Large crates were stacked from floor to ceiling with only a small row down the center that Ronan’s wide shoulders barely fit through. He rearranged the crates as best he could, making a nest of sorts that would accommodate them both. By the time he made it back to the roof of the container to retrieve Naya, the first orange rays of the sun sparkled over the water, breathtakingly beautiful but as pleasant as acid on his skin.
Blisters boiled to the surface of his forearms and the back of his neck as he scooped Naya up. As the sun continued its unhurried ascent, he set her down in the area he’d cleared and pulled the doors closed to secure them both inside. Inky darkness enveloped him and cooled his fevered skin. He’d be healed before the sun set, but he wasn’t so sure about his mate.
Her breathing was shallow but even. She’d begun to warm and Ronan took it as a good sign. Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, urged his lids to draw down. Every movement was a slog through neck-deep mud. He settled down on the unyielding steel floor, his back braced against the wall. He adjusted Naya so that she lay cradled against him, her head resting on his chest. She was a fragile, precious thing and Ronan vowed to do everything in his power to protect her.
As the sun rose higher in the sky, his thoughts became hazy. He combed his fingers through the silky strands of her hair, allowing himself to be comforted by the motion. The tether pulled taut between them and Ronan marveled at how close he felt to this female in his arms, though he barely knew her. A fierce sense of possessiveness gripped him and Ronan held her tighter against him. Or was it fear that shook him to his foundation and sent a tremor down his spine? Fear that another male had already claimed her. Wanted her for himself. That someone else would rip her from him, severing his now-restored soul in two.
The bone-deep exhaustion of daylight stole over him and Ronan fell reluctantly toward the death-like sleep that would own him until sundown. He made one last vow as he tumbled toward unconsciousness: No male save him would ever have her. Naya belonged to him.
* * *
Naya nuzzled closer to the source of warmth that enveloped her. She felt protected. Safe. As though nothing in this world could harm her as long as she stayed right where she was. Never had she known contentment the likes of which she felt right now.
Idly, she rubbed her palm against the contours of a wide chest. Muscles flexed and released beneath her fingers as she traced over the swell of one pec and over a taut nipple. Farther down, she found the ridges of stomach muscles, little dips and valleys that she explored at length. Not a single detail was hidden by the tight black T-shirt. She might as well be caressing bare skin.
Naya kept her eyes closed as she continued her exploration. Gods, she was tired. And still cold as the grave. She sensed that she’d been through hell, but her brain was too logy for a well-rounded thought. Bare skin met hers as Naya’s fingers skimmed a forearm that seemed to have been sculpted from marble. She traced her way upward, the crisp hair of his arms tickling the pads of her fingers as she went. Past the bulge of one biceps to the edge of the shirtsleeve she found the wide gash that the creature had cut into his arm.
Naya’s eyes flew open on a gasp. Stagnant air and inky dark welcomed her as panic welled hot and thick in her throat. Beyond the absence of sight, what rattled Naya was the absence of music. Of any sound. Her soul was as quiet as the space was dark. And why did that terrify her more than not knowing where she was, how she got there, and what damage she’d sustained in the fight?
“Ronan?”
Her voice echoed in the enclosed space. Hand shaking, she reached up until she cupped Ronan’s cheek in her palm. His skin was warm. But why had his song quieted into silence?
“Ronan.” She gave him a rough shake, but he didn’t stir. What in the hell happened after she’d passed out?
Naya reached for her back, only to find her dagger gone. Shit. Okay, so she was trapped in an unknown location, unarmed, with a male whose status was unknown. Whatever magic fueled his song was dormant now, but it could reemerge at any moment and Naya had no idea if the notes would fill her soul to bursting or grate on her ears.
First things first, light.
She centered her focus, drawing on the seat of her power. Warmth bloomed in her palm and Naya brought her hand to her mouth, cupping it like it was full of water. She concentrated, willing the magic to pool in her palm. A soft golden glow gathered there and she blew lightly as though fanning tinder to flame.
A flash of bright white light sparked to life in her palm and Naya shielded her eyes against the sudden glare. Closed in on all sides and surrounded by stacks of wooden crates, she had to assume that Ronan had hidden them inside a shipping container. Which meant that they were still on the pier. But why? Hand outstretched, Naya wound her way through the maze of boxes to the set of double doors at the far end of the crate. She eased open one door, cringing at the groan of the metal hinges. A swath of late-afternoon light cut through the dark, sending a rush of adrenaline through her veins. Gods, had she seriously been unconscious for almost twenty-four hours?