It was still dark in the Hold. Lights out. Pitch black. It never got any lighter than this during the imposed nighttime hours.

She couldn’t see Cain, but she could feel him.

Feel every part of him.

His long fingers spanned her ribs, holding her lower body up off the bed. He knelt between her legs, forcing her thighs apart, splaying her wide open for him. With her feet bouncing awkwardly and her stomach muscles stretched taut, it wasn’t the most comfortable of positions.

Riana didn’t care.

She clung to the worn bedding above her head and futilely struggled to free herself from his vice-like grip so she could pump her hips against the hard, fast thrusting of his cock. Her helplessness only intensified the frantic pressure building at her center, and the moans she’d been making earlier transformed into little sobs of pleasure.

Cain made a guttural sound in the dark, but there wasn’t light enough to see his expression. He’d awakened her a few minutes ago by rubbing his erection against her butt.

After a month of sharing this cell with him, her body immediately responded to the silent invitation.

Now she was naked on her back, her bottom several inches off the mattress, her pussy wet and aching with sharp, deep desire for him.

“Oh, oh, God!” Her voice was shrill and breathless, and louder than she’d expected. But the urgency of her growing climax made it impossible for her to stifle her vocal responses.

Cain grunted in response, the sound of his breathing intensifying as his fingers tightened on her ribs. He almost never spoke while he fucked her, but by now she could read his grunt as one of approval.

He liked it when she was loud, when the pleasure was too much for her to control.

Riana clawed at the mattress and bit down hard on her lower lip, but it was no use. Her choked cries grew even louder, echoing in the complete darkness and nearly drowning the sound of wet suction from his cock inside her and the choppy tempo of the slapping of their groins. “So good. Oh, fuck!”

Cain made another rough grunt, adjusting his hold on her so he could thrust even faster and harder.

She was washed in heat and perspiration, and her blindness in the dark only increased her helplessness against the overwhelming sensations.

“Make me come.” She arched her back desperately in an attempt to grind her pussy against his pumping.

“Yeah,” Cain gritted out, the unexpected words shaped without warning, his low, thick voice the most erotic thing she’d ever heard. “Come for me hard.”

She came. Hard. The climax sliced through her so powerfully she nearly screamed as she shook and shuddered through the spasms.

He kept fucking her through the clenching of her pussy, pushing into her with several rough groans as his body tightened palpably. “Again,” he demanded in a strangled tone, still holding her body rigidly in place.

She didn’t know if it was the rough, irresistible authority in his voice or the intensity of the carnal sensations. But she came again, the second climax rising up on the heels of the first, making her cry out even louder as the pleasure erupted once more.

Cain didn’t shout as he came. But he forced out a choked exclamation she recognized as the one he made when he came particularly hard. Then his body jerked and pulsed with his climax, and his hands finally relaxed on her ribs.

“Shut the fuck up!” someone yelled from outside the cell. In the disorientation of such complete darkness, she couldn’t even tell from which direction the annoyed shout had come.

Riana giggled as Cain released her, and she stretched out to try to ease her tight muscles. She’d become accustomed to the lack of privacy far sooner than she would have expected. She was occasionally hit with self-consciousness—if one of the other prisoners caught her in an unusual position. The other day she’d been fucking Cain as he’d sat on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his arms. She was on his lap, facing away from him, her legs folded beside his thighs, bracing herself on his knees and bouncing on his cock as frantically as she could. She’d been naked, her breasts jiggling wildly, while Cain had held himself perfectly still. She’d come three times, riding him with shameless eagerness. For some reason, when she’d noticed there was an audience of several gawking prisoners, she’d burned with mortification—although she’d come a fourth time, knowing she was being watched.

But usually she could shrug off the lack of privacy.

It was amazing what familiarity could accomplish.

Cain collapsed beside her, breathing heavily and stretching out beside her. He didn’t reach out to pull her against him. He wasn’t the cuddling kind. But she felt his eyes on her in the dark.

“I suppose you’re pretty proud of yourself,” she said in a dry voice.

He grunted. A sound she understood as agreement.

“I just screamed to feed your enormous ego,” she lied. “I thought you needed some encouragement.”

He grunted again. This one sounded amused.

“It wasn’t that good,” she continued, pleased with her success. Cain wasn’t an open or easy man, and it always gave her a thrill when she managed to connect with him in a way other than sex. “But you’re making good strides. Keep at it, and I’m sure you’ll get better.”

Her teasing got a more dramatic reaction than she’d expected. Cain rolled over on top of her—hot, heavy, and damp with perspiration. She could feel his warm breath against her flushed cheek and—although she still couldn’t see his expression only inches away from her—she could sense his predatory smile in the dark.

He adjusted until he could slip one hand down between her thighs. His fingers explored her groin, stroking the hot, swollen flesh and her pussy, sloppy and wet from his fluids and hers. “Is that right?” he said, the gravel in his voice making her shiver.

“Yes.” She tensed as she felt his thumb close over her sensitized clit, but she managed to say in a somewhat wry voice, “Don’t be discouraged. You’re still learning.”

He lowered his face until he could murmur in her ear, “How’s this for a lesson?”

Then he began to rub her clit in firm circles with his thumb.

