Tamed: A Prison Planet Romance (The Condemned Series Book 4) Page 8

He’d found lots of the creature’s prints and erased them as best he could, but he’d discovered no sign of the actual animal. It was just as well. He wasn’t in the mood, the desperate pleading in Nayla’s voice as she begged him not to kill her pet…well, it had soured any thought of such a hunt.

  So, small game it was.

  Addressing his larger problem wasn’t as easy.

  Puzzle pieces were starting to come together and not in the way he’d expected.

  His enemy was looking less like an evil bitch and more like a victim with every passing heartbeat.

  She hadn’t even had a damn name. Or been touched in any way meant to elicit pleasure. And she acted like a smelly, feathered predator was her family, best friend, and savior rolled into one, maybe because it was.

  But she still had secrets she refused to share. She was still the same flesh trader she’d been before. Not to mention the commander was still on his ass and Malin and his knives weren’t going to give a shit about her past.

  Which meant he couldn’t end the interrogation.

  Even if he was getting the gut-blaring sense that prying Nayla’s secrets from her was going to cost them both.

  Especially because there was no pretending she didn’t fascinate him in ways no female had before.

  A warning rippled across the back of his neck like ghostly fingers. The whisper of sound. He shoved dinner into a crevice and dropped, folding to his stomach. He pressed into the overhang as if they were one. He might not have seen anything, but he listened to his instinct. It had always served him well.

  Sure enough, a few heartbeats later, a shadow passed below. Definitely not Sharluff.

  Grif was glad for his perch, and the fact that he was upwind. His first assessment of the form below was human, then animal because of the silent, sleek way it moved, and then Grif knew. He was looking at someone from Nayla’s pack.

  A male humanoid. Attempting to locate Grif’s captive.

  Not going to happen.

  The pack male was no more than five feet six, but stacked with solid muscle, his broad chest making him appear almost as wide as he was tall. It looked like he could crush a rock between his pecs alone. Someone as tiny as Nayla would be no match against that kind of strength.

  He was also bald, with a flat nose and sharp pointed ears, and, unlike Nayla’s golden skin, this male’s flesh was a patchwork of gold, red, and black that enabled him to blend in disturbingly well with the cliffs as he worked his way along the path toward the pit where Grif had first trapped his captive.

  The male was grunting to himself as he scanned the ground, his face twisted into a scowl, a glowing spear held tight in his grip.

  Two good-sized tusks jutted from his lower lip.

  While Nayla’s fangs were tiny and damn close to adorable, protruding from the top of her mouth and only visible when she snarled, this guy’s lower chompers looked like they could tear the skin from a body as easily as a Tigos.

  An angry bark issued from the male. He pounded forward. Grif didn’t have to be a mind reader to guess what had prompted the male’s reaction. He’d found the pit. The guy moved so fast and silently, it was almost as if he were floating over the ground rather than walking on it.

  Another low growl. The male was on the move once more. Grif followed as best he could, sliding along on his stomach as his target moved from the pit to where Grif had captured and roped his prey.

  The male’s upper fangs flashed as bursts of red and orange rippled across his skin.

  Grif was suddenly pleased he’d taken the time to wipe away all traces of his route from here on out. He’d was also thankful he’d done such a good job erasing Sharluff’s tracks.

  Undeterred, the rescue party of one surveyed the area, his gaze intent.

  The guy’s persistence pissed Grif off, and pleased him, too. The former because he didn’t want anyone honing in on his captive. The latter because, in some sick way, he was glad there was someone out there who cared enough to look for Nayla.

  Even if Grif was going to make sure she wasn’t found until he was ready to give her up.

  A series of low frustrated grunts erupted from the male as he swept the area in wider, erratic circles, his movements more frustrated with every pass.

  The pack male had lost the trail. Just as Grif had intended.

