Taste of Cyn

When Murad, a powerful and deadly Warlord, arrives to repair Gale’s beloved ship, she doesn’t like it one bit. She sees the danger lurking behind his wide, sexy smile and the temptation in his coarse touch. He stands too close. He smells too good. He muddles her mind with erotic thoughts no bounty hunter should ever entertain.

Murad is known for being lighthearted…until he meets Gale. He’s deadly serious about seducing his curvaceous bounty hunter. With one blast of her stun gun, she captures his attention, and starts his lust burning. To claim Gale for his mate, Murad will brave his cautious female’s itchy trigger finger, his overbearing older brother and Gale’s sense of duty.

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She worried her bottom lip with her teeth, viewing Murad’s impending invasion of her beloved sanctuary as a bigger threat than the possible failure of the ship’s life support systems.

“So come on, hon. Work for me.” Gale jiggled the cable leading to the ship’s power converter, hoping to reactivate the process.

Nothing happened.

“Ohhh…” A strangled sound came from her constricted throat.

Behind the captain’s console, a brightly colored drawing covered a large silver wall panel, the green-haired female in the child artist’s depiction sporting a toothy grin.

“Continue smiling and I’ll banish you from the bridge for insubordination,” Gale warned, her words echoing in the empty space, the main viewscreen closed to preserve energy and the ship’s guidance system eerily silent.

Only the primitive crank-powered communicator set by her booted feet crackled. She’d found the ancient device crammed into one of her overstuffed storage chambers and she wished now she hadn’t used it, hadn’t called for help.

“You have to work, baby.” Gale ran her fingers over the power converter, searching for defects and finding none. “Please. I don’t want him on my ship.”

She clasped a fastening tool and frantically tightened each joint, aware that Murad’s ship hovered too close to hers, the Warlord growing increasingly impatient with the delays. He had other things he could be doing, he’d told her, and had only agreed to assist her with the repairs as a favor to Zeta, his brother’s mate.

“If Zeta had contacted me as she’d promised, I wouldn’t be in this mess,” Gale muttered, feeling foolish for having flown across numerous galaxies to rescue a friend who didn’t need rescuing.

“And I don’t require Murad’s or any other being’s help with repairs. I’ll fix my ship myself.” She pressed her hand against the reset panel.

The power converter didn’t activate, the silence ominous.

“No. No. No. No.” She slapped the reset panel again and again, venting her frustration on the device, her palm stinging with the impact.

The ship shuddered and the collection of broken toys covering the console rattled. The hoarded objects had been obtained over the many solar cycles from the bounty-hunter-school students she spent all of her credits supporting.

“Go away,” Gale snapped, the thought of being trapped on a small vessel with an unfamiliar male warrior filling her with alarm.

“I’ll go away once your ship is fully functional,” the Warlord informed Gale via the communicator, his low, deep voice causing her heart to race, a physical reaction she’d long associated with fear. “Prepare to be boarded.”

“I don’t need to be boarded,” she snapped, irritated at Murad’s arrogance and disgruntled with Zeta for forcing her to deal with the strange male, her friend not caring enough to come herself.

Gale pushed away the pain of that rejection and concentrated on the broken power converter. “This is my ship. I’ll fix it.” The lights flickered, the ship’s alternative energy source quickly depleting.

“You’ve had three planet rotations to fix your ship, stubborn female.” Murad punctuated that dry observation with a pussy-moistening chuckle, his constant mirth and her inappropriate physical reaction to it irritating Gale even more. “Now it’s my turn. Open your doors.”

“Open them yourself.” Gale pushed her curvy form upright and scrambled to her feet. Murad would have to open the doors manually, her single-manned ship barely having enough energy to run the life support systems. She dusted off her knees and focused on the new threat.

He’ll come through the bridge’s main doors. Gale surveyed the array of weapons, restraints and defensive devices she always kept close at hand. And when he does, I’ll stop him, preventing him from touching my ship, my home. Sucking in her breath, she strapped her form-fitting pink body armor around her generous chest, preparedness being a bounty hunter’s best weapon.

Zeta might trust Murad. Gale slid guns and daggers into the holders decorating her pink armor-clad thighs, the weapons reassuringly heavy. But she also believes she’s in love with his brother. Clearly she’s not thinking rationally. She crouched by the door, her form shielded by a console.

Love at first sight. She snorted, that fantastical explanation too implausible even for her reckless friend. They must have drugged her.