She tried to resist—willing herself to keep control of her reactions so she could keep the upper-hand in their teasing conversation.

But it was no use. Her body was already overly stimulated, and now it was primed and ready for his touch.

It took less than a minute of his massage for another climax to coil and release inside her. She bit down hard on his shoulder to keep herself from choking out the pleasure that pulsed through her.

“Forty-seven seconds,” he drawled, stroking her pussy as the lingering spasms died away.

“Arrogant bastard,” she replied without any heat. “That one was fake too.”

He actually laughed—a low, throaty sound she almost never heard from him.

She experienced a flush of pleasure at the sound.

He was so hard to figure out, and she had no idea how he felt about her.

She knew he loved to fuck her—she had ample proof of that—but that might be because she was the only available, willing female in his present circumstances. They fucked a lot, sometimes three or four times a day. But they didn’t have much else to do, and at least it was an enjoyable way to pass the time.

She knew he tolerated her pretty well. She did her best to make herself accommodating—even when he was silent and bad-tempered. She tried to be helpful and interesting, and did her best to be a good companion.

But she didn’t know if he actually liked her. If he had feelings for her beyond lust and easy tolerance.

And she wanted Cain to like her. Desperately.

So much she thrilled at every small sign that he might.

She supposed it wasn’t entirely healthy. She’d latched onto him with unnatural neediness, since there was absolutely no one else to bond with in the hell where she was living. Under normal circumstances, she might not have even liked him. Much less developed so strong an attachment to this rough, silent loner.

But she spent a good portion of her endless days brooding about Cain, wondering what made him tick, dissecting every comment he made to her, and hoping she was growing on him too.

Sometimes she daydreamed about escaping the prison, and in those daydreams she and Cain always left together.

And they stayed together even after they were freed.

Other times she had nightmares about a freak accident occurring and Cain getting killed. Her horror in those imaginings wasn’t just about what would happen to her. It was also about losing Cain.

Most of the time, she tried not to think about either of those things. She tried to just live in the moment, since anything else was almost unbearable.

Right now, she wanted to roll over and snuggle with Cain. She wanted him to put his arms around her and hold her close. She didn’t make a move though. The last thing she wanted to do was make Cain feel uncomfortable about anything connected to sex.

Sex was all she had, and it was the only thing keeping her safe.

* * *

When the lights came back on in the Hold, Cain rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom—just as he always did. She stayed under the covers. Other prisoners often strolled by Cain’s cell first thing in the morning, hoping to catch a glimpse of her cleaning up or getting dressed. Because of this, she always waited until the early meal, when Cain left to get them food, to clean up as best she could.

There was only so clean she could get here but she did what she could—grateful she at least had use of a sink.

She washed out her clothes as often as possible, although she had to be careful since they were already getting threadbare and stained. Despite her attempts to stay clean, she knew she must smell a lot of the time. After the first week, however, she’d stopped letting that bother her.

Her own senses had grown accustomed to the smell of the Hold. So much so that she hardly noticed it anymore, unless she got close to a particularly reeking man. Cain had a distinct smell. One she actually liked now, since it had grown so familiar to her.

She kind of hoped he felt the same way about how she smelled. They had sex so often she sometimes wondered if most of the time she smelled like Cain anyway.

Her hair was basically hopeless. Cain had found her something that resembled a comb, and she spent hours trying to work it through her snarled mass of dark hair. She washed her hair in the sink sometimes, but there was no soap or shampoo. She’d given up hoping that her hair would ever look attractive again.

Cain had offered to shave it off for her—the way he shaved his own scalp with the blade he kept hidden behind the toilet. But Riana couldn’t yet bring herself to give up her hair completely.

Maybe later she would get there. But not yet.

She had let Cain shave her pussy. Two weeks ago. Initially, it had been for purely practical reasons, but the act had ended up being intensely erotic. And when he’d finished the delicate procedure, he’d had her hold herself open intimately so he could pleasure her with his lips, tongue, and teeth.

She’d come three times—the last time screaming.

Just the memory of it still made her wet.

Since Cain had left for the morning mealtime, Riana got up to go to the bathroom and get washed up.

She’d never actually seen the mealtime madness, since it went on beyond the sight of the cell, and she had no desire to do so. She had taken to observing people during the downtimes, more than she’d done at the beginning, whenever there weren’t men hanging about the bars to ogle.

She’d never grown fully inured to violence, so there were some things she just couldn’t look at, but occasionally it was quiet enough for her to look through the bars and observe life in the Hold.

She grew to recognize certain people—even though she never learned their names. There was one elderly man who seemed to spend all day making slow laps around the prison, darting out of the way of anyone who looked like a threat. He must have lived on scraps, since he never participated in the mealtime rush. She mentally christened him the Tortoise. Another guy must have been a kleptomaniac, since she would often see him snatching things that belonged to others—not with brute force the way the alphas did, but with quick, covert movements, as if he just couldn’t help it. He would sometimes get beat up, but he never stole anything important enough to get killed over. She called him the Snatcher.

Then there was the Player. He’d arrived just over a week ago. She’d noticed him immediately because he was very good-looking. He wore expensive clothes, and he walked with a kind of swagger that made it clear he was used to getting what he wanted. He was definitely a ladies’ man, which was why she’d named him the Player.

