Dreams of a Dark Warrior

scurried away, Declan approached the glass. “I’ve encountered many of your kind, and one thing remains the same, no matter what species or faction or breed. Deceit. You live and breathe trickery. I don’t know your aim—”
    “My aim is to escape this place with you and that glowing Valkyrie in tow.”
    “You think to take me as your hostage?”
    Shoulders back, the male said, “I think to take you as my kinsman.”
    “What the hell are you talking about—”
    “Fight!”
someone down the ward yelled. Other inmates joined in,
“Fight, fight!”

ELEVEN

    O ne minute, Regin had been bathing at the sink; the next, she’d been abetting an escape attempt.
    She’d glanced up to see two guards dragging Uilleam MacRieve past their cell. The werewolf was supposed to be drugged, but he didn’t seem completely subdued. His head lolled, but not with each step. Her ears had twitched, and she’d known something was up.
    Straightaway, she’d called to the guards, “Oh, boys?” She’d sauntered to the glass in only her black lace bra and panties. “I need some assistance.” When they slowed, agog, she’d purred, “Can one of you help me find my orgasm?” Then she’d pivoted, presenting her admittedly mind-blowing ass. “Oh, look, clumsy me, I dropped something.” She bent over from the waist.
    With the guards distracted, MacRieve had shoved them away, hopping his cuffs to bring his bound hands in front of his body. Claws and fangs bared, he’d attacked.
    “Fight! Fight!”
the inmates began yelling.
    Prisoners all along the ward banged on the glass walls, their shouts echoing down the corridor.
    “Zing! Kick their mortal asses, Scot!” Regin cried along with the rest of them. “Fuck ’em up!”
    Behind her, the kid banged his head faster, faster. Natalya leapt up to hold him still.
    With a howl, MacRieve slashed one guard’s jugular, then bit at the throat of the second one, blood dripping from his fangs.
    Suddenly, Chase stormed into the fray, bellowing as he tackled MacRieve. They wrestled over the floor, trading vicious blows.
    Normally the werewolf would thrash him—the Lykae were among the most powerful of all the sentient creatures—but MacRieve had been weakened by his torque.
    Still, Chase shouldn’t be winning
that
handily. He wasn’t merely subduing the wolf, he was beating the living hell out of him.
    Fighting like a
berserker
. A lean bear in winter.
    The way he moved …
    Right before her eyes, his muscles began to tighten and expand, his body growing larger, stretching his layers of black clothing taut. His massive gloved fists cracked bone each time they connected.
    When more guards arrived, they had to peel a bludgeoned MacRieve away from the magister’s assault.
    Once they’d taken the Lykae away, Chase rose, his big chest heaving. His normally pale face was flushed, making his gray irises more vivid. His hair was finally shoved out of his eyes to better reveal those chiseled features.
    At that moment, he was handsome, powerful, and so much like Aidan that she gasped. Just as with Aidan, she was uncontrollably attracted to him.
    An invisible force. Like two magnets.
    He swung his head around at her. Instead of looking surprised by her lack of clothing, his gaze raked over her heatedly, taking in every part of her.
    A look both scorching and possessive.
    A look that made her pulse race.
    His irises flickered. The color of storm clouds lit by lightning. As if unaware of what he was doing, he took two steps closer to her.
    She mirrored his action, then raised her hands to the glass. Her claws curled against the barrier between them, her breaths gone shallow.
    All else was forgotten. Declan Chase was forgotten. All she could see was Aidan.
    Want to be near him.
    But when she realized he would soon leave her behind, an old habit rose to the fore. In ancient Norse, the words tumbled out:
“Take me with you, warrior.”
    Take her with him?
    At that instant, Declan was tempted to do just that.
    Christ almighty, her
body.
    He exhaled a shaky breath at the sight of her dressed only in tight black lingerie. Her bra and panties were mere scraps of lace, displaying taut legs, a narrow waist, and curvy hips. High, plump breasts spilled out from the cups.
    Her glowing skin was damp and smooth.
    When she shivered and her nipples stiffened, he was rapt.
    Then he remembered what she was.
Abomination. Enemy.
    Casting her a look of scorn, he abruptly turned away. He strode to his quarters