Gray Barsk spread his fingers over the dry, caked dirt beneath him. His head was pounding. Still, his mind darted from one event to another, over what had happened this evening, what he’d done wrong, how he had landed in this cell…

He was a hellhound, one of the legendary forandre, shape-shifters, meant to run the wild hunt. Only gods and other forandre were a match for his kind—not Svartalfars, dark elves. Still, the mercenaries of the nine worlds were known for their cunning, a characteristic that had obviously been at play here.

The dark elf had caught him off guard. Poison or magic must have graced the tip of his blade. Gray wouldn’t have fallen so quickly otherwise. But the poison wasn’t all of it. His instincts had been dulled, too.

Even drunk, he should have been able to defeat one little flea of a dark elf. And he wasn’t drunk. He’d had one mug of beer; that was all.

No, the bar was a set-up, a trap. Gray realized that now. What he didn’t know yet is if it was designed with only him in mind, or if he was just another hapless victim.

Hapless. Not how Gray was used to thinking of himself. It incited his anger all the more.

Footsteps shuffled nearby. The cell where Gray had been tossed was dark—too dark even for his hellhound vision to penetrate, or perhaps that was a side effect of the dark elf’s poison, too. Realizing his vision wouldn’t help him, he closed his eyes, concentrated on his other senses, instead.

The place smelled of the dry earth he felt under his palms, compacted, smooth like concrete, but…He scratched the ground with one thumbnail. The feel of dirt clumping under his nail confirmed the place was dug into the earth, not poured in place. He started to straighten his arms, to shove himself up, but a new scent, female and laden with wary expectation, stopped him.

Tensing his muscles, he stopped moving. Hoped, he hadn’t already given away that he was awake and aware that somewhere in the darkness a female crouched waiting, watching.

For what?

 

Not again. Leve wouldn’t go through this again.

She sniffed the air. Blood, sweat, the smell of male. She’d seen the flash of light as the top of the chute was opened, heard the hellhound’s body being rolled down the metal ramp, felt the impact as he collided with the ground..

He was unconscious. He hadn’t moved since his elegant arrival.

She crept closer, moving on the balls of her feet, using her hands to keep her balance. It was poor form to kill a hellhound while he was blacked out, against the rules of the “kamp,” but she wasn’t in the Kamp Arena right now. She wasn’t scheduled to return until after she’d been impregnated by this male, or whoever followed, until after she’d borne a son or daughter who would grow up to fight as she did now—every day for the enjoyment of the underground followers of the Kamp—or be sold to someone else looking to start their own pack. She almost spat at the thought.

She wouldn’t lose a child again. She wouldn’t.

Within arm’s reach of the fallen hellhound, she slowly pushed herself to a stand. First she’d make sure he was unconscious and would stay that way, then she’d figure out the quickest way to end his life. With him gone, the immediate threat would be eliminated. Then She’d wait for her captors and plot a way to explode past them when they opened the damned chute. And as she waited, she’d savor thoughts of ripping them into little bits, feeding them to the hellhounds they kept stored in these cells beneath the Kamp Arena. Perhaps she’d even let one or two live, at least long enough to be thrown in the arena, used to bait some of the most crazed hellhounds.

How would the crowd enjoy that?

 

A few feet from Gray’s head, there was a whoosh of air. He rolled, grabbed the foot that was being propelled toward him and jerked. The foot’s owner fell, hard, onto the dirt beside him. He wrapped one hand around a boot and grabbed a denim-clad leg with the other—a firm, but most definitely feminine, denim-clad leg.

He paused for a second—a second too long. The female let out a grunt, pulled back her free leg and jammed it into the side of his face. He spat out blood and jerked again, this time pulling her body beneath his.

She continued to fight. With a snap her head collided with his. He bit back a curse, tried to ignore the blood now pouring from his nose.

He didn’t know who this female was or why she had attacked him, but one thing was perfectly clear—she was fighting in earnest and with every intention of beating him, killing him.

He growled, let the fires inside him spill into his eyes, let her see that female or not, he had no intention of rolling over, letting her win.

She growled back, let her own eyes glow. Her teeth snapped near his ear and he jerked back.

“Not again. I won’t go through it again. Jeg vil leve,” she murmured.

I will live, he translated. The words were low, meant for her ears alone, he sensed, more a statement of conviction than threat or promise. Still, he couldn’t stop his own response.

“Only if you back off,” he warned, his ire growing, the bloodlust inside him igniting as the scents of anger and sweat swelled around them.

She laughed then, a cold noise, close to his ear. “But you don’t want to kill me, do you? I’ve been here before. Survived this before. But this time, it won’t happen. I won’t let it happen.”

How long had she been down here trapped in darkness? How far gone was her mind? He shook his head, tried to force her babbling from his thoughts. It didn’t matter. Crazy or not. Tortured or not. She meant to kill him, and he had no intention of dying. His canine mind wouldn’t worry about why she acted as she did, would only fight to win, no matter the cost. His canine form would end this battle quickly, perhaps saving them both.

With a roar, he let the bloodlust win out, let the magic sweep over him, let his body shift from human to hound. If only one of them could survive, he’d make sure it was him.

 

The wave of magic hit Leve unawares. Silly, so caught up in reliving her own nightmare, she’d slipped, let the immediate danger pale beside the memories that lingered in her mind. But now as the cell pulsed with magic, as the male’s roar split the silence, she came back to herself—her present, came back to her current goal, surviving tonight, not that night so long in her past.

She bared her teeth, took a step back, then released the hold on her hellhound half, let her body and mind shift from human to canine. She let the battle shift, too. Leaving human emotions behind, she concentrated on the fight, the need to win, to survive.

Her senses immediately expanded—every smell and texture multiplying. A dozen other hellhounds had occupied this cell in the past, hundreds of battles had been waged here and remnants of each still hung in the air or lay settled on the hard dirt floor. But she had no time to analyze the past. Just as she couldn’t live in her own, she had to be in this moment, fight this battle. The male, she could see him now, his shape, anyway, and his movements. The color of his hair was still a mystery, not that such details mattered. Her intent was to kill him before he killed her or, worse, performed the service he’d been tossed in here to complete—rape her, impregnate her.

She growled and circled to the side. Her head and tail low, she made sure he knew she wasn’t playing, was more than willing to lose this fight as long as he lost his life along with hers.

 

Aggression rolled off the female. She’d changed to her canine form within a heartbeat of his doing so. Gray had thought to surprise her, but she hadn’t hesitated even a second and seemed as eager for this fight as any male hellhound Gray had ever encountered.

He had never killed a female. But then, a female had never attacked him with such clear intention to destroy glowing in her eyes. He took two steps back, then lunged.

The female feinted to the left, then shimmered. Gray froze, his ears twitching, his mind alert. As quickly as she had disappeared, she rematerialized somewhere behind him. He spun, expecting her to be right beside him, or the opposite, cowering in the corner, but instead, she was hurtling toward him, using the few feet of space the cell had to propel her, to give her smaller body the advantage.

She soared toward him. He braced his feet, let her think she had him, that she would have the advantage of the surprise attack. Then while her body was still moving through the air, he shimmered, too, but only a tail’s length away. She hit the hard ground with a thump and a growl and immediately began scrambling to pull her legs back beneath her body, but he didn’t give her the chance. He jumped on her as she had planned to jump on him, pinned her neck to the ground with his jaws.

“Where am I—” he projected into her head.

She jerked, twisting her body so her hind feet could push into his stomach, so she could try to shove him away. He growled and tightened his grip, bit down until he tasted blood. Her movements increased, became almost frenzied. Anger and anxiety rolled off her. The scent of her emotion combined with the musk of her sex. The feel of her struggling beneath him would have sent another hellhound over the edge—completely released the beast in him. But Gray had spent the past hundred years working to conquer the bloodlust, learned to see it as the weakness it was, not the strength most hellhounds believed.

He reached inside himself, murmured a meditative chant in his head, let her hear it, too. Slowly her struggles ceased and she stared up at him, her eyes no longer glowing red.

“I won’t let you win,” she said telepathically.