She’d expected him to be dead before the first night was over, since his clothes were so much better than anyone else’s and because there were men here who would take his confidence as defiance.

She’d been shocked when she continued to see him—still in his clothes, never beat up. Then he claimed his own cell—not a good one, but better than nothing—and no one tried to take it from him. He was in good shape, but in a lean way. He wasn’t nearly as big as Cain or Thorn. There was no way he could have taken on some of the men here through brute strength.

She wondered how he was surviving. His cell was across from hers and Cain’s, and no one seemed to bother him. He didn’t appear to have made friends or alliances or given himself as a lover to an alpha who could protect him.

Because she was so curious, she would sometimes watch him when she was alone in the cell and he was in her range of view.

He was an anomaly. He didn’t make sense.

This morning, the Player hadn’t gone for food in the rush. He didn’t always, although he clearly managed to eat enough to stay healthy. It seemed more like he couldn’t always be bothered. Right now, he was in his cell, sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed.

As if he’d sensed her watching, he opened his eyes and met her gaze across the distance.

This guy wasn’t like most of the other animals in the Hold, but she had no idea who or what he was.

After a minute, he got up and walked toward her.

When he reached the bars of the cell, he gave her a breathtaking grin, one that literally made her breath hitch. “I don’t suppose you can spare one of those blankets.”

She found herself reaching down for one automatically before she caught herself. What the hell? So he had a good smile—that didn’t mean she lost her mind over him. “I don’t think he would like that.”

She never spoke Cain’s name where anyone else could hear it. He’d given it to her as a gesture of goodwill. He hadn’t given it to anyone else.

“Probably not. But would he even notice?” Again, the man was so charming and persuasive that she wanted to just cave and give him what he wanted.

“Yes. He would.”

“What has he done to deserve such loyalty?” This seemed more like a genuine question rather than a ploy to persuade her.

She met his gaze evenly, noticing his eyes were a remarkably vivid green. “What do you think?”

He sighed. “Best cell. Best woman. I might be jealous.”

Cain had told her how he’d taken this cell from the prisoner who’d had it when he arrived. The man had been strong—so strong Cain had been seriously injured after the fight—but Cain had beaten him and taken the key. He’d die before he gave it up now.

She said, “I wouldn’t challenge him, if I were you.”

The Player laughed. “I’m way too smart for that.”

He probably was. Maybe that was how he’d survived as long as he did. Some sort of razor-sharp intelligence and the ability to persuade people to take his side.

It had worked on her—so easily it was almost frightening. This man might look more like a player than a warrior, but there was something dangerous about him all the same.

She was about to reply, when Cain appeared out of nowhere. He swung a blow toward the other man, but the Player ducked out of the range of Cain’s fist just in time.

He was really quick—that was for sure.

“Get away,” Cain muttered, aiming an intimidating glare in his direction.

The man backed off, but he gave Riana a shameless wink in the process that made Cain growl.

She wanted to laugh. She really wanted to laugh. Who the hell was that guy anyway?

“What was he doing?” Cain demanded, entering the cell and locking it behind him.

“Just talking. I think he was bored.”

“Stay away from him. There’s something not right about him.”

“What do you mean?” She’d sensed something strange too, but she wondered if Cain had a better take on it. “What’s not right?”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard rumblings, though. No one will challenge him.”

“Why don’t you?”

“Not worth my time.” He gave Riana a significant look. “Unless he tries to take what’s mine.”

She swallowed, feeling a little turned on by the words, but she managed to say, “Well, I protected your blankets for you, so I think they’re safe.”

That earned her an almost-smile.

When Cain gave her the food he’d brought back, Riana accepted her portion with thanks. She’d never gone with him to retrieve the meals. Cain wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on protecting her as well as claiming food for both of them. So he always left her locked in the cell, and Riana had never complained.

She didn’t complain about anything anyway. Even things that genuinely bugged her. She kept all of her annoyances—the inevitable result of living in such close quarters with a terse, stoic man—to herself.

She had no idea how many complaints it would take for Cain to get sick of her and banish her from his cell, but she wasn’t about to test his limits.

The meal always consisted of stew and bread, and sometimes Riana could barely swallow it because she was so tired of the stuff. But Cain always got grumpy and disapproving when she didn’t eat—the way he acted whenever she showed signs of not being tough enough—so she usually managed to force down enough to keep herself full.

She’d started working out with Cain—doing as many push-ups and sit-ups as she could and running at least a couple of laps around the perimeter of the Hold with him until she was too exhausted to keep up. He would lock her in the cell when she’d done all she could, and he would finish his run by himself.

Some mornings he ran for hours.

In the afternoons he would work on building his device. She still had no idea what it was, although she could now see how parts of it functioned and was pretty sure it would end up being some kind of primitive machine. There was absolutely nothing for her to do, so she would watch him until she dozed off.

If he was in an amiable mood—or what passed for amiable for Cain—they would talk as he worked. She told him about her childhood and her grandmother, the only person she’d ever really loved. And she told him about her schooling, her job, and the various digs she’d gone on over the years, how alone she’d been for most of her life.