Metal screeched, the sound muffled by distance, and she raised her favorite gun, aiming toward the closed doors, her body vibrating with anticipation.

“You won’t drug me, Murad,” Gale vowed. She caressed the barrel of the gun with her fingers, relishing the weight and feel of the weapon. The metal was engraved with Lokan flowers and birds, the piece being both beautiful and functional. “You won’t get near me.”

Boots rang against the corridor’s wire mesh floor, the heavy tread announcing the approach of her intruders. Gale’s muscles contracted and she stilled, becoming hyper-aware of her surroundings, every sound and every scent amplified. She smelled the engine lubricant on her skin, heard the rush of air through ventilation shafts, the footsteps of the Chamele warriors as they neared the doors to the bridge.

“Stop,” Gale ordered. She brushed her fingers over the gun’s trigger, prepared to defend herself with force if necessary. “Come in slowly, unarmed, one at a time, with your hands raised and your palms empty.”

“I’m alone,” one of her unwanted visitors growled.

Gale’s nipples tightened, pressing against the restrictive body armor, her body recognizing Murad’s deep tones. “So you say,” she mumbled, maintaining her battle stance, having learned as an orphaned child not to believe in words.

“And I’ll be unarmed in a heartbeat.” A huge sword slid through the entrance, its blade gleaming and its handle intricately engraved, the weapon decorative and deadly. A dizzying assortment of daggers and guns followed the sword, the advanced gear skittering along the floor, metal clinking against metal. “I didn’t know I’d require an arsenal to do you a favor.” Murad’s distinctive laughter rolled over Gale and her stomach fluttered.

With fear. I fear him. Gale flipped her gun’s setting to stun, killing Zeta’s new friend unfortunately not an option. “You’re doing Zeta a favor, not me.”

“This favor is for my brother.” A breathtakingly handsome male stepped out of the shadows. “And his gun is bigger than yours.” He grinned at her, his white teeth flashing in a flawless, tanned face, his black eyes glinting, his long black hair cascading down his bare shoulders. He wore tight leather leg coverings with matching boots, and had a pack slung over one shoulder. His muscular chest was bare, defined and perfect.

This is Murad? Gale’s mouth dried and her heart raced, a pulse of savage want and uncontrollable need coursing through her sex-deprived body. If the two brothers look alike, they wouldn’t have needed to use drugs to enthrall Zeta. My impetuous friend would have gone with Khan willingly, foolishly risking her heart, her life, her future for a fast fuck.

I won’t be as easy to enthrall. Gale straightened, not trusting her emotions and certainly not trusting the big Warlord. “If I shoot you with my smaller gun, you’ll still be dead.” She aimed the gun at him, proud of how steady her hands were, many solar cycles of chasing fugitives across the universes having refined her control.

“That’s true.” Murad’s gaze swept her from head to feet, pausing on her breasts and hips and then returned to her face. “My adorable little bounty hunter.” He inhaled, his chest rising and his nostrils flaring. His mouth twisted into an even sillier smile. “My curvaceous gerel,” he purred, his voice mind-numbingly soft.

He won’t use that sexy voice to capture me. Gale narrowed her eyes, fighting the desire Murad invoked, her lust being a weakness, a weapon he could use against her. “I’m not your anything.”

“You’re correct. You’re not my anything. You’re my everything,” Murad replied, his words infused with passion and sincerity.

He can’t be sincere. He doesn’t know me. “I don’t need your help, Warlord.” Gale caressed the trigger of her gun, her nerves on edge, her body too aware of his. “Please leave my ship.”

A loud click followed her declaration and the lights turned off, casting them in complete blackness. Gale stiffened, unable to detect her adversary. Please let him not have the ability to see in the dark. A wave of panic surged over her.

Murad chuckled, the sexy rumble made more intimate by the darkness. “I see you have everything under control.”

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“This Moonbeam place is in the middle of nowhere.” Howard, the television station’s most experienced cameraman, hunched over the steering wheel and peered through the bug-splattered windshield, the van’s headlights illuminating the lonely stretch of highway. Tall pine trees lined the pavement, their fresh scent mixing with the aroma of coffee. Stars sparkled above them, a vivid reminder that they might not be alone in the universe, a theory Storm would soon confirm.

“What are you going to do if your source doesn’t show?” Howard’s wrinkled face twisted into a scowl.

