Phantom Game (GhostWalkers 18)

If you truly are not here for me, then go away. Leave me alone.

This time he was the silent one. Her heart thudded. Did she really want him to leave? He was the first human being she’d talked to in so long. She wanted to see him. Put a face to that smoky voice. She tried to imagine what he looked like and couldn’t. She kept herself very still, holding her breath, waiting. Needing. It was just that she didn’t know how to trust.

Do you feel the threat?

She let air out slowly. It was there. The feeling of being hunted. Yes. It is vague. I thought it was you, but you’re close. If you’re the one making me feel as if I’m threatened, I would think . . . She trailed off. The feeling would be much more intense. Jonas wasn’t the impending threat, but he was definitely trouble.

There are women and children living in the GhostWalker compounds farther down the mountain. I believe you know some of them. Would you leave them to Whitney when you clearly could help them?

She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. Of course she wouldn’t do that. If the threat is to children, I would aid them, but I would do it my way. I am not going to allow you to draw me into the open when you could . . . Again, she trailed off. What did she expect him to do? She believed Whitney hadn’t sent him. He couldn’t lie to her, not when he was using the Middlemist Red Camellia network.

Do you have a tattoo of the flower on your ankle?

She didn’t like that simple question. Why would he think that she would have a flower tattooed on her ankle? She resisted the urge to touch the beautiful replica of the Middlemist Red Camellia. The tattoo artist had been a genius, his work amazing. The camellia bloom on her ankle was so beautiful, she often spent time tracing the petals of the flower with the pads of her fingers, half expecting them to feel velvet soft. The flower appeared three dimensional, the petals standing out in vivid detail. She loved the tattoo. It was the only thing Whitney had ever done for the girls that was decent. He’d named each one of them after a flower and had the artist tattoo each girl’s namesake on her ankle.

Hard little knots of dread formed in her stomach. A question burned on the tip of her tongue, but she didn’t want to ask. Didn’t want to know. Whitney had deceived them so many times, pretending to do something nice for them, when in fact he hadn’t. Her tattoo meant something to her. She didn’t want that taken away too.

Abruptly, she turned to walk into the center of her garden. She didn’t know if she was planning to make an escape, but she couldn’t stay still. He was too close, and he was going to tell her something terrible. Take one last thing away from her.

“Don’t go.”

He spoke aloud. His breath was warm in her ear. He didn’t block her path intentionally, but she walked right into him.

“Stay with me. Talk to me.”

There was an ache in his voice. It was barely there. More felt than heard, but it was there. She was so susceptible to him. It didn’t help that she hadn’t spoken to another human being in so long she was desperate for company, even as the thought terrified her.

Camellia lifted her chin. She was a soldier. She wasn’t the ashamed, worthless being Whitney had reduced her to, forcing her into his breeding program after all the years of discipline and training. All of the girls’ hard work to become military operatives had been for nothing. That didn’t mean Camellia didn’t continue to train every single day. She had always known Whitney’s men would catch up with her and she would have to fight her way free.

She took a breath, braced herself and turned slightly to look at Jonas. Florentine gold looked back at her. The air left her lungs in a rush of heat. Those eyes held intelligence. A predatory, very focused stare. They devoured her hungrily. Almost possessively.

“He paired us. Whitney. He paired us.” His voice was a blend of smoke and the wild of the forest. “Even if he hadn’t, I would still think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

She couldn’t help the answering flutter of pleasure that accompanied his declaration. There was utter sincerity in his tone. No one had ever given her a compliment before. She wasn’t certain how to handle it, so she didn’t acknowledge it.

His hair was thick, a mixture of every shade of blond there was. With her enhanced night vision, the colors seemed almost silvery. It was all she could do not to reach out and bury her fingers in the mass. His face was all hard angles and planes, too dangerous to be called traditionally handsome, but she was immediately drawn to him.