Cain didn’t tell her nearly as much. He wasn’t an open or talkative person. But he told her about some of the trips he’d made—he’d traveled all over Coalition space. And once he told her about his dog.

Max.

It was the only time in the month she’d known him Riana had seen something like grief on his face.

At some point in the afternoons, Cain usually went on the “hunt” for some object he needed for his device. Riana always went with him—mostly to get out of the cell for a little while.

This afternoon, when Cain got up from the floor where he’d been tinkering on his machine, Riana jumped to her feet immediately. She was restless today. Cain had been silent and brooding, and they hadn’t had sex since before the lights had come on. She’d washed out her camisole and hung it up to drip dry, but that was all she’d accomplished all day.

She needed to do something.

Cain didn’t question her joining him. He was used to it by now. In fact, he didn’t say anything as he locked the door behind him.

Sometimes when they returned, a prisoner was trying to break into the cell—either by force or by jimmying the lock. Cain usually just swatted them out of the way. It was always an act of hopeless desperation, since there was no way to get into the cell without the key. The bars were utterly impassable.

They started walking around the Hold, and Cain was clearly on the lookout for whatever it was he needed today. When they passed by a scuffle—evidently over a pair of shoes—Cain eased her toward the wall so she wouldn’t get struck with a stray blow.

She was forced so close to the wall that her shirt caught on a jagged edge of metal.

It tore, the fabric ripping at one of the seams so far that the gap exposed her bare breast.

Her camisole was still in the cell drying.

“Damn it,” she muttered, holding the torn fabric in place as a few prisoners who happened to see hooted or called out vulgar comments. When she realized the implications of the accident—one of her few pieces of clothing was permanently damaged—she felt vaguely sick. “Fuck, fuck, damn it.”

Cain had stopped when she did, but his expression looked mostly unconcerned. “It’s just a tear.”

Her teeth snapped together as she managed to hold back an automatic retort. It wasn’t just a tear. Not in these circumstances. And any idiot would have known that.

She couldn’t comfortably keep holding up the torn fabric of her shirt, so with a defeated sigh, she said, “I guess I need to go back.”

“Why?”

Riana’s lower lip dropped slightly. “What do you mean—why? Because I have a gaping hole in my shirt, and I’m not going to walk around half-naked.”

Cain looked slightly impatient and gave a shrug with one shoulder. “What’s the big deal? They’ve seen you naked in the cell before. They’ve seen you with my cock in your mouth. What’s the difference?”

A flash of outraged anger overcame her as she stared at his infuriating face. There was a world of difference between the two situations. Yes, some of the other prisoners had seen her in various states of undress and debauchery, but that had all been in the cell. The cell felt like home base. It might not be private, but it was safe.

It was entirely different to parade around the Hold, revealing her body to every prisoner with eyes.

And if Cain had the slightest bit of sensitivity in his brute soul, he would know it.

She could see a glimpse of Thorn from where they stood. Thorn kept his distance from Cain now, but he’d managed to hold onto his power in the prison otherwise. Riana tried very hard not to encounter him, since just the sight of him made her feel kind of sick.

And even Thorn could ogle her now with the torn shirt.

“Of course, it’s different,” she snapped. “What the fuck do you—”

She broke off her words with a jerk, belatedly remembering that she couldn’t make Cain mad.

Swallowing hard, she overcame the urge to bite his head off and instead said, “You’re right. There’s no difference.” Her eyes straight ahead, she let the tear in her shirt fall open and started walking again.

Without warning, Cain grabbed her arm and swung her around to face him. “Why the hell do you do that?”

Surprised by his burst of anger, Riana gasped, “Do what?”

“Cut yourself off whenever you have something to say.” His blue eyes pinned her in place, and his jaw was clenched with obvious tension. “It drives me crazy. If you have something to say, just say it. Don’t act like a mindless, passive drone.”

For a moment, her vision blurred over—she was so enraged and affronted. Her hands fisted at her sides as she tried to keep herself from clawing lines down his face. “Why the fuck do you think I stop myself! Do you actually expect me to challenge you, when you’re the only thing keeping me alive?”

Something on his face changed. It didn’t soften. She’d never seen Cain soft. Instead, his features tightened even more, until his lips were pressed into a colorless line. Finally, he rasped, “You think if you say the wrong thing I’m going to toss you out to be torn apart?”

“What am I supposed to think?” All the suppressed frustration of constantly being on edge for the last month was finally boiling over. Her voice was hoarse with emotion too fiery and thick to control. “That’s our arrangement. You protect me. I please you. We’ve never said it out loud, but both of us know it. I’m sure as hell not going to displease you.”

His eyes cut into her like a blade. “You think I’m that kind of an animal?”

“Of course, you’re that kind of animal. We all are. Look around you!” She made a sweeping gesture, taking in the Hold, the dirty chaos around them, the primitive way all the prisoners lived in this cage. “We eat and fuck and try to survive. That’s what we’ve been turned into. What the fuck do you expect me to do to?” Her voice faltered suddenly, overcome with a terror so deep it almost swallowed her. She might have killed herself here—by finally expressing what she thought. Lashing out at the one man who was capable of keeping her safe. She made a choking sound and looked at the ground. “I’m just trying to survive.”

