The downpour started in all earnest before Ilse and Agent Pillay had made it to his car in the outside parking lot. If she hadn’t been running late this morning, she would’ve taken her umbrella. There had been no forecast for rain, but summer thunderstorms were always unpredictable, arriving almost daily around four in the afternoon and clearing up an hour later to leave the earth with a smell as enticing as clean laundry and a pretty rainbow to make up for the boisterous thunder and explosive lightning.

Holding her bag over her head, Ilse lengthened her steps to keep up with Agent Pillay. The wind whipped the rain against her face, the drops stinging her cheeks. Her tunic and shoes were soaked by the time the agent had unlocked the door to let her in. Before closing the door, she squeezed the water from her braid in a futile attempt to not spoil his leather seats.

“Sorry about that,” he mumbled as he got in beside her.

She offered him a friendly smile. “It’s not your fault. You can’t control the weather.”

“I meant not having an umbrella.”

“That’s all right. I forgot mine, too.”

She shivered as he started the engine and air from the air con hit her with a blast. Thankfully, he switched it off before pulling out of the hospital parking lot. As the Nelson Mandela Bridge appeared, he pulled onto the curb. They could get fined for obstructing traffic, not to mention that it was dangerous being parked on the narrow roadside. A car could slam into them and push them through the barrier and over the side.

She sat up straighter. “Is something the matter?”

He reached inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a blindfold.

She looked between the strip of cloth and his expressionless face. “Are you kidding me?”

“Protocol.”

When she didn’t reach for it, his jaw tightened. “Put it on, Nurse Gouws, and make a speedy job of it.”

She snatched the fabric from his hand and tied it behind her head.

“Good,” he said, satisfaction bleeding into his voice.

Without making further conversation, he steered them back onto the road. She tried to keep her bearings and discern their direction, but they’d taken several turns by the time he pulled to a stop and said, “You can remove the blindfold.”

They were in an underground parking. From the few cars in the lot, it wasn’t a busy building. Green paint peeled from the walls, and the concrete floor was stained with car oil.

He opened his door. “Come on.”

Without waiting to see if she was following, he turned for an elevator that was operated by an armed guard. The uniform was SS, not police force or correctional services. Once they were inside, the guard pressed the button for minus four, and the elevator started moving with a jolt. According to the numbers on the panel, there were eight floors above ground and four under. They exited on the lowest level. Agent Pillay led her along a hallway with a low ceiling. Tungsten lights flickered overhead. They passed several metal doors, all fitted with deadbolts. The facility had to be old. The prison she’d visited in Pretoria had electronic locks on the cells that worked with a code. She suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with her wet clothes. At the last door, he stopped. A group of men in civilian clothes were gathered outside.

“This is Agent Evans,” Agent Pillay said, indicating a man with copper hair and a big moustache. “He’ll take over.” He left with a salute.

Agent Evans extended a hand. “Call me Pete.”

She shook his hand. “Ilse Gouws.”

“Ms. Gouws––”

“Ilse, please.”

“Ilse, did Agent Pillay tell you anything about our prisoner?”

“Nothing.”

He nodded his approval. “The less you know, the better, except that he’s a convicted felon, a dangerous man who committed terrible crimes.”

The shiver she managed to maintain until then escaped. “What kind of crimes?”

“I’m afraid I can’t elaborate. All you need to concern yourself with are his injuries.” He motioned to a man on his left with a casted wrist. “Agent Frik Retief is in charge of our medical supplies. He prepared everything you should need.”

“What kind of injuries are we talking about?”

“You’ll see,” he said evasively.

Agent Retief ran his eyes over the length of her. “Ready?”

She took a breath and steeled herself. Prison fights could cause nasty injuries, and not knowing what to expect, made it worse. “Yes, Agent.”

“Please, why so formal? It’s Frik.”

“All right, Frik. Let’s see your prisoner.”

Frik flicked his fingers at one of the men standing guard at the door who immediately pulled back the deadbolt.