  The next time the male circled past, he came close enough to Grif’s overlook that he could easily make out the golden symbols on the pack hunter’s skin, far more numerous than his captive’s, as well as deep lines etched in evenly spaced patterns down his arms and thighs, far too precise to be anything but purposeful scars.

  As near as the male was, it would have been easy to leap out and engage in one fell swoop.

  Grif forced himself to stay right where he was.

  With Nayla chained and vulnerable, engagement was too great a risk. Especially when the bastard was the one with the glowing spear.

  He just hoped the fucker didn’t stay too long.

  13

  “Wake up.”

  Nayla woke with a start, the sensation of intense green eyes boring into her enough to have her springing upward—only to be shocked she could. Her wrists were roped together, but her arms and ankles were free from the manacles.

  When she’d decided to rest her eyes, she’d been alone in the cave, lying on her side under a blanket, one wrist and one ankle chained to the restraints.

  She’d dreamed of green predatory eyes and terrible, beautiful pleasure.

  Before he’d left, her captor—Grif, it was strange to know his name—had allowed her to release her bladder in a small cave with a trickle of running water through its floor, but he’d watched the whole time, his gaze hard and alert. There’d been no chance for escape. After she was done, he’d taken her back to the blanket, fed her a chalky square of unidentified nutrients that tasted better than it looked, and ordered her to rest.

  Then, he’d grabbed his harness of weapons and left. She feared he was going to hunt Sharluff. Terrified, she’d fought her chains until she wore herself out. After that, she’d been too exhausted and sore to do anything but follow his command.

  Sometime since, the Other had returned, undone her restraints, roped her wrists, and covered her with a blanket, and she’d slept through it all.

  Now, he sat across the cave from her, on a chair of bone and hide sturdy enough even for someone as large as him. His jaw was tight, his mood even edgier than when he’d left, his stare locked on her.

  The scent of cooking meat wafted through the cave, thanks to the skewers of dalte roasting over the fire.

  She forced herself to ask. “Sh-Sharluff?”

  Something soft flickered in his gaze, but it was gone in the next instant. “No sightings of that creature.”

  His phrasing was strange, but relief slammed through her nonetheless. Her loyal friend was still alive.

  “Come.” He summoned her to him with the crook of a finger. In his other hand, he held up a fingerful of cooked meat. “Leave the blanket.”

  Her stomach growled. The urge to flee and simultaneously leap forward and rip the meat from his hand hit all at once.

  Her hand gripped the blanket tighter.

  “I won’t ask again.”

  Stiffening her spine, she rose and glided toward him.

  She eyed the restraints as she passed them. The chains that had held her wrists hung loose and still, the manacles ready to be closed around her limbs the moment her captor determined it was time to demand more information.

  She was at his mercy. Subject to his whim. At the thought, the shameful heat between her thighs flared higher.

  She stopped just in front of him, her thighs less than a finger’s length from his knees, her bound wrists pressed tight to her breasts. The delicious smell of cooked meat filled her lungs—along with the exotic aroma of the male himself.

  Before, the scent of him had been alien and frightening, now it brought to mind mindless pleasure and rough, commanding touches
.

  Something had changed between them since she’d admitted what she was, she just wasn’t sure yet how.

  He sprawled in the chair, legs spread and jutting out, taking up space, his position relaxed, though the look in his stare was anything but.

  His chest remained bare, but he’d taken the time to wrap a dry cloth around his waist. It hung low on his hips, making it impossible to miss the slabs of muscle that crisscrossed his stomach or the hair that covered the expanse of his massive chest and thighs.

  Her heart beat faster.

  Even sitting, he was still so big his eyes were even with hers, his shoulders three times the size of her own.

  Despite herself, her trembling increased, as did the fire between her legs, a never-ending torment.

  She didn’t understand why. She didn’t understand this strange pull toward a male she should hate.

  “It’s not just you.” His words were low and intent, his stare boring into her as if he’d once again read her mind.

  She sucked down a sharp breath.

  “There’s something between us. Won’t matter in the end. I’ll do my job, but there’s no point in pretending it isn’t there. Complicating things.”

