“Stop that!” she snapped. He’s not really reading my mind. He’s just reading body language, making obvious guesses. “And give me a hand if you’re in such a hurry,” she added.

  He sauntered away from the Jeep and took the sleeping bag in one hand.

  Jo kept the duffel. When he moved to the back of the Jeep, she fished the spare keys out of the duffel’s side pocket and sprinted for the driver’s-side door.

  “Cute,” was his comment when he appeared in front of her and snatched the keys from her hand.

  Her momentum caused her to run hard into his big, broad body. It was like hitting a wall. She bounced back and landed flat on her butt on the rocky ground. She could read no expression on his face as he loomed above her for long, menacing seconds; but her own terror brought up images of his brutalizing her for daring to attempt escape. The unnatural speed with which he’d intercepted her added to her fear.

  When he reached down, she flinched and tried to scramble away. He picked her up and hauled her over his shoulder as if she were light as meringue. The ease with which he handled her was as shocking as his speed. Okay, he was a big guy and she’d lost weight after the crash, but she wasn’t a feather.

  He carried her to the Jeep and put her in the passenger seat. “Fasten your seat belt,” he told her as he closed the door.

  “It’s going to be a bumpy night.” He heard her mutter the line from an old movie as he went around to the driver’s side.

  Marc might have laughed, but he was too strung out to allow any emotion through. Even with the blood he’d taken from her last night, he was still on the edge of being feral. Flight triggered pursuit. Although the ancient instinct was the first thing a young male was taught to control, the instinct never went away. If she ran again, he might bleed her dry this time. He was still fighting hard against the need to drag her beneath him and take her, blood or no blood. Catching her meant he’d won, and winning was an aphrodisiac.

  He gave his head a hard shake. He had no time for this! He got in the Jeep and slammed the door, grateful for the small shade the interior provided. He hoped the Cherokee came equipped with air-conditioning.

  Now, where to go? Having the SUV and the woman gave him a chance, but only a small one. They weren’t going to stop coming for him—Gavin wasn’t the kind who ever stopped.

  He’d heard a plane in the sky around dawn, but they hadn’t spotted him then. Luck couldn’t be counted on to last. He badly needed a place to sleep, to eat, and to get the drugs out of his system; a place to lie low and recoup. But where?

  He couldn’t head home; that would put his Family stronghold in jeopardy.

  Maybe there was a map in the duffel on her lap. Marcus reached across the seat and had to tug it away from her, because she was holding it in a death grip. Her nerves were as tightly strung as his, and he knew she was too afraid to be aware of what sang between them. He wished he could stuff the awareness down a hole in his conscience.

  He undid all the many zippered compartments of the bag and combed through it. Since she’d had a spare set of car keys, there might be a spare weapon in the bag as well. He found only a few items of clothing, some cash, a Discman, a CD case, and her driver’s license.

  “Josephine Elliot,” he read. She lived in Phoenix. She was twenty-seven and was five feet five inches tall. She certainly didn’t match the weight listed on the license.

  He flipped through the CD case and was disgusted with the music selection. Chick stuff like Alicia Keys and Norah Jones.

  He looked at her chest. “I’d thought you’d have better taste, Josephine.”

  Jo realized he was talking about the rock band logo on her shirt. “This was a present. Leave my stuff alone.”

  “I like road music. You have any rap? Hiphop? And what are you doing with a cop gun like a Beretta?”

  “It was a present,” she said again.

  “Your dad a cop?”

  “Mother.” She didn’t know why she was telling him these personal things. “And my sister.”

  Her dad was a pilot, as was her brother. She’d always wanted to fly.

  She’d flown, and then she’d fallen, and now here she was with a monster. No one expected her home for at least a week, and no one knew exactly where she’d gone. She didn’t even have her cell phone with her. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What had she been thinking?

  She hadn’t been. She’d been hurting. She’d let the hurt take over her life, and look where it had gotten her.