“Ilse?” Pete touched her shoulder.

She turned back to face him. “Yes?”

“You can’t speak to anyone about this man or what you did here today. This case is classified. Government business. If you mention anything about what you’ve seen, you’ll force me to take action. Understand?”

The underlying threat in his words was clear.

“Of course.”

“Good. You can go in now.”

The door swung open, and Frik stood aside for her to enter. From the part of the room she glimpsed through the doorway, it was a concrete dungeon with a gray slab ceiling, floor, and walls. She stepped over the threshold cautiously. The temperature was too cold to be comfortable. Goosebumps broke out over her arms and legs. The inside smelled of damp, blood, and sweat. Her nostrils twitched at a faint odor of something like burnt hair.

“Go on,” Frik said, waving her in impatiently.

For some reason she was hesitant to go deeper into the room. She couldn’t stop another quake from crawling over her skin. Claustrophobia constricted her throat. Her palms turned clammy. This was nothing like the prison cells where she’d bandaged stab wounds. What was this place?

All thoughts fled her mind when she rounded the door. She stopped dead, her heart jostling in her chest. Against the far wall, a man was shackled in chains, his arms and legs spread wide, stretching him into an X. Blood dripped from his side. His shoulder was cut open to the bone, and there was a nasty gash on his shin. She had no problem in seeing his wounds, because he was stark naked.

His head hung low, hiding his face from her. The skin that wasn’t smeared with blood and dirt was smooth and flawless with a golden sheen. Too flawless. If not for the corded muscles that twitched under his lean form, he could’ve been a wax statue or a mannequin. He was unnaturally tall. She barely reached his chest. His short-cropped hair was a dark caramel color, thick and glossy. The rest of his body was hairless. Even his genitals. She couldn’t help noticing the size of his penis. Dear God. She’d never seen anything like it, and she saw a lot of naked bodies in her profession. Thick and long, it hung heavy between his legs. Flawless, like the rest of him.

Out of respect, she drew her gaze away, not lingering to explore the intimate details of his nakedness. Indignity on his behalf evoked her compassion and anger. The least they could do was cover him. She was about to say so when he lifted his head, and their eyes connected.

A yellow gaze simmering with sparks collided with hers. She sucked in a breath. The intensity of his stare was brutal. She felt it right to her soul, to where she was a woman first and a nurse second. His nostrils flared slightly as he kept his eyes trained on her, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath. His face was strikingly perfect, a work of art. A thin, straight nose was set off against high cheekbones and a proud chin. His full lips would’ve been sensual had they not been pulled into a sneer. There were no words to describe him. He was a magnificent specimen. Whatever he was, he wasn’t human, not with those eerie eyes, too perfect face, and too large body. He was something else.

Something different.

Something … frightening.

Despite his injuries and awkward imprisonment, his comportment was regal. He held his shoulders square and his back straight. He looked down at her from his impressive height, as a ruler would measure a subordinate. His gaze moved over her face, seeming to analyze her features to the smallest detail. The piercing stare moved down and came to a stop midway. His head tilted with the slightest angle. Unabashedly, unapologetically, he studied her breasts. Under his scrutiny, her nipples hardened. She looked down at the wet fabric of her white tunic. It had to be see-through. Her cheeks heated uncomfortably. It took all her willpower not to cover herself up with her arms. Doing so would signal that she was aware of him, and it wasn’t professional behavior for a veteran nurse to see a man as anything other than a patient. His lips twitched, as if he called her bluff.

Frik’s voice broke through her thoughts. “Are you going to do something or just stand there?”

The spell that held her immobile broke. She tore her gaze away from the prisoner’s and jerked back to life. The man was critically injured. The fact that he was still standing was a miracle, never mind that he was standing there like a king instead of a man chained in the deepest, darkest of basements.

She turned her fury on Frik. “This man has to go to a hospital.”

The agent shook his head. “Not going to happen.”