“My source will show,” Storm assured her overprotective friend. “He was scheduled to arrive in Moonbeam a week ago last Friday.” She glanced at the tiny screen of her handheld. Still no messages. “Don’t worry.”

“I have to worry because you’ve taken no precautions. Meeting with a strange man in a strange place.” He clucked his tongue. “Not everyone is your friend, Storm.”

“No one is my friend.” She recited her new mantra, undeterred by Howard’s worrying, an investigative reporter’s job to venture where others feared to tread. “I’m cool, calm and detached.”

“Right.” The older man snorted. “Who are you trying to be—Brenda?”

Storm’s face heated. “She did land the fulltime position with that attitude. Or it could have been her perfect blonde hair or her extensive coverage of the war in the Middle East that did it.” She nibbled on her bottom lip, a nasty habit she had been unable to break. “I need a war.”

“You’d cry over every death.” Howard reached over and patted her hand, his comment unfortunately true, her sympathy serving as a liability in the news business. “If your source has spent the last two weeks and a day in Moonbeam, why hasn’t he emailed you? How well do you know this guy?”

“Well enough.” She shrugged, unwilling to admit her fascination with the mysterious Arystokrata Nazwisko extended past the potentially groundbreaking story. “We’ve been in contact online for months. He claims communicating close to the rendezvous date is a security risk.” She sighed softly, missing their correspondence, Ary’s detailed stories of exotic alien worlds the highlight of her day.

Storm stared out the window at the night sky. Win says his stories are plausible and she’s the best astrobiologist I know. A meteor shot across the blackness. Is there truly life out there?

“Security risk? You’re meeting in Moonbeam, the Roswell of the North.” Howard tugged at his thin gray ponytail. “If he was so concerned about security, you’d think he would put more thought into the location.”

“Who says he didn’t? It’s the perfect site if he wants this initial encounter kept off the record,” Storm guessed, not knowing Ary’s reasoning. They exited Highway 11 and she leaned forward. The small town appeared dark and deserted, the ideal backdrop for a midnight exchange of top-secret information. “No one would believe he met with me here.” Especially with proof aliens exist.

It would be proof only she’d have access to, Ary promising her exclusivity. Storm’s lips curled upward as she envisioned her gracious acceptance of the News And Documentary Emmy Award, her proud journalism professors and jealous rivals standing in the audience, clapping enthusiastically and murmuring about how she broadened their horizons, making a difference in the world.

“Your source is right about no one believing you.” Howard interrupted her reverie. “It’s hard to take a town known for aliens seriously.” The van rolled to a stop in front of the town’s landmark, an illuminated, silver nine-foot-tall model of a UFO. “What did I tell you?” He waved his hand at the empty space. “There’s not one car in the parking lot.”

“He’ll show,” Storm repeated, trusting Ary to keep his word.

“And when he does, I’ll be here to film your meeting.” Howard unbuckled his seatbelt. “I’m not leaving you in the dark alone.”

“You’re leaving me because the station will have your ass if you stay. Freelancers aren’t assigned cameramen, you know that.” Storm summoned a smile, irked by her lowly status. “And you have a forest fire you need to film.”

“The forest fire can wait,” Howard groused.

“No, it can’t. Don’t blow this opportunity for me.” She wagged her index finger at him. “I need this. I don’t want to be covering human interest stories forever.”

“You like human-interest stories.”

“I want to make a difference.” Storm pleaded for her friend to understand, needing to do this, to prove she was a great reporter. Howard opened his mouth and she rushed to clarify. “A big difference. That’s my dream, my destiny, what I know I’m meant to do.”

Howard sighed. “Who am I to hold you back from your dreams?”

“Thank you.” She opened the door and hopped down, her sturdy military boots crunching on the gravel surface. “I’ll be begging you for editing assistance on this story.” Storm swung her heavy backpack over one of her shoulders. “Consider yourself warned.”

“You do that.” Howard shook his head, chuckling. “And call me if you need help. Remember—”

“We cover the news, we don’t make it,” Storm recited and she laughed, closing the door with a solid thud. “Now get going before you scare my source.”

Howard waved as he drove away, a smile on his weathered face. Storm watched the dented cube van until it faded from view. A peculiar clicking noise filled the night air.

“I’ll filter that out of the audio afterward,” she noted. “Don’t let it bother you, Storm. Be professional, unemotional.” She checked the time on the handheld. She was six minutes early. “Audio.” Storm flicked the recording feature on and the handheld beeped. “Check.”