He inhaled, realized her anger had been replaced by determination. Her heartbeat had slowed, too. The steady thump of it seemed to pound into him, each beat emphasizing the resolve that coursed through her.

Resolve for what? She was focused on something—doing or stopping something. But what?

His mouth still around her neck, his body hovering over hers, he replied, “I didn’t ask for this.”

“None of us did.” This time her thought was tinged with sadness, a sorrow that made Gray start to pull back, to loosen his hold. But as soon as his jaws edged just a little open, she twisted again. He lost his grip. She started to jump free and he snapped down again, this time latching on to her shoulder, instead of her neck, and this time biting deeper than he had intended.

A quiver ran through her, but she didn’t cry out. Instead, she seemed to pull away, pull down a shield that cut off whatever moment of communication they had shared.

Again he loosened his hold, but this time carefully, just enough to let her know he meant her no harm, but far from enough to allow her to escape. As his teeth pulled from her flesh, a new realization struck him. The flesh of her shoulder didn’t give as it should have, wasn’t really flesh at all anymore, but one solid mass of scar.

“What happened to you?” he asked, the thoughts more for himself than her, although he allowed them to flow into her mind, too.

She didn’t answer, but he could feel her reaction—surprise, confusion—but before he could ask again, this time more directly, a metal door clanged somewhere overhead. They both froze. Gray’s eyes darted toward the noise, his mind registering that he’d heard the noise before—when he first arrived here. Instinct brought his hackles to a stand and caused his muscles to tighten, but before he could react further, assess the threat, steam rolled down the metal ramp and settled all around them.

He blinked; the heavy, moist air clouded his vision and clogged his lungs. A cough built in his chest, and unable to stop the reflex, he opened his mouth, releasing a hacking bark and the female. To his surprise she didn’t attack, didn’t take advantage of his moment of weakness. Instead, she rolled to her feet, then shimmered, solidifying under the ramp, only her tail visible.

He staggered forward, a part of him screaming that he had to be prepared for her next attack, but another part grappling to simply focus. With each breath his thoughts grew more confused, his fight to keep control of his hellhound half harder. The steam continued to thicken. Random thoughts shot through his head—fight, kill, claim. His head swayed back and forth, his eyes searching through the fog for the female he knew waited only a few feet away.

His eyes began to glow again. He needed to do something, to fight something, to…He sniffed. The fog had subsided, no longer caught in his throat, making it difficult to breathe.

Female. She was here, and he wanted her. He could smell her, her anger, her fear and her desire. The cell was so saturated with each of the emotions he could barely stand under the onslaught.

But there was no reason to. She was here, and her emotions called out to him. He should find her, answer her unspoken request—and put an end to the lust that knifed through him.

He stalked toward the ramp, his feet plopping on the dirt, his shoulder shifting back and forth with each step. His hip swayed too far to the left, slammed into the metal chute. The female turned, bared her teeth.

“Keep away,” she warned.

He frowned. Why did she say one thing when her emotions screamed something else? He took another step. She shimmered to the other side of the cell, turned and faced him, her eyes glowing, her hair standing on end. She raised her lip, revealing the full length of her canines.

“I won’t be forced. Not ever again.”

He blinked, pulled in another breath. The air was clearer here, not as perfumed with the enticing scent of emotion. He took another step, inhaled again. Across the room the female growled, her body tensed, ready to fight.

Gray turned his head, studied her. Something was wrong. He took another breath, pulled the air in slowly this time, analyzed it. His eyes darted to the female, then to the ramp.

The steam hadn’t been steam at all, but pheromones, synthetically created emotions converted to scent. Caught up in the battle with the female, his guard down, he had sucked them in, been taken in, let them, despite his training, manipulate his actions.

He cursed in his head, let the female hear it, too.

He backed up until he could feel the wall against his haunches. The steam hadn’t reached here, not as much as in the center of the cell where he had stood. Had the female realized that? Was that why she had run when the steam first covered them?

He glanced at her. She still stood in the corner, but her body language was changing. Her hair had settled back flat against her skin, and her stance was less aggressive, more submissive. The steam was reaching her, affecting her, too.

With another curse, Gray changed from hellhound to human. The pheromones would still have pull on him, but it would be less, and with the amount clogging the room, he needed every advantage he could call on.

Naked but human, he let his head hang for a second, drew on his training. When he was steadier, he lifted his gaze, checked on the female. She was still in the corner, standing and alert—watching him.

He leaned back on his heels and began murmuring the chant he’d learned to help tamp down his canine nature. Normally he would close his eyes, shut himself away from all distractions, but here he couldn’t, not with the female so close. She’d attacked him before the steam had filled the cell. Now under its influence, what would she do?

Still murmuring, he stood and took a tiny step forward. His hand held out in front of him, palm up, he slowly moved behind the ramp and across the dirt floor, in a direct line to where the female lay watching.

Leve pulled her feet more fully beneath her, watched the male as he approached. He’d changed back to human. Why?

Desire trailed through her, made her want to roll over, expose her belly, let him know she wouldn’t fight him. But she didn’t. She wasn’t quite far enough under the pheromones’ control to give in. As soon as the ramp door had clanged open and she’d heard the steam, she’d known she needed to get away. From what Halla, one of the other females locked away here, had told her, the pheromones contained in the mist pumped up male hellhounds, urged them to mate or kill, but the same chemicals subdued females, took away every urge they had except to submit. The steam stole their very will.

Leve had raced behind the ramp, hoping the air would be less tainted there, and it had been. She’d been herself for a while, but once the male invaded the space, she’d had to move again. Couldn’t risk being that close to him, not after he’d taken a full dose of the emotion-laden mist into his lungs.

She’d shimmered here, hoped for some miracle to save her from the male’s attack, inevitable now that he was hyped up from the mist. She was a fighter, but she was also a realist. Her only hope for defeating a male who outweighed her by sixty pounds had been to kill him before he got a dose of the pheromones. Now with him pumped up to mate or kill and with her subdued, nothing but a miracle could stop the rape her captors had planned.

Still, she gritted her teeth, tried to focus on keeping her own mind, not letting the chemicals win. As the naked male approached, she managed one weak growl, before shifting back into her human form and rolling over belly up—submissive, exposed, beaten by her own nature.

 

With each step, Gray grew stronger, more under control. But as he approached the female, he was shocked by what he saw…what she did. Her eyes suspicious slits, she growled, then almost before the sound had reached his ears, she changed from canine to human and, naked, rolled over, her stomach bare and exposed. An easy target for whatever he had in mind.

His wary approach changed to hard strides. He grabbed her by the forearm and jerked her to a sit.

“What are you doing?” he asked, his fingers digging into her flesh with more force than he intended. He expected her to snarl, strike out, but instead, she lowered her head, refused to meet his gaze.

He stared at her blankly for a few seconds, unable to wrap his mind around the drastic change in her, then as his gaze drifted to the ramp, he pulled back, loosened his grip. The mist. It was affecting her, too, but in a totally different way than it had him.

Snapping out a curse, he scooped her into his arms and shimmered them both back beneath the ramp. While she sat there looking dazed, he grabbed their clothes and began pulling them on—hers first. She objected, batting his fingers away as he tried to shove buttons through holes, then just as quickly she captured his hand and began rubbing her face against his palm.

He pulled on his pants, then grabbed her face between his index finger and thumb. “You’re still in there somewhere, aren’t you? Wanting to kill me?”

Something flickered in her eyes and her chin jerked—an attempt to pull away. Gray pinched her face harder, glad for the resistance but not satisfied with just that feeble effort. He stared into her eyes, forced her gaze to meet his. She lowered her eyelids and he jerked her face again, brought her attention back to him.

They continued the dance until finally she met his gaze and held it, then lifted her lip in a snarl.

Gray grinned. “Back to the bitch, I see.”

She snapped her chin free and watched him out of the corners of eyes thinned with suspicion. “What happened?” she asked, her hands smoothing the sleeves of her shirt, patting the legs of her pants.

