"Do you have any idea what you did?"

"Well," I say. "First, I tried to escape. I knocked Derek out and hid him in a bathroom―"

Hunter's mouth falls open.

Pleasantly, I continue, "Then I stole a key card from some girl. That didn't work, which led to me dealing with those two guards and, yes, taking their gun―"

I can't read anything on her face. Once again, the ice slides back into place and she seems almost . . . distant. Too far away for me to guess what she's thinking.

"Didn't you see my note?" Her voice is cold.

That glimpse―her shock―seems to be the only reaction I got out of her. And now, that's gone too.

After the Wolves arrived―about seven of them, probably their best soldiers―and found nothing but me and the disarmed guard beneath me, hell was set loose.

It seems, in this scenario, I would be mistaken as the attacking Saint.

And, in this scenario―strictly hypothetical―it seems I am a little good at fighting to be deemed nonthreatening. So, of course, I was handcuffed and detained.

And after the Alpha realized what had happened, it was Hunter―Hunter―who promised to take care of me.

Grim face. Determined mouth, which I couldn't help staring at. Hypothetically.

Now, I sit on the bed of the room I first woke up in. My eyes latch onto the hints of pastel orange around the room, and again, I can't help wondering how they knew this was my favourite colour. But there's no way―I have no idea whose room this is.

"I told you," Hunter grits out, "to stay here."

Right. The note.

"Yeah, about that," I say, biting my lip. "I kind of wasn't going to listen to people who are forcing me here against my will?"

"It's dangerous out there."

I roll my eyes. "Dangerous? All I had to do was cry about some made-up boyfriend to steal the key card right out of someone's pocket."

"You shouldn't have taken advantage of Gianina."

Finally, I touched a nerve. "Oh, sorry, next time I'll just try asking her to borrow her key so I can escape from the Mafia's lair."

Hunter rounds on me, her brown eyes flashing. "The Underground isn't a lair."

There's something about her eyes that I notice, then―something strange. But I push the thought away from my mind. I need to make her mad. I need to rile her up.

"Well, what else do you call fifty floors deep beneath the surface? With a self-sustaining market place and bedrooms? What are you preparing for, the Apocalypse?"

Her jaw flexes. She is staring at the picture frame I saw earlier, of the two little girls. "I wouldn't expect you to understand."

I can't think of something to stay. She seems like stone. Impenetrable.

"Who are the girls in the photograph?"

And then I see it. The faintest twitch of surprise. There and gone, but it was there.

"It's none of your damn business."

"Yeah, probably," I say. "I bet they're not even real pictures. I bet they're just that standard frame that you get when you buy the thing."

She doesn't say anything, but I see her fist clench.

Good. That's good.

If I can make her mad enough, maybe I can learn something real about this place. Something I shouldn't know.

"Being in the Mafia must be kind of lonely, huh?" I say. "You're what . . . twenty-two? Probably my age, right? I wonder if you've ever been to university. Ever had any friends. Ever been kissed. Have you ever even had sex? I bet―"

But this doesn't make her mad. She only laughs. "Trust me, I know how to fuck."

Fire races through my blood. I shiver, imagining―for the briefest second―what it would feel like to have her lips on mine. Her mouth brushing over my skin. Fingers curling in bedsheets, spine arched with a shudder―

Snap out of it. "Have you ever been in love?" I ask.

She turns on me. "Have you?"

"Once," I admit.

"And how did that end?"

Telling her this feels strangely intimate. "Not well."

She nods, as though this was expected, and then her eyes fix back on the picture frame. "Love is a weakness," she says. "Anything you love can be used against you."

"But it's worth it."

She looks back at me, and I see a glint of surprise. There―I've managed to shock her again. To do something she hadn't expected. It feels like winning.

"The Alpha expects you to be punished," she says. Changing the subject.

I can't help but smirk. "Then punish me."

Her eyes alight with a wicked glint. "And how will you take it, Jude?"

With my hypothetical handcuffs on, my wrists remain locked together. I can feel my heart as it starts to drum.

She turns toward me, and her walk is long, graceful. Arrogant.

Her gaze is dangerous as she approaches. Close enough to place a single hand on my chest.

With the gentlest of touches, she pushes. I allow myself to fall back on the bed. My hands are overhead, bound together.

A delicious shiver crawls through me. She leans over, her hair framing her face. Her eyes glitter black and dangerous.

"What would you like me to do to you, Jude?" Her voice is a breath, igniting fire in my bones.

Our mouths are so close I can taste the heat between us.

Kiss me. The thought is sudden. Unexpected.

"Why are you here, Jude?" A slow caress of words.

This is a game―a game of touch and sensation and risk.

I want to kiss her. I want to close the distance between us and pull her down to me, to kiss her until my eyes roll back and I see stars.

"What information do you want?" Slow and drawn-out. But I detect it―the restlessness. The note of frustration.

She still thinks I'm a spy.

And she's . . . trying to seduce the secrets out of me.

Two can play at this game.

Her fingers trail over my chest, seeking out my bare skin. With a shuddering rush of air, she presses her mouth ever so gently to the space where my neck meets my shoulder.

"To infiltrate the Wolves," I whisper.

Her mouth slides toward my jaw. Her lips are soft and sweet, full of heat that warms my body with every touch.

"To sabotage the Alpha," I breathe.

This is a dangerous game we're playing. But I can't help craving it―craving her touch.

Don't let this get too far.

I hear the soft snick of Hunter reaching for something. A knife. Before I can react, her eyes meet mine and without even having to look, her blade tears through the handcuffs that bind my hands overhead.

"When you're ready to tell the truth," she says, and there is a smile, a dark smile, "we can play this game. And I'll show you what I know about the art of fucking."

My traitorous heart pounds in anticipation.

Stop it, Jude.

"Was that my punishment?" I can't help asking.

She backs away, towards the door. This time, with a key that means she'll lock it when she's gone. Her mouth curves into a sultry grin.

"No," she says. "You'll know when you're being punished."

>>>

This chapter is for you. Not exactly a kiss, but close enough for now...
cottageles

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From the moon and back,
Sarai