“He needs a doctor.”

“He’s not getting one. You’re his best shot.”

“Prisoner or not, he’s entitled to medical attention.”

“Wake up and smell the roses, honey. The country is short of doctors. Right now, there’s no one but you, so march your butt over there and do your job.” He smirked. “We could wait it out until a state doctor becomes available, but it won’t be for hours. By then, he may be dead.”

The stubborn look on his face told her he wasn’t going to budge. Worse, the spark of malice in his eyes indicated he might be happy if the prisoner didn’t make it. Whatever the man had done to deserve such ire, it wasn’t her job to judge. Her job was to cure, to save lives if it was in her power to do so. It was what she’d promised when she’d taken her oath.

She turned back to the man, gauging his wounds. The pain had to be excruciating.

She straightened her spine with resolve. “Uncuff him.”

Frik looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “What?”

“Take off the chains.”

He glanced at a mirror on the opposite wall. Probably a one-way mirror. They were being watched.

“I can’t help him if he’s chained to the wall,” she said.

“You don’t know what he did the last time his hands were free.” He lifted his casted wrist. “This is nothing compared to the other things he did.”

She swallowed away the dryness in her throat. “Release him and give him a bed to lie down on.”

Frik took two threatening steps toward her. “He ripped a man’s arm straight off.” He flicked his fingers. “Just like that. Saw it with my own eyes.”

Pete walked into the room. He gave Frik a look, wordlessly communicating something she didn’t understand.

“Fine.” Frik took a key from his pocket and threw it at her feet. “Have it your way.”

“We don’t have a bed on site,” Pete said. “You’ll have to make do with a stretcher.”

A guard entered swiftly with a pliable stretcher that he assembled and deposited on the floor. The haste with which he departed wasn’t lost on her.

There was a basin in the corner, but no shower or bath. She took in the gurney laid out with surgical gloves, disinfectant, anti-septic soap, surgical thread, needles, and bandages. “I’ll need a local anesthetic.”

“We don’t have any,” Frik said.

Don’t have or won’t show the prisoner mercy? “I have to stitch him up. You said you were prepared.”

“You’re going to have to do it without an anesthetic.”

“What?” She looked from Frik to Pete. “This is unorthodox.”

Pete shrugged. “If you can’t work without it, we can always get another nurse.”

She spared the man in the chains a look. His face was an unreadable mask.

“Are you sure about being left alone with him?” Pete asked. “My men won’t risk it.”

“I’m here to help him. I doubt he’ll attack me.”

Frik snickered. “This is going to be interesting.”

A look from Pete shut him up.

“At your own risk, Ilse.” Pete pushed Frik ahead of him through the doorway. “Good luck.”

The heavy metal door swung shut. She was closed into the space with a man who wasn’t a man. Scrap that. He was very much a man, just not human. Not completely. She was frightened, but he needed her help, or he was going to die.

Her heart thumping in her chest, she bent to pick up the key. When she straightened, she caught the prisoner studying her. Gathering all the courage she possessed, she approached him. From close up, he was even more breathtaking. His gaze sparked with something that reminded her of the Highveld electrical storms, of lightning zipping across the sky. Now that she was close enough to touch him, she could see more than blood and grime. Underneath the dirt, bruises marred his ribs. She knew bruises like that. They were caused by fists. The ends of his hair were singed in places. That explained the smell when she’d entered. Her breath caught as realization hit her. He’d been tortured.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said. “I’m going to tend to your wounds. Will you let me?”

Amusement washed into his stoic expression. “Are you asking for my permission?”

That voice. It was deep and gravelly. He’d spoken with humor, but there was an underlying sensuality to the tone that simultaneously caressed and alarmed her senses. His tone was soft, but it exuded command. It added not only to his allure, but also to the danger emanating from him.

She swallowed. “I’ll need to touch you.”

“Go ahead.” His lips curved into a slow smile. “I won’t bite.”