“Some kind of drug. They pumped it in here.” Gray shoved himself to a stand and stalked to the center of the room, where he could study the ramp and keep an eye on the female.

“Not that.” The female was in a crouch now, her eyes following his every move, her body coiled, ready to spring. “After.”

He turned his gaze fully on her, crossed his arms over his chest. “You mean the part where you rolled over belly up and asked me to scratch you?”

She twisted her head to the side. A nerve jumped in her cheek.

Gray muttered to himself. He didn’t have time for this. Whoever tossed them down here, then filled the place with the mist would be back. But wait. The female had been here first, before him.

“Where are we? Why were we put in here?”

Added tension in her back was the only sign she gave that she’d heard his questions. Fed up with the mysteries, he shimmered and bent down to grab her by the shoulder.

The meek female was gone. With no warning, she spun, her leg shooting out as she did. Gray jumped. Her leg slammed into the wall. She cursed and rolled backward, landing on her feet.

Her chest heaving, she held her hands out in front of her, ready to attack—again.

Gray tamped down a surge of anger and spoke in even, if stilted, words. “I’m not the enemy. Whoever put us here is. I want to escape—I plan to escape. Help me or keep out of my way.” He turned his back on her, purposely letting her know he was bored with the games, done with them.

As he reached out to place a hand on each side of the ramp, she stopped him. “Don’t. It’s charged.”

His hands were mere inches from touching the metal. He hadn’t felt a shock when he’d been rolled down the chute. Was she lying? Was her bizarre behavior part of some elaborate act to get him not to try and escape?

He placed a hand on each edge of the chute. Power, blue hot, shot through him. For a second he couldn’t even let go of the ramp, but just stood there, voltage blasting through him. Then it became too much; his hands blew free, his body catapulted across the room and thudded into the rock-hard dirt wall.

The air next to him turned to waves, and as he struggled to pull air into his lungs, the female appeared beside him, nudged him with her bare foot and said, “Way to take my help.”

With a groan, he rolled over, pretended to curl into himself. Then as she started to stride away, he grabbed her by the leg and jerked her down onto the dirt beside him. His hands wrapped around her wrists, his body straddling hers, he replied, “Want to help? Start talking.”

 

Leve barely kept the panic out of her eyes. She’d let the male catch her, had trusted him for a minute. Stupid. No way to survive. She knew better.

“Why should I?” she asked, keeping her tone cool, undisturbed, while inside her heart pounded.

The male narrowed his eyes, leaned down and stared into hers. “You need to work on masking your emotions. The amount of anxiety you’re putting out would send any other hellhound into a frenzy.”

“But not you.” She laughed, but with no humor. There was nothing funny about where she was, what she might have to do, but she’d live. She always had before.

The thought brought her no relief, hadn’t for years.

 

The female’s chin angled up slightly as she held his gaze, but Gray wasn’t fooled, no hellhound would be. She reeked of anxiety. She might play at nonchalance, but she was terrified.

He leaned down just to emphasize his point, but a flash of alarm shooting through her eyes stopped him. She was afraid—of him.

He released her hands, and rolled off her. She scrambled to sit up and shoved herself backward until her spine touched the wall.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he said, still working through his surprise that he needed to say the words. She’d attacked him, almost before he’d even known she was in the cell, and now he was reassuring her?

Her eyes cold and disbelieving, she braced her hands on the floor. “It may not be up to you.”

He frowned. “You mean…the mist? What do you know about it? Where are we?”

“The mist.” She stared into space. “It changes all of us.”

“Not me.” He crouched down, crept closer so he could speak more softly, keep their words from being overheard—assuming the space wasn’t bugged or some kind of magic being used to watch them.

She waved a hand. “Don’t bother. They don’t listen to us. Why should they? None of us has ever escaped. They have us completely under their control.” She spat out the last word.

Control. Not something many hellhounds were good at, but losing control to another being? And being held in a cage?

He stood up, placed his palm against the solid wall.

That was something every hellhound, including himself, feared.

But Gray wouldn’t let it happen, wouldn’t give in to his fear. He curled his hand into a fist and slammed it against the wall. Letting his anger soak into his voice, he said, “So you’ve given up?”

She looked at him, her mouth opening, then closing into a tight line.

“You playing along with what whoever’s behind that door wants? You working for them, helping them to house-train new hounds?” He crouched again, got in her space. “What exactly is your role here? Assassin or seductress? What hoop was I supposed to be jumping through by now?”

The flash was back in her eyes. “You’d have to ask someone else that question.”

He looked around the empty cell. “Any suggestions?”

“Go fu&mdsh;” The metal door rattled. He slapped a hand over her mouth, leaned in and whispered next to her ear, “What do they want? What do they expect us to be doing? What will get rid of them—at least long enough for us to figure a way out of here?”

Her body tense, she darted her gaze to the door, then back at him. Her indecision was almost palpable. He waited.

As the door above their heads inched open, she slapped her hands behind his neck and jerked his mouth down to hers.

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The female’s lips were soft, and moved with an urgency that made Gray want to jerk her form against his, feel the tension strumming through her, share it. Her body was soft too—soft curves packed onto hard muscle. And she smelled good, pure female but bathed in anxiety, fear and determination. She was a mix of contrary emotions, a puzzle. One he would like to solve.

But, his mind warned, puzzle or not, this kiss was wrong, too out of character for what he’d seen from her so far. His mind battled with his body, telling him to kiss her. The feel of her breasts pressed against his chest, her sex cradling his, had to be part of a trick. He’d be a fool to give in, no matter how badly he wanted to.

He started to untangle her hands from around his neck, to push her away, but the door rattled louder. She pushed against him, knocked him to the ground and straddled him as he had straddled her earlier, while her lips never left his.

Then it hit him. She had answered his question. Seductress was her role and she was playing it to the hilt.

He wrapped his hands around her waist and rolled them into the center of the room, where whoever was peering at them from the top of the chute would be sure to see them.

She grunted as they rolled, an objection, but one she covered by running her fingers down his bare back, letting her nails scrape over his skin.

Despite knowing it was an act, one that would end as soon as the door slammed shut, a charge ran through him. He pulled his lips from hers, puffed out a breath and began trailing kisses down her neck, nibbling at her throat.

She reciprocated, grabbing his hair and holding his head still while she flipped them over again. Back on top, she traced the line of his throat with her tongue, blew on his damp skin.

A shiver raced over him. Triumph glowed in her eyes.

She’d upped the game. She was playing him. He couldn’t let that pass.

He ran his hands up her sides, cupped breasts uncontained by any undergarment. Her nipples hardened. He could see them through the thin material of her shirt, and she could feel them—he could see it in her eyes. With a smile, he bent forward, ran his thumb over one hardened peak and caught the other with his mouth.

A gasp escaped her lips, and he smiled against her breast. Escaped. It was the right term. Her reaction to him was killing her, gnawing at her pride. He rolled his tongue over her nipple. She sat up straighter, pressing her sex harder against his, rock-hard and ready. A groan passed his lips before he could stop it, and she laughed, a low, mocking sound meant only for him.

He flipped them over again, lowered his hand to the zipper of her pants. How far would she take this?

She wrapped her leg around his thigh, pinning his body to hers, and dropped her own hand to the top of his jeans.

Above them the door clanked shut.

 

The sound of the door clanging shut rung in Leve’s head, shook her back to reality. Somehow, and she’d have sworn to her last breath this would never happen, she’d gotten lost in the arms of a hellhound, forgotten what had been taken from her in the past and just enjoyed the game, played with him.

His hand, hovering over the zipper of her jeans, paused. She tensed, waited. Had she misstepped? Would he now try to take from her what others had taken before?

He curled his fingers into a fist, shook his head, and rolled off her. Lying flat on the ground beside her, he said, “Maybe it’s time we introduced ourselves.”

For the first time since she had been dumped in this place, for the first time in decades, Leve relaxed, felt her lips curve into a soft smile. “Maybe we should,” she replied.

He responded with a low laugh, then placed his hand on hers. She tensed, but didn’t pull away. Then after a few seconds of just lying there, her fingers held lightly by his, she began to enjoy the feeling of warmth. His fingers pressed against hers and she returned the squeeze.

