He couldn’t even say why. He couldn’t explain it to himself, let alone her. He wouldn’t have thought he was capable of experiencing that depth and intensity of possessiveness. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the fact that he could. “Unless you can say the same, no, we’re not in the same boat.”
She sighed, giving him a look that said he wasn’t very bright. “Cain, why do you think I’ve never given you shit for boldly and publicly marking your territory with just your gaze alone? Did you think it’s because I’m a pushover? If so, you’re wrong. The reason I didn’t gripe about it is because I know that no one will touch you if they know you’re involved with someone—they’re aware you’d take it as an insult to both youandme. An insult that you would never tolerate.”
Cain felt his eyes narrow. He hadn’t thought she was in any way a pushover—far from it. He’d presumed that she’d decided to simply let his behavior fly over her head. In actual fact, his little witch had let it alone purely because it suited her.
“I’ve never been openly territorial of you because I really do expect you to at some point announce that you’re bored and ready to move on,” she said. “Really, it would be better for me to end it before you do—the whole thing will sting a lot less that way. But I haven’t. I keep coming back here. Back to you. That should tell you something.”
“You don’t want us to be done, despite my warnings? Despite what you might have heard or assumed about me?”
“No, I don’t want us to be done.”
A dark satisfaction settled into his bones. But … “You shouldn’t have said that.”
Her brow furrowed. “Why not?”
Because his creature—liking her comment a little too much and, arrogant as the monster was, feeling that it was really only to be expected—would hold her to that.
He was saved from having to answer by the knock at the door. Opening it, he found one of his aides holding a bag of Wynter’s possessions. Cain handed it to her, and they both quickly dressed. It was as she was dragging a brush through her wet hair that Maxim called using the internal phone line to declare that Grouch was in custody.
Cain turned to Wynter, intending to ask her to wait here, but she spoke before he had the chance.
“I want to be there while you deal with him.”
His entire system rebelled at that. “No, Wynter, you don’t.”
She flicked up an imperious brow, dropping the easygoing act she pulled off so well. “Don’t tell me what I do or don’t want. Don’t presume to know what I can and can’t handle. I’m quite aware you’re not going to simply slap him on the wrist. Have I ever given you reason to think I’d wish to spare someone who wronged me?”
Far from it. Her vengeful streak ran as deep as his own. “Then come. Observe. You should know what you’re getting yourself into when it comes to me. If you don’t like what you see, well, that’s understandable. But you’re not going anywhere, Wynter, so don’t bother to run. I would just drag you back.”
“You realize I’m not a doll or object that you can move around as you please, right? That I have a mind and free will and all that jazz?”
“I do realize that,” he began as they started to make their way to the dungeon. “It’s inconvenient at times, because it would be easier if I was in control of your every move.”
She stared at him for a beat. “You’re not even joking, are you?”
“No.” He liked things a certain way, and he insisted on it being the case. But Wynter? She might come across as reasonably compliant, but he’d quickly learned that she followed her own rules, and he wasn’t entirely sure what they were. She often made decisions he wouldn’t have seen coming, or reacted in ways he wouldn’t have expected.
Sometimes, it seemed to him as if she was on a path. As if she was focused on a goal he couldn’t see.
Finally arriving at the door that led to the dungeon, Cain pushed it open. They descended the stairs, their footsteps echoing slightly. It wasn’t often that he had prisoners here, because it wasn’t often that anyone would dare anger him to such an extent. Which disappointed his creature, in all honesty, because it had a sadistic streak a mile wide. Not that Cain could judge.
Spotting Maxim standing outside a cell up ahead, Cain strode purposely along the narrow passageway with Wynter at his side, their heels scraping the stone floor as they passed several small cells and secure pits.
The candles within the lanterns flickered, casting shadows over the plentiful torture equipment—spiked beds, racks, iron maidens. There was also an array of torture instruments, such as barbed whips and rusted hooks. The scents of iron, stone, and rust laced the stale air.
He slid Wynter a sideways glance. She was taking everything in, but she didn’t look appalled or apprehensive. Then again, she was wearing that damn poker face, so he had no real clue what was going on in her head.
Reaching Maxim, Cain nodded at the aide and then turned to the cell. His captive stood very still, his wrists cuffed by long chains that were attached to the cell’s cracked, stone wall. The berserker had his chin held high and his jaw set, but fear flickered like the flame of a candle in his eyes.
Cain slid open the cell door and strolled inside. “Well, this brings back memories, doesn’t it? You’ve been here once before. You assured me that you wouldn’t displease me again. And yet, here we are.”
Grouch fired a nervous look at Wynter, who remained outside the cell. “Cain, I don’t know what she told you—”
“Yes, you do,” said Cain. “You’re very aware of why you’re here. What I really am struggling to understand … is why you would ignore that someone had taken what belongs to me. You may not like Wynter, but you know she’s mine. Not merely in my service, but a woman I have a claim to.
“You knew I’d be beyond pissed that she was taken. Yet, you did nothing to help her. Nor did you alert anyone of what you saw. Now why would you want me to be pissed, Grouch?”
“I-I didn’t know she was being kidnapped. The guy wasn’t carrying her or dragging her. She was walking at his side, and she wasn’t calling out for help.”