Page 8 of Deadmen's Captive

"Hey," the man whispered into my ear, his fingers digging into my waist as he steered me further from Kate. "Let's go somewhere more... private."

"Um, no thanks," I replied, attempting to pull away from his grasp. His grip only tightened, and a shiver of fear ran down my spine. This was not the adventure I had been seeking.

"Come on, don't be shy," he insisted, leaning in so close that I could feel his hot, alcohol-laced breath fanning across my face. The scent made my stomach churn. "We're just having fun, right?"

"Actually, I think I'm going to sit this one out," I said, pushing against his chest with all my strength. He barely budged, and it occurred to me just how much bigger and stronger he was than I.

"Aw, don't be like that," he pouted, using one arm to pin me against him while his free hand began to roam up and down my side. Panic bubbled up within me as his touch grew bolder, more insistent.

"Please, let me go," I hissed through clenched teeth. I didn't want to make a scene or draw attention to myself, but I also couldn't stand the way he was making me feel.

"She's not interested," came a deep voice from behind me. The man holding me stiffened, his grip momentarily loosening as he turned to face the newcomer.

"Who the hell are you?" he spat, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

"Someone who knows when a woman doesn't want to dance." The voice was dangerously calm, but there was an undercurrent of menace that sent shivers down my spine. As I struggled to regain my bearings, the man finally released me, and I stumbled backwards and the man behind me immediately caught me, righting me and slipping his arms around my waist. He pulled me back against him so I could feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine, but his grip was loose.

His head turned, his mouth brushing over my ear almost like a kiss that sent shivers down my spine.

"Play along, little flower," he murmured softly.

"Hey, she was enjoying herself!" The young man protested, his voice wavering as he glanced between me and the imposing figure behind me. I could feel the heat of indignation rising in my chest, but before I could speak, the arms around me tensed.

"This woman is taken," the deep voice growled. "She's mine. Touch her again and you'll regret it."

The authority in his tone left no room for argument, and with a final resentful glance, the creepy guy slunk away, swallowed up by the pulsing crowd. I should have felt relieved, but instead, my heart raced even faster as this new stranger's grip tightened around me. His warm breath stirred the fine hairs at my nape, sending shivers down my spine. I couldn't see his face, but I sensed the coiled power in his lean frame and the heat radiating from his body.

"Thank you," I breathed, relief flooding through me as the young man retreated. But the moment my gratitude left my lips, I tried to pull away from the stranger who had come to my rescue. His grip tightened on me, holding me in place.

"Keep dancing," he replied, his voice a low rumble that vibrated against my back. "Your friend and his mates are still watching us. They'll come straight back if I leave now."

He didn't release me, instead guiding me through the throng of writhing bodies still dancing to the beat of the music. It was both thrilling and terrifying to be held captive by this enigmatic saviour, and though I knew I should pull away, I couldn't deny the electric charge that sparked beneath his touch. His palms rested flat against my hips, holding me securely without straying too far.

As we danced, I began to notice details about him—rolled-up black shirt sleeves revealing tattoos winding along his tanned forearms, the faint scent of sandalwood and brandy clinging to him like an intoxicating aura. One of his tattoos was a long slender scythe with flowers winding around the handle. I’d never really liked tattoos and my mother thought they were horrific, but these were definitely sexy. Even without seeing his face, I was drawn to this man, a dangerous allure that threatened to consume me.

What the hell was I doing? This man could be anyone, and yet here I was, allowing him to hold me like we were lovers instead of strangers. It went against every instinct I had for self-preservation, but I couldn't ignore the mysterious appeal he held over me.

"Who are you?" I asked. He didn't reply, only tightening his grip on me as if the question had unsettled him.

"Does it matter?"

His voice was low in my ear, and it sent another shiver down my spine. I shook my head, leaning back against him. I’d hated the feeling of the other guy who couldn’t keep his hands to himself. This guy just held me close and I felt strangely safe with him. I was actually disappointed when the song ended. He leaned in, his lips brushing over my ear and sending shivers over my body as he spoke.

“Thanks for the dance, little flower. Be more careful who you let touch you. It won’t end well if you don’t.”

Then he was gone, disappearing into the crowd, and I looked up to see Kate heading towards me.

"Hey!" Carrie appeared beside me, her eyes wide with curiosity. "What happened to the other guy and who was that?"

“The other guy was a dickhead,” I said to Kate. “Couldn't keep his hands to himself, so that guy helped me out, but he didn’t tell me his name. Did you recognise him?”

She shook her head. “Tall, broad, black shirt, shaved head, sexy tats. That's all I got, sorry. He was heading the other way when I saw you so I didn't get a look at his face. Why? You interested?”

I blushed, and she laughed. “You were! Shame your Cinderella didn’t leave a glass slipper behind. Come on, let’s get a drink, the others are already at the bar.”

With a sense of reluctance, I allowed her to drag me back towards the bar. The hypnotic beat of the music throbbed through my veins, but it wasn't enough to distract me from the lingering sensation of his strong, tattooed arms wrapped around me. As we waited for our drinks, I couldn't help but scan the crowd, searching for any glimpse of him. But it seemed as though he had vanished into thin air, like a ghost or some figment of my alcohol-fueled imagination.

I sighed, forced a smile, and accepted the drink Kate handed me. "To surviving the dance floor," she toasted, clinking her glass against mine. "And to the mystery hero who saved you from that creep."

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