Cain was silent. But she could feel the shuddering tension in his hard, muscular body, even though he wasn’t touching her. She could also hear him breathe. Loud, fast, wet, thick sounds of inhales and exhales.

She finally darted her eyes up to his face as she tried to keep her hands from trembling.

She’d never seen Cain truly angry before.

But he was angry now.

He was smoldering with it. Shaking with it. Like a volcano about to erupt.

And he was angry with her.

Cain took a loud ragged breath and turned on his heel, away from her. He didn’t move. Instead he stood with his back to her and simmered, as if he were struggling to get himself under control.

Riana stared at his broad back, the rippling muscles of his shoulders and arms, the way his t-shirt stuck to his damp skin, the distinct curve of his scalp.

And her terror almost swallowed her up.

What if, because of her own stupidity, she’d lost Cain for good?

She could hardly breathe, and she suddenly needed to get away. Back to the cell, where she felt safe.

With a muffled sound, she turned back in the direction they’d come and stumbled away. She wasn’t thinking rationally. It was pure instinct driving her to escape. Had she been thinking, she would have remembered that the cell was locked, and she didn’t have a key.

Despite her emotional state, she never once believed she was seriously in danger of being assaulted. Everyone knew she was Cain’s woman. And everyone was scared or intimidated by Cain. Just last week, when a man had tried to cop a quick feel during their morning run, Cain had beaten the man unconscious—in the presence of the entire Hold.

Even apart from him, she still considered herself under his protection.

Which was why she was completely unprepared when someone suddenly grabbed her and pulled her into a dim cell without bars.

It happened so quickly she could barely process it. One moment she was stumbling toward her cell and the next she was being thrown violently against a wall.

The impact hurt. It winded and jarred her so much she was too dizzy to react. Her assailant didn’t waste any time. He hauled her up roughly from the floor and then pushed her forward, forcing her to bend over the edge of a metal table. It was the same kind of table as the one in Cain’s cell—small and attached to the wall.

The attack was so fast and brutal that Riana couldn’t even tell who the man was. A forceful hand closed around the back of her neck, holding her in place on the table with so strong a grip she could barely even breathe.

She tried to scream but no sound came out. Either fear or the strangling grip on her neck made any noise impossible. She tried to struggle, but she was helpless in this position, folded and pinned over the edge of the table.

Her consciousness glazed over in a blur of terror and shock. One part of her mind knew what was happening, but the rest of it couldn’t even register the reality.

A brutish hand jerked down her pants and panties until she felt the cold metal against her bare skin.

She tried to scream again. And it was the worst part of the whole experience. Her mouth opened but couldn’t shape any sound at all.

With what was left of her mind, she tried to prepare herself for what was going to occur, even as she futilely kept trying to struggle against the powerful grip.

Then suddenly the hands were gone. She heard a primal growling sound, and the body behind her was pulled away.

She sucked in a desperate breath through her aching windpipe as she managed to push her bruised body off the table so she could see what was happening.

Cain had found her.

He must have torn the man off her and thrown him bodily out of the cell and into the public area in the middle of the Hold.

Riana now recognized her attacker as Asp, the tattooed man who’d confronted her on her first arrival.

But she could hardly recognize Cain at all in the snarling, primitive beast he seemed to have transformed into.

She managed to pull up her pants before she stepped, shaking, out of the cell and huddled by the wall as she watched.

Asp wasn’t a weakling. He was big and violent, and he knew what he was doing.

But he didn’t have a chance against Cain.

Cain had worked himself up into a frenzy. Riana had never seem him—seen anyone—look like that before. He pounded the other man into the ground, never pausing or giving respite for a moment. Soon there was blood. And then the other man stopped putting up a fight.

But Cain didn’t stop his brutal attack until Asp lay in a mass of bloody pulp on the ground.

Riana knew without doubt he was dead.

And she wasn’t even sorry. Part of her was shocked and nauseating by the sudden, violent turn of events over the last few minutes. But part of her—a tiny, instinctive part she didn’t like to acknowledge—thrilled to see Cain react so primally, so territorially, so animalistically.

Over her.

Mostly, though, she was dizzy and dazed—too much having happened for her to keep up.

So when Cain dropped the other man to the ground and stood up with his hands, arms, and shirt bloodied and his skin soaked with grimy perspiration, she still couldn’t bring herself to move.

Cain looked around the prison. The whole place had grown silent as everyone had moved to watch the violent altercation. Cain’s expression seemed to dare anyone else to challenge him.

Or to lay a hand on what was his.

No one moved. No one dared to approach.

Until Cain finally stalked away from his kill.

When he reached Riana, he took her by the back of her torn shirt and used his grip to guide her back to their cell.

His touch wasn’t gentle, and it smeared blood on her shirt, but she appreciated the support since she wasn’t sure she would have been able to walk otherwise.

When they reached the cell and Cain locked the door behind them, Riana crumpled onto the bed, hugging her arms to her stomach.

Cain stared down at her for a moment. Then he made a guttural sound and jerked away. He strode to the sink and turned the water on. He splashed water on his bloody hands and sweaty face.

Water streaming down his skin, he turned back toward her. “Did he—”

“No,” she gasped, the first word she’d been able to utter since the attack. “You got there in time.”

