“Thank you.” She reaches up to stroke her thumb over my cheek, a teasing smile on her lips. “See? This is what adult, grown-up communication looks like.”
I snap my teeth at her playfully, and she jumps back with a squeak.
“Before I make that call,” I say smoothly, taking a step towards her. “I can think of something else that needs my urgent attention, Bonded.”
“Oh?” She sucks in a breath, feeling for the edge of the doorway behind her. “What might that be?”
“I think you know.” I lower my gaze, very deliberately. “It might take a while. Several hours, in fact.”
She grins, waving her finger at me. “Oh, no. You’re not getting out of it that way.”
I pounce on her, taking in the breathy noise she makes when I hoist her over my shoulder. “Tristan!” She bats my back like a kitten. It’s adorable.
I spread my hand over her ass, kneading it with my hand before I give it a light slap, and she groans, her fist curling into my shirt. “One hour,” she gasps.
“Two,” I counter with a squeeze. “And I’ll throw in an extra orgasm.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. Three hours, andthenwe’ll go.”
“Excellent negotiating skills, Bonded. I accept.”
51
SIENNA
It’s late afternoon as Tristan and I walk up the steps of the Council chambers, retracing our steps from the night before.
His fingers hold mine tightly as he leads me across the huge marble antechamber and to a set of double doors.
“This is where they’re keeping them?” I ask. Navarre isn’t a huge place, but we have a larger prison building on the other side of town.
Tristan nods. His jaw is firm, the tic well and truly present, and I feel a small twinge of guilt for making him come here with me. Just for a moment, though.
We descend down into the bowels of the building, the air becoming cooler until we reach a locked door. Tristan reaches up and rings a bell.
“Are you ready?” he asks, wrapping his arm around me. I nod, soaking in his warmth. It’s warm outside, but not down here, and the shirt I stole from Tristan to wear as a dress suddenly feels like it might not have been the best choice.
A grim-faced Justice officer opens the door, and he and Tristan exchange a few terse words as I lean around them both, taking in the surprisingly bright hall.
Maybe I imagined an actual dungeon, the odd rat scurrying around. But the walls are a clean, faded shade of blue, electric strip lighting above us shadowing our steps as we follow the officer down to a door.
“She’s in there.” He motions to the barred door, a look of distaste on his face. “We’ve locked her down. We’ll be outside if you need anything.”
Tristan nods. “Thanks.”
Taking my hand, he waits for me to give him the nod before he pushes the door open.
Alicia is slumped in a chair, chains locking her ankles and wrists to the metal. Her head is slumped, the lustrous shine of her hair dulled to a matted mess.
She raises dulled, bloodshot eyes to the door as we enter. Her eyes slide over me, dismissing me completely before they land on Tristan, and a spark of life appears.
“Tristan,” she gasps. “You’re here.”
She strains against the chains, and they clank against the seat. “Look,” she sobs. “Look what they’ve done to me. But you’re here now.”
Tristan’s hand squeezes mine. “Alicia,” he says quietly. “Sienna would like to speak to you.”
“You’re here.” Alicia raises her face to the ceiling, a grin breaking out on her pale face. “I told them, I told all of them, and none of them believed me. I told you. I told you!”
