They had no choice. “What if you act like you’re having…trouble. If you go slow, maybe he’ll get frustrated and come in here himself. We can grab the gun and kill him.” Her stomach heaved at the thought, but if it got him within it would be worth it. If they didn’t kill him now, he wouldn’t stop at one show, and he might want the next turn.

“All right.”

“Stop your whispering and get on with it,” the guard ordered.

The prisoner squared his shoulders and turned to the guard. “I’ve been wanting to do this anyway.” He whispered to her, “I’m going to kiss you. Pretend to struggle.” He took a breath and lowered his head. His lips were stiff against hers.

She pushed at his chest, and it wasn’t just an act. She was working hard to stave off a full-blown panic. Pretend you’re sparring with him.

“That’s it,” the guard said. “Take her clothes off.”

The prisoner lifted his head, putting an inch between their mouths. “No,” he called out. “I like it better this way.”

“How are you going to do it with her panties on?” the guard asked.

“Panties?” The prisoner stilled. His fingers brushed the side of her hip where the elastic of her panties was. “These?”

He didn’t know what panties were? Her crazy theory might not be so crazy after all. “Yes.”

He tensed as he slid his hand underneath her gown. “I’m sorry.”

“Do it.” Anna felt the last of her strength draining. If they didn’t get this over quickly, she was going to panic and start struggling for real. That could get them both killed. “Hurry,” she whispered. “Let’s get this over.” She managed to pretend she was struggling while helping him get the panties off.

“Bollocks.” He looked shaken. He moved his arm behind her neck, the other supporting his weight. He let his leg slide between hers and pressed his lips to hers. Anna wiggled back and forth as if struggling.

“Lift your kilt,” the guard ordered.

“I’m going to kill him,” the prisoner whispered as he lifted the front of his kilt.

Anna looked up at him as he lowered himself between her legs, and she knew from the deadly look in his eyes, this man was a warrior. A very old warrior if she was right.

They were flesh to flesh now, but with their bodies so close and his kilt covering his backside and her thighs, the guard couldn’t see what they weren’t doing. She gasped for effect. “Grunt or something,” she whispered.

The prisoner grunted and pretended to thrust as she continued to struggle underneath him. She felt him growing hard against her. If they weren’t careful, they’d be doing more than pretending.

“Raise your kilt,” the guard said. “You’re covering the goods.”

The prisoner cursed. He lifted his kilt and pressed closer.

“What are you waiting for, warrior?” the guard growled.

“It’s not easy with an audience. Maybe you want to come in and try.”

Anna’s whole body tensed, though she knew this was part of their plan to trap the guard.

“I’ll get Lance to hold the gun,” the guard said. “Maybe he’ll want a turn too.”

Anna dug her fingers into the prisoner’s arms. She knew her nails were digging into his skin, but she was afraid to let go. Afraid the guard and Lance would come and take his place. Their plan hadn’t worked. “No,” Anna whispered. “You have to do it.”

“What?”

“Do it,” she choked out. “Or he will.” That would be worse than death.

“I don’t think I can,” he said.

“You have to. I don’t want him, and I don’t want us to die.” She couldn’t let him die without him even knowing who he was. She knew who she was. Knew her path in life. He might have a family out there searching for him. Grieving. “We were about to do it before the guard came. Just pretend he’s not there.”

His jaw clenched, and he slipped his hand between her legs. He touched her softly, but still she tensed. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

A harsh breath left him as he gently opened her, and she felt a millisecond of something entirely unexpected as his warm flesh brushed against hers. His eyes widened, and she saw him swallow. “I’m so sorry.” Then a nudge for entry, and he slipped just inside.

Anna closed her eyes, trying to block it out. It wasn’t the physical discomfort. He was being gentle. It was her mind that felt violated.

* * *

The prisoner stilled, but his heart and his cock still throbbed. He was afraid for her, but his body was responding in spite of the danger. He had one quick thought that he should be glad his body cooperated, because if it hadn’t, the guard would have done it himself, and he wouldn’t have been gentle about it. If she was a whore, she was likely used to it, but he wasn’t going to let anyone treat her rough.

The prisoner pushed farther inside. His cock should be limp as a piece of rope. But it wasn’t. He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t, so he looked at her hair instead. “God forgive me,” he uttered as he began moving inside her.

He tried to be gentle, but she was upset. Her eyes were closed, and her hands were on his waist, but it wasn’t an embrace. Instinctively, she was trying to push him away.

He slowed down, trying to block the pleasure surging through his loins, but he was already worked up from before, and he hadn’t been with a woman in too long. And never one so bonny. He didn’t allow himself to get close to beautiful women. They were dangerous. But his cock didn’t know that. He felt the tension rising. He had to stop before it was too late. Would the guard notice? The last stroke was too much. Pleasure erupted inside him, and he quickly pulled out, spilling his seed onto her thigh.

He lay quietly between her legs, horrified at what he’d done. Would the guard want a turn the minute he moved off her? If he came in without Lance, that’d be just fine. He would kill the bastard and get it over with. She lay silent beneath him, her eyes wide with fear. He knew that she waited for the guard as well.

“Not yet,” she pled when he started to move off her. Her hands gripped his shirt. In the dead silence between them, he heard the guard chuckling, then the sound of footsteps as he moved away. A trickle of sweat ran down the prisoner’s temple. He looked back to be sure the guard had left them.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered yet again. He moved off her and dropped his kilt, then gently pulled her gown lower. He grabbed the cloth she’d washed with before and awkwardly cleaned off her leg.

