She had slept for twenty-four hours, so deep that she hadn't even known she had been examined. There was no doubt in her mind that she had dreamed. But what had she dreamed?
She closed her eyes and swallowed back the bile threatening to rise in her throat. She knew what she did when she slept so deeply, when the exhaustion finally overtook her and her body overrode her control. She cried and she begged. Fear filled her voice and horror whispered past her lips. She knew, because before she had always awakened to the sound of it, to the memory of the nightmares that haunted her.
She only prayed that she hadn't given her secrets away.
God, she was going to have to find a way out of this. There had to be a way to defeat this need, to still the hunger that ate at her and escape this situation. Nothing good could come of it. Only death could result. Her death.
But to leave, she had to walk away from Lance. She lifted her head then, her eyes still closed, and breathed in the scent of him. His home was infused with the smell of him. Strong and male, filled with a powerful sense of warmth she hadn't known she needed. But as she sat there in his bathtub, the heated water swirling around her, she realized that was what had drawn her to him that first night. That sense of warmth, of his body heat flowing from his hand into hers, swirling inside her soul and creating a bond that made no sense.
She couldn't do this. She blinked back her tears, realizing that the shields she had used to keep herself hard, to keep her emotions cold and unfeeling, were gone. She was vulnerable now, and she had no idea how to fix it. Hell, she didn't even know how it had happened.
The man had no idea what she was. He couldn't. If he did, he would have reviled her, just as Jonas so obviously did.
Six months. She sighed wearily as she leaned back and stared up at the ceiling, a frown pulling at her brow. She just had to make it six months, that was all. By then, this heat stuff, whatever it was, would surely dissipate. She could find a way to control it, to walk away as she needed to.
Ely said she had given her the hormonal treatment to prevent conception, and she hadn't been lying about that. Harmony could smell a lie a mile away. She could read it, even in Jonas; the doctor hadn't been deceiving her.
Okay. She straightened her shoulders. Six months. She could do this. She would be free then. Free of Jonas and of Lance.
She ignored the prick of regret at the thought of ever being free of Lance. It wasn't emotion, she assured herself; it was the thought of losing something she had never had and always wondered about. The warmth. The pleasure in touch. That was what she would miss.
Not the man. Never the man.
She flipped off the jets, pulled the plug to drain the water from the tub and stood carefully. She was still weak, but it would go away soon. The inactivity and lack of food had caused it, not anything serious.
Pulling the towel from her head, she shook her hair out, then moved to the counter and the overnight bag sitting there. Ely's voice had held some disdain when she spoke of the lotions inside. Lotion, hair products, makeup, oils and the tools needed to keep every inch of her body clean, soft and gently scented.
Not like it had been that first year of her escape. Her skin dry and flaky, the filth of the labs lingering on her, drawing in every Coyote sent to look for her. Tracking her had been easy then. Hungry, living on raw nerves and what scraps of food she could steal, Death had been close to succumbing to her own curse.
Not anymore.
An hour later, she shook her dry hair around her shoulders, feeling the thick, silken strands caress her satin-soft skin. It shimmered with life as the subtle morning dew scent of her lotions blended with the scent Lance had left on her body. She was no longer the scrawny, dirty animal who had been yanked from the gutters and dragged into the world of the living. She was Death when she killed. A dark shadow of vengeance, unstoppable in its resolve. As a woman, she was Harmony. Serene. Calm. And she would survive this.
Maybe.
CHAPTER 7
The only advantage of the hormonal therapy was prevention of conception, Harmony thought as night fully descended over Lance's home. Because it sure as hell wasn't helping with the arousal.
Well, the pain wasn't there. She could feel the building hunger growing inside her without the white-hot flames exploding in painful awareness of the need. But she ached. She was wet. And she wanted nothing more than to lick Lance from head to toe. Sitting in the open living room, Harmony tried to keep her attention on the news program showing on the widescreen television hanging on the wall across from them. Sitting cross-legged in one of the broad, comfortable chairs as she worked on her nails, she could see Lance from the corner of her eye.
He was slouched back in the corner of the couch. A large pillow rested behind his back and he held the remote with firm possession at his side.
The position gave Harmony the advantage of tracking every hard muscular line of his body. Long, powerful legs were encased in denim that did nothing to hide the absolutely luscious muscle beneath. He shifted a bit, stretching out more comfortably, drawing her attention to his thighs as they flexed. And she had no business letting her eyes wander to that area, because keeping her gaze from the hard bulge between them was damned impossible.
He was hard. His erection was like a thick wedge beneath his jeans, reaching toward his lower stomach. She jerked her gaze back to the television, but the pretty-boy charm of the newsman had nothing on the rough-around-the-edges, earthy draw Lance projected.
Within seconds her eyes shifted again, moving back to the temptation of the body stretched out in abandon on the couch.
He looked half-asleep. Drowsy-eyed, relaxed. Unthreatening. It was hard to believe this was the man she had allowed to cuff her, to gag her. The man who had kept her belt on, her pants around her thighs and f**ked her to dizzying heights.
Her vagina clenched at the memory. She could feel the dampness growing between her thighs as her ni**les began to press tighter against the loose tan cotton sleeveless shirt she wore with the wide-legged matching pajama bottoms.
If she sat there much longer, she was going to end up crawling up his body like the cat he called her. And God, wouldn't that feel good. Stroking along his body, licking at every delectable inch of male flesh as she went.
"Is it working?"
His voice jerked her out of the daydream, causing her eyes to widen as she jerked her head around to stare at him more fully.