Gasping at the stunning sight, Saige stumbled back a step, then another, while he stalked toward her, his powerful muscles coiling and flexing beneath the bronzed sheen of his skin. His mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line, his dark, angry eyes burning like a midnight stretch of star-studded sky, pulling her in, making it impossible to look away. She was trapped, held in place by the sheer power of his presence, and Saige knew she’d have been terrified by the smoldering force of his fury, if she weren’t so bloody angry herself.
“What are you?” she demanded, holding her ground as he came a step closer. She’d deliberately put the emphasis on what instead of who, his species a heck of a lot more important to her than his name.
Instead of answering, he stopped a few yards away and crossed his strong arms over what was assuredly the most mouthwatering chest Saige had ever seen, either in the flesh or on the silver screen. Solid, powerful slabs of muscle were packed beneath smooth, burnished skin that gleamed like satin, begging for the touch of a woman’s hands. For the soft, sensual press of her lips, inviting her to lose herself in his warm, masculine flavor. She didn’t need any proof to know it would be dangerously tempting. Didn’t need to taste him to tell he would be perfect and spiced and wildly addictive. It was there in that earthy, evocative scent, reinforcing the unsettling fact that she was hungry—starving—for something that she instinctively knew this man, this stranger, could give her. Something that the awakening creature within her wanted…badly.
And I’ve apparently lost my freaking mind, she thought, wondering how she could be caught up in such an urgent, violent clutch of lust when she’d only just escaped death by a wing and a prayer. Literally.
“Do you belong to the Collective?”
The dark slash of his brows lifted. “How many shifters do you know in the Collective Army?”
So he was a smart-ass even when he was pissed off. Great. “Then who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Michael Quinn,” he replied in that deep, husky voice that was the perfect complement to those devastating looks. There was even a bit of twang to the words, hinting at a long-forgotten accent. He took his time looking her up and down, and with a wry drawl rounding out the edges of his speech, he said, “I’d ask if you’re Saige Buchanan, but I think that’s fairly obvious.”
He must have read her intention to turn and run again, because his eyes narrowed as he quietly added, “I caught you once, lady. Don’t think I won’t be able to do it again.”
“Are you kidnapping me, then?”
“I’m just stating a simple fact,” he rasped, his tone saying that he definitely thought she was crazy. “If I tell you not to run, then you had damn well better stay where you are.”
“And just where do you get off telling me what to do?” she objected through her clenched teeth, mustering what was left of her bravado, hoping it didn’t land her in more trouble than she could handle. And considering she’d managed to drop her only weapon, it didn’t look as if she could handle much at the moment. At least not from him. He had a racehorse-lean physique that was nothing but sleek, solid muscles and beautiful lines—the perfect personification of a dangerous predator. No doubt the man was built for power and speed, as well as other things she had no business thinking about, considering she didn’t know him from Adam. And she was alone with him in the jungle.
“One would think you’d be a bit more grateful, considering I saved your life,” he pointed out in one of those cool, utterly male voices of reason that always made her want to stamp her foot in a childish display of temper. Thankfully she squelched the ridiculous impulse and straightened her spine instead, determined to stand her ground. With her shoulders pulled back, Saige lifted her chin and wished for the thousandth time that she’d grown a few more inches at some point in her life. She’d always hated arguing with someone who towered over her, and she suddenly had a vision of herself facing him down while strapped into a pair of four-inch stilettos, then nearly snorted at the absurdity of it. Not exactly jungle-wear, but at least she could have used the heel as a weapon.
Through the thick weight of his lashes, he watched the chaotic shift of emotions flash across her face, her thoughts scattering like so much confetti being tossed in a violent breeze. She shifted uncomfortably, her skin too sensitive, her breath short, and could have sworn there was a soft, hazy spark of humor easing the sharp edges of that piercing gaze, which just pissed her off even more. Here she was shaking in her boots and the arrogant jerk thought it was funny.
Before she could think better of it, she opened her mouth and gave voice to the snide retort perched on the tip of her tongue. “Let’s get one thing straight here, birdbrain. You may have been handy back there, but I did not ask for your help.”
He’d started to move closer, but halted midstep, his dark, onyx-colored eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “Did you honestly just call me birdbrain?”
Saige lifted her chin a notch higher at his outraged tone, almost giving herself a crick in the neck. “You’re damn right I did,” she muttered, figuring she had no choice now but to brazen out her loss of sanity.
He shook his head, clearly at a loss as to what to make of her. “I’m starting to think you’d rather I’d left you back there to become its next plaything. Is that it, Saige?” His tone was more graveled now, his jaw hard as he stalked closer. “Or do you not know what Casus do to women before they kill them?”
She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle, chilled despite the stifling heat of the evening. Now that the terror of that blind flight was over, her mind spun with dizzying speed, centering on one undeniable fact. After all the worrying…and wondering, she now knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that the Casus were real—that they were the ones after her. A bloody monster who could rip her apart with its bare hands as if she were nothing more than a troublesome insect, and in that moment, Saige finally realized that there’d been a silent, frightened part of her that’d been wishing…hoping…that maybe, just maybe the legend was wrong. After all her planning and research and the crazy things she’d done to make sure she protected the Dark Markers, she’d been hoping it wasn’t real—the monsters and murder and mayhem. And now that she knew the truth, there was no going back. Ever.
“I know what the Casus are—what they’re capable of,” she whispered, hating the way her throat shook and her eyes burned. Hating that she couldn’t hide it from him—from this beautiful stranger whose presence completely screwed with her body and her mind. “I don’t need details.”
“Maybe you do.” His tone was equally soft, but hard, his mesmerizing eyes still narrowed with frustration. “Especially if you think you can traipse off through the jungle like a stupid little idiot when you have a sadistic killer on your tail.”
“Excuse me for panicking,” she ground out, caught in that dizzying, explosive state between fury and fear, “but I wasn’t thinking about monsters when I ran. I was too busy trying to get away from you and your perverted mental sex show!”
The second the words left her mouth, his expression turned livid. “Just what the hell does that mean?”
Saige glared at him, while in a far corner of her mind she accepted the fact that this was by far the strangest conversation she’d ever had—and God only knew she’d had a few. She hadn’t meant