“What, you’ll just drag me by my hair?”
A flicker of pain in his eyes tells me the comment stung. “I would never drag you by the hair, Ann,” he says softly, touching my hair again. Watching my lips. “I’d carry you, though. If you forced me to.”
“Are you fucking serious? Listen to yourself.” I push him away. “You would deprive me of my freedom? After the hell of your confinement and the way we fought out of that place, you’d seriously turn around and do the same thing to me?”
He crouches by the small blackened pile of wood and starts working on making a fire by twirling a stick. Because he’s fucking Kiro. “We’ll start out soon.”
“And you don’t tell me until now?”
“I knew you wouldn’t like it.”
“I can’t even believe you. You would trick me and take my freedom? Can you get how fucked up that is? How fucked up on every level? You of all people should understand how wrong that is.”
The fire springs to life. “Yes, it would be wrong, wouldn’t it? To deceive a person. To trek with them for miles, never revealing their true purpose.”
I stiffen.He knows.
He glowers up at me, all brutal beauty, wilder and hotter than the fire he made with his bare fucking hands.
My heart pounds as I think about that phone conversation I had in the motel room with my editor. Is his hearing as advanced as his smell? Of course it is! And oh my God, the way I talked to my editor in the truck…
“To trick them,” he continues. “To make them think you just want to help.”
My blood races as he rises, as he comes to me. “All you ever wanted was to have the savage’s story. To get the pictures of him that nobody else could get. For your news story.”
“You’re misunderstanding this, Kiro. I’m not one of them—I swear.”
He fingers the collar of my jacket. “Then why didn’t you tell me your true purpose? Your true identity?”
Fuck.“So this is my punishment? To be your conquered woman?”
Another flicker of hurt behind his eyes. I feel like shit.
“Kiro, listen—it was an accident that I figured out who you were. I was there for a different story. And I did want to help you—I still do.”
“Like those other reporters?”
“I’m not like them.”
His eyes are beautiful and golden and totally feral—how did I never see it? He uses the collar of my jacket to pull me to him. He slides a hand down the lapel, and I think he’s going to strip it off—strip me.
I pull the sides together. But instead, he reaches into my pocket and draws out the baggies that hold my phone parts. My lifeline. He pockets them.
I grab for it, but he takes my wrists.
“I thought we were friends.”
His voice is a velvety rumble. “We’re not friends.”
“Why would you want somebody not your friend as your mate?”
He brings his lips to the crown of my head. “You don’t need to be my friend to be my mate.”
“Kiro, think. I’m on your side. You’re being hunted. Why? You need to understand what’s happening out there. You live in the world, and whether you like it or not, you need means, you need knowledge of your situation—I can help you with all of that…”
“I have all I need.”
The gravel in his tone makes me think about the dressing room. He’s thinking about it, too—I can feel it.