She was sharing a moment with someone who less than an hour earlier she’d been determined to kill. What had happened to her? What had she allowed to happen to her?

“Gray Barsk,” he murmured.

“Leve.”

“Leve? As in live?”

She shrugged. It was a name she’d given herself. To the dark elves who ran this place she was nothing more than a number. The witch who had owned her before had given her a name, but Leve refused to use it, to even remember it. She had never had anything that belonged to her, not her body, not her children—taken from her before they were even weaned—nothing. But she had given herself a name, a purpose. To live. To prove she could survive anything anyone dished out to her.

Bad memories poured into her, and she tried to pull her hand away. He held on, ran his thumb over the back. “It’s a good name.”

She nodded, stared up at the ceiling for a second. “They’ll be back, checking to make sure things are going the way they want them to.”

“Why?” he asked. “Why go along with them?”

She turned her head sharply to look at him. “Go along with them? I don’t go along with them. I’ve fought them every chance I’ve had. I’ve done nothing but fight my entire life.” She thumped her head back against the dirt, narrowed her gaze. She should have killed him.

He pushed himself up and glanced over his shoulder at the door. “It doesn’t matter to me. All that matters is that you don’t get in my way. I’m not a captive. I’m not staying here.”

She widened her gaze at his arrogance. “Well, since you put it that way, let’s go.” She sat up, stared around her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I seem to have misplaced the door.”

He growled. “I didn’t say it would be easy.” Arms folded over his chest, he stared at her. “What’s your story? How did you get in here? What’s the point of us…” He waved his hand between them.

“The free hellhound-matchmaking service?” She breathed out, dropped her gaze to the dirt. Bickering with him wasn’t going to help her, and stupid though it might be, she trusted this male…Gray. He was different than the others. For one thing, he hadn’t raped her.

She looked him in the eye. “You are in a mill—a breeding factory. Under the Kamp Arena, where hellhounds fight for other beings entertainment. I don’t know who owns either. I only know that dark elves seem to be the preferred hirelings.”

His mouth opened, and even in the dim light she could see the shock on his face. “So, you…?”

“Get thrown in here every so often. Have a romantic interlude.” She shrugged, pretended she didn’t care. “You get the idea.”

“And the children?”

She turned away then, pulled her knees to her chest. “Disappear. Sold, maybe.”

“Sold.” The word fell flat, like a bird shot from the sky. His arm wound around her shoulders, and to her surprise, she felt her body give, felt herself leaning against him. He didn’t say anything, didn’t touch her in any way with the exception of the band of his arm supporting her, comforting her.

Leve dropped her chin to her chest, and let one tear, then another roll down her cheeks.

 

Gray had never been more shocked, or impressed, in his life. How had Leve stood this? Being captive, being taken, her children stolen from her. How did she not only survive, but still have the strength of will to fight her captors and him?

He wished he knew something to say, wished they had time to let her heal, but the dark elves would be back soon—Leve had said so herself.

He waited another minute, one more than he felt comfortable with, then asked, “Have you ever tried to escape? How long will they leave us here? They’ll have to move us at some point.”

She took a deep breath, seemed to gather herself, then turned to face him. The arm he’d kept around her fell from her shoulders, but he didn’t remove it completely. He liked the feel of her close, liked still touching her.

Her eyes told him, however, he wasn’t going to like her answer.

“They’ll come back after…” She tilted her head to the side.

He nodded; he didn’t need her to spell it out.

She licked her lips. He could tell she was thinking back to the other times. He reached down and took her hand in his. Her fingers were cold. He held them tighter, willing warmth and strength into her.

“They’ll bring food. The males…” She shivered.

He resisted the urge to pull her against him. She knew he was here, hopefully believed he wouldn’t harm her. If…when she wanted more from him, he’d be here, but caught in the memories, any further advances needed to come from her.

“The males are ravenous after. The mist, I guess. They don’t even seem to know I’m here. They just move from one base need to another.” She licked her lips, but sat up straighter, seemed to grow stronger. “After they eat, they pass out. They may be—” she glanced at him “—dead.” A furrow formed between her brows. “But I don’t think so. It wouldn’t make sense, would it? Why kill them? They could be used again, put in the Kamp—or sold.”

Sold, continued captivity. Continued loss of power over your own destiny. Gray couldn’t think of a worse fate, except—Leve’s hand moved in his—what Leve had been through.

“Are there others?”

Her brows dropped lower, confused. “Hellhounds?”

He was thinking of females, trapped like Leve, used like Leve, but? “Yes, like you and me, held here somewhere?”

Her jaw jutted to the side; she nodded. “There are others. I’ve talked with them, telepathically through the walls, but I’ve never seen them.”

“How long?” How long had she endured this hell, alone, except when thrown in with a drugged-up, lust-driven male?

“Years, fighting in the Kamp. Two pregnancies, here. There was another before….” Again she faded away, her mind somewhere else.

He held his breath, forced himself to be patient.

She shook herself and came back to the moment. “They keep me in a cell like this, but smaller. There’s a door. There.” She pointed to the space under the ramp. “It’s connected to a tunnel. There are other doors off it. One leads to my cell. When they’ve brought me here, they’ve drugged me beforehand, and after…well, I’m not myself.”

The mist’s sedative effect he’d witnessed earlier.

“Could we fool them? Make them think I was out and you were under?”

She caught his gaze. “We can try.”

Gray’s arm had fallen to the small of Leve’s back. The weight of it was reassuring, letting her know she wasn’t alone, not anymore. Escape. Was it possible? She’d never allowed herself to dream of such a thing. She’d always stayed focused on just surviving. But now, after seeing how Gray had fought the mist and didn’t succumb to its allure, how he’d pulled her from its grip, too, she couldn’t help but feel some flicker of hope. Maybe let into her heart the idea that merely surviving wasn’t enough.

She wanted to live—really and truly live.

But to do so, to fool the dark elves, she’d have to open herself to another risk.

She blew a breath through the circle of her lips. “We’ll have to convince them…” Her decision made, she grabbed the hem of her shirt.

Gray pulled back, surprise in his eyes.

His silence made it easier. She closed her eyes and pulled the shirt over her head, pretended she wasn’t in the packed-earth cell, pretended she was free. And she was, in a way. This was her choice, her idea.

She placed a hand on Gray’s chest. His skin was warm and smooth, but she could feel the muscle underneath.

“You don’t have to do this,” he said.

“That’s why I can,” she replied.

The metal door rattled. Leve jerked the shirt over her head. The cool air hit her breasts, making her nipples pucker, but she resisted the urge to grab her shirt and cover herself back up. Instead, she reached for Gray.

As the door clanked fully open, she pushed him to the ground and covered his mouth with hers.

His lips were soft, encouraging, not demanding. She ran her hands down his sides, prayed what they were doing looked believable. The other times, she’d been aware of so little, except that she was unaware, lost in a fog. Then later when she came out of it in her own cell, she’d remember bits and pieces, the ugly mosaic of what had happened.

From those bits, she knew what passed between her and Gray wasn’t the furious, pheromone-driven mating she’d experienced before. Hopefully, the guards wouldn’t question the difference, would just be satisfied that their breeding was under way.

The door stayed open longer this time. Sweat formed between Leve’s breasts. She put a hand on Gray’s jeans, began unzipping them.

He placed his hand on top of hers. “Slow down,” he whispered. “They expect me to be the aggressor.”

He was right. She had a role to play, and to do that she had to give up control. The thought caused a new twinge of panic, but she squelched it and allowed him to flip her over, to lay on top of her.

She waited, expecting him to become aggressive. To portray a bloodlust-driven hellhound he would have to, but he simply kissed her again, ran his hand up and down her side in long strokes that made her almost forget the dirt clinging to them both, the dank smell of the cell and the eyes watching from behind the open door above.

Almost.

The door creaked, not closed, but closing.

