"What if the Daemon returns?" she asked him, her voice tight.

"I'll smell him long before he gets here." He tore his gaze from her creamy skin long enough to glance up at her face. Her eyes were focused on him, eyes aglow with wariness and razor-sharp resentment.

Draden-kissed. A pariah.

The knowledge rocketed through him all over again. Only in recent decades had the Therian council urged pity on those afflicted. It wasn't like they'd had any choice in the matter. You couldn't choose to be draden-kissed. You were simply one of the lucky few who hadn't died after being attacked. Though, in truth, few considered it lucky.

"How in the hell did you keep your secret when you were seven?"

He almost forgot to listen for her answer when her arms crossed in front of her, and she pulled her bra up and over her head, revealing the most perfect pair of breasts he'd ever seen.

Pure desire shot through his body as he stared at those full mounds, their nipples large and pink, begging to be sucked. And, goddess, he wanted to give them that.

"My father knew. The draden had killed my mother and my entire enclave, but he wasn't there that night. He kept me away from others and taught me to control my feeding."

"It's phenomenal you didn't kill him."

Her mouth compressed. "I did. Not right away, but eventually I made a mistake, and I did."

Shit. The guilt she must be living with."When were you draden-kissed?"

"Fifteenth century."

Now he stared. "Six hundred years...and no one knows?"

"No one but you has ever been able to feel me feed. My control is excellent. I'm no danger, Jag. I haven't been a danger to anyone in a very long time."

He was in no mood for empathizing.

"No danger, Sugar? You damned near let me die!" Dammit, he'd been terrified. Not for himself. He honestly didn't give a rat's ass about himself. But thinking he was going to watch her die had sent him tumbling into his nightmares, into those dreams he'd had every fucking night after Cordelia died. Into a place he never wanted to go back to again.

He'd thought the draden were going to kill Olivia, and hard as he'd tried, he couldn't do anything to stop it. Yet she hadn't needed saving. And she hadn't said a word.

Damn her.

She lifted one foot after the other, untying and removing boots and socks, then slowly unzipped her pants, pushing them down over slender hips to reveal a small scrap of black lace. She pushed the pants down her legs and stepped out of them. But as her fingers went to that tantalizing black lace, he stopped her.

"Leave the panties on."

She just stared at him. "Won't they be in your way?"

"Eventually. I'll get rid of them when they are."

She lifted her chin, the warrior beaten, but not broken. Never broken. "Are you into rape, Jag?"

"It won't be rape, Sugar. You're going to be begging me to fuck you before I'm done with you."

"That does not mean I'm ever going to want you."

"You'll want my body. You'll beg for the release I can bring you." He stepped toward her, closing the distance between them. Even before he touched her, the lush, warm scent of her filled his senses, turning his limbs weak, his cock hard. His fingers curved around one firm, perfect breast, and another breath of fire shot between his legs. "I told you I'd have you on your knees before me, didn't I? Now, Red. On your hands and knees like an obedient little slave."

Anger sparked in her eyes, but it was a fury banked by resignation. He had her up against the wall, and she knew it. Her life now sat firmly in his hands.

Slowly, her eyes blazing into his the entire way, she knelt on the ground, then bent over onto all fours as he'd ordered.

Jag sank to his knees beside her, unable to keep his hands off her a moment longer. As his fingers slid over the creamy skin of her back, then curved around, cupping one round breast, his own hands began to shake.

Never had he needed to touch a woman this badly. Olivia might be on her knees before him. But he was beginning to wonder which of them was truly the one enslaved.

The ground was rough beneath Olivia's palms and knees - pine needles and dead leaves scratching at her skin. The night air breezed coolly over her bare flesh, but the shiver that tore over her had nothing to do with cold.

Inside, she quaked.

Everything she'd built, everything she'd fought for now lay in the hands of a man she couldn't trust.

