When the contractive shudder eased away she looked around the room. The bedroom was large and almost homey. On the other side of the room an open fireplace burned cheerily, the flames warming the rooms with heated comfort. The bed was canopied, the thick flannel curtains tied back along the rough wood posts. Several comfortable chairs sat on the other side of the room, beside a large chest and dresser.
To her side a door was open to another room, obviously a bathroom. Thank God, she needed one. She checked carefully, she wasn’t restrained in any way. Her wrists weren’t sore, though her feet felt like hell. She pushed the quilts from her body, finally realizing she was dressed in a large T-shirt, but nothing else. She wasn’t going to bitch; she hadn’t been allowed to wear clothes in six months.
She moved weakly to the side of the bed, biting her lip at the pain in her legs and ankles as she swung them from the bed. She dreaded putting any weight on her feet. She could feel their tenderness, the pain awaiting her.
She bit off her cry of agony as she gingerly stood up. Tears filled her eyes and within moments dampened her cheeks as she shuffled to the small room. Once there, she used the toilet, washed her hands and face and glanced longingly at the tub before shaking her head. If she got in, she would never pull herself out.
As she washed her face, she found a clean toothbrush still within its box and worked it free quickly. She felt almost freshened after brushing her teeth and forced herself back to the bed. Her breaths were panting whimpers by the time she sat down on the mattress and managed to pull her legs onto the bed.
She collapsed across it, breathing heavily, trying to relax through the contractions in her abdomen. She felt along the incision, surprised that no blood was leaking free. It was bandaged, obviously stitched closed. She blinked in confusion toward the fireplace, trying to remember, to understand the abrupt changes around her.
No cells, no scientists, no restraints. She breathed in deeply, knowing there was something she had forgotten, something she needed to remember. Shadowed images flickered through her mind. Flames and fear, a blinding heat as she fought to escape. She shook her head, trying to make sense of it.
“You shouldn’t be out of bed. If you had called I would have helped you.”
Fear shocked her system. The breath lodged in her throat as she stared unblinkingly at the fire, trying to deny the voice that had spoken. It wasn’t possible, she assured herself. Not now. Not after all these years.
His voice was colder than it had been in the Mexican Labs. More savage and controlled than she remembered. She licked her lips nervously, wondering if she would survive the savagery she glimpsed in his eyes.
“You can’t ignore me forever, Charity.” Smooth, mocking amusement raked across her nerves as leanly muscled thighs came into her line of vision. Between the jean-clad columns, a thick, hard erection bulged against the snug, low-slung cloth.
Charity swallowed in tight reaction as her nipples peaked, hardening with increased arousal. She fought to breathe through the welcoming shudders in her womb. As though her body had instinctively recognized its sexual master, it began to hum in joy. A joy her mind rejected, the intellectual part of her aware that she may have well escaped the physical pain, but the emotional agony to come could well be worse.
Muscles flexed, his abdomen tightened as he bent his knees, lowering himself until he could stare at her from the bottom of the bed. Her breath hitched in her throat. He was older, his features honed, harder. His eyes were a silver-gray, merciless, as cold as ice.
Black hair fell shaggy and thick around his face as he propped his forearms on the mattress, watching her silently. Satisfaction lined his expression, tormenting, knowing.
“Well,” she cleared her throat weakly. “Out of the frying pan and into the fire.” She commented on her apparent rescue from the Labs, only to find herself now held by the one man she had fought to escape for years.
A thick black brow arched questioningly. “An interesting analogy. Would you like me to contact the Council and return you?”
She flinched. He would, she thought, and likely do so gladly. But which was really worse?
“How did you find me? Did you find the Winged Breeds as well?” she finally bit out when she couldn’t answer her own question. The pain in her womb only fed her anger, fed her sense of desperation.
His expression darkened. “We found them. Do you remember the attack at all? Your escape from the Labs?”
Escape? There had been no rescue? She forced herself to shake her head negatively. “What happened?” Not that she cared at this point. She was free of them, and she would die before going back.
“You somehow managed to escape just before the explosion brought the mountain down. We had already rescued Keegan and the others, but had been unable to get to you. I found you afterwards, nearly unconscious in the jungle.” He watched her closely. The look was so intent she dropped her own gaze.
“How did you find me?” Shards of memory flashed through her mind, making more sense as the seconds passed.
“Keegan led me to you.” His voice was calm, holding little, if any, emotion. The very fact that he appeared so emotionless was more frightening than his anger could have been.
“He should have left me to die,” she grunted sarcastically. “It would have been far kinder.”
“Not to mention less complicated.” Aiden surged to his feet, causing her to flinch in dizzied reaction. “Our doctor has examined you and found no lasting injuries. You’ve been washed, disinfected and stitched. You should be well soon.”
Disinfected. Morbid amusement filled her. As though she had somehow been contagious. She closed her eyes, fighting the overwhelming futility of fighting further. Unfortunately, something inside her refused to allow her to give in. A spark of rage, of anger. Not just at the Council, but at Aiden as well. Had it not been for him and his determination to die too soon, she wouldn’t be in this mess right now.
“Thank you for the update,” she gritted out as she closed her eyes, fighting to breathe through the surging contractions in her abdomen. If he would just go the hell away then she could be miserable in peace.
She heard him sigh roughly. “I can smell the scent of your arousal. You’re horny, Charity.” His voice was edged with frustration.
“Poor me,” she sniped as she gritted her teeth against the pain.
“The scent offends me.” He sounded angry, as though she expected him to relieve the pain.
“Poor you.” She wasn’t about to ask him for anything, even if it was his damned fault. “If it offends you so damned bad then get the hell away from me!” She shot him a look that she hoped showed her rising fury. Like she needed a damned update concerning the state of her own body.
She tensed then as a particularly agonizing bolt of pain tore through her womb. It was getting worse. She fought to control the scream building in her throat, but couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped her lips. Before she could do more than gasp, Aiden flipped her to her back, holding her down, increasing the pain that radiated like a cascade of fireworks through her body.
“Stop,” she wheezed, desperate to curl back into the fetal position she had assumed when the pain first started.
She could feel the cold sweat breaking out on her face, the screams building in her throat. She hated being this weak in front of him, in such pain she was helpless against whatever cruelty he would inflict.
“Do you think you can go on hurting like this?” His question was a hard, rough growl. “The pain is killing you, Charity.”
“Saves you the trouble,” she cried out furiously, fighting her need to arch to him, to rub against him. God, he was heavy and hard against her, and she needed him so desperately. Alternately, fury whipped at the edges of her mind. He was being less than considerate of a condition that was basically his fault. His next words exploded through her, though, searing past the arousal to an anger bordering on rage.