Gray murmured sounds of reassurance in her ear, reached for the closure of his pants. The zipping noise seemed unnaturally loud, startling. She twitched beneath him. He pressed tiny kisses around her ear, down her neck, and to her surprise, her back began to arch, and something—longing—began to build inside her.

 

Gray had never fought a battle as difficult as this on. Holding Leve in his arms, pretending they were doing what their captors expected—mating—while hiding from Leve the emotions inside him pounding to get out.

Trapped in this dirt cell, watched like an animal, treated like an animal, he couldn’t stop his body from reacting to Leve’s soft curves and the strength obvious in the muscles beneath them. Just as he couldn’t stop his emotions from reacting to her story and the pain he’d caught wafting off her as she recounted her tale.

He wanted this female—sexually and emotionally. And there was no way he could make love to her and not hurt her more—not now.

The door clunked shut.

He lowered his head to Leve’s chest, resisted the urge to rub his forehead against her sweat-damp skin, to gorge himself on her scent. “We need to be naked when they get back, make it look like we’re done.” His voice was rough, the words choppy, and he couldn’t stop himself from pressing a small kiss to Leve’s chest, hoped she accepted it as just more of the act.

For a second Leve didn’t move, and he froze, too, worried he’d gone too far, pressed too hard. But then she relaxed, put her hands on his back and began to knead his tight muscles. The movement was natural, as if she didn’t realize what she was doing.

“Will that be enough?” she asked. There was a tremor in her voice, and Gray cursed whatever gods had set them up for this, put their destinies on a path to cross in this no-win situation.

“Yes,” he replied. He wanted to escape, knew she did, too, but he wouldn’t violate the bit of trust she’d given him by asking her to do more than absolutely necessary.

Quickly, silently, they removed the rest of their clothing. When they were both naked, Gray held out his hand. Her fingers slipped into his, and she stretched out on the dirt beside him. He braced himself on one elbow and waited.

When the door creaked again, he leaned over her and whispered. “If things get too close, fight me, let me know.” Then he lowered his body until their skin touched, until he could feel her heart beating against his chest.

Her smell, feel and taste almost overwhelmed him. His groin still hard from before, engorged even more. He groaned with real pain and desire, rubbed his length against her mound, hoped it appeared from above that he was inside her—as he longed to be.

Leve played along with him, lifting her sex, rubbing her hands up and down his back. A moan fell from her lips.

He gritted his teeth, barely controlling the passion he yearned to set free. Leve’s lips danced over his chest; her tongue flickered over his skin. He wanted to whisper that her actions weren’t necessary, that the dark elves thought she was drugged, subdued, but he didn’t think he could form the words. He could barely hold his thoughts together enough to keep from capturing her lips with his, from putting his knee between hers and sliding his erection between her soft folds.

The image of encasing himself inside her brought another groan. His sex pulsed anew, and he knew he couldn’t stop his body from finishing what he and Leve had started.

He slipped his hands under her body, pulled her tighter and whispered hoarsely in her ear, “Now.” It was all he could get out as the need to move faster overcame his resistance. He pressed down against her mound, put the lure of being inside her aside, concentrated, instead, on the feel of her mound rubbing against his length, of hearing the tiny pants of her breath, faux though he knew them to be.

She played along well, arching against him, murmuring, even nipping at his throat, and finally as his orgasm hit him, as he felt his release, she quivered in his arms, made him feel that she was there with him.

 

Leve clung to Gray, unable to believe she’d forgotten where they were, that they were playacting for some demented dark elf. Her body tingled with awareness, wanted more. She’d been close to losing herself, closer than she had ever been before. She had never understood the males’ need to mate, what drove them, but after “pretending” with Gray, she more than understood the need; she shared it.

As the door shut again and Gray edged away from her, it took all her strength to let him, to not insist he finish what he’d began.

“Now what?” he asked. He turned his back to her, kept his gaze on the door.

Leve winced and covered her breasts with her arms. She’d never felt uncomfortable being naked, most forandre wouldn’t, but suddenly she felt cold, exposed.

As if sensing her discomfort, Gray turned back. “I’m sorry,” he said. He ran a hand over his face. “Are you okay?”

She leaned forward, pressed her palms on the dirt floor. “I’m fine.” Now that he was looking at her, talking to her like an equal, she felt all right. She shook off the moment of unease. “They should be back soon. We need to take our places. I’ll lie here.” She pointed to a place not far away.

“No.” Gray shook his head. “Over here.” He gestured to the other side of the space. “It’s farther from the door.” He glanced at where she had told him the door to the tunnels would open. “I’ll make sure they have to get past me to get to you. And they won’t.”

Gray watched as Leve positioned herself out of the way. Then he began roaming the cell, roaring and muttering, slamming his fist into the wall—acting like a thousand hellhounds he had seen caught in the out-of-control spiral of bloodlust.

His efforts paid off. Within minutes the door at the top of the ramp rattled open and a tray laden with meat slid down. He jumped on the food, pretended to shove it into his mouth as quickly as he could, sliding it under his shirt, which still lay on the floor, instead. As he pretended to chew, he continued to roam, stumbling past Leve, who lay curled on her side performing her own act of the drugged, submissive female. She went as far as to cringe when his foot brushed her hair, and for a second he stopped, forgot she was acting, too. But when her eyes darted to the side, he remembered himself and his role.

He let his steps drag, his body slump, until he fell to his knees, then over, face-first in the dirt right between the hidden entrance and the ramp.

They lay there, Gray breathing in the smell of dirt and desperation, Leve curled on her side, uttering a low hum that changed to a keen as the minutes ticked by. The sound pulled at Gray. The idea that she had made that sound before, when she had lost her child, stabbed at him, made it all the harder to stay in character and wait.

But he did; they both did, and after what felt like hours, after Leve’s lament had softened to a whimper, the secret door behind Gray slowly edged open.

He didn’t stir. A dark elf, reeking of licorice, crept into the room. He stopped by Gray. Gray could feel his gaze, smell his annoyance. Gray wasn’t where he was supposed to be, was in the elf’s way—just as Gray and Leve had planned it.

The elf muttered under his breath, then turned, the light patter of his footsteps telling Gray he’d returned to the doorway, probably signaling for help.

Gray counted in his head, kept his mind busy so his body didn’t react too soon. The more guards who came into the room, the more opponents who’d be taken down, accounted for.

He hadn’t asked Leve how many manned the mill, guessed she wouldn’t know, but it stood to reason the operation wasn’t watched by a single Svartalfar. There would be others. Everyone he took out here was one less to wonder about later.

Soon the dark elf returned, with company. His companions shared his scent, more Svartalfars. Was this a totally Svartalfar operation or were the dark elves just easy hires for whoever was in charge? Dark elves were known for their mercenary tendencies. If any beings’ loyalty could be bought, it was theirs.

Gray stilled his mind, concentrated on the sound of the guards, their footsteps, their heartbeats. There were three of them, one older than the others, more experienced, if his slower, calmer heartbeat could be trusted.

Gray focused on him. Take him out first and the others would panic.

The original guard walked up to Gray, stopping only inches away. “Want to move him first?” he asked, his voice low, but with an edge of bravado.

“No, stick with the plan. Get the bitch locked up. She’s where the value is.”

“Humph.”

The second guard drew closer, knocked Gray with his foot. Gray grunted and made a drunken, sleepy swipe with his hand, missing the Svartalfar by a foot.

“See? He’s out. Rem said it took three slashes to get him down enough to get him here. I tripled the dose in the meat. He won’t be up for days.”

“Get the bitch.” The older guard seemed unimpressed.

Tension rolled off the younger pair, but they stepped away, toward Leve. As Gray had suspected, the third stayed close.

Again he counted, gave them ten paces—until he estimated they were halfway between where he lay and Leve. Then he attacked.

 

Leve let her eyes flutter for a second, took a peek at what was happening in the cell. Three Svartalfars had entered. Two approached her; the third stayed near Gray, his gaze on the guards walking toward her.

Silent as the mist that had filled the cell earlier, Gray rose and grabbed the dark elf near him by the neck. One quick savage twist and the Svartalfar slumped in his arms—dead.

