His Darkest Salvation (Jaguar Warriors 3)

Her head lay against Julian’s shoulder. She carefully moved her body and rolled to the side, her back slamming up against cold stone. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she paused as her body struggled to orientate itself.

She was able to see clearly. A wash of golden light made it possible, and though she couldn’t find the source, she was grateful.

Her eyes swept toward Julian, and her heart rate increased as she rested them on his face. He looked younger and so much more vulnerable. An image of him as a younger man rushed into her mind and pulled bittersweet strings.

She didn’t like this, these feelings the jaguar brought out in her.

Satisfied that he was all right, suffering from nothing more than a bump on the head, she raised herself on her elbows and turned away from him, but not before catching sight of the magnificence of his hard body. Sweet Jesus, but does he have to look so incredible?

She cleared her throat, rolled up onto her knees, and slowly looked around. The chamber that they were in was small, and she could see that part of it had caved in. There was nothing out of the ordinary; no artwork adorned the stone walls, no ceremonial pottery was lying about.

It was just a dull gray chamber that was given a bit of life by the eerie glow that lit it up.

She stilled and concentrated hard, her senses flying from her as she sought any evidence of the enemy . . . or of her men. But there was nothing. Only the heavy weight of a silence that was somehow louder than a stadium full of football fans.

She stood up and nearly fell as another wave of dizziness came over her. She swallowed and winced. Slowly, her hands rubbed the raw flesh of her throat.

She’d nearly met her end, here in this pile of rock. If Nanauatl had had even a few more minutes, she was certain he’d have crushed her neck and taken her life.

Julian saved me.

The thought whispered through her mind as she turned back to the shifter, the intense need and longing that clutched at her heart was painful.

How could she feel this way? For a man who’d rejected her?

He groaned and flung his arm above his head, and her eyes fell to the scars etched into the flesh under his heart. They looked angry and raw.

Jaden knelt beside him and bit her lip as she glanced down his long form. He was completely naked, and as her eyes followed the hard, muscled lines of his body, heat began to build as her heart spiraled out of control.

He moved once more, his leg bending, and when his knee touched her, electric sparks of energy rippled across her flesh. Jaden whimpered as they shot across her body, and her nipples instantly hardened.

What the hell is wrong with me? The world was on the brink of disaster, she’d nearly been killed, she was trapped beneath Templo Mayor with a man she loathed more than anything, yet . . .

And yet her hand moved of its own volition and she found herself hovering over the marred flesh on his chest. The need to touch him burned heavy inside, it was an ache that settled between her legs, and she moaned as her jaguar shifted beneath her skin.

It wasn’t her fault really. She knew she was at a delicate time in her cycle. That as a female jaguar, she was on the cusp, in heat, and the need to mate was strong.

Usually, she tried to sate the desire with whomever the hell she could, but it was never enough.

The only man who could complete her, who could temper the raging desire that simmered beneath her flesh, was Julian Castille.

How unfortunate.

For her.

She panted as images and pictures of their long-ago night flickered in her mind, and whimpered as she tried to force them away. But it was no use—her own erotic memories were burned forever into her brain.

She shook her head in denial, but the memories of Julian’s body taking hers in every way imaginable, of an intense passion that rivaled hers . . . she knew many a night it was the only thing that had gotten her through.

How pathetic. Replayed fantasies and her handy-dandy vibrator.

Her skin itched and burned, and she threw her head back as a wave of heat suffused her entire body. A low, keening sound fell from her lips, and as it sliced through the silence, her hands fell to her chest, her fingers running over the aching nipples that strained against her T-shirt.

A throb pulsated between her legs, slow, heavy, and she ached inside.

She could smell herself, her desire and need, and even though shame scorched along her cheekbones, leaving a flush of red in its wake, she had no control.

“Oh God,” she whispered, her vocal cords painfully bruised by the sun god’s hands.