His face twisted strangely, and he turned back to the sink. Leaned down to splash more water on his face.

He turned back toward her—still looking feral and powerful in his visceral tension and bloody shirt—and opened his mouth again. But this time he didn’t speak. Instead, he turned on his heel with a jerk and made a move like he was going to leave the cell.

But he stopped himself. And instead he moved back to where she was huddled on the bed.

But he stopped himself again.

Riana had no idea what was happening, but she could sense Cain’s mood. Adrenaline and testosterone must be coursing through him. He was still on the violent high. Plus he might be concerned about her.

And he had no idea how to channel his primitive response.

He splashed more water on his face. Then he made another guttural sound and paced into the bathroom nook.

Growing concerned now, Riana stood up and met him as he turned back around and walked out.

“Cain, are you all right?” she asked softly, stretching out a gentle hand toward his stained shirt.

She was engulfed by the oddest feeling. Her own fear and nausea had dissipated in the security of the cell, and in its wake was a primal urge that matched his.

She felt all physicality and instinct. Like an animal.

An animal that had just been claimed by its mate.

At her soft touch, Cain’s battered control broke completely. And, as if he’d read her mind, he growled softly and grabbed her by the hips.

He pushed her back against the wall of the cell and claimed her mouth in a hard, rough, urgent kiss.

It was the first time he’d ever kissed her, and Riana responded to it immediately. She still wasn’t thinking rationally, but the horror of the minutes before was mostly gone—with only animal instinct remaining.

She wanted Cain. She wanted his strength and his power and his dominance. She needed to feel all of those things in the most physical way she could.

His body pressed into hers, trapping her against the hard wall. His hands were all over her—feeling her, touching her, stroking her—until he’d pulled off her pants and panties in their haze of frantic need.

With powerful hands, Cain lifted her up then, using the wall for support as he held her bare bottom. She wrapped her legs around his middle and clung to his neck. He was strong enough to hold her easily, and she loved how small and feminine she felt against him.

He didn’t waste any time. As soon as he’d fumbled between their bodies to free his cock, he sank into her. She wasn’t as wet as she usually was—the panic earlier was still having an effect on her body—but she wanted him. Needed him. Desperately.

His cock filled her completely, and he pitched his hips forward, pushing into her, pushing her hard against the wall.

It wasn’t entirely comfortable, and Riana was conscious of sore places on her body where there would be bruises from the earlier attack, but she didn’t care. She wanted to feel Cain’s strength as deeply as she could.

He didn’t have much control. His thrusts were hard and erratic, and his mouth on hers was clumsy and ravenous. But it was exactly what Riana needed. And she whimpered in pleasure as he rutted, as he took her hard, as he claimed her as his.

She clawed eager lines down the back of his neck as he grunted roughly and rocked his pelvis into hers.

She wasn’t going to come. She hadn’t had enough clitoral stimulation, and the earlier episode kept her from concentrating enough to reach orgasm.

But she didn’t care.

Feeling Cain this way, watching him release all of his shuddering tension in her at last, holding onto his absolute strength and masculinity, was the hottest thing she’d ever known.

She squeezed her pussy around the penetration of his cock until he jerked his head to the side and held himself still. Then he made a sound like a muted roar and jerked his hips in fast, clumsy spasms until he released himself inside her.

They were both gasping desperately as Cain’s body started to relax at last. Carefully, he pulled back from the wall, helped her untangle her legs, and set her down on the floor.

Her knees buckled immediately, so he picked her up instead and carried her over to the bed.

She curled up in a ball, feeling oddly weak and uncertain now that the surge of adrenalin and emotion had passed.

She desperately wanted Cain to hold her, but he didn’t get onto the bed with her. Instead, he went over to the sink and picked up one of the threadbare towels. After dampening it with the water, he came back over and sat down on the edge of the mattress.

When he’d gently uncurled her body, he removed the torn remnants of her shirt—now stained with the blood from his chest—and then wiped off the smears of blood from her skin.

She watched him in astonishment, her lips slightly parted and her eyes wide and round. He didn’t meet her eyes. Instead, he focused on his hand as he stroked the damp cloth over her breasts and belly and then down farther to her pussy—where he cleaned up his semen.

Riana had never seen him like this before, and the silent care made her belly knot with a nameless emotion she was too afraid to put into words.

“Thank you,” she said at last.

He jerked slightly, wincing as if she’d struck him.

“What’s wrong?” She put a hand on his arm, afraid he might pull back.

“Don’t—” He stopped abruptly and cleared his throat. “I’m sorry.”

Really confused now—and even more confused when she saw the twisting of regret on his face—she tightened her fingers on his forearm. “What are you sorry for?”

His eyes finally met hers. “For just now. I shouldn’t have…You were almost raped, and I…I took you like that—without even letting you recover.”

“Oh.” Her heart hammered wildly, and her breath kept hitching in her throat. “But I…”

He was caught up in a guilt she’d never expected to see from him. “I don’t know what got into me.” He stared down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap. “I was like an…”

An animal. So was she.

“I didn’t even ask if you wanted it.” With a ragged breath, he shifted his eyes to meet hers again.

“I did want it,” she said, her voice breaking on the second word. “I did. I would have stopped you if I didn’t.”

