself a fucking idiot, then faltered when he caught sight of the fine white lines all over the soft skin of her inner arms.