  Captured by a dangerous stranger, whom she was attuned to in a way she’d never experienced before. She supposed the hyperawareness was some sort of survival instinct.

  Marc found a pair of wire-rimmed sunglasses on the visor. They didn’t fit him very well, but they blocked the blistering desert light.

  He also found a bottle of fancy “sports” water in Josephine’s bag. Though he’d drunk deeply from the woman the night before, he was still dehydrated, along with all his other problems.

  He drank half the water, then tossed the bottle to Josephine. “You need liquids,” he told her. “And plenty of sleep.”

  She unscrewed the lid and gulped down the other half of the bottle. Then she eyed him nervously. “Now what?”

  “Sleep, Josephine.” He used his dwindling reserves of energy to make the command a telepathic one that she couldn’t help but obey.

  Then Marc started the Jeep and drove back along the track she’d made to her campsite. Eventually he’d find a road. He’d decide which way to go when he got there.

  Chapter Three

  Jo lifted her head from the pillow and sniffed. “What’s that?”

  She knew what the aroma wafting through the small motel room was, but normally her stomach wouldn’t have rumbled or her mouth begun to water as she caught a whiff of cooked meat.

  Her captor closed the door and crossed the few steps to the bed, where he’d left her tied to the metal frame.

  She had vague memories of the day, very vague. She’d dozed a lot, and he’d run the air-conditioning too high. There must have been a stop for gas. She’d heard his deep voice asking questions, though she had no recollection of anyone answering, no memory of any stranger’s emotions intruding on her.

  She’d lifted her head while they were stopped, intending to call for help. But he’d been beside her instantly. He held a bottle of cold water to her lips, and she drank greedily. And there’d been candy bars. She remembered salty peanuts and chocolate that she’d devoured with greedy lust at his urging. His voice was like chocolate, dark bittersweet whispering in her ear, or maybe inside her head, urging her to take care of herself while somehow making it sound like sin.

  Now the aroma of greasy meat brought her fully back to consciousness. She looked around and found that she had some memory of being guided into this room by a hand on her arm.

  It was a small, square cell of a place. The walls were a dull gray, the furniture sparse and shabby, and the double bed sagged in the middle. An air conditioner covered the room’s only window. There was a door that led to a bathroom and the door to the outside. She had a feeling he was always going to be between her and the door to freedom.

  “That’s right,” he said, and put two brown paper bags on the bedside table. He switched on the lamp, which gave more of a fitful glow than any real illumination, then squatted beside the bed and untied her.

  He’d used strips from her shirt to restrain her. “I don’t have that many clothes with me,” she complained.

  “This one was already ruined,” he reminded her.

  “I could have replaced the buttons.”

  It was silly to complain about something so unimportant as a piece of clothing, but it was easier than thinking about why the shirt had been destroyed.

  A shudder of fear went through her. She wanted to ask how long he was going to hold her prisoner, why he was keeping her, what he was going to do.

  She asked, “What’s in the bags?”

  “Hamburgers.” He pulled the only chair over by the small table. It creaked when he sat on it. He took one of the burgers out of the bag and handed it to her.

  The wrapped bundle was warm and heavy in her hand. The fragrance made her mouth water. The look she turned on him was accusatory. “I’m a vegetarian.”

  “Not anymore.”

  She wanted to refuse to eat, but why be a hypocrite? She wanted it. She wolfed it down in three large bites, then licked mustard and ketchup off her lips. She held out her hand, and he put a second burger into it. She didn’t make such a quick job of this one, but settled back against the headboard with the thin pillows at her back and her legs folded beneath her, and savored. He handed her a small carton of orange juice, and that was delicious, too.

  Marc settled his big frame as comfortably as he could on the wooden chair and watched Josephine. The food he’d brought her wasn’t anything fancy, yet she took absolute, sensual pleasure out of it. She took these moments to forget he was there, to forget her fear and simply enjoy what she had.