She walked to the flying saucer and stood directly underneath it, as instructed. “I’m in position.” She plunked her backpack down and scanned her surroundings. The landmark was isolated from the rest of the town, with no houses built nearby. Shadows stretched across the freshly mowed grass, providing plenty of places for her contact, Arystokrata Nazwisko, to hide.

I trust him. Storm rolled her shoulders back, her joints cracking. He didn’t spend months sending me hundreds of messages simply to lure me to a remote northern town and kill me.

She extracted her compact from the backpack and primped, pushing back wayward strands of red hair, her short curls never falling perfectly in place as Brenda’s longer, light-catching golden tendrils did. Storm grimaced, her untamable hair adding more stress to an already stressful situation.

“Not that I have video.” She twisted her lips. “I should have asked for permission to record video.” An unusually large meteor flashed across the midnight sky. “Brenda would have asked for permission.” Storm tucked the compact away and wiped her moist palms on her khaki cargo pants. The annoying clicking noise increased in volume.

“Storm Mackenzie?” The voice was male and disappointingly nasally, Storm expecting Ary’s voice to be deeper and sexier. A shadow separated from the others.

She narrowed her eyes, peering into the darkness, the silhouette strange, almost insect-like. “I’m Storm Mackenzie. Is that you, Arystokrata Nazwisko?” She was proud of how the difficult name fluidly flowed off her tongue, having practiced the pronunciation for hours.

“No.” He stepped into the light and she gasped. The man…creature resembled a giant red ant, guns unlike any she’d ever seen clasped in his four hands.

Don’t run. Storm’s flesh crawled and her heart beat frantically in her chest. Great reporters don’t run. She inhaled, counted to five and exhaled.

It’s a story. It isn’t real. Film the story. Storm fumbled with her handheld, found the video function, and activated it, positioning the camera to frame the ant man. An ant man. She trembled with excitement and fear. “W-w-who are you and what do you want?”

“I am a Mravenec warrior. I want you, Storm Mackenzie, mate of Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko, and I want revenge upon all of Sila.” He pointed one of the guns at her feet and tapped a button. Red electricity flared from the muzzle and snapped toward her.

“Shit.” She jumped backward. The energy curled around her ankles, binding them together. She stumbled and toppled over, landing with a thump on her ass, the grass cushioning her fall, her handheld remaining in her hands.

“I’ve been captured.” Storm’s voice wavered, her fear audible and unprofessional. Be cold, calm and detached. “The electricity doesn’t hurt.” Do your job. Report on the news. “I feel numb.” She wiggled her toes within her boots. “I can’t break the bond. It must be some sort of super strong alien technology.”

The giant ant man approached, his antennae twitching and his jaws clicking as they snapped open and shut. “He’s coming for me.” Storm wiggled away from him, seeing no kindness reflected in his forbidding insect face and having no desire for a posthumous Emmy Award.

“You’re mistaken, Mr. Warrior,” she called to him. “I’m not Ruler Arystokrata Nazwisko’s mate. He’s my source.” The ant’s expression remained blank. “He’s my contact and that’s all,” she explained, frantic to stop him. “We haven’t even met, not in person, so if you’re thinking to trade me or hold me for ransom, he won’t negotiate, not for me.” The ant pointed a larger, more deadly looking gun at her head, and a trickle of perspiration slid down her spine. “I’m nothing to him.”

“You are everything to me, my Storm,” a stranger yelled, his inhumanly deep voice rumbling through her body.

A flaming fireball slammed into the giant ant and flung him to the side, severing one of his arms, the limb twitching on the lawn. An even larger creature darted toward her, teeny tiny guns clutched in his big hands. The newcomer’s skin glimmered with two colors of green, ridges cascaded down his bald skull, and every inch of him rippled with muscles.

“This is what an alien should look like.”
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When Officer Danielle smacks a hunky alien with her police cruiser, she suspects her black-and-green perp is up to no good…and that turns her on. She shoots him. He grins. She hunts him down. He captures her, seducing her on a bed of pine needles. She’s never felt so alive.Krol knows a frail human female won’t satisfy his primal sexual urges, but he’s willing to make that sacrifice to ensure the continuation of his species. Then Danielle attempts to terminate him, and he realizes Earth women aren’t as dainty as they appear. Her lust may be a match for his basest needs, after all.

