Last Kiss Goodnight

questions.”

Her eyes narrowed, two lasers locked on him. “Perhaps I misunderstood the rules.”

“That’s understandable. You’re foreign.”

“But perhaps I didn’t,” she added. “You can’t just change them whenever you want.”

“I can, too. I’m the game’s inventor.”

“And what’s the score, Mr. Inventor?”

“Fifteen to one,” he said, choosing a number that wasn’t so high she couldn’t catch up, but wasn’t so low she could best him. “But because I’m such a nice guy, I’ll let you ask me the next question. Okay?”

“Okay.”

He tsked with false pity. “Another two points for me. One because you answered an unnecessary question and another because you fell for my trick. Better luck next time.”

“You dirty little swindler,” she said with a choked gurgle of delight that caused the muscles in his stomach to once again clench up. She tapped a finger against her chin, brightened. “Oh, I know! Will you tell me about your farm?”

“Of course.”

“Got you,” she said in a singsong voice. “Another point for me.”

Really will not laugh. “It’s situated miles from any other residence, and surrounded by rare clusters of trees.” Most forests had been burned to the ground during the human-otherworlder war. “There’s a natural spring that’s filled with fish, and birds constantly fly overhead. There are multiple flower and vegetable gardens, and there’s a pesky rabbit that likes to ruin both. I’ve named him Dead Man Hopping.”

Expression glazed with awe, she said, “I’ve never heard of such a promised land and cannot even picture its like.”

Maybe one day he would take her there.

The idea registered, and he froze. He’d once thought about locking her there, but now . . . he knew he would do no such thing. He wanted to have her there, yes, but he wanted her there of her own free will, happy and smiling. And naked.

“Do you have any secret talents?” she asked, unaware of his inner turmoil.

He had many secret talents, but there was only one he could share without scaring ten years off her life. “I can wrangle a bull with my bare hands.”

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Got you! That’s four points for me, for using your own trick against you twice, and practically in a row,” she said with a smirk. “And before you can ask, I’ll just tell. My secret talent is a backbend kick-over.”

He . . . had no idea what that was. “One day, I’ll want to see that.”

In a snap, all of her enjoyment drained. Her sparkle died.

“What?” he demanded, unsure what he’d done wrong.

“Those words . . .” she muttered. “ ‘One day.’ I hate them.”

“Why?” They were so innocent.

She waved the question away. “What’s, uh, your favorite memory?”

He wanted her back the way she was, and decided not to push for the truth. Not yet. Instead, he leaned forward, placing his lips at the hollow of her neck. “I’ll tell you, but I have to whisper because it’s personal.”

She shivered, the motion brushing her skin against his mouth.

He moaned. So soft, so warm.

She gasped. “Tell me.”

“What if I said it was when I kissed you?” he rasped through a throat gone tight.

Her pulse quickened, and he leaned back to study her expression. Spots of color had darkened her cheeks. Color that spoke of arousal, not panic. Exactly what he’d hoped to see.

“Was it?” she asked, hand fluttering over her heart.

“Yes.” And that was the truth.

“I would say . . .” She nibbled on her bottom lip, and his blood hummed with exhilaration.

Steady.

Another slow, luscious smile bloomed, lighting up her entire face. “I would say you owe me another point.”

A moment passed before her meaning sank in, and he nearly swallowed his own tongue. What a sneaky little vixen she was—a fact he liked. “What about you? What’s your favorite memory? And keep in mind, you’ll lose eight points if you refuse to answer.”

The nibbling started up again. “Do I get an extra point if my answer is the same as yours?”

Gonna kill me. “You get thirty extra points,” he croaked.

“Well, good.” She was the one to lean forward this time, warm breath stroking over his neck. “Because it is.”

The arousal heated, becoming white-hot, consuming. “Vika—”

In the distance, he heard footsteps. Moans, groans.

He checked the sky, saw that the sun was in the process of setting. Cursing under his breath, he dragged Vika to the center of the cage.

Her arms flailed as she struggled to remain upright. “What are you—”

“Lie down.” The moment he had her on her back, he stretched out beside her.

“The monsters,” she gasped.

“Concentrate on me.”

She paled, but she obeyed.

“What’s your greatest wish?” he asked to distract her.

The cage shook. Arms reached through the bars.

Vika looked, cringed.

Solo flattened his palm against her cheek, forcing her attention back to him. He marveled anew at the perfect texture of her skin, the purity of her features. “Do you want me to win?”

She shook her head, swallowed. “Well . . . for a long time, I wanted a baby brother. Then, after my father changed, I was happy I was an only child. I never wanted another child to suffer through the Wrath of Jecis.”

“He wasn’t always like this?” Solo asked, his thumb stroking her delicate bones. For once, he was beside her, her softness pressed against his hardness, and she was awake—yet still he couldn’t have her.

“No. He changed when he took over the circus. He actually wasn’t supposed to be the one to run it, because he had an older brother. But my grandfather and uncle died fighting each other during the passing of the scepter. Jecis was then thrust into the spotlight, and I guess he grabbed the reins of control with both hands.”

The change had to have startled a little girl unprepared for what loomed ahead. “I’m sorry.”

Her smile was soft, sad, and sweet all at once. “Thank you.”

One of the monsters stuck a leg through the bars in an attempt to kick them both to the other side, where other monsters waited, hoping to grab them. That was a new move. One he didn’t appreciate, especially when he was making such sweet progress with Vika.

Anger created little bonfires in already hot blood, the flames crackling and spreading.

He grabbed the monster by the ankle and jerked with all of his might. The leg detached from the body, and he tossed the appendage through the bars.

He regretted the action immediately. Blood had dripped across the cage floor. Worse, Solo had partially morphed. His skin was now red, and his fangs and claws peeked out. Vika had to be scared out of her—

“Do you have a best friend?” she asked him, as if nothing had happened.

For a moment, he could only lie there, staring at her. “You don’t want to discuss what just happened?”

“Why would I?”

“I just ripped—I mean, I just helped that creature shed twenty pounds in less than a second.”

“I know. You saved me. Again. So, a best friend,” she prompted.

Perhaps she would always amaze him. “John and Blue. They’re like brothers to me.”

“What about the names etched into your arm?”

“Mary Elizabeth and Jacob. My parents. They died in a car crash.” An ache in his chest.