Warrior Rising. Pamela Palmer

impossible to escape, she was certain. Once more, the feel of his fingers sank through the fabric of her sleeve and into her skin, sending tendrils of warmth burrowing into her blood. Not a sweet warmth, for there was nothing kind about his touch that sought only to ensure Tarrys’s safety. No, despite her frustration and wariness with the man, this heat lifted her pulse in a way that was all too pleasant. All too carnal.

      Without a doubt, she desired him. As he did her. Sooner or later, she’d enjoy acting on that desire, if she could ever get him to unbend that far. A very big if. He wasn’t a man given to impulsive action, not unless that action was in defense of his brother. Interesting that she should be so sure about that, given that she’d known him only a matter of hours. But she didn’t doubt her own assessment. In a way she couldn’t quite explain, she felt as if she’d known him far longer than just the day.

      Keeping firm hold of her, Harrison led the small group across the paved street to where numerous vehicles sat. A parking garage. She knew the words, for she acquired language instantly, though it was taking her far longer to make sense of it all than it would if he’d simply let her touch a human and learn what they knew. The man was so irritatingly distrustful.

      On the second level, they came to a stop behind a small, bright blue car. A series of beeps sounded, the lights flashing. As the Marceil started around the left side of the conveyance, Harrison tugged her right, pulling something from his pocket.

      Ilaria glanced down, afraid he was going for the lighter again. Instead, he’d removed something metal. Her eyes widened, then narrowed with anger as she identified the manacles that now hung from his fingers.

      Her eyes snapped upward as she speared him with a sharp, stinging gaze. “You risk my ill will, human. A dangerous thing to do considering what you need of me.”

      “Sorry, Princess.” But his tone held not the slightest edge of remorse. Instead, he pulled on her arm, snapping one loop of metal around her wrist before she could stop him.

      Ilaria tried to jerk her other hand out of his reach, but he merely turned her, pushing her against the car, face-first, and snapped the second manacle around her other wrist. Only one other time in her entire life had she been treated so poorly—the morning she was hauled from her bed, accused of treachery and transported to the Forest of Nightmares.

      If only she had magic that would work against a Sitheen!

      She kicked back at him, but her gown hampered her movement and her heel collided with his shin with little more than a dull thud. He moved closer, pinning her against the car, pressing a hard ridge into her lower back. She stilled, taking a harsh breath, feeling his desire. Inside her, an answering need flared.

       “Release me.”

      “Not on your life.” His voice sounded close to her right ear.

      Then mate with me, she wanted to say, but held her tongue, knowing she’d only anger him further.

      Sliding one arm around her waist, he pulled her back against his muscular chest, the hard length of his erection nestled firmly against her. He opened the door, then slid to the right, his hand once more only around her arm.

      “Get in.”

      She glared at him over her shoulder. “Not until you start treating me with respect.”

      Gripping her shoulders, he wrenched her around to face him, reminding her how much bigger he was than her. Overpowering her with his sheer maleness.

      “Cooperate, Princess, and we’ll get along fine.” He speared her with hot, hard eyes. “Don’t, and we may find you more trouble than you’re worth.”

      A cool trickle of fear slid down her spine, but she met him glare for glare. “You won’t end me. You need me.”

      “Do you really want to test that theory?” He let the question, heavy and disquieting, hang between them. “Get in the car, Ilaria, or I’ll pull out the lighter again.”

      “You’re a barbarian.”

      “No. But neither am I a fool. I’ll show you the respect due your rank when and if I decide to trust you. Until then, you’re the enemy.”

      She stared him down, refusing to bend. “You risk everything you want, human.”

      He didn’t reply. Instead, his hand went to his pocket and that hated lighter.

      With a huff of anger, Ilaria forced down her pride and slid into the low-slung automobile as he’d demanded.

      Harrison followed her, leaning across her to pull yet another restraint across her chest. Desperately, she tried to ignore him, struggling against the physical appeal of the man, but his nearness filled her senses all over again. His scent was a heady mix of the strange facets of the human’s modern realm—the air in the airplane, the lingering scent of some intriguing aftershave. But also of wool and wind and warm, masculine male. And she wanted.

      “Why are you tying me down? Are you afraid I’ll attack you with my teeth?”

      He glanced at her, his strong face only inches away, so close she could see flecks of gold in his eyes. Heat swirled in those gray-green depths as they caught hold of hers, holding her fast. In his cheek, a muscle leaped. Between his eyebrows, a frown slowly appeared, a pair of tiny lines like the arc of bird wings.

      “Believe it or not,” he said softly, his voice no longer filled with anger, “the seat belts are to keep us safe in case we get into an accident.”

      “No accident could harm me.” Her own voice was soft with breathlessness.

      “Nevertheless, it’s the law.” Tearing his gaze away, he glanced down, fastening the belt with a metallic click. Pulling away, he straightened and closed her door, then went around the car to get in the other side. The other two Sitheen had apparently left, for only the Marceil sat in the backseat—directly behind Harrison, where Ilaria couldn’t possibly touch her.

      Harrison steered the vehicle into the heavy traffic, silent for a time before he glanced into the mirror, a pensive expression on his face. “Charlie tells me you’re a priestess, Tarrys.”

      Ilaria glanced at the Marceil, watching a soft confidence fill the slave’s expression. “I am, though it matters little anymore.”

      “You and Charlie are really getting married?”

      A smile bloomed on the other woman’s face with a depth of joy Ilaria had rarely seen. “He asked me to be his wife, Harrison, and there’s nothing I want more.”

      Harrison frowned. “Why would you tie yourself to him? You’re immortal. He’s only got fifty or sixty years at most.”

      The Marceil’s smile dimmed. “I’m aware of that, but I love him and will stay by his side for as long as Charlie and your God allow.”

      Ilaria couldn’t imagine feeling that deeply for someone. For anyone. She’d had friends and companions aplenty through the years, though most she’d not seen in centuries. The men incarcerated with her within the forest for three hundred years had become closer to her than family, almost extensions of herself. Once she returned to Esria, she’d find a way to free them. But though she loved them like brothers, not a man among them had ever broken through the walls of her heart. Not a one had ever made her feel, even for a moment, a shadow of the joy she saw in the Marceil’s face.

      What would it be like to love another so deeply? So completely? What would it be like to be loved like that in return? Men aplenty had professed love for her over the years. Yet not a one had ever looked at her with the devotion she saw in Charlie’s eyes every single time he gazed at Tarrys. In her experience, few Esri ever loved like that.

      As they drove in silence, Ilaria watched out the window, fascinated and not a little awed by the sheer magnitude of the humans’ dominance over their world. As in Reykjavik, buildings rose high above her head, flowing in every direction, as far as her eyes could see. There were subtle differences between the two cities—Reykjavik’s