As he fell a gurgle escaped his crushed throat. The guards nearest Leve spun toward the sound, cursed.

Leve didn’t wait. She leaped to her feet, threw herself on the back of the closest—the one who had tossed her in here. Without a flicker of regret, she followed Gray’s lead and snapped the slim Svartalfar’s neck.

That left one.

The dark elf panicked—never a good move. He started to run, then froze, unsure which direction to dart, his body twitching one way, then the other. Nowhere was safe, not for him. Just as this place had never been safe for Leve, offered no safety for any of the hellhounds brought here, not even the males.

She stepped over the dead guard she’d killed, moved to grab this one. He pulled a sword from the belt at his side and rushed at her. She widened her stance, ready to meet him head on, almost hungry for a fight against the beings who had held her, watched her torment. But as the dark elf lunged for his first thrust, Gray roared and charged at him from behind.

Holding his weapon seemed to have calmed the guard, and he spun, graceful, smooth. Kept his sword in front of him, the tip steady and pointed at Gray’s heart.

Leve could have attacked him then, from behind. But she knew better. Gray wouldn’t appreciate her help, and she trusted he could take care of one mercenary guard by himself.

The guard slashed his sword to the left. Gray hopped to the side. The guard danced forward. Gray moved again. The dark elf changed his stance and seemed to settle in for a long, serious battle, but as he did, Gray shimmered, solidifying behind him. One arm around the guard’s chest, the other gripping his chin, Gray jerked and the last guard crumpled to the ground.

“Sorry. No time for games today,” Gray muttered to the dead Svartalfar. Then he looked up, grabbed Leve’s gaze. “Let’s go.”

With a nod, she stepped over the dead guards and led him from the room.

 

They stepped into a hall. The walls were lined with some kind of metal. Gray placed a palm against the cold, smooth surface.

“To stop shimmers?” he asked.

Leve lifted one shoulder. “Or communication. The guards seemed to think I couldn’t talk with anyone else. We never told them differently.”

Gray’s jaw hardened. He stood in the center of the hall, his eyes ticking off the doors on each side. “Twenty. Are they all full?”

“I don’t?”

Gray cut her off with an upraised hand.

Farther down the hall, past a turn, came the sound of music—flutes and drums. Svartalfar.

Gray turned to face her, mouthed, “Where’s the exit?”

Leve’s eyes narrowed. He could leave, but she wasn’t going anywhere. Not without checking behind every door and freeing every female.

She pivoted, started to step back into the cell she and Gray had just left.

He grabbed her arm, his fingers digging into her skin. She stopped, stared at his hand, gave him a second to let her go.

He didn’t. Instead, he stepped closer, whispered in her ear. “You get out. I’ll stay and get the others.”

She pulled her arm away and continued back into the cell. At the first guard’s body, she stopped and searched his pockets. Nothing. Breathing deeply through her nose, willing her mind to stay calm, she went to the next one—the one with the sword. Tucked into a slot on his scabbard was a metal card. She pulled it free and hurried back into the hall.

She tapped it against her thumbnail. “We’ll need this.”

Gray started to shake his head, but she held up the card. “You know what these females have been through? You think they’ll trust a male hellhound?”

Anger, then resolve flitted through Gray’s eyes. “Okay. I’ll look for an exit and see if anyone’s listening to…” He jerked his head toward the music.

Leve slid the card into the first door. As the lock popped, Leve flinched. Just like it had every time one of the guards had opened her door, never knowing if this was the time she would be taken back to the cell.

But the guards were dead—she glanced down the hall toward the music that still played—or would be soon. She didn’t have to fear that sound again. It had greeted her on every arrival, every trip to a cell where she would be attacked, raped. And no other females would have to fear it either.

With the thought held in the forefront in her mind, she pushed the door open. A pregnant female, her hands wrapped around her swollen belly, lay propped against the wall. Her lip was curled into a snarl and her eyes burned red.

Emotion caught in Leve’s chest. “Halla?” she whispered.

The female’s eyes widened, the simmering glow dimming. Leve took another step, held out one hand. “We’re leaving, escaping. You won’t lose your baby, not this one.”

Halla’s face began to soften. She reached out, too, grabbed Leve’s hand. “It’s true,” Leve said. “We’re going to save you. Save everyone.”

A tear rolled down Halla’s face and she struggled to stand. Not pregnant, the female would have outweighed Leve by thirty pounds. Nine months pregnant, the difference was closer to a hundred. Still, Leve held Halla’s arm, tried to leverage her own weight against the pregnant hellhound’s.

It wasn’t enough. Halla began to fall, taking Leve with her. Then Gray was there, helping them, giving Leve the chance to catch her balance and cradling Halla against his chest.

Leve breathed out a sigh—of elief, of joy at having someone to help her and not having to be strong all alone. But before she could take in another breath, Halla changed from stumbling to spitting and raging. She twisted in Gray’s arms, went for his face, fingernails flailing and teeth flashing.

Terror shot through Leve. “Don’t hurt her!” she screamed, forgetting where they were, that other guards might be near, hear them.

Gray, grappling for a hold of the other female’s wrists, growled out a reply. “If you don’t trust me, how will she? She can smell your panic.”

Leve stepped back. He was right. Anger replaced fear—anger at her moment of weakness, for losing control. She breathed in and out, forced herself to see that Gray wasn’t hurting Halla, that despite the pregnant female’s attempts to harm him, he remained calm, held her as gently as he could a storming mother-to-be bent on his death.

Leve placed a hand on Halla’s hair, ran her palm down its length, then down the other female’s back. “He won’t hurt you, Halla. He’s here to help. They captured him, too, but he resisted. He didn’t hurt me. He won’t hurt you, either.”

As Halla continued to struggle, Leve continued to stroke the pregnant hellhound and concentrate on keeping her own mind calm, projecting trust, hope, things most of the mill’s inhabitants hadn’t felt or smelled for years.

Slowly, Halla’s muscles relaxed, her eyes calmed, and her breathing slowed.

Leve put an arm around her waist and looked at Gray. “You can let her go.”

He cocked an eyebrow, but released the exhausted female. Leve staggered under her weight, but didn’t fall. Together they stumbled into the hall.

“No more guards, not now, anyway.” Gray pulled the metal card from Leve’s fingers. “And I found the exit. You can’t shimmer here. I tried. But once out of this area—to where the music is playing—you’ll see another door to another hall. It leads outside. Take her.”

The two stared at each other, both realizing they needed Leve to calm the women, but neither wanting to leave the other behind, perhaps to get trapped here again.

“I’ll go on my own,” Halla murmured, her hands clutching her stomach. “I’ll be slow, anyway. You may beat me.” Licking her lips, she began shuffling down the hall toward the music.

“It will take her forever,” Leve murmured.

“Will she let me carry her?” Gray asked, but he didn’t wait for the answer. They both knew Halla wouldn’t. She might not let another male touch her ever again, and the last thing they needed was for her to panic once more and go into labor with them stuck in the mill.

So Leve turned her attention away from her friend, concentrated, instead, on saving others, getting as many out as quickly as they could. She and Gray worked as a team. He opened the doors and stood watch. Leve slipped inside and whispered to the females. Then pointed them down the hall toward freedom.

When the last female had been freed, Leve held the her arm and walked with her to the end of the hall. Gray followed, but at the doorway, where the females quickened their pace, smelling fresh air and freedom, he stopped.

Leve stopped too, waved the last female on ahead.

“We’re there. We’re free. What are you doing?”

“There’s another hall. I haven’t been down it, but I heard a noise. There’s a hellhound held there.” He took a breath. “A male.”

A fist closed around Leve’s heart; her shoulders pulled back. She opened her mouth to tell Gray to leave him, that the male wasn’t worth saving, deserved what he got, but Gray’s knowing gaze stopped her.

“He’s as much a victim as any of you. He didn’t choose to come here, didn’t ask to by hyped up on whatever they pump into that room.”

“Are you sure? You resisted.” Leve’s hands opened and closed, grasping for something that wasn’t there, something to squeeze, some way to let the hate that roared through her escape without screaming at Gray.

