“And were you?”
Stygian shook his head at the question. “I don’t kill children or innocents no matter the provocation. And that’s what it would have entailed.”
There had been more than once that he swore his mother had reached out from beyond the grave in anger at his choice.
“What about you?” he asked, pausing until she gave him a questioning look. “Who created Liza Johnson? A woman willing to face a team of Coyote soldiers with no more than a knife in her sneaker, three skin tags on her body and a communications link to God only knows who tucked in her pretty little ear? What made you think you could face four men you believed were soldiers sent by the Genetics Council and survive without help?”
He hoped the bastard who had allowed her to do it had to made his peace with his maker. Because Stygian intended to kill him for daring to send his mate into such danger.
Not that she seemed inclined to answer him.
Oh hell no, it couldn’t be that easy.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you tell me why a Breed’s kiss is so addictive? Or did you intend to wait until I couldn’t walk away before telling me the truth?”
Bingo.
His expression never changed, but Liza assured herself she wasn’t stupid. It had taken her a few minutes to figure it out—but once she had, she’d been certain of her conclusions.
“I asked first,” Stygian growled.
His expression might not have changed, but his tone sure had.
She’d turned the tables on him, and he didn’t like it.
As a matter of fact, he seemed completely surprised by the fact that she had done so.
A second later, she narrowed her eyes on the smug smile that tugged at his well-molded, sensual lips.
“I’ll take it that the rumors of a Navajo-based Breed Underground Network that helps Breeds and humans running from the Genetics Council is true. I’ll also assume you’re part of that network.”
A soft laugh left her lips. “You know what ‘assume’ does,” she reminded him. “It makes an ass of you.”
“Touché,” he congratulated her. “But the statement stands.”
Her arms crossed over her br**sts defensively, but Stygian sensed her amusement.
Damn, she was enjoying every minute of the dangerous byplay.
Stygian knew well the consequences of allowing Liza more information on mating heat that could contradict the Breeds’ stance that it was all rumor and false accusations.
Breed Law—the Breed mandates rather than those President Andrews had signed into law—expressly forbid the sharing of the information before mating occurred.
If Liza were to betray the information—before or after mating—then Breed Law could see them both dead. Unless Liza were pregnant, then it would merely see them imprisoned for life.
“We’re at a stalemate then?” she asked when he said nothing more.
“Not exactly.” He grinned and considered her bravado. “You could always let me kiss you. That would settle the issue once and for all.”
Only then would the risks of discovery, and the laws forbidding exposing it, be revealed to her. Perhaps then it would mean something to her as well.
“And the risk of being at your beck and call night and day because I’m so addicted to your kiss that I can’t walk away?” She snorted at the thought. “That’s okay, Mr. Black.”
So much for the subtle dare. Not that he had really expected her to fall for it.
“At least there’s a way to prove or disprove the theory.” He shrugged. “What do you have to offer to disprove my suspicion that you’re part of the Navajo Breed Underground Network that relocates and rescues Breeds that the Council has targeted?”
“The same as you have.” She shrugged as one little brow cocked a little higher than the other and laughter gleamed in her eyes. “Yep, sounds like a stalemate to me.”