Toxic Game (GhostWalkers 15)

“You can’t trust anything Whitney says to you.”

“Believe me, I’m well aware of that. I agreed to be psychically enhanced but that wasn’t the only thing he did to me.” He had been furious, and it had just proved to him all over again that no one could ever be trusted. Now, he was oddly grateful. He liked the fact that his woman was his perfect match, or at least seemingly so.

He didn’t have the spider strain, but clearly it wasn’t as strong in her as it was in Cayenne. Shylah made use of her ability to spin silk, but she wasn’t compulsive about it. He’d seen beautiful lacy curtains, all made of silk, hanging all over Trap’s bedroom. There were silken streamers hanging from the ceiling. Cayenne often wrapped herself in silk and rested away from the team, her gaze on Trap, every cell in her body tuned just to him.

“I have a few things to say to Whitney.”

“I have nothing to say to him.”

“It may be the last time you ever have the chance to tell him what an asshole he is.”

She turned away from him and started up the stairs. “I have no desire to give him that kind of satisfaction. He’s heard it his entire life, and it just makes him feel superior. If you feel the need to talk to him, by all means call him.”

She stood at the door, examining the silken lines that crisscrossed in the very functional pattern of the funnel-web spider. Frowning, she ran her finger down the door. “Someone’s been here, Draden.”

He came onto the porch immediately, stepping right behind her, close, so his larger frame covered hers. Just in case a rifle was trained on them. He touched her shoulder. “Ease around to the southern side of the building. There’s more cover there. Act like you’re looking for more breaks in the web.”

She didn’t argue with him, she jumped off the porch and made her way around the corner of the building. Draden took his time examining the door. The silken lines were broken, snapped off when someone had opened it. He glanced back at the lines on the stairs. Not a single one had been broken. Someone had known not to disturb those webs.

He stood slowly. Joe? You close by?

There was a long silence and then he felt the presence slide into his mind. Waiting for the two of you to come back. I came by earlier, opened the door and looked inside.

There was another hesitation, and Draden’s alarm went off.

I’m sorry, man. Trap says both of you are infected, but he says you’re fighting it. He wants more blood ASAP.

In terms of fighting it, what does that mean?

He says your immune systems are working overtime and the virus is being killed at a rapid rate. You both are fighting it off actively.

They had it. Both of them. They carried that death inside of them. It was an eerie feeling. So, you’re saying we’re both carriers. He hated that even more. The idea of being responsible for infecting anyone, even his enemies, was abhorrent to him.

That’s not what I said. Just get inside and get me some blood. You know how obsessive Trap is, he wants it like yesterday. He’s been at me all night.

“Shylah, it was Joe. Trap sent him for more blood.”

You go on inside and stay away from the windows.

Her voice sounded warm and sweet like honey. Wild honey. His breath hitched. You don’t have a knife up against my commanding officer’s throat, do you?

Of course not. I have a gun pointed at his head. He doesn’t know it. I was careful to stay out of sight.

He knows it. Joe’s a GhostWalker, just like we are. Nothing gets close to us without our knowledge. For God’s sake, woman, you’re going to get my ass thrown in the brig.

You’re too trusting. If orders came down from the top to kill you, don’t you think he’d do it? He would in a heartbeat. We’re dangerous to everyone.

No, Shylah, he wouldn’t do it. Joe’s my friend. I don’t trust many people, but I do trust him. I’m going inside. Come and join me. You’re giving me a hell of a hard-on and I can’t do anything about it because we’re both infected with this nasty virus.

There was silence. Too long. He paused, hand on the door. I should have said, our bodies are fighting it off. For the first time he let himself really breathe. Really think there was a possibility to live. Joe’s a tolerant man, sweetheart, but no one likes a gun on them.

You know how to ruin a girl’s fun.

Even knowing Joe was lethal as hell and any minute might lose his patience—although he wasn’t known for that—Draden still felt like smiling. He had the impression of Shylah pouting, and that made him happy. Just talking to her made him happy. The fact that she would circle around, hunt and find the man watching from the forest, was a complete turn-on. He liked that his woman would be his partner.

He waited for her on the porch. She walked into the clearing, shoulders back, head up, straight as an arrow, completely unrepentant. She even gave him a little smirk. He wrapped his arm around her neck and kissed her. Kissing her was an experience that could get out of hand fast. She was addicting. Hot. Her mouth a kind of paradise he hadn’t experienced until he kissed her, and now he didn’t want to stop.

For God’s sake, Draden. I swear I’m going to put a bullet in your leg if you keep that shit up. I’m hot and hungry and I’ve got Trap calling me every ten minutes. You ever experience Trap when he’s in full-blown research mode? Get inside and give me your blood. Now. Consider that an order.

Draden debated. Kissing Shylah was worth getting shot. Still. He lifted his head, looking down at her dark eyes and the golden dusting of freckles he loved. He wanted to spend time kissing every single one of those spots. “Joe’s getting antsy. Let’s get inside and take our blood, give it to him and then we’ll contact Whitney.”

“I don’t have anything to say to Whitney,” Shylah reiterated. “But since I’ve been kind of mean to your friend, I agree we should give him the blood.” She looked away from him, deliberately concentrating on the door as he opened it to allow them both inside. “You said we were fighting it off. What does that mean?”

“I honestly don’t know what it means, sweetheart.” Draden kept his voice gentle. She needed gentle. The news was overwhelming emotionally. They’d both tried to prepare themselves for the ordeal of dying a horrific death and now they’d been handed hope. He wasn’t certain if hope was a good thing, not knowing the virus was inside of them, attacking their bodies every way it could. “Trap is good at what he does, and he’s sharing everything we give him with the best in the military. Everyone is working to try to save us.” He washed his hands and pulled on gloves. He didn’t want to tell her that of course their bodies would attempt to fight the virus. That was what immune systems were for. They both needed hope.

She gave him her arm. “You do know if they find a way to save us, I can never meet your commanding officer face-to-face after the things I said to him.”

He flashed her a grin. “I think he’ll be so glad we’re both alive that he’ll forgive you the comment

s. The gun aimed at him is a different matter.”

“We’ve got weapons aimed at us,” she said, wincing as he took out the needle. “I don’t mind them going in, but I hate it when they’re pulled out.” “I’ll try to be more careful.” He hated hurting her. A stick with a needle wasn’t anything, he knew she’d say that to him. But it was to him. He had the feeling she’d had a lifetime of needles and experiments with no one caring whether or not it hurt her. “Shylah, if we survive this, I want you to stay with me.”

Her gaze jumped to his face. It was clear, from her expression, she hadn’t expected there was a chance of survival and she hadn’t thought what would happen if she didn’t die.

“I’m never going back to Whitney.”

“I wouldn’t want you to go back to him, but if you survive this, you have choices. I know Lily, Whitney’s daughter, would give you the money for a clean start. She’s helped out all of us. Hell, I’d do that. I don’t want you to think you don’t have choices, but when you think about what you would want to do, think about staying with me. Making a go of it, the two of us. The things we talked about yesterday, we could make them real.”

They’d lain on the bed together, talking for hours. Laughing. Putting together a mythical household. Designing the rooms. Talking about what their days together would be like. How many children they wanted.

He had stretched out, full length, head propped up with his hands, looking at the woman he knew would forever have his heart. Not once during those hours had he thought about dying. Not one single time. He’d thought about their life together and how they were so well matched. He’d found himself finding ways to make her laugh just to hear the sound.