tests on me and others like me. And one day, they took me. When I woke, there was no child in me.”
She lifted her shirt to show the scar of a cesarean section. “They took the child out of me. Every day for months they strapped me down, pumped my breasts. I told myself the child lived, the child drank my milk. But they wouldn’t tell me. I thought to find a way to end it, end myself, but then I thought, if the child lived …
“I wanted the hope of that. Some among us could speak in the mind. They spoke of you, of The One. The day would come when The One would strike with her sword and the light would burn away the dark.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
By the time Fallon walked into the quarters arranged for her, dawn streaked over the east. Nadia’s hadn’t been the only story she’d heard through the night, and all of them circled in her head. Her heart.
Tales of torture and despair, of families torn apart. But through those tales she thought she might be able to pinpoint other containment centers.
She needed her maps. She needed a clear head. God, she needed a shower. A drink. One night’s sleep.
Even as she reached for the wine some considerate soul had left on a desk under the window, someone knocked on her door.
Her first thought was: Go away. For five minutes just go away. But she walked to the door, opened it.
Duncan stood, as battle-grimed as she.
“Colin said you’d just gotten in.”
She said nothing, just stepped back to let him in.
“I know you sent Mallick back to his cottage for a few days, and that’s a good call. We’re going to need him when he’s had his time. And I know he talked to you about the islands. The fact is we can’t spare the troops to handle the number of POWs we’ve taken, and we damn well can’t keep people locked up for-fucking-ever anyway, or we’re not much better than they are. That’s number one. Then there’s the resources we’d need to house, feed, treat, clothe. We can’t spare them, not indefinitely.”
“Duncan.”
He kept prowling the room, stirring up the air, the energy. Stirring everything.
“We need a solution. One we can live with, and one where those resources are used for the rescues, the troops, the people who’re just trying to live through this fuckfest.”
“Duncan,” she said again.
He spun back to her, fury and fatigue all over him. “What?”
“Shut up.” She grabbed him, locked around him. “Shut up, shut up,” she repeated as she crushed her mouth to his.
His hands gripped the back of her jacket, balled into fists. Then streaked up to take her hair in that same furious hold as he dragged her head back. His eyes, sharp and green, met hers.
“Don’t ask me to stop.”
“Shut up,” she said again.
She grabbed his belt, tugged until his sword and sheath clattered to the floor. His hands got busy as she yanked at his shirt. He threw one out to lock the door before her sword fell with his.
She had a farmer’s knowledge of mating, but already knew this would be more. She wanted more. She wanted all.
“Touch me. God, touch me.”
“Trying.” He fought off her jacket, shoved her onto the bed. Covering her, his mouth feasting on hers, he took her breasts in his hands.
Another rise, sharp and hot, streaming from her center, spreading, spreading everywhere. Oh yes, here was more. Should she have known—how could she have known—the feel of his hands, so hard and rough, would lift her up, so high, so fast?
She pulled at his shirt even as he yanked hers off. Now his hands—those hard palms, those strong fingers—took flesh. Took her breath. Arching up, she pressed her aching center to his.
Like the merging of powers, that joining, humming, humming, humming in the blood.
Her body, taut, lean, quivered under his. Those muscles, well honed, rippled strong. The feel of her—finally, finally, the feel of her—so long, so smooth, so hot, as if flames sparked under her skin.
Her heart galloped under his hands, then his mouth. God, the taste of her—dizzying. It rushed through his system, hot whiskey after a bitter chill. She bore bruises, cuts, burns left untreated from the battle. Half-mad, he healed as he touched, as he tasted, as he roamed the body he’d wanted longer than his own memory.
Her hands, as eager and questing as his, slid down, dug into his ribs. A stabbing shock of pain jolted