“I want my gun back,” she said as the guards seemed to pass by.
After the marching sounds faded, a candle flared.
Nyx blinked in the warm glow, and was glad she’d gotten a look at his peepers out in the tunnel. Otherwise, she might have shown surprise. Or . . . something else that would have been really stupid to share.
Still, she was captivated. His stare seemed to be backlit from inside his skull, unlike anything she had ever seen before. Jewels. Paraíba tourmalines. Only more beautiful than that.
She could not look away.
In her peripheral vision, other details of him registered. He had a freckle under the eye on the left, and its contours were unusual. Like a heart. His clothing was dark gray and loose, but not rags. He was clean and relatively well-fed. His scent was . . .
She refused to let herself think about his scent. Nope. That was not going to help things.
“We need to get you out of here,” he said grimly.
As his words sank in, she had a thought that she wanted just a little more time to stare at him so she could memorize all the details of his face. But that was ridiculous.
“I’m not leaving,” she countered.
The Jackal closed his eyes briefly. In spite of the reality of his own situation, and the overriding focus it mandated, he had a thought that he must get this female out of the prison. With her strange-looking clothes, her provisions, and the flashlight he’d stripped from her, it was clear she didn’t belong here. And with what she had done to one of the Command’s guards? If they got a hold of her with those bloodstains on her jacket, she was going to learn things about pain that would make death look like a gift.
She was not his responsibility, however, and he was not in a position to take on any further ones. And it wasn’t like she was fragile or weak.
On the contrary. The female was meeting him right in the eye, and even though she’d been disarmed, she was ready to fight. The resolve was in her braced stance, her unwavering stare, the fists that were up in front of her chest. Her hair, which was black, was pulled back, the tail of it long enough to curl over her shoulder and extend below her collarbones. Her eyes were the color of brandy in good lighting.
By the weight of her pack, and the way it moved, he knew she had more weapons with her. Probably ammunition, too.
“Give me my shit back,” she demanded.
The Jackal frowned. “I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me, asshole.” When he didn’t reply, she snapped, “I already know you speak English, so don’t pretend you’re confused.”
“I understand every word you’ve spoken. I’m simply not used to hearing females curse as readily as you seem to.”
She blinked. Leaned in a little, like maybe he was stupid. “Exactly where do you think we are? A gourmet restaurant?”
“I just believe that the fairer sex has better ways of expressing themselves.”
The female put her hands on her hips. “Just my luck. I get mugged by Emily Post.”
“Emily who?” He narrowed his eyes. “And I did not mug you.”
“Then why do you have all my shit.”
As she drew out the enunciation on that last word, something unfamiliar woke up in the back of his brain. To cover up the thoughts and feelings, he forced himself to focus.
“Where do you think you’re going,” he said.
“You don’t have to worry about that.”
“I’m asking the wrong question,” he muttered. “Why are you here.”
“Also none of your business.”
Heat went through him, and he studiously ignored the area between his thighs where it pooled. “You don’t seem to understand your situation. You are going to die if you don’t get out of here, and unless you have some help getting free of this hellhole, your grave is a sooner-not-later situation.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“What is worth more than your own life?”
“It’s not about me.”
When she simply stared at him, the Jackal looked away. It felt odd to hide his eyes from a stranger, but it seemed vitally important that she guess nothing about him. Especially not what was happening to his body.
Although something told him she wouldn’t be shocked. The female was brazen, and not just with her vocabulary.
“Who are you looking for?” When she crossed her arms and narrowed her stare, he smiled. “Ah, it would seem I got it right, and spare me the games. You’re not in a position to play them. You have no idea where you are, where you’re going, or how to find someone in the maze down here.”
“I will figure it out.”
“No, you won’t. I’ve spent a hundred years in this prison. I know more about the tunnel system than anybody else still alive in it. You have no idea where you are. Now tell me, who are you here to find.”