A Bride for the Taking

Jake laughed again. ‘You don’t know a damned thing about Jake Prince.’

‘I know that the man I met back in New York wouldn’t use sex as a weapon.’

‘No.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But that’s not who I am any more, Dorian. I’m someone else entirely, someone who doesn’t have to live by any laws but his own.’

‘Are you telling me I was right, then?’ It was getting hard to keep her voice steady. ‘Are you saying that Barovnians are animals?’

He went very still. She waited, barely breathing, while the seconds dragged by, forcing herself not to look away from his flat, cold stare. Then, with no change of expression, he let go of her and stepped back.

‘It will be dark soon. We’d better get settled in.’

She watched as he turned and began making his way up the sloping hillside. She was shaking now, in the aftermath of the last awful moments. It was impossible to really think he’d have taken her by force, but the tautly controlled violence in him had been real enough; it had been basic, almost primitive, and it had stunned her.

‘Let’s go,’ he called, his voice rough with impatience. ‘In another few minutes you won’t be able to see an inch beyond your nose.’

She blinked. He was right: the sky was already a soft charcoal against which the rocks stood out in dark—and threatening—relief.

Dorian blew out her breath and started climbing up towards him.

‘Can’t we build a fire?’ she said.

Jake shook his head. ‘Not unless you want guests dropping in for a cup of coffee.’

No, she thought with a shudder as she followed after him while he peered into dark crevasses and under rocky ledges, she certainly did not. When finally he grunted his approval, she was glad to see that he’d picked a spot protected on three sides by large boulders.

‘This should do,’ he said, tossing the two small blankets to her. ‘Put one of those under you—the ground is still chilly this time of year.’

‘Won’t you need one?’

He shook his head. ‘I have my jacket. It’s enough.’

He dropped to the ground, ignoring her completely. She watched as he leaned back against a boulder, crossed his long legs at the ankle, and tucked his hands into his armpits.

Dorian sighed. She spread one of the blankets on the ground, lay down on it, and draped the second blanket over herself. Jake was right about the chill; within minutes, she felt it seeping into her bottom and into her legs. She rolled on to her belly, wrapping herself in the blanket, trying to find a bit of ground that didn’t have sharp rocks protruding from the soil.

He’d been right about nightfall, too. Darkness had swallowed them up; it was a moonless, starless night, and the blackness was so complete that it was almost disorientating.

Where was Pig Face? she wondered suddenly.

Far from here, she hoped. Very far from here.

Something shifted stealthily just below them. There was the scrabble of claws, a faint stirring sound, a tiny squeal.

‘Jake?’ she whispered.

He sighed. ‘It’s probably a mouse, Dorian, and it’s not the least bit interested in us. Just shut your eyes and get some sleep.’

She rolled on to her side and cradled her head on her arms. He was right. She needed sleep—she was exhausted, weary to the very marrow of her bones. And tomorrow wouldn’t be any easier. Tomorrow…

An animal cried out into the night, its voice rising like the shriek of a demented soul in torment. Dorian gasped and struggled upright.

‘Jake? Did you hear that?’

‘Lord.’ His voice was hoarse with weariness. ‘It was a wild dog.’

‘No dog in the world ever—’

‘A wolf, then. They hunt at night. Now lie back.’

‘A wolf?’ Her voice rose into the darkness. ‘A wolf? Are you serious?’

‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Jake’s arm snaked out and wound around her waist. ‘Come here,’ he demanded, tugging her towards him, ‘and shut up so we can both get some rest.’

‘I can’t,’ she whispered.

He turned her to him and drew her closer, until she was lying back in the protective curve of his arm, her body pressed against the hard warmth of his.

‘You can. Count chickens or sheep—or covers of WorldWeek, with your byline on it,’ he added drily. ‘Think about whatever will comfort you enough so you can sleep.’

‘Nothing will. I—I…’

Dorian yawned. Lord, she was so tired. Beside her, Jake’s breathing slowed; she felt the warmth of it soft against her temple. How could he have fallen asleep so easily? ‘Count sheep,’ he’d said. Sheep. Or bylines. Or WorldWeek covers.

