Mira rubbed a damp chill from her arms as she put her feet on the cold floor. She was wearing just her panties and the extra-large T-shirt Kellan had given her out of the chest at the foot of the bed. Her bra and his borrowed sweatpants were folded over a weathered wooden chair. She was about to get up and grab them when the tumbler on the locked door clicked open.
Kellan walked in, no warning or excuse.
His gaze shot to her in his bed. For a moment, she couldn't tell if it was surprise or regret in his hazel eyes. But there was something dark in them too, something troubled and grim. He stepped inside the room and closed the door behind him.
When he spoke, his voice was coarse like gravel. "You look well rested."
Mira scrambled out of his bed, all too aware of her state of undress and too conscious of the fact that Kellan was noticing it too. "You look like hell," she told him, keeping the sarcasm ripe in her tone as she edged away from the rumpled mattress. "I hate to think you had to find another bed to sleep in, with your private quarters turned into my prison cell."
He grunted as he prowled farther into the room. "Who says I slept?"
Mira watched him, wishing it wasn't so easy to picture him warming another woman's bed. For all her mental reassurances that she shouldn't care what he did - or with whom - seeing him unrested and tense with menacing energy made anger spike in her veins. "Where have you been, Kellan?"
He barked out a caustic laugh. "Masterminding rebel business." He pinned her with a dark look, showing the gleaming tips of his fangs. "That's what I do, remember?"
Mira stared at him, taken aback by the barely restrained anger in his voice. His face was taut with aggression, the lean angles of his cheeks and goateed jaw even sharper now. Kellan was mad. Furiously mad.
She watched him stalk over to the clothing chest on the floor like he was marching to war. He stripped off his wrinkled black T-shirt with savage force, threw open the lid of the trunk. His dermaglyphs were livid with color. The swirling arcs and flourishes of the Breed skin markings that covered his chest and biceps churned and pulsed with stormy shades of red and black and midnight blue. Mira swallowed. "Something's happened, hasn't it? Something bad."
He exhaled sharply. "You could say that."
His gaze met hers, and now his irises were bright with amber sparks, skewering her where she stood. Mira could feel his fury rolling off him, could see it in his hot glare, as if he couldn't stand the sight of her today.
"Aren't you going to tell me what's wrong?" she asked, refusing to be cowed. "You can talk to me, Kellan - "
"Talk to you?" he snarled. "I don't want to talk. I need to think. This is my problem. You're not a part of it."
"I am a part of it, whether you like it or not," she reminded him. "Whether either one of us likes it or not, you've made me a part of this."
He slammed the chest lid down so hard, it echoed like a cannon shot. He came up out of his crouch in an instant - less than that - and was standing right in front of her before she could take her next breath. Less than a hand's width separated them; she was close enough to feel the heat radiating from his every pore.
The glyphs that had been pulsing with the furious hues of Kellan's anger and frustration a few moments ago now deepened. There was still rage in them, but Mira watched the colors morph toward need and something darker as Kellan crowded her with the massive bulk of his body. His fangs seemed enormous, as sharp as daggers behind the menacing curl of his lip.
"You want me to tell you how badly I fucked up, going after Jeremy Ackmeyer?" Kellan's eyes blazed as hot as coals as he spoke, his pupils reduced to thin slivers of black in the middle of so much amber fire. He went on, his words vicious with self-directed fury. "You want to hear how I've grabbed an innocent, decent man - a man who wouldn't harm a fly, much less another person?"
Mira tried to process what he was telling her, but hearing his torment, she could hardly breathe. Dark emotion played across his face, turning his handsome features stark and fierce.
A low snarl curled up from the back of his throat. "You want me to explain how my orders will mean a certain death sentence for Candice and Doc and the rest of my crew if I don't figure a way to straighten this shit out?"
Mira's heart was pounding in her ears. She wanted to touch him, comfort him somehow, but she held herself in check, focusing instead on the truth of what he'd just said. "Jeremy Ackmeyer is innocent?" She searched Kellan's face, braving the enraged heat of his glare. "I thought you traced the UV tech back to his lab."
Kellan answered with a growl. "The tech is his. Ackmeyer didn't release it to anyone, not for money or otherwise. Someone stole the technology from him."
"He told you this?"
Kellan nodded. "And I read the truth of it when I touched him. He's innocent, Mira."
"You have to let him go," Mira murmured. Now she did reach out to Kellan, turning his face toward her when he tried to dodge her gaze. His jaw was rigid in her palm, a tendon ticking hard against her fingertips. "You have to release him. Take him straight to the Order and tell Lucan what you've discovered about the UV tech and the killing of Nina's lover."
He looked at her for a long moment, then exhaled a curse, shook his head.
"We can do it together, Kellan." Mira searched his blazing eyes, determined to convince him. "We'll go tonight, as soon as the sun sets. We'll fix it, Kellan."
His answering scoff was brittle as he flinched away from her touch. "I can no more do that now than I could before I realized Ackmeyer was innocent."
"Yes, you can. This changes everything - "
Kellan's eyes blazed even brighter. "It changes nothing. I'm still guilty of kidnapping and conspiracy. The GNC won't care what my reasons were for taking a human civilian hostage. Do you really think the Order will, especially when they learn where I've been all these years, what I've been doing?"