  Everything inside her stilled. “W-what is it?”

  “Lust.” He shrugged as if it didn’t matter. To her it felt like everything. “Honesty. A connection. Few people get to be so real with each other. Our sessions leave you exposed, but you’re not the only one.”

  “I-I no understand.”

  “I’m coming to see the real you. Your strengths, your vulnerabilities, your desires. But you see me as well. My teammates call me the Boy Scout. Charming, even.” He shifted, the corded muscles in his chest flexing as he sat taller, his dark emerald gaze boring into her. “You could tell them different. You could tell them who I really am and how far I’m willing to go to get what I want.”

  His hand landed on her shoulder, a heavy paw that pushed her slowly to her knees. “I know your body’s reaction to touch. You know the monster that lurks inside me.”

  His words felt important. A confession to match her earlier one.

  Another secret just between the two of them.

  She landed between his thighs, kneeling, her mouth inches from the growing bulge beneath his loincloth.

  The burning between her thighs sparked hotter.

  He held out the piece of meat between his two fingers. “If you use those fangs on me, there will be consequences.”

  Was he actually allowing her to eat?

  Gaze watchful, she opened her mouth. He tore off a small piece and placed it on her tongue. She moaned aloud. After so long subsisting on scrub brush and crawlies, the taste was delicious. A bit of fat and oil dripped down her chin. She barely resisted the urge to lick that, too.

  Scowl deepening, he wiped the droplet with his thumb. Then, he held up another piece. She hadn’t noticed before, but he’d laid out a few pieces on a cloth and put them on the chair next to his thigh. “When was the last time you ate?”

  She hesitated.

  “That hardly qualifies as a deep, dark pack secret,” he chided.

  “Four rotations.” He fed her once more. She glared at him as she chewed, but it wasn’t much of a glower. The meat filling her belly tasted too good. “You steal from my traps.”

  “Before then?” He slipped another small piece between her lips. “Were you eating well before that?”

  She shook her head. “Others take all pack territory and food.”

  He leaned forward and down, his nose nearly grazing hers, another piece of meat raised high in between them. “Is that why you came to the camp and traded with others of my kind? You needed food?”

  She clamped her lips shut. If he thought a few pieces of food would turn her into a compliant pet, her captor was less intelligent than she’d come to believe.

  The line between his eyebrows deepened. “So stubborn.”

  It was the only reason she’d survived so long.

  “One of your warriors came looking for you.”

  She swayed on her knees. How could that be? Pack were forbidden from this area, and Talg would never send anyone to check on her.

  Her captor’s too-sharp gaze never wavered, cataloging every flicker of fear and hope she fought to hide. “Stocky, bald, massive tusks.”

  That could be any pack male, but there was only one who would even consider defying Talg’s order, Ramm. The only hunter who had been remotely kind to her.

  She pressed her lips together to keep from begging to know his fate.

  “Nothing more to ask?” Her captor leaned back in his seat, that edge of darkness crackling from his skin to hers. “No follow-up questions about his current state of existence?”

  He knew she was desperate to know.

  She sensed there was something more, too. He was riled. Almost angry. The monster inside him not quite as controlled as usual.

  Her gaze dipped to his knuckles. No blood or bruises, but he could have used one of his weapons.

  “D-did you hurt him?” The words tumbled out.

  His jaw went tight. “So you do care about what happens to this male, almost as much your Sharluff.”

  “Is…is he in the Void now?” The thought of Ramm dead hurt her. As did the sharp, foolish cut of betrayal that sliced into her chest at the knowledge that her captor’s actions proved Talg was right about Others.

  “You want responses to your questions?” Expression hard, Grif leaned forward, stomach muscles rippling as he rested his elbows on his knees. “Answer mine.”

  “Never.” Springing upward, she slammed her bound wrists toward the underside of his chin. For Ramm. For pack. For Sharluff. For herself and her foolish hopes that Talg might have been wrong.

