a wave of nausea threatened. She took a deep breath to clear her head and instantly regretted it as a fresh round of throbbing pain reverberated through her head.
Sharp pressure against her wrist made her cry out, and she opened her hand and allowed the gun to slip from her suddenly limp fingers.
Dark boots filled her wavering vision in the weak moonlight filtering in through the curtains. She clenched her jaw and resisted the urge to wince as she waited for the final deathblow to fall.
Oddly, she felt no fear, only anger and a sincere hope she’d be offered the option to haunt the son of a bitch until he threw himself off a building.
Something small and cold landed in her still-open palm, and she frowned as her fingers closed over it. It was round and almost felt like a coin.
She lifted her hand close to her face and held the object between her thumb and first finger, glad her vision had begun to stabilize.
A quarter.
Fresh nausea inched its way up her throat as the implications poured through her.
Who besides she and her father knew about their escape plan and their code? The sour taste of bile filled her mouth along with anger and a protective instinct where her father was concerned.
“All your safe houses have been compromised. I’ve come to take you to safety.”
Kiera started as her brain finally made sense of the words. Her roiling stomach calmed a little as conflicting emotions of relief and fear washed over her as if she were on a strange, undulating rollercoaster.
Only then did she realize she had heard the voice before.
The Klatch prince.
Crap.
She pushed herself up to sit back against the cabinet, surprised when her head didn’t protest. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust so she could make out the man’s features in the darkened room.
He held out one long-fingered hand, palm open between them, while she decided if she would accept his help or not.
If he’d wanted to kill you, you’d already be dead. Might as well take it.
She huffed at her own indecision and finally reached up to place her hand in his. Warm, strong flesh closed over hers, causing little flutters deep inside her belly as she allowed herself to be pulled to standing.
The world tilted at her sudden change in position.
She closed her eyes and swallowed hard as she swayed on her feet, and her knees threatened to buckle under her.
Damn. Maybe I hit my head harder than I thought .
Irritation warred with mortification as the Klatch prince pulled her tight against his hard chest. The muscular body under her fingertips and against her breasts would’ve been enough for any woman to appreciate, but it was his warmth and the musky scent of the deep woods which surrounded her that threatened to pull a sigh from her lips. It took a valiant attempt, but she resisted the impulse to bury her nose against his chest and inhale.
Barely.
That urge alone brought her to her senses.
Kiera pushed away from him to stand on her own. She locked her knees and laid a steadying hand on the counter next to her. The cold from the Formica seeped into her fingers, cooling her suddenly feverish skin. It felt so good, she considered laying her forehead against the counter for one long indulgent moment.
“Are you all right?” His rich tenor voice flowed over her in a sensual assault, reminding her of his presence.
Embarrassment at him seeing her during a weak moment quickly morphed into anger, which chased away the last vestiges of dizziness.
“Who the hell are you?” she demanded, not bothering to answer his question. She finally raised her gaze to meet his, which tipped her head back enough to make both her head and stomach swim precariously. She swallowed hard and stared at his Adam’s apple.
Dusky skin surrounded his very masculine throat, which also led her to study the hard line of his jaw and the scattered dark chest hairs that peeked out from beneath the collar of the lovingly tight black T-shirt he wore. She bit the inside of her cheek hard, concentrating on the pain instead of the rugged masculinity of the man in front of her.
“Just call me Ryan. We need to get you out of here before the assassins find you.”
At the mention of the assassins, heat speared up her neck and into her cheeks. She had been so lost in noticing his fine…attributes…that she had totally forgotten the situation that brought him here. Her anger burned higher, but at herself this time, and she wrapped it around herself like a shield.
Kiera bent to retrieve her Ruger and then stood to study Ryan for a long moment, careful that her expression was contemptuous rather than inviting. “That’s not what I meant. I already gathered from our earlier encounter that you’re Prince Ryan of the Klatch .” She glared at him waiting for an answer. When none came, she huffed out a breath and continued. “I’m not going anywhere until I decide if I’m better or worse off with you than the assassins. Who sent you, and why should I trust you? You’re the reason the council thinks I betrayed them.”
His expression never changed except for his eyes, which danced with amusement.
She resisted the urge to shake him.
“I never meant to cause you trouble.” He held his arms out to the side in an “I’m innocent” gesture. “But I don’t know if the situation can be rectified at this point.”
The fact that he had a point only irritated her further. It wasn’t as if he could give her a note or even show up at the Cunt Council headquarters and say, “Hey everyone, just a big misunderstanding. Can you call off your doctor hunt?”
“As for the rest. If I meant you harm, I could’ve just left you to the assassins.”
A blur of orange streaked between them, and then Ryan was holding Shiloh, a shocked look on his face—the prince, not the cat.
“Traitor,” she muttered, but Shiloh only cuddled against Ryan and began a loud purr.
Ryan recovered quickly and shifted his grip so he could scratch Shiloh behind the ears. The cat’s purring increased exponentially, and Kiera resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Though she was grudging to admit it, the little pain-in-the-ass feline had always been an excellent judge of character. If she weren’t so stubborn, that alone would have convinced her that Ryan meant her no harm.
“So, if I agree to go with you, just where do you propose we go where the assassins and half the Cunt race won’t find me?” She arched an eyebrow at him in challenge. “Or you for helping me?”
“Tador.”
Her mouth dropped open in surprise. Whatever answer she had expected, it wasn’t that.
All Cunts had been exiled from Tador almost twenty-five years ago right after the Cunt uprising against the Klatch throne. Even though Kiera carried only half that lineage, her blond hair and blue eyes alone would condemn her with many of the inhabitants of