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Solar cycles ago, Elle bonded with Berke, the fiercest of all Warlords. He declared their sexually intense bonding a mistake, deposited Elle on a distant planet and returned to Chamele to fight the wars of succession. Elle dealt with their separation by creating one of the best bounty-hunter schools in the galaxies.

Now, two of her top students have made the same mistake she did, bonding with Chamele Warlords. Determined to develop an antidote and save them from the pain she’s experienced, Elle captures her barbarian mate. Tempers flare and passions burn as she thaws the ice around Berke’s heart, revealing a desire too strong to ever be dissolved.

Because the most savage lust and love is hidden within the coldest of Warlords.

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Chapter One

Only Zeta and Gale could induce me to leave my sanctuary and return to this cursed planet. Elle trudged across the barren plains of Chamele 1, her boots crunching on the crystallized snow.

I told all of my bounty hunters to avoid the Chamele system but did those two listen? No. The winds blasted against Elle’s back, pellets of ice biting into her white, cold-temperature suit.

Not only did they enter the system but they then compounded their bad decisions by bonding with Berke’s brothers. Warlords who are, I suspect, as arrogant as he is. Elle gritted her teeth and stomped toward the rock outcropping, venting her irritation on the frozen ground.

I should leave Zeta and Gale to share my fate, their misguided belief in lasting love forcing them to avoid all contact with other males, to spend their life spans isolated, alone, trapped.

Elle sighed, knowing she couldn’t be that heartless, not when she could cure her friends and spare them that pain. She continued her solitary trek. Each step brought her closer to the hardhearted male she needed for their cure and her anger flowed into bone-deep dread.

She’d met Berke mere steps away from this location. She’d been a young bounty hunter then and had crashed upon the planet while chasing a fugitive. She had tried to borrow a Chamele ship. Berke had intercepted her. He’d risen from a snow bank as though he’d been part of the land he guarded, rushed toward her with his inhuman speed, disarmed her easily, and pinned her to the unrelenting ground.

Elle had looked upward, met his dark gaze and awareness had flowed over her body, a sense of home engulfing her. From that instant onward, her heart had belonged to him, would always belong to him. She’d returned with Berke to his underground chambers and they’d spent many planet rotations playing, hunting, kissing, touching. He’d teased her about being a weak human. She’d called him a barbarian.

One sundown, they’d gone too far physically, sexually bonding, an act Elle had cherished and Berke had regretted. He’d called it a mistake, his cold voice cutting through her soul. After that, the playing had stopped, replaced with increasingly frantic rutting. When Berke had taken her to Dorian 2 and left her there, she’d known he wouldn’t ever return.

Elle had been right. She’d given her bounty-hunter-school students the task of monitoring Dorian 2, solar cycles had passed and Berke hadn’t returned. He must have found a strong, worthy Chamele mate by now, had offspring, loved and been loved. She blinked back tears, feeling foolish for mourning a relationship that wasn’t meant to be.

He doesn’t care about me. I shouldn’t care about him. Elle tossed her head back defiantly, ice-covered strands of hair rattling against her cold-burned cheeks. I’ll capture him, run my experiments, break the bond, repeat the process for Zeta and Gale, leave Berke and the Chamele system forever.

She ignored the ache in her heart and scanned her surroundings, searching for danger, a habit ingrained from solar cycles of hunting fugitives. The sun’s rays had dimmed through space and cast a bluish glow over the desolate plains and jagged rock formations, the land as harsh and as humorless as the Warlord who ruled it.

Don’t think of him, of his hard body, his big hands, his sensual black eyes. Elle turned her back to the outside world, hunched her shoulders against the elements and carefully placed tabs on her gloved fingertips. She reached into the crevice, the break in the rock wall serving as a hidden backdoor to the Warlord’s private residences.

There was no sudden jolt that usually came with disrupting a Chamele security system. Elle frowned and peered into the darkness, her eyes adjusting slowly to the lack of light. Tabs already broke the circuit, deactivating the sensors.

Someone has already infiltrated Berke’s stronghold. Elle’s body tensed, her muscles pulling tight with concern over a male she shouldn’t care about.

Or he knows I’m coming for him. Elle relaxed. That scenario was more likely. Berke closely monitored landings on his planet. Even during that last visit to Dorian 2, the planet he’d left her on many solar cycles ago, he’d tracked activity on Chamele 1, putting his people’s safety first, before her, before their doomed relationship.