  Her captor was faster. Dodging her strike, his hands closed around her shoulders, a shock of scorching heat. Using her momentum, he yanked. She tumbled upward and forward into his lap. “That was foolish.”

  The cloth with the meat tumbled to the ground.

  In the next heartbeat, she was seated sideways, her wrists pinned to her belly, her legs splayed over his powerful thighs, hers so much shorter than his that her heels didn’t touch the ground. The side of her ribs pressed against the hard steel of his chest. “We both already know who wins in a battle of strength—and wills.”

  A riot of sensations, intense and overwhelming, crashed through her. The prickle of hair from his thighs and chest rubbing against the sensitive bottom of her thighs, a reminder of how different he was from pack males.

  Hissing, she fought her captor’s hold.

  “Enough.” He clamped one thick thigh over her legs.

  She didn’t stop. “Kill me, too. I not tell you anything.”

  “Damn it, Nayla. I didn’t kill him. He’s alive and well and grunting his way across the plains still searching for you. Settle down before you hurt yourself.”

  Her body grew boneless as the fight drained from her. She searched his gaze. The use of her name as disarming as his claim.

  “I left him circling the pit for the twentieth time.” His thumb snaked between the loops of her binds, tracking across the sensitive skin at her wrist. “It’s the truth.”

  It was. She saw it in his gaze.

  Relief surged through her. Along with awe. For the first time, information had flowed from him to her. Why would he do that for her?

  Moreover, why wasn’t he beating her for her attempt to attack him? Talg would already have her bloodied and on the ground.

  “Th-thank you for telling me.”

  He sighed. “You’re welcome.” Lifting his thigh, he slid it beneath hers, taking the heavy weight away.

  She’d had never sat in anyone’s lap before.

  Positioned as she was, her lips hovered right at the level of his thick-muscled neck. At the same time, her nose pressed close to the hollow of his skin, sending the masculine, exotic scent of him pouring into her lungs, offering no quarter.

  Equally as noti
ceable was the heavy, hard bulge beneath his covering that pressed between her thighs, an insistent, massive, silent demand.

  Everything about him was overwhelming.

  “You’ve been treated bad and it’s not fair,” his words were a low growl, “but I can’t just let you go. You have to tell me what I need to know. I have people counting on me. I can’t let them down. But I won’t let you down, either. I won’t let Malin touch you.”

  She didn’t know what a Malin was, but she did recognize the harsh bite to Grif’s tone was gone, replaced by a resigned note. As if he wanted her to understand that duty, not cruelty, drove him now.

  It made her belly flutter and heat in a different way than when he put his hands on her skin, but the reaction was no less potent. She comprehended duty. She knew loyalty.

  Her pack was counting on her, too.

  Another commonality between them she hadn’t expected. It made her feel a little bad for lumping him with the other savages. He was fierce and aggressive, but also different than she’d been taught to believe of his kind.

  Questions about his behavior and his people crowded at the tip of her tongue, but she held them back. She couldn’t expect him to tell her anything when she refused to do the same. For the first time, the thought made her ache for a different way.

  “Do you need to eat something more?” He almost sounded tired.

  She shook her head. Sitting in his arms had replaced her hunger with a different craving. One she’d never admit.

  “Okay, then.” His voice rumbled with determination and command. “It’s time for your next session.”

  She rocketed upright in his hold, knocking his chin. “N-now?”

  “Do you think I need rope restraints to take what I want from you?” He pressed his mouth to her ear. “I don’t.”

  Her eyes widened, heart beating fast.

  Yet, a shameful, secret part of her wanted exactly this. Craved the sensation of his hands on her.

  It was all so new and wonderous and terrifying. In the past, she’d always crept to the edge of the highest cliffs and looked over, even when the view made her dizzy. The same reckless impulse seethed inside her now, desperate to know if the fire he’d sparked inside her would roar to life, the need coiling tighter and tighter even without the restraints.