Gray turned on his heel and started down the second hall.

Leve clenched her jaw, started to turn away, to follow the last female as she shuffled out the door to freedom. She took one step and stopped. Gray was wrong. Saving the male was wrong, foolhardy. The mill was empty now, the guards who had been on duty dead, but more guards would come. Leve had been here long enough to know there was more than one shift.

When would the next group arrive? She had no way of knowing, had lost a sense of time soon after being deposited here.

If they arrived while Gray was still inside, he’d be trapped, and while they hadn’t beaten him the first time, they’d figure out a way. They’d make him into one of the monsters.

She shoved her fingers into her hair and cursed.

Then she followed Gray.

 

Gray knew the minute Leve decided to follow him, heard her tiny intake of breath, that she didn’t approve, but was with him, anyway. He should have forced her to go back, to stay with the other females. But he suspected that would be a waste of breath and time, time he didn’t have.

In the guards’ break room, he’d seen the schedule, and a clock. There had been an hour until the next shift took over. They’d spent at least half that freeing the females. Leaving thirty minutes to find and free the male and get out of here. And that was assuming no one was overly dedicated and came in early.

But if someone did, he’d deal with it. He wouldn’t be captured, not again.

The hall veered to the right, then down. Gray had to slow his pace, point his toes and shift his weight backward to keep from tumbling over. Behind him, Leve followed suit.

Doors led off this hall, just like the females’ hall, but only one cell was occupied. Gray had already pressed his ear to each door, waited to listen for a heartbeat.

If anyone was inside the other cells, they were past saving.

He stopped in front of the last door and waited for Leve. “I don’t know what he’ll be like,” he said, giving her one last chance to leave him.

She reached in her pants pocket and pulled out the metal keycard. “Guess we’ll find out.”

She slid the card into the lock, then stood to the side, wisely letting him face the male first.

Two hundred pounds of hellhound male charged at them. Gray stepped in the room, slamming the door closed behind him and shimmering at the same time. Unable to stop his forward motion and obviously not expecting whoever opened the door to be able to shimmer, the male rammed into the now closed door.

Gray materialized, crossed his arms over his chest and waited. The male spun, his eyes glowing.

“I’m not one of your keepers.” Gray held out both hands, but the male was too far gone. He charged again.

Gray shimmered again. Under other circumstances, he would have fought back, but he was here to save the hellhound, not kill him. This time when the confined hellhound turned, a line had formed between his brows.

“Do I look like a dark elf?” Gray flexed his head to the side, let the other male see the breadth of his shoulders, the build no Svartalfar could ever develop. “Do I smell like one?”

The male paused, pressed two fingers to his temple. “Who are you?” he asked, the words coming out in a croak.

“Can’t say I’m a friend, but I’m not your enemy.” Gray’s gaze flicked to the closed door. “I’m here to let you out.”

Surprise, then suspicion, filled the male’s face.

Gray held up a hand. “But first I need to know what happened here. What did you do?”

The hellhound reached for the door.

“It’s locked. Talk to me, or you don’t get out.” Gray kept his gaze steady, sure, and prayed silently that the door had locked behind him and that Leve wouldn’t open it without hearing his voice.

The male tried the door, anyway. When he was sure it wouldn’t open, he placed both hands on the door and rested his forehead on its smooth surface. “What did I do? Hell if I know.”

“You don’t remember?” Gray remembered being sliced by the dark elf’s knife in a bar in the human world, then very little more until he was shoved down the ramp into the cell with Leve.

“I got in a fight.” The hellhound pushed his body away from the door, turned to face Gray. His eyes were blue—no sign of the telltale red, but his posture was far from trusting. “Nothing new for our kind.” He cocked his head. “You going to open the door now?”

Gray smiled, back on known turf, talking with his own kind, battling even in conversation. “What about here? What happened to you here?”

The hellhound stared at him for a second, then shrugged. “Beats me. I got rolled down some kind of slope into another room. The place reeked of emotion…” He dropped his gaze, looked at the ground. “I don’t know what happened, but I doubt it was pretty.”

Gray rushed forward, grabbed the male by the throat and shoved him back against a wall. “You better be telling the truth. There are twenty females out there who’d like to chomp you into kibble, and if I get a single sniff that you’re lying to me, I’ll truss you up like Sunday dinner.”

The male blinked; confusion streamed from him, tinged with a touch of anger and resentment.

Satisfied that if the hellhound had attacked any of the females, he hadn’t done so under his own mental power, Gray strode to the door and yelled to Leve.

 

Leve couldn’t stop the growl that came to her throat as the male hellhound appeared in the doorway. Gray’s hand on her shoulder kept the rumble from turning to a full-on attack.

“How do you think whichever of those females he attacked are going to react?” she muttered to him as they walked behind the male.

“What makes you think those females are anywhere near here?”

Leve twisted her mouth to the side. He was right. There was no reason the females would wait outside the mill’s entrance and risk being recaptured. While she had spoken to many of them through the mill’s walls, they weren’t a pack and they had every reason to scatter as soon as their feet hit free ground.

The hall they were walking in turned to a round-sided tunnel, then began to pitch sharply upward. The male in front of them scrambled up and out. Leve followed, stopping at the top to let her eyes adjust to the blinding light.

She closed her eyes and pulled air into her lungs, enjoying the sharp scents of fresh dirt, pollen and every animal that had scampered by in the past months.

Gray touched her from behind, a light press of his fingers against her back, just letting her know he was beside her, sharing the moment.

She turned, happy to have him there, ready to thank him. As she moved, something fell from above, landed with a clump. An arm caught her around the waist, almost cutting off her air, and her feet shot out in front of her as Gray jerked her from behind, pulling her back into the tunnel.

With her back to Gray’s front, her eyes facing the freedom she had barely tasted, she saw the hellhound they had rescued covered in a glimmering net. He rose on his knees and roared, anger and frustration pouring from him. She reached out, thinking she could somehow save him, but as she did, a dozen dark elves dropped on the ground beside them.

Behind her Gray cursed and began to shimmer—shimmer them both—but before she’d felt more than the first tingles, the space in front of them darkened and hardened, formed into a solid wall of magic.

 

Gray saw the door in front of them darken, felt the loss of fresh air, but he kept with the shimmer, determined to get Leve and himself out of the mill.

It didn’t work.

He and Leve solidified still inside the tunnel. He gritted his teeth, his mind spinning, grasping for another plan.

Another exit, a fire exit, something. There had to be. He grabbed Leve’s hand, prepared to tug her after him.

They got fifteen feet, maybe less, and ran into another dark mass of magic.

Trapped. The end of the tunnel was rigged to stop an escape; maybe all the tunnels and halls were like this, shut down right now into fifteen-foot segments.

Her feet still moving her forward, Leve knocked into him.

“We’re trapped,” he said.

“We can’t be.”

The doom Gray felt was apparent in Leve’s voice. Gray and then Leve attempted everything they could think of to open the passageway—shimmering, pounding against the barrier, running the pads of their fingers and nails around the outline of what used to be the opening, searching for a crack—but nothing worked. They could find no weakness.

“Trapped.” Gray turned, pulled Leve into his arms, didn’t ask this time, just knew he had to. She shook against him, but not from fear. Rage.

“This can’t happen,” she said. He pulled her closer as if his body and calm facade could soak up her anger.

Maybe it did. Slowly she relaxed against him. She burrowed her face into his chest. “What can we do?”

He shook his head. Her hair tickled his chin. “Wait. There’s not much else we can do. There seems to be air coming in. And we know they want us alive. Eventually they will open up one of those doors.”

“Or pour more mist in with us.”

They stood in silence for a second. Not knowing what drove him, only that he didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want Leve to be alone, Gray placed one finger under her chin, tipped her face up to his and captured her lips in a kiss.

 

Gray’s was gentle, undemanding, asking only for what Leve was willing to give. She didn’t hesitate to reply. She placed her hands on his shoulders and parted her lips, meeting his tongue with hers.

She was going to make love with him, and the decision was wholly her own. She was going to savor every detail, hold it in her heart. If the choice was never hers again, she’d have this.