Cain stared at her for a long time. “And you believe I would have stopped if you’d told me to.”

“Of course you would. You aren’t like them.” She made a weak gesture out to the rest of the prison. “I know I said you were before. But you aren’t.”

He finally let out his breath and got up to put the towel in the sink.

Then, to her absolute relief, he came back over and lowered himself into bed beside her. He rolled over onto his side and spooned her from behind. He wrapped his arms around her, exactly as she wanted, needed him to.

Riana almost choked on emotion as she snuggled back against him—feeling safe and comforted despite the incongruous circumstances.

“Are you all right?” he muttered against her ear, his arms tightening around her middle as if he were unconsciously still trying to protect her.

“Yeah.” She adjusted one of his forearms so she could hug it to her chest. “I’m just now fully processing what might have happened. It all happened so quickly. I still can’t really believe it.”

He was silent, except for his warm, heavy breathing against her hair.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “For stopping him.”

“I should have been there sooner. I was looking for you but couldn’t find you for a minute. I never should have turned my back on you out there.”

She could hear the lingering guilt in his voice, and that sign of his humanity comforted her almost as much as his strong arms. “It’s not your fault. I’m the one who walked away from you. I wasn’t thinking.”

He didn’t reply for a minute, just held her so close it was almost uncomfortable. Finally, he asked, “Why didn’t you scream? Didn’t you think I would come for you?”

Riana sucked in a sharp breath at the implications. “I knew you would. I tried. I just… I just couldn’t get my throat to work.”

As she remembered the horrifying experience, a shuddering sob escaped her throat. “It was terrible.”

Cain made a rough sound—as if he were wordlessly objecting to her crying.

She shook helplessly for a minute. Not really weeping but finally releasing the emotional tension.

When she got herself under control again, she rasped, “I hate this place.”

Cain tightened his arms around her again and said against her hair, “I know.”

They lay in silence for a long time, and Riana had no desire to leave the haven that his embrace provided her.

Eventually, she noticed a faint smear of blood on the bedding, and it made her remember something else. Still hugging his forearm to her chest, she asked softly, “Are you all right?”

He tensed up slightly behind her. “What do you mean?”

It was a risk. This morning she never would have taken it. But she did now. She explained, “You killed a man just now.”

The pause was long and tense. But Cain finally answered in a thick voice, “I know. I don’t regret it.”

“Me either,” she admitted, although it was strangely hard for her to say. “But still. I thought maybe it might be…hard.”

She’d never killed anyone so she didn’t know how it would feel. For all she knew, Cain might have killed dozens of men. He might be a serial killer.

But she didn’t really think so. And she couldn’t help but wonder how he felt about having beaten a man to death the way he had.

He didn’t reply for a really long time. Just kept holding her and breathing into her hair. He was silent for so long she assumed he wasn’t going to respond, and she didn’t blame him at all.

But then finally he murmured, so low she could barely hear it, “I hate this place too.”

* * *

The next day, when Cain was gone for the morning food rush, the Player from the opposite cell stopped by in front of the bars. He’d been walking around and must have noticed she was alone. Evidently, Cain’s warning to stay away hadn’t sunk in.

“Do you need anything?” he asked, looking almost serious for once. He was classically handsome, but he didn’t have a young man’s prettiness. He must be in his thirties, and there was a slight roughness to his appearance that testified to hard experience and made him even more attractive.

“I have someone to give me what I need,” she said coolly, wanting to make sure not to give him any encouragement. He was definitely different from most of the prisoners—he’d somehow managed to hold onto his civilization—but she was Cain’s woman, and she wanted there to be no mistake about that.

“Yeah. I’ve noticed that. After yesterday, I mean. Are you okay?”

He must have either heard or seen what happened with Asp.

She nodded. “Yeah. I had protection.” Then she added because he looked genuinely concerned, “He got there in time.”

The man’s face relaxed.

He’d only been here a short time. She wondered if he’d eventually turn hard and ruthless and primitive like most of the other prisoners here.

“What is he making there?” the man asked, nodding toward Cain’s device.

Riana didn’t answer that question.

“If he’s got some sort of escape plan, let me know. I could definitely help.”

The words should have been presumptuous, since he was a stranger to her, but she actually believed him. He wasn’t putting on that persuasive act like he had before. It felt like he was telling her the truth.

And she wondered if he could. There was something about this man that felt like lurking power, danger—although not directed at her.

“Who are you?” she blurted out.

He laughed, a warm, genuine sound rarely heard in the prison. “My name is Hall.”

“And what do you do?”

“I’m a freelancer.”

“What kind of freelancing?”

“A variety of jobs that pay well.”

That felt about right, for the way she’d sized him up. “What jobs?”

“Whatever. I’m good at a lot. It’s the payment I care about.”

“What did you do to end up here?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but he never did. Cain had appeared behind him and reached out to shove him away from the bars.

Hall must have reacted instinctively. He swung his arms up into a fighter’s pose, and then he caught Cain’s fist before it slammed into his face.

There was no way Hall was strong enough to resist the strength of Cain’s blow, but for some reason Cain’s arm stopped before it reached its target.

Cain stared, looking blank for a minute.

Hall was stepping back with a smile. “I didn’t mean to intrude,” he said, calling on what must be his natural instinct for self-preservation.