  She was living in the moment, and that was a good thing. She hadn’t been doing that when he’d found her. She’d been living in the past, and in pain.

  He ate two of the burgers he’d brought, but they only satisfied a small part of his need. He was hungry for her, but it wouldn’t be safe for her if he indulged that hunger so soon. The mark he’d left on her throat hadn’t healed yet, a sure sign he’d taken too much too quickly.

  It still amazed him that she’d been there for him. All her psychic senses had been wide-open, waiting—calling. Though this mortal woman didn’t know the psychic connection her soul craved, he recognized his future mate, even maddened by thirst.

  He’d never believed in fate and legends, or even the ancient moon goddess the Families revered, but old Selene had come through for him in his darkest hour. Now it was up to him to make the most of the miracle and protect what the goddess had given him. As much as he could. His own freedom had to come first.

  “How are you feeling?” he asked, gently probing the edges of her mind.

  “Where are we?” she asked.

  He sensed that she was still hungry and passed her a third hamburger. “There’s milk.” She held out a hand, and he twisted off the cap of the plastic bottle before handing it to her.

  “You haven’t answered me,” Josephine said after she drained the milk.

  “Eat,” he suggested.

  “We’re in a motel.” She looked around, with more attention than when he’d come in. “How? Where?”

  “There’s no phone. No one knows you’re here.”

  He’d paid cash for two nights, and had been as hypnotically persuasive with the run-down motel’s owner as the drugs in him and his weakness allowed, telling the old man to forget about him, to ignore the man in room two. He’d been equally persuasive with the counterman at the greasy spoon across the dusty road that ran through this tiny excuse for a town.

  She brought an annoyed gaze back to him. “What’s your name?”

  “Cage,” he answered.

  He got a skeptically raised eyebrow at this. He knew it sounded dramatic, but vampire culture was like that.

  “Really. Marc Cage.”

  Marcus Cage of Family Caeg, to be formal about it. Someday the knowledge might mean something to her, but this was no time to consider possible futures. Always live in the moment when in trouble, concentrate on getting out.

  She wished she hadn’t asked, didn’t know why she had. Putting a name to the brute humanized him somewhat. Which might not be a smart move. She didn’t want to think of Cage as a person. He was her kidnapper. She had to keep emotional distance. She didn’t want to worry about what he was feeling and thinking, other than as it applied to her survival.

  There were some basic things she needed to know: Are you going to kill me? Are you going to rape me?

  “What now?” she asked.

  “You want more to eat?” When she shook her head, he got up, and said, “Come on.”

  He took her arm again once she was on her feet. She hoped they were going outside; maybe she’d get a chance to shout for help. Instead, he took her to the bathroom.

  “Ladies first,” he said, and pushed her before him into the room.

  Jo looked at the toilet, then back to where he stood blocking the doorway. “I don’t use that with anyone watching.”

  “I won’t watch.” He turned his back to her. “I’ll even close my eyes.”

  “You could wait outside.”

  He didn’t answer, just stood there filling the narrow doorway like a statue carved out of dark marble. After a few moments she gave in to the call of nature. While she did, he stripped off his clothes. She tried not to look, but by the time she was done, her view was of his naked backside.

  Every muscle was so beautifully sculpted, Michelangelo could have signed the work. His skin was as smooth as marble, perfectly proportioned from wide shoulders to narrow waist and down to the curve of his ass and hard-muscled thighs and calves. He had no scars, she noted. There was not a mole or freckle on him.

  “Done?” he asked.

  “Yes.” She stood and backed into the farthest corner of the small bathroom.

  “I’m turning around now,” he told her.

  She gasped.

  He chuckled. “Don’t stare. It’s rude.”

  When he moved, she closed her eyes. That was no protection, of course. Pretending this juggernaut of a man wasn’t there was stupid. He was standing next to her in only a couple of steps. She was aware of his presence like a shadow passing across the sun. Only instead of being cooler, she grew warm.