She glanced at his wrists. They were secured too high above his head for her to reach. Damn Pete and his agents for not making this easy. She’d have to stand on something. After a quick look around the room, she settled on the portable stretcher. She felt the man’s unsettling eyes on her as she pulled the stretcher closer and climbed on top. She had to stretch out to reach his hand. Pressing her body against his was inevitable to maintain her balance.

“Sorry,” she mumbled, “but it’s difficult to reach. I’ll try to hurry.”

“By all means, take your time.”

With her standing on the stretcher, their eyes were level. As her breasts brushed his chest, the yellow color of his eyes deepened to a golden glow. It was like the rich, dark, liquid gold she’d seen at the mine museum when poured into the form to set. The subtle change had her so mesmerized she forgot what she was doing. Who was this beautiful man? What did she know about him other than he wasn’t a normal human being? She wasn’t a supporter of normalizing or generalizing people. Someone wasn’t abnormal simply because he didn’t resemble the standards of the majority. Each person was unique. Therefore, the term normal seemed redundant, but there was something about this man that shouted danger. Her pulse picked up in response to her thoughts, blood pumping furiously to her frightened heart. She’d be dishonest if she said she wasn’t apprehensive.

His gaze shifted to where she could feel the vein in her neck keep pace with her heart. Slowly, he dragged his eyes back to hers. While the golden color had appeared unearthly before, it now looked like something from a fantasy. They seemed to have ignited, sparks popping in their depths like fireflies. Her lips parted on a soundless gasp, more fear bleeding into her veins.

His voice stroked over her senses again. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

Could he sense how afraid she was? She might confess it to herself, but she wasn’t going to make herself that vulnerable by admitting it to him.

She reached for his wrist, focusing all of her attention on fitting the key into the shackle. “I’m supposed to say that.”

A chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You already did.”

Ignoring the vibration of that soft, deep laugh she could feel right through her clothes all the way to her bones, she made quick work of unlocking his right wrist. Lowering his arm, he groaned. The return of the circulation would hurt, but at least the position had slowed down the blood loss.

He held open his palm. “Give me the key. It’ll be easier for me to finish.”

With an inward sigh of relief, she handed over the key and climbed to the floor. He unlocked his left wrist and shook his arms. While he worked on the shackles around his ankles, she pulled the stretcher next to the gurney.

A click sounded followed by the chime of a chain, and then he was free. All that stood between them was a flimsy stretcher. He indeed looked like a man with the strength to tear her limbs apart, but the earnest way in which he’d spoken when he’d said he wouldn’t hurt her made her believe him.

She pointed at the stretcher. “Lie down here.”

The sensual curve of his lips tilted up. “Is that an order?”

“Yes,” she replied sternly. “Do you need help or can you walk alone?”

His answer was to approach her so swiftly she took an involuntary step back. The way he moved was smooth. Unnatural. It reminded her of a panther on the prowl, but in fast forward action.

Holding her gaze, he lowered himself onto the stretcher. “What is your designation?”

“My designation?”

“For you to issue the orders.”

She suppressed a smile. “I don’t carry any authority here.”

“What is your status?”

There was the slightest accent to his English. It was exotic, unlike anything she’d heard.

“I don’t understand.”

“Your status in society,” he repeated. “Are you taken?”

“Taken?”

His eyes roamed the ceiling as he seemed to search for a word. “Married.”

“Ah.” The smile almost slipped free. “My marital status is private. It’s not polite to ask.”

“You mean it’s impolite to ask a lady if she’s attached before you make a…” he squinted, apparently searching for another word, “a move?”

Where was he from? His naivety was kind of cute. As for the rest of him, cute wasn’t a word she’d use. Hazardously male would be closer to the truth.

“It’s inappropriate in our situation,” she explained.

“Why?”

She waved between them. “This is professional. Now be quiet. I have to examine you.”

Pulling on a pair of surgical gloves, she inspected his shoulder before turning her attention to his side. “No organs seemed to have been