Then Cain suddenly acted. So quickly Riana could barely keep up. One minute, the two men were several feet apart, and then suddenly Cain had grabbed Hall and thrown him up against the bars of the cell, holding him in place with his forearm against Hall’s throat.

“What did you just do?” Cain gritted out through clenched teeth.

Riana jumped out of the bed. “He wasn’t doing anything,” she said hurriedly. “He was just talking. He wasn’t offensive.”

She didn’t mind Cain clearing the path for them with force, but Hall hadn’t done anything to deserve this kind of violence.

Cain’s eyes never left Hall’s face. “What did you do to me just now?”

Riana realized he was asking something different, and her heart started to race even more.

“Nothing,” Hall said, not resisting the force in any way. “I was just protecting myself. Sorry if I got in the way.”

Riana somehow knew the man wasn’t a coward. He was smart. He only picked the fights he knew he could win, and he must not be sure he could win out against Cain.

“Tell me what you did to me, or I’ll crush your windpipe.”

Something loosened in Hall’s body, and he said hoarsely, “I’m a Reader.”

Riana made a little noise of surprise, and even Cain straightened up.

The Coalition had rounded up all the Readers about a decade ago. They’d forced them all to work for the government and were now controlling their reproduction, so Readers were supposed to have vanished from the general population.

“You weren’t just Reading me a minute ago,” Cain muttered, his arm still at the other man’s throat. “I felt you do something.”

“My gift takes a slightly different form. I can read other people’s feelings when I touch them. What I can pick up is a lot vaguer than other Readers, but I can turn it around too. I can use what I sense, turn it around, and send it back. That’s what I did to you.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Cain asked, looking predatory, suspicious.

Hall gave a quirk of a smile. “Because you asked?”

“He wasn’t doing any harm,” Riana said quietly. Hall seemed like a real person to her now—and she thought he would to Cain too. If Cain killed him, it would just be wrong, and she didn’t want Cain to have to live with that. “He was just defending himself.”

Cain hesitated, obviously torn. Then he finally let Hall go. Hall shook himself off and straightened up, somehow maintaining the look of amused superiority.

“Stay away from both of us,” Cain growled.

Hall arched his eyebrows at Riana, in some sort of unspoken communication. “Got it.” Then he turned around and left.

Cain was tense and silent when he entered the cell and locked it behind him.

He was bristling, and she knew he was troubled by what had just happened with Hall.

“He really wasn’t being offensive,” she said, trying to break the tension. Hall made more sense to her now. She could see how he’d managed to carve out a place for himself here, and she could understand why he was so persuasive.

“So now you’re defending him?” Cain’s words cut like a knife.

“No! I just think he’s not that important, so there’s no reason to get uptight about it. Why has he gotten to you like this?”

Cain narrowed his eyes and glared at her, not answering.

She was so annoyed she wanted to shake him. “What the hell is your problem? Do you think I’m considering moving out of your cell and into his?”

She asked the final question mostly to get a reaction, to snap him out of his bristling. Not because she thought it was true.

But she saw a flicker of something in his eyes and suddenly realized it was. He thought she liked Hall—better than him. He thought she might be wondering if he was a better choice for a mate.

“Oh, my God, Cain,” she groaned, dropping down to sit on the edge of the bed. “How could you possibly think that?”

He didn’t answer. Just stood over her, staring down, something both angry and hesitant on his face.

“I chose you. I live with you, fuck you, depend on you completely. Damn it, I even smell like you. How could you possibly think I’d change my mind and choose someone else?”

He still didn’t answer. Not with words. But something seemed to have cracked inside him, because he was suddenly on top of her, pushing her down so she was lying on her back.

He kissed her hard, possessive, and her whole body and soul answered his claim. She arched up into him, clawing at the back of his neck,

Soon, he’d pulled off her pants and pulled out his cock, and he was entering her with rough thrusts.

She was totally overwhelmed with his strength, his power, his possession. Even without much foreplay, she was aching with arousal, her hips eagerly grinding against his thrusts.

She could barely breathe around the depth of the kiss, but he didn’t break it until they’d worked up a rough, rhythmic motion. Then finally he tore his mouth away and said thickly, “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours,” she gasped, meaning it—far more than in body. “Just yours.”

She came on the last word, pleasure rippling through her, and Cain stifled an exclamation of satisfaction as he let himself go too.

He fell down on top of her afterwards, gathering her into his arms.

And she loved it—all of how he felt and looked and sounded and smelled as he held her.

She understood why he’d needed to assure himself that she was his woman, but she couldn’t help but wish the situation was mutual.

That he was hers—fully, for real—too.         

* * *

That evening after mealtime Cain worked on his device again. He wasn’t just tinkering now. He seemed driven, concentrating so hard on his work that he was barely conscious of her presence.

She wondered if he was close to finishing it.

She wondered what it was going to do.

She wondered if it would be what he wanted it to be—an escape out of this misery.

When he finally put down his tool and covered the device with the sheet again, his expression looked blank and unfocused.

She sat up in bed and hugged her arms to her chest. “Cain,” she began, her voice weak and shaky, “When you get out of here, when you escape, please don’t leave me behind.”