Instinct roared, demanding he rip his helmet off and run to her — to crawl, if necessary. The Pull popped like bubbles in his veins, a shot of pure need that nearly overwhelmed him.
It was dark with only the twinkle lights to illuminate the windowless room, but his predator eyes had no trouble making sense of the shadows. Even with the blood splatter on her dress and the bruises that decorated her face, Cecilia was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
He even liked the venomous glare she aimed his way.
Desperately locking down his instinct, Sloane slowly closed the door behind him. His heart hammered as he stood there, boxin hand. There was a compulsion to stand at attention for her, like he’d been trained to do for all his superiors, but he reined it in.
The silence in the room was oppressive. Sloane had taken an icy shower in a fruitless effort to cleanse himself of her pheromones and his sweat, but it proved pointless. Cold sweat beaded on the back of his neck as he locked eyes with her.
He’d never been more grateful for the modulator in his helmet than when he croaked, “Do you require more medical attention?”
Cecilia’s dark brows shot up. “Are you asking if I feel okay?”
“Yes.”
This time, he didn’t have any trouble dodging the projectile she sent his way. The pink toothbrush bounced harmlessly off the door as he stepped smoothly to one side. “No, Idon’t,”she seethed, “because I’m being held captive by a maniac who knows what fuckingtoothbrushI use!”
Sloane blinked. After a considerable pause, he replied, “That doesn’t seem relevant to my question.”
For a second, Cecilia appeared genuinely baffled by his response. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.” He glanced at the bed. Frowning, he asked, “Why are you on the floor?”
“You answer my questions and maybe I’ll tell you why I’m on the floor,” she growled, arms crossing.
Sloane clicked his tongue against the back of his fangs. “You didn’t ask a question.”
“Are you— Good gods, are younewor something?” Cecilia pushed herself off the floor. Standing with her hands on her hips and bare feet spread, she began ticking off questions on her fingers. “Let’s start with the standard kidnapee rundown, huh? Where am I? Who are you? Why am I here? Are you going to kill me or otherwise hurt me? You know, all the questions one mightask when they’ve been drugged and locked away in a concrete cell.”
Non-plussed, he answered, “You’re not in a cell. You’re locked in my bedroom.”
Cecilia’s lips parted. After a handful of seconds, she deadpanned, “You understand that’s worse, right? I need to know you understand that.”
He really didn’t see how that could be possible. As someone who’d spent much of his life in Thaddeus II’s dungeon below Solbourne Tower, he’d seen exactly what a true jail cell was. Sure, his bedroom had certain similarities, but he’d tried his best to provide some comforts for her.
“There’s a rug,” he pointed out, in case she’d missed it. “And lights. And a bed.”
“Yourbed.” Cecilia eyed the piece of furniture like it would suddenly rise up and bite her.
Not understanding what the issue was but sensing that pursuing the topic further would only cause more problems, Sloane executed a tactical pivot. “You’re in my home. You’re here because it’s safe. I don’t plan on killing you or hurting you. I want to protect you.”
Drawing on all of Cesare’s ramblings about gifts and food and how to make friends, Sloane carefully approached the center of the room. He placed the box on the floor, the colorful label facing her, and then retreated back to the door.
“You must be hungry,” he said, tucking his hands behind his straight back.
Cecilia gawked at the box. Pushing strands of dark hair out of her eyes, she wheezed, “Cereal?”
Behind the shield of his visor, Sloane nervously licked his lips. “It’s food.”
“What kind of drugs did you give me?”
Confused by the abrupt change in topic, he answered, “A mild sedative.”
Cecilia rubbed her eyes. “And howmuchdid you give me?”
“Enough.”But clearly the dosage was miscalculated.“It should be completely metabolized by now. There are no documented side effects for arrants besides grogginess, mild headache, and potential nausea.” Feeling oddly defensive, he added, “It was necessary for your safety and an expedient exfiltration.”
“So I’m not hallucinating this,” she grimly noted. “You really brought me a box of Fruit Crunchums.”