She rose to her feet and tugged at her gown, though it wouldn’t go lower. Her hands were shaking as she reached for her undergarment.

The prisoner put the cloth under his kilt and cleaned himself off, turning his back to give her a moment’s privacy to get decent. He heard her at the sink. When the water stopped running, he faced her. “Are you all right?”

She stood with her arms wrapped around her shoulders, her eyes on the floor. “It wasn’t your fault. You had to do it.”

But he didn’t have to enjoy it. He felt like an utter bastard, not knowing whether to comfort her or leave her alone. He reached out for her, and she flinched. “Lass, look at me.”

She met his gaze, but her lovely eyes were flat. “I’m fine. Sex is better than death.” She retreated to the bench and sat on the far edge, tugging her gown so hard the prisoner thought it might tear. She stared at the floor, her face tight.

He stood helplessly in the middle of the floor. He went to her again, softly touching her. This time she didn’t flinch. He rubbed her arm awkwardly, his own eyes stinging with shame. He’d spent himself in pleasure while she was in pain. He was no better than the guard.

“I…I shouldn’t have…” He swallowed. “I’ve not been with a woman for so long…” But that was no bloody excuse.

“It’s over. Neither one of us had a choice.” Her eyes were cold and calm now. This was the woman who was brave enough to fight the guard. “He’ll pay. I’m going to rip his balls off.”

“No. I’ll rip them off. One at a time. We have to find a way out of here.” The guard wouldn’t be satisfied now. He would want more.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and they heard the frantic voice of the guard.

“Master, I didn’t expect you back this soon.”

The master appeared around the corner, his long black hair and face bonny as a lass’s.

The prisoner heard Anna gasp. “Tristol!”

CHAPTER SIX

ANNA JUMPED TO her feet, adrenaline flooding her body as she stared at the ancient demon. Every warrior knew Tristol’s name and his face—although he looked a little different than the pictures, more human—but Anna had never seen him in person. Where most demons were hideous, Tristol was beautiful.

He was rarely spotted. Faelan had been the last known warrior to see him, along with the other three demons who comprised the mysterious League of Demons. That was back in 1860 when Druan locked Faelan in the time vault. What was Tristol doing here? The prisoner had also moved, placing his body between her and Tristol.

This must be Tristol’s fortress. Did he know that vampires were sneaking around the place? Or had he invited them? It was beginning to look as if the demons and vampires were working together.

Tristol moved closer, his movements so smooth she hardly saw him step. “Who brought her?” he asked the guard, his voice deadly quiet.

The guard shrank back. “She sneaked in, master.”

“Sneaked in? The place is cloaked.”

“I know, master. That’s why I didn’t kill her. I figured you would want to know how she got here. I think she’s a warrior. She wears one of those necklaces.”

Tristol walked closer to the cell. He was tall, stunning, his body graceful but full of power. His eyes were dark as sin. A curl of something dark and sweet rolled through Anna, numbing her shock and fear. She wanted to move closer, to feel his presence. She grabbed the prisoner’s hand and felt him flinch when she touched the broken finger. She softened her grip.

Tristol’s gaze hadn’t left Anna. “That’s because she is a warrior. The most powerful female warrior in the clan. Hello, Anna.”

“You know me?” Anna was surprised. Rumor had it that Tristol was the Dark One’s favorite demon. What would he know about her?

“Of course I know you. May I ask how you breeched my fortress?”

Anna stepped beside the prisoner. She could feel the tension in his body. She held tight to his hand as she fought Tristol’s pull. “I followed one of the guards here.”

“It was Lance, master,” the guard said from behind Tristol.

“He wasn’t supposed to leave,” Tristol said.

“I told him that,” the guard said nervously, “but he had some errands. If you know the truth of it, I don’t trust him.”

Tristol glanced at the guard. “Did you kill him?”

The guard shuffled nervously. “No. I thought you’d want to question him too.”

“I do. Tell me, Anna, where you saw my guard.”

“Let us out and I’ll tell you.”

Tristol laughed, his perfect white teeth glistening.

Anna felt the pull again. It was bizarre to have a demon affect her this way. She hated demons. She was born to hunt and kill them.

“I can’t do that,” Tristol said.

The prisoner was staring at Tristol, muscles tensed. “What do you want with us?” he asked.

The ancient demon studied the pair. His gaze moved from their faces to their linked hands. “I need your help.”

“Our help? That’s why you’ve been torturing me.”

“Torture?” Tristol turned on the guard. “I told you to test him, not torture.”

The guard backed up. “He’s exaggerating, master.”

“Does this look like an exaggeration?” Anna asked, glancing at the prisoner, whose bruised face and bloodstained clothing gave testament to his treatment. “You should see his back.”

“That’s because he tried to escape,” the guard said.

“Liar,” the prisoner said.

Tristol was very still. So still it made Anna afraid. The guard was shaking in his boots. Tristol turned toward him, whispered something, and left.

The guard stood in front of the prisoner’s cell, his manner docile. “Time for another trip.”

The prisoner’s body tensed. “Move back and be quiet,” he whispered to Anna, and then he stepped away from her, toward the door.

“Not you,” the guard said. “Her. Let’s go.”

“No,” the prisoner whispered. He gripped Anna’s hand so hard it hurt. “No!”

The guard opened the cell and took out his gun. “Now.”

The prisoner kept his body between Anna and the door. “No. Take me.”