Her pride railed, hating him for forcing her to her knees. The sex itself was of little import. She was Therian. For goddess's sake, they had sex all the time. All the time.

She'd taken every man in her ranks into her body at least once and most dozens, even hundreds of times. But never because she'd had to. Never because she'd had no choice.

Never because her life hung in the balance.

Jag said he wouldn't rape her, and she believed him. She'd felt that hand of his and knew all he had to do was touch her, and she'd be wet and open and ready for him.

No, it wasn't the fact that he intended to have sex with her that she couldn't forgive. It was the fact that she had no choice.

She tried to ignore the large, warm hand covering her breast, but she was far from immune to him, no matter how badly she wanted to be. An attraction existed between them more explosive than anything she'd known for as far back as she could remember.

He stroked her back with one hand, his fingers warm and surprisingly gentle as if he enjoyed the feel of her skin. With his other hand, he kneaded her breast, his touch firm and hot.

She glanced over her shoulder at him and found him watching her with a rapt intensity that sent fire racing through her blood. His hand moved down her spine and back up again, then back down and lower, sliding over her panties and down her thigh, avoiding her moist center. Over and over, he touched her with gentle strokes as if he were a blind man memorizing every inch of her body. His fingers curled around her shoulders, stroked the back of her neck, then slowly slid back down her spine while his other hand played with her breast, gripping, rolling her nipple between his finger and thumb, tugging gently.

Though he touched her, he never once pressed his palm against her, shooting that unnatural pleasure into her. No, the pleasure he gave her was all too real.

High on her shoulder blade, she felt the brush of whiskers and the soft press of his mouth. A shiver went through her as she realized he was tracing the Daemon's claw marks. He was kissing her healed wounds, creating a sweet ache inside her that was not of the flesh but the spirit.

Inexplicably, tears sprang to her eyes. She found herself beginning to relax beneath his caresses, her body moving sensuously with each stroke of his hand.

Dammit, she didn't want to be moved by his gentleness. She didn't want to enjoy his domination.

"Jag..."

"Getting impatient, Sugar?" His finger slid between her legs, a single soft stroke that touched her sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan she couldn't bite back. His fingers slid beneath the back elastic of her panties and down, cupping one cheek.

She tensed for the onslaught of pleasure she was sure he'd attack her with, but he did nothing but rub her bare flesh. Even so, the pleasure came, hot and real. He released her breast and with both hands, pushed her panties down her hips to her thighs. Both hands caressed her buttocks, kneading her, parting her. With a single finger, he traced the line between, from the base of her spine down over her anus, sliding to where she was hot and wet and open, then back up, trailing the moisture.

"Do you want me to take you, Red?"

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"No. Never." Her words were breathless, her body at once delighting in the feel of his hands, and tense.

His finger stroked the swollen, weeping opening of her vagina. "Wrong answer, Sugar."

"Go to hell."

But he continued to play with her, sliding his finger around the edges until her body ached with a white-hot need, and she had to clamp her jaw shut to keep from moaning.

"Your body tells a different story," he said huskily. And then he was behind her, and she prepared for him to mount her with a combination of dread and rich, hot anticipation.

She felt his thick, hard cock between her legs, but instead of pushing inside her, he ran it along the same path his finger had taken moments before, touching her but not penetrating. Then he shoved the length of it between her legs and rubbed it against her hot, swollen, aching flesh.

She struggled to keep from pressing against him to increase the delicious pressure.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"You want me." Jag's voice sounded as tight and strained as her body felt.

"No."

"Liar. Beg me to fuck you, Red, and take us both out of our misery."

"No. I'll never beg you. Never want you."

"A challenge, eh?" His voice turned hard and rough. But his touch remained gentle as his hands framed her bare hips. His palms pressed against her, and, suddenly, heat rushed into her hips, into her rear and thighs and deep within the hot center of her, making her swell with a need that turned almost painful.

