Or that he’d been hunting her for years.
Damn his black soul.
She wished he’d never shown up, she told herself sternly. But now that she had him caged, she wanted answers.
Hiding her unease behind a mocking smile, Harley pushed open the door and stepped inside.
The basement was divided in half, one side being a high-tech lab where Caine practiced his scientific voodoo, and this side being an equally high-tech prison. Usually the three silver cages were used for curs who were stupid enough to piss off Caine, but over the past months Caine had installed the triggered traps in the yard to discourage intruders.
Her mouth went dry as she spotted Salvatore standing in the middle of the closest silver cage.
If he was dangerous before, now he was nothing less than feral.
The golden eyes glowed with a tangible heat, his lips curled to reveal the white teeth that could grow to lethal fangs in the blink of an eye.
“Let me out of here,” he demanded, his voice thick.
Harley forced her reluctant feet forward, refusing to be unnerved by the choking power that filled the room. God Almighty, she’d never felt anything like it.
“But I just went to so much effort to get you in there,” she taunted. “Well, maybe it wasn’t so much effort. Like all men, you see a woman and assume you naturally have the upper hand.”
Salvatore stilled, his fury morphing into something far more dangerous. With a slow glide, his gaze seared over her body, taking his sweet time in memorizing her every curve before lifting back to her face.
“Let me guess, you’re a woman who likes to be on top?”
“Always.”
“Come in here and I can show you the benefits of being on the bottom.”
A disturbing shiver raced through her body. “Being royalty really has gone to your head if you think a lame-ass line like that would ever work on a woman with half a brain.”
“Then there must be thousands of women with half a brain,” he drawled.
“The plastic blow-up kinds don’t count.”
“Cara, I could make you roll over and beg.”
Harley tilted her chin. Damn, what was it about this Were?
She should be getting a gun and shooting him in the head, not imagining his precise technique of getting her to roll over and beg.
“I’d rather do the gargoyle.”
Salvatore tilted back his head and delicately sniffed the air. He chuckled.
“Liar.”
Shit. Harley abruptly turned on her heel and studied the numerous torture devises hung on the cement wall.
“You said you’ve been searching for me,” she rasped.
“Si.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re a very special Were.”
“Special?” Her sharp bark of laughter echoed eerily through the room. “Don’t you mean defective?”