His hands didn’t move; he didn’t pull her closer. So Leve took the next step, rubbed her breasts against his chest, ran her fingers through his hair. It was long, and brushed his shoulders. She wondered briefly if it was by choice, or if he’d been roaming and therefore had no time to care for such niceties.

She knew so little about him. But what she did know were important. He cared—for her and the other hellhounds. He placed their freedom before his own, and he was strong, able to resist what Leve had never heard of any hellhound resisting before. But maybe most importantly, he’d given her back a piece of herself, something she’d thought was long gone—the ability to trust.

How could she not love him, not want to be with him?

Her fingers wandered down his chest, pausing to trace each bulge of muscle and line of definition. She was glad he’d left his shirt back in the cell, didn’t want to waste time removing clothes or doing anything except being with this male while she was still free, at least in her own mind.

He inhaled, and she could feel him holding back, waiting, letting her take the lead. She smiled against his lips, then captured his again, took her time, moved her mouth over his, slipped her tongue past his teeth.

The kiss was slow and seductive, and Leve had never felt more powerful. She lowered her hand, felt Gray’s erection lengthen beneath his pants. She rubbed her palm over the denim, felt him harden further.

He groaned into her mouth, but didn’t move to touch her. She grabbed his waistband in both hands and jerked the buttons open. His erection sprang free, slipped up under her shirt. She grabbed him by the sides and pulled his body to hers, deepened their kiss, put every ounce of passion she felt into the act.

He kissed her back, his arms tense at his sides, his body ready for action.

She slipped his pants down his hips and curved her fingers around the hard bulge of his buttocks and squeezed.

“Touch me,” she whispered, barely pulling her lips away from his.

As if he’d been awaiting her words, he grabbed her by the waist, pulled her against him, his hands sliding up her sides as he did. His thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts, then the tips of her nipples. She pulled in a breath, licked her lips, then his.

Her shirt disappeared, flung to the floor with such speed she wasn’t sure if he or she removed it. Her pants followed, then his. Naked, they explored each other’s bodies, their hands and lips roaming, tasting.

Leve ran her tongue down the center of Gray’s chest, then over his abs. Right below his belly button she stopped, pressed a kiss to the smooth plane of muscle.

Gray kneeled, pulled her into a kiss, then coaxed her onto the ground. With her laid out beside him, he leaned over her and traced a path around one nipple with his tongue.

The air was cool against Leve’s skin. Her nipples puckered, and as he continued outlining first one tip and then the other, her core contracted. She ran her fingernails down his back, along the side of his hip, reached for his sex, but he pulled to the side, and stared down at her.

She lay there, her body screaming for his touch, her heart pounding in her chest. Her breath came in little puffs.

He ran the pads of his fingers lightly over her breasts, stomach, to her thighs, then slowly slipped one finger past the hair that covered her sex.

 

Leve’s scent surrounded Gray. His erection pulsed with the need to be inside her, but he wanted this to last, for this experience to block out every bad memory or belief she had about sex. Her eyes rounded as he found her center. As he circled the nub, her body arched, her hands clawed at the ground beneath her, and her eyelids closed.

He ran his other hand over her breasts, pulled one nipple into his mouth, swirled his tongue around it while he continued to circle her nub, then slipped a finger inside her. Her muscles clenched around him and he groaned, bent lower, replaced his hand with his mouth.

Taste and smell, his senses were overwhelmed with Leve. She was strong, stronger than she knew. He wanted her to accept that and to know she wasn’t alone. As long as he was alive, she’d never be alone again. He wouldn’t leave her, couldn’t. He’d die before letting the dark elves take her again, throw her into a cell to be used and forgotten.

She was his equal—equal to any of them, but she was also his…his alone.

His hands caressing her breasts, he swirled his tongue around the nub hidden between her folds. Her body tensed beneath his hands, her lower back leaving the ground, and her fingers wound into his hair.

A groan left her lips, then a whisper. “Now. I need…”

He swept his body up hers and found her mouth. Her leg wrapped around his, leaving her open to him. Unable to hold back any longer, he drove his erection into her.

An “ahh” of breath left her lips. He caught her exhale with his mouth.

Her tongue met his, and as their bodies merged, as he pulled his length in and out, as pressure and anticipation built, she clung to him, and he held her, never intending to let her go.

The air around them warmed, the scent of their lovemaking increasing their desire. Leve’s skin was damp. Gray longed to lick the salt from her body, but couldn’t bear to pull his lips from her mouth, couldn’t bear to change anything about the perfect position of their bodies melded together, moving together as their pace increased, as they drew closer and closer to finding release.

The tension continued to build; Gray’s entire body screamed for release. He moved faster, Leve moving with him.

Then, when he thought he might explode, his body began to tense and release, Leve’s body tensing and releasing around him.

She pulled her mouth free of his, panted out breath, hot against his skin. He leaned back, stared into her eyes, and as the last moment of their orgasm swept over them, he rolled, let Leve straddle him, let Leve control the moment.

Her hands on his chest, she stared down at him and smiled—a smile that reached her eyes, warmed him as much as their love-making had.

He ran his hand up her neck and pulled her back down for a kiss.

 

Leve lay in Gray’s arms, knowing she needed to get dressed, that their interlude had been foolish to start with, but unwilling to let it go and consider where they were and what they would soon have to face.

“What are the chances the male escaped?” she asked.

Gray tilted his neck, pressed his temple against the top of her head. “Not impossible, but…”

The possibility hung between them. They both knew the odds were slim that the male hellhound, even if he did defeat the dark elves and secure his own freedom, would stay and work to release them from the mill.

“Even if he or the females try, there’s no way to know they can,” she murmured.

Gray’s arm tightened around her shoulders, but he didn’t reply.

There wasn’t anything to say.

 

Gray didn’t bother pulling on his clothes, and neither did Leve. He assumed she, like him, wanted to savor the moments they had—skin to skin.

And if they never escaped, this was how he wanted to go…with Leve pressed against him, her heart beating softly against his side, her breath blowing across his chest.

She’d dozed off, sleep he suspected she needed, when the wall of magic thinned and cool night air crept into their hole.

He squeezed her and she was awake instantly. Silently they both moved to a crouch.

Wide shoulders appeared, blocking what little light was left of the day. A light shone into the tunnel, blinding them both.

Gray grabbed Leve’s hand and started to shimmer them past the doorway.

“Well, at least you kept yourselves busy.” The hellhound they’d freed dropped the spotlight and stepped out of their way, motioning them out into the night.

 

Leve held Gray’s hand as she walked out into the cool air, not even pausing to pick up her clothes before she did.

Outside the hellhounds waited—all of them, the male and the females. Hanging from a tree was the net that she and Gray had last seen dropped over the male hellhound now in the tunnel retrieving their clothes. Inside the net were five dark elves, dead or knocked out—Leve didn’t know and honestly didn’t care.

The hellhound who’d opened the tunnel handed her and Gray their clothes, then nodded to the net. “Mercenaries don’t put up much of a fight. Not once they see they’re facing some real hurt.” He glanced at the females, his gaze cautious, but respectful.

Leve pulled on her clothes. Beside her, Gray did the same. “What are you going to do with them?” she asked.

The hellhound shrugged. “Up to you two. I don’t mind killing them, but I thought you might have other plans.”

“Like finding whoever hired them?” Gray glanced at Leve.

The net stirred—one of the guards coming to consciousness. She concentrated on watching him, not looking at Gray. He’d saved her and they’d had their moment in the tunnel. She couldn’t expect him to think about her now, to want to stay with her longer.

“Might be a good idea.” Gray eyed the swinging net, then placed a hand on Leve’s back. His touch was light and unsure, but Leve’s heart raced. “What do you think? Want to hang around? Hunt down whoever’s done this?” he asked.

Leve smiled, glanced at the females, then back at Gray. She stepped closer, until the warmth of his body mingled with hers. “Yeah, I think I do.”

His arms opened and she stepped into them, let him press her against his body.

She wasn’t alone. Never would be again.