"Jag," she gasped. His cock remained pressed between her legs, but not inside her, and she tried to rock against it, but the thick length moved with her. "Oh, God."

"Beg, Red."

"No." But the word had become nothing but habit, now, and pride. Her body begged.

She needed him inside her. Deep, deep inside.

The pleasure kept rushing into her, turning her nearly mindless from the need for release from the building, swirling tempest. Her hips rocked violently, out of control, needing. Wanting.

"Jag."

"Say the words, Red."

"No." But the knowledge she would eventually lose this battle was all that kept her sane. She didn't know how much longer she could hold out, and the thought of her defeat brought nothing but a fierce, carnal joy.

His hands left her hips to cup her breasts, at first simply playing with them, tugging at her nipples, but then he pressed warmth into her there, too. The pleasure made her cry out, the fire of need flaming higher.

Again, he shifted his hands. As she gasped from the onslaught, he slid one hand between her thighs and pressed hard against her swollen center. Her breath caught and held, her body tensing for the rush of cataclysmic pleasure she knew would come.

But nothing happened. He simply cupped her, his hand unmoving.

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"What do you want, Red?" he asked softly, his voice as full and aching as her body felt.

"You...to go to hell." She could hardly breathe through the exquisite anticipation.

He chuckled low. "You want me to stand up and walk away?"

"Yes." Oh, God, no. "Could you? Could you get up and walk away right now?"

"Get up, maybe. Walk? Not on your life. I'm not a liar, Red. I'm in pain. Your sweet little ass, your soft-as-silk skin. I can smell your need as rich as the sweetest cream. I want you, Olivia. And I know you want me, too. But I'm not taking you until you beg me."

"I'm not going to beg you."

"Yeah. You will." With that, he drove the pleasure straight up into her core. She screamed, and he pulled away, the orgasm shooting up, then crumbling, leaving her rocking with desperate need.

"Jag."

"Want me to do that again?"

Pamela Palmer Rapture Untamed

"No!" She wouldn't survive any more of this.

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Fuck me, dammit. Fuck me!"

"I thought so." He grabbed her hips and drove himself deep inside her, and she came, the release exploding with contraction after glorious contraction. Over and over, he thrust inside her, then out, then in again while he held her hips. Through his palms, he pressed that warm, lush pleasure into her, the unnatural heat melding with the natural pleasure his body gave her until she was gasping, coming and coming and coming while he released. Then again. And again.

Never had she known anything like it, and when he finally pulled out of her, she collapsed onto her side on the ground, utterly spent.

She pressed her arm to her forehead and looked up at Jag kneeling beside her, framed by the moonlit canopy of trees. His expression lay hidden in shadow, but she heard his own erratic breathing and sensed a disquiet in him that rivaled her own. What in the hell had just happened? He'd demanded her capitulation, yet seduced her with hot, gentle touches as he stubbornly waited for her acquiescence. Then he'd given her more pleasure than any man ever had.

The minutes stretched silently between them as their breathing slowly recovered.

Jag broke the fragile connection, rising and turning away with a scowl. "Get up and get dressed, Olivia." His voice was clipped, humorless, the gentleness gone as if it had never been. "We have a Daemon to catch." The voice of a warrior.

She stared at him, uncertain whether he'd given her a gift, in an unspoken promise to keep her secret. Or just latched a choke chain around her throat. She struggled to her feet, her body still throbbing, still slow from the effects of the Daemon venom.

Emotions battered her as she pulled on her ripped clothing. The ever-present fear that Jag only played with her, that the moment he had the chance, he'd out her. And the strange elation that came from a powerful sexual experience with a man determined to bring her pleasure. Incredible pleasure. A man she couldn't trust on any level and didn't even like most of the time, though, heaven help her, she liked his hands. She'd be lying if she said she didn't.

Dressed, she sat on the ground and pulled on her socks and boots, then rose and faced him.

He watched her from the shadows with an intensity she could feel but couldn't read.