CHAPTER 4
She wasn’t dead. It was the first thing Scheme could think with any certainty. She was breathing. For now anyway.
There was no confusion, despite the grogginess. She knew exactly what had happened right until the moment Tanner’s arm had gone around her neck and darkness had washed over her.
Funny, she had been certain he was going to kill her. She had seen death in his hard, suddenly brutal gold eyes, and felt it pulsing in the air around her as he moved from the bathroom.
Her hand moved to her neck, feeling the slight soreness where something had pinched her. She had a feeling she was royally f**ked in a way she didn’t want to be. But what didn’t kill you made you stronger, right?
Bullshit.
Well, at least she wasn’t buried. She could feel the sense of space around her, a blanket lying over her, clear, clean air moving into her lungs rather than the feeling of dwindling oxygen. That would have sucked.
“You can open your eyes. I know you’re awake.”
Her eyes flew open, and it took every ounce of control she possessed to stare back at Tanner with even a modicum of control.
Yep, she was screwed. Not in a good way. Not even in a decent way. She was royally FUBAR, as her father’s second in command like to say. Fucked Up Beyond All Repair.
The man standing at the end of her bed wasn’t the suave, charming, sophisticated public relations liaison to the Breeds. Oh no. This was the animal the Council had created. Savage, intense, dangerous.
And she was now at his mercy.
Lucky her.
Her gaze shifted from the dark fury in his eyes. She couldn’t bear to hold it, to see the accusation in his gaze, the judgment. Not that she could ever expect anything else. She’d worked hard over the years to gain the Breeds’ total hatred, and she had succeeded. It made her job easier. Her life less complicated. It was just harder to see the truth in his eyes now, rather than the playful desire.
Her gaze touched on stone walls, stone floors. The bed she lay in was made of heavy wood with thick posters. Above, heavy material spanned the connected posters before draping to the floor. It was old-fashioned, almost medieval in design. Wildly romantic. There wasn’t a chance in hell the man staring at her from the end of it had had anything to do with its design.
There was a large overstuffed couch and several chairs at the other end of what appeared to be a large cave. An old-fashioned cast-iron stove sat not far from the sitting area, along with a circular table and four chairs. Cabinets were overhead and along the stone walls. Several metal pipes ran along the ceiling before disappearing into the stone walls, conduits of some sort. There was a television, stereo system, a small shelf of books, CDs and DVDs. All the comforts of home. Surrounded by stone.
“Where am I?” She had a feeling she really didn’t want to know the answer.
“Safe. For the moment.” Powerful arms crossed over his chest as he stared back at her, his eyes cold.
“For the moment?”
A heavy black brow quirked mockingly.
Scheme resisted the urge to swallow against the fear that tightened her throat. She could do this, she assured herself. He might be a rogue Breed for the moment, but eventually he would have to check in, right?
“May I have some water?” She licked her dry lips, fighting the fear and nausea as she had so many other times in the past. She faked it.
“For a price.”
“It would appear I’m most likely rather penniless at the moment.” She sighed. “Father has a habit of canceling credit cards and bank accounts on those he has assassinated.”
He had really done it. Cyrus had really grown tired of the game and decided to have her killed. It was like throwing out the trash, he had once told her. You had to get rid of the filth in your own organization sometimes. It seemed she had become part of the filth. Tanner’s head tilted to the side, his eyes, unique even among the Breeds, glittered with ice as a satirical smile shaped his sensually full lips. Thick, ropy muscles flexed in his arms as his head straightened and he continued to stare down his nose at her.
“What’s the price for a drink of water?” That look went hand in hand with the art of negotiation.
Amusement lit his gaze then. Just his eyes. A glimmer of it, nothing more before his gaze dropped to the blankets covering her.
“Whatever possessed you to sleep with an assassin?” he finally asked.
“A question is the price?” Negotiation was never that easy.
His lips quirked. “I told you, sweetheart, I have every intention of getting my piece of that tight little body. I was just wondering why your taste in men is so damned lousy.”