I no longer have the element of surprise. The challenge excited her. Elle pressed the button in her right cuff and her suit darkened to a concealing black. She slid into the crevice, entering the Warlord’s underground domain. The temperature increased immediately and the ice dangling from her eyelashes melted, the liquid splitting the light from the wall torches into a dizzying range of bright colors.

She moved along the narrow corridor, sprinting soundlessly from shadow to shadow. Her feet tingled, the feeling returning to her toes. The air grew warmer as she descended into the mining planet. Water dripped along the stone walls and perspiration slid between her breasts, invisible fingers of moisture stroking her skin.

Elle turned a corner and reeled backward as though she’d been struck. A piercing pain assaulted her brain and the air burned her nostrils. Threat. She searched the space, seeking the source of her agony.

A tall bare-chested male leaned against the far wall, taking inventory of his weapons. He moved his hands methodically over his daggers and guns, his body covered with an impressive array of weapons.

The strange male didn’t need a weapon to hurt her. Elle’s stomach heaved and bile rose in her throat, every moment spent away from Berke having reduced her tolerance for another male’s presence.

Ignore…pain. Elle breathed in, breathed out, breathed in, breathed out, pressing her body into a naturally formed alcove, the rock hard against her back. She examined the guard as she fought for composure, contemplating her next move.

The male had Berke’s long black hair, tanned skin and dark eyes. Despite the Chamele warrior’s broader, more heavily scarred face, Elle saw his resemblance to the Warlord. He must be one of Berke’s beloved brothers. The pain leveled, allowing her to think, to take action.

I’ll capture him also. She plucked at her gloves, drawing the fabric higher over her wrists, concealing all of her exposed skin. If I can capture him. The brother’s defined chest, bulging biceps and thick, leg-covering-clad thighs made him a daunting opponent. Elle extracted the gun from her right hip holster, slid the lever to stun and aimed.

The brother raised his head, his dark eyes widened in alarm and she pressed the trigger. His face contorted and he fell silently to his knees.

“Gotcha,” Elle whispered. She holstered her gun and quickly, carefully strapped a leather gag over the brother’s closed mouth, preventing him from yelling for help.

Her captive jerked backward, his bare shoulder brushed Elle’s cheek and searing pain shot across her face, down her neck, welts bubbling on her skin. Moisture dripped from her nostrils, her head pounding and her knees shaking.

Elle bit back a curse. Once one of the best bounty hunters in the galaxies, she had almost been incapacitated by a mere touch.

“I should kill your brother for that offense alone,” she murmured. Bonding with Berke had ruined any chance she had of enjoying a normal life, her affliction forcing her to resign from active bounty hunting and to sequester herself at the all-female bounty-hunter school.

The captured warrior’s gaze met hers, his jaw dropped, and the gag automatically tightened, strangling any protest he might make.

“And I should kill you for bonding with my friend, whichever one of my dear friends you have in your grasp.” She pulled his arms back and bound his wrists, the reinforced restraints unbreakable even by a Chamele warrior.

“But killing you now would hurt either Zeta or Gale, something I’d never do.” She restrained his boot-covered ankles. “I’ll capture Berke and come back for you.” Elle stood back, studied him and nodded curtly, satisfied he wouldn’t be able to free himself.

“Don’t go anywhere.” She continued along the corridor, glad to be away from Berke’s brother, away from the physical pain he caused her.

Berke will cause me another type of pain. She steeled herself for that confrontation. I’m stronger, stronger than he thinks.

As Elle approached his private chambers, she frowned. The alarms around the back entrance had been activated. Did they expect the brother to stop me? She snorted softly as she placed tabs on the sensors. Berke had always underestimated her, his weak human mate.

Prepare for a nasty surprise, Warlord. Elle pressed her glove against the control panel, the simulated handprint mimicking Berke’s creased palm and scarred fingers.

The doors slid open, and a tantalizing wall of musk hit her, Berke’s scent holding no pain, only pure pleasure. My male. Elle’s pussy moistened and her nipples tightened, the rush of emotion making her head spin.

No. She pressed her lips together, fighting her arousal. He’s no longer your male, Elle. He’s your target. Focus on your target.

She slipped inside, searching for a shadow to hide in. There wasn’t any concealing darkness, the space brightly lit, and panic rose within her, swirling with her desire.

“You shouldn’t be here,” an achingly familiar voice rumbled, Berke’s words reaching deep inside of her, weakening her knees and stripping her pride. “It isn’t safe.”

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