Midnight's Kiss(44)

Her words began to penetrate the killing instincts that had flooded him. He ran his gaze over her. She did look exhausted. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, and her face was drawn with marks of stress.

He also noted that the other Vampyre hadn’t been gentle when he had grabbed her. The slender, elegant line of her throat was already turning dark with bruises and swelling. The cut at the side of her neck had broken open again and was bleeding lightly.

The sight brought him back into himself.

“I hear you,” he growled. Taking a strong mental grip on his self-control, he forced his fangs to withdraw. “I got it.”

She searched his gaze, then gave him a small smile and a nod.

When she pulled her hand away, he missed her touch and grew angry at himself for it. Digging into her pocket, she pulled out two misshapen metal springs and knelt at his feet.

As she got to work again on the manacles at his ankles, he said, “That’s what you were doing earlier. You were making another set of lock picks.”

“Yep.” She sounded as tired as she looked. “I told you I wasn’t going to leave you. No matter what you might think of me, or what anybody else might have said, I always keep my promises.”

He didn’t know what to do with that, so instead of responding, he fell silent and watched her.

This time after a few minutes of trial and error, there was a snick and the lock fell open. She sat back on her heels and beamed up at him.

Triumph surged, along with a fierce sense of pride in her. He said in a soft voice, “Will you look at that. You’re going to fucking break us out of jail after all. You are full of wow, lady.”

“I don’t know about that. I gave my bag of tricks a good shake a few minutes ago, and it’s pretty much empty.” She shifted and bent over the other manacle.

“That’s all right,” he told her. “If you can get me free, I can take care of the rest.”

“That’s my plan, soldier.”

After a few moments, the second lock fell open with a snick. She put a hand at the small of her back as she straightened to look at the manacles overhead. “I know you said I would have to climb up your body, but I’m still not sure how I’m going to do that.”

She sounded hoarse and listless, and he really didn’t like how she looked. “First, check out what’s in the bag,” he told her. “It’ll be a while before Justine starts to miss Anthony, and it won’t take you more than a minute to take a few bites of food and a drink.”

After a brief hesitation, she didn’t waste time arguing. He watched in approval as she dug in the bag, pulled out a paper-wrapped sandwich and bolted a few bites. After she sucked down half a bottle of water, she held it to his lips so he could drink the rest.

While he needed a strong infusion of blood more than a drink of water, the hydration did help him to feel better too. When he had rinsed out his mouth and drank the rest of the bottle, she threw the empty container into the bag, squared her shoulders and turned back to him.

“Now, climb up on my leg and stand,” he said. Bending one knee, he braced his foot on the inside of his other thigh and held steady for her to perch on him.

She squinted at his posture. “You can take my whole weight like that?”

“Yes. Use me to steady yourself.”

“The strength you undead lot have is something else.” Slipping off her delicate-looking flats, she stepped barefoot onto his thigh and held on to one of his arms as she straightened. Even though she clutched him in a tight grip, she still wobbled on her perch. “This isn’t going to work. I need both hands to pick the locks.”

“Don’t just hold on to my arm,” he said. “Use my torso as your support. Brace one foot at the top of my thigh and lean against me.”

After a quick glance down at his expression, she gingerly eased against the length of his body. Their positions were odd and strained, yet the full curves of her body felt so incredibly delicious, he couldn’t resist closing his eyes and turning his face into her warm, narrow abdomen.

She sucked in a breath and wobbled again, clutching at his shoulder to steady herself.

The whole maneuver had turned unexpectedly torturous.

She felt so good, smelled so fucking good. Her top had ridden up, baring her skin to his cheek. He wanted to lick her and bite — not to draw blood, but lightly, in sex play — and he tightened his jaw against the impulse. If he did nip at her, more likely than not, she would lose her balance entirely and fall off her perch, and until he was free, they were in no position to play games.

Clamping down on his self-control, he gritted, “Can you reach the manacles?”