  His hands touched her hips, then skimmed up her waist. She pressed herself back against the wall, wedged between the sink and toilet. There was nowhere for her to go, and his hands were on her. Her head spun, and her body went heavy and hot in a way that was totally unexpected and unwanted. It took her a moment to realize that he’d taken off her shirt, and that she’d lifted her arms to help him do it. What was the matter with her?

  Marc wasn’t surprised when Josephine’s eyes flew open, and the dreamy expression that briefly crossed her face disappeared in a burst of panic. Her reaction shook him enough to make him remember the reason they were in the room. He stepped back and turned to the shower. “You want to go first?” he asked, and turned on the water.

  Jo abandoned modesty as soon as water began spraying out of the showerhead. She took off the rest of her clothes and squeezed past the naked man into the stall. He passed her a sliver of soap and closed the thin plastic curtain. She made the most of the sudden privacy to quickly wash off days’ worth of grime. She worked the soap into a pitiful lather and scrubbed at her hair and skin. It was surprising how quickly basic things like food and cleanliness came to feel like the ultimate in luxury.

  “Save some for me,” she heard Cage say.

  “No,” she called back over the sound of the water.

  “Then we’ll have to share.”

  She knew it was a mistake even to try to tease this man when the shower curtain was shoved aside a moment later.

  Marc slid his big body into the small space. Cramped as it was, he almost felt like he’d died and gone to heaven as water washed over him, and the scent of Josephine’s skin, warm from the water, sleek and slippery with soap, was crushed against his chest and thighs. He grew hard instantly. His erection pressed against her. He put his arms around her, having to move slowly and carefully in the confined space. He stood for a long time, holding her, letting the water work on tired muscles, waiting, hoping she would relax.

  After a while he began to touch her. He had to move very slowly in the tight space, but the gentleness helped her. He needed her to get used to his touch. He wanted her craving it, and perhaps that would come in time. If they were to bond, it was necessary for desire to grow between them.

  He glided his hands up and down her back, over her lovely, rounded buttocks, over her hips and up to her waist. He sleeked his hands down her thighs, then came up to rub his fingers through her hair, massaging her scalp.

  Her head moved against his hands, and the small sound she made was one of pleasure at last. The fear was still inside her, quivering in her belly, beating in her heart, roaring in her head, but her skin enjoyed his touch.

  Her head fell back, her face full in the stream of water. He kissed her then, his mouth covering hers as the water beat against his back. He was all too aware of her breasts pressed against his chest, of her taste, of the clean scent of her skin. She opened her lips for him.

  Though she stayed still in his embrace, a fear-driven spike of adrenaline shot through her. She wasn’t ready for this.

  Besides, more than her body, he still needed her blood, and couldn’t spare giving her his. She wasn’t ready for that yet, either.

  This was no time for him to think about a bonding courtship.

  He lifted his head and turned off the water. “Time for bed,” he told her. He snatched thin white towels from the shelf over the toilet and handed her a couple.

  Jo shook as she dried herself off. She was so weak she could barely stand, so confused she couldn’t think, so aroused she could hardly bear the shame. Her head was spinning, and she couldn’t feel what he was feeling. Maybe because she was feeling too much herself? Maybe because he could shut himself off from her? She should be glad of that, yet it made her feel lonely. She was used to reading emotions. Now she had to do it the hard way, and she looked at him.

  What she saw was a man weary to the point of collapse. Her heart went out to him, though sympathy for the devil was stupid.

  It made her even more confused when the devil picked her up and carried her to the bed cradled in his arms like a baby. She couldn’t manage to protest, not even when he turned off the dim light and lay down beside her. The sagging mattress made sure that they rolled together.

  For a long time she was acutely aware of her back pressed to his front, the animal warmth they shared, his arm across her body, holding her prisoner yet somehow comforting. She was aware when his breathing shifted from wakefulness to sleep. She counted those slow breaths like another person might count sheep. Eventually she drifted off, too.