Covers. Covers, with her name prominently displayed…

Long moments later, she was still awake. It wasn’t going to work. Think about whatever was comforting, Jake had said, but Jake didn’t—he didn’t…

Think about whatever was comforting.

Dorian’s eyelids drooped. Jake, she thought dreamily, Jake…

And then she was asleep.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IN JAKE PRINCE’S Footsteps: a first-person account of an impossible journey, by Dorian Oliver, WorldWeek Magazine. Entry One: we go through the Cristou Mountains via the Tomma Pass…

The sun beat down on the trail that wound like a grey ribbon towards the cleft that divided the massive mountain. High overhead, vultures wheeled in the sky, waiting and watching for any creature that might succumb to a mis-step or to the sudden death of an avalanche.

Dorian tried not to think about that. She tried, too, not to think about the way her breath was wheezing in and out of her lungs or how the muscles in her calves burned with fire. And she tried most especially not to think about how far they’d come or how far they had yet to walk.

What was the point? Jake wouldn’t give a damn if she fell on her face; he’d only stand over her and tell her to either get moving or be left behind…

And if she really knew how many endless miles they had yet to cover, she might just do that.

The one thing she wasn’t concentrating on was the scenery. Not that it wasn’t spectacular: the craggy mountain peaks rising around her, still gleaming under snowy mantles, the puffy clouds that seemed close enough to touch, the occasional glimpse of a white-bearded mountain goat—it was all beautiful, even exotic. But you had to lift your head to really get a look at things, and lifting your head took energy.

Dorian had little energy left.

Jake, damn the man, had enough for both of them. He was still moving along ahead of her as if he were out for a morning’s stroll, just as he had been from the beginning, his easy stride effortlessly eating up the miles.

Air puffed in and out between her parted lips.

Entry Two: We will be at the Barovnian border soon, according to Jake. Up this slope, then down the other side, and—finally—we will be in Kadar, although I keep thinking of what Jake said yesterday, about my keeping mute once we reach his country. I must have misunderstood him. I would ask, but my reluctant guide and I have not spoken in hours…

It had been early morning when exhaustion, hunger and a night spent sleeping on the rocky ground had combined to produce the kind of disorientation that had led to the incident that had ended in their mutual silence.

She had come awake slowly, rising from a deep, peaceful sleep.

‘Mmm,’ she’d murmured while she stretched languorously.

She ached—her back felt stiff, and so did her legs—but her head was comfortably cradled on a hard yet yielding pillow. There were noises in the background, not the distant sounds of traffic that penetrated her apartment windows almost twenty-four hours a day nor even the drone of the clock-radio. What she heard were bird calls, piercingly sweet and clear.

‘Mmm,’ she sighed as she snuggled more deeply into the warmth of her bed.

‘Good morning, kitten.’

The voice was soft as silk, sweet as honey. Something touched her temple—a butt

erfly’s wings, gentle and cool.

‘Did you sleep well?’

Jake, her sleep-fogged brain whispered. Jake…

She came awake immediately, eyes opening wide and fastening on the dark, intense ones looking down into hers. Jake was holding her closely in his arms; her cheek was against his shoulder, her mouth almost at his throat. Her arm was curled around his waist. They were as intimately entwined as—as lovers, sharing the same space, even the same breath.

Waves of colour beat across her cheeks. God! Had they slept this way all night? Desperately, she tried to remember. The pitch-black night; the quavering bark of the wolf; Jake, pulling her into his arms…

Jake smiled. It was a slow, sexy smile, and it sent heat pulsing through her veins.

‘I’ve never shared my bed with a kitten before.’

Had they…? Had she…? No. No, she would have remembered if Jake had made love to her. His kisses would have burned her flesh, his touch would have turned her body into flame.

His smile grew softer, hinting at secrets yet to be shared. ‘You have a very expressive face, kitten,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. His finger traced lightly along the contours of her mouth, and she had the sudden, almost overwhelming desire to touch her tongue to his skin and taste its heat. ‘I can almost read your mind.’

‘Jake.’ Was that papery croak hers? ‘Jake, please…’