Page 81 of Shielded Heart

“You’re still naked, Arcanthus.”

“And?”

The azhera drew in a slow, deep breath. “You’re not going to interrogate the groalthuun without clothes on.”

“Why? A confident, nude individual in an unusual situation can be extremely intimidating.”

“Because I have a responsibility to our security team, and you beating Straek to a pulp while wearing nothing but yourqalhas too great a chance of destroying their trust in me.”

Arcanthus settled his hand on Drakkal’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “Consider it a bonus for their exemplary performance over the last few days. A special treat.”

“Go put on a loincloth,” Drakkal said with exaggerated gentleness, “or I’m going to give everyone a turn to kick you in your damned slit.”

Despite the prisoner waiting for interrogation, despite Drakkal’s impatience, despiteeverything, Arcanthus stopped and stared at Samantha after he crept back into the bedroom. He couldn’t help himself; she was so beautiful with her features relaxed by sleep, so lovely with all her cares and inhibitions smoothed away, so enticing. Curled up in the blankets on his massive bed, she looked tiny, vulnerable, and alone, a thing to be cherished and protected.

Samantha was priceless. He knew in that moment that he’d give up anything, everything, for her. To keep her safe, to keep her at his side. His instinctual draw to her was irresistible, but his want for her was so much more than instinct.

Somehow, he resisted the urge to crawl back into bed, enfold her in his arms, and make sure she knew she wasn’t alone, knew he was here, knew she washis. He forced himself to open the drawer containing his loincloths—noting with no small degree of irritation that, according to the menu, only two hours had passed since he lay down with his mate—removed one from within, and secured it in place as quickly and quietly as possible. He slipped into the closet next to pull on a robe, paying no attention to the color or subtle patterns on the fabric.

He paused again when he turned back toward the bed and his eyes fell upon Samantha.

I could just touch her once more. A simple little touch, just the brush of a fingertip over her cheek…

Arcanthus shook off that impulse. There were other matters requiring his attention, and he didn’t want to disturb Samantha’s slumber. She’d been through so much over the last few days, had seen so many dramatic changes to her life. He understood how that might’ve felt—he’d gone through sudden, drastic changes in his lifestyle and situation many years ago, and to say adjustment had been difficult would’ve been an immense understatement. All things considered, she was taking everything very well.

But he expected nothing less of his intriguing little terran. She didn’t realize just how strong she was, but he saw it.

His stomach felt heavy and knotted as he exited the room, undoubtedly the result of denying his craving for her. He reminded himself once again that this was all for her, all to keep her safe, but it did little to ease his discomfort.

I need to seize control of my thoughts.

It was true, but part of him didn’t want to turn away from Samantha and all the things they’d done together, from all the things he still wanted to do with her. They’d only begun to explore the erotic delights they could share—and he found her company thrilling even when they weren’t engaged in such activities.

“You’d better have that thing strapped down,” Drakkal grumbled as Arcanthus approached him.

Arcanthus blinked and turned his attention to the azhera, giving himself a mental shake to return to the present. “What are you talking about?”

“I know that look on your face. I know what you’re thinking about. Keep it in your slit for once, would you?”

The sedhi offered no argument; he fell into place beside Drakkal, and they walked through the corridors and downstairs to one of the rooms below street level. The heavy door slid open with a rumble that Arcanthus more felt than heard, revealing a chamber devoid of furnishings apart from a few simple chairs.

The groalthuun was seated in one of those chairs, positioned in the center of the room beneath a single beam of intense light that made the rest of the space dark in comparison. He was facing away from the door, and a splotch of blood had dried on the fine scales on the back of his head, just beneath the knobby growths atop his skull. His arms and legs were fastened to the chair by thick tristeel manacles.

Straek twisted his neck to look back at Arcanthus with one large, dark eye. He snorted and turned away.

Sekk’thi and Thargen were seated to either side of the door, the latter sharpening a metal-bladed knife with a whetstone; it was an archaic method, but the sound of metal scraping rock was a powerful, primal thing.

“What has our guest decided to share with us thus far?” Arcanthus asked as he entered the room; Drakkal followed immediately behind him.

“Very little. He has been uncooperative,” Sekk’thi replied.

“Just give me a few minutes. I’ll get him to talk,” said Thargen. “I’ll even let him out of the chair, just to make it sporting.”

“You may yet have your chance, my friend.” Arcanthus picked up an empty chair and carried it past the groalthuun, setting it immediately in front of the captive. He eased down atop it, crossing one leg over his opposite knee and winding the tip of his tail around one of the chair’s legs.

Straek’s mouth curved upward in a strained smile. “No point in me telling you you’re dead, I guess.”

Rage had reawakened in Arcanthus—rage for what this groalthuun represented, for the danger Arc and Samantha had been placed in, for everything the Syndicate had taken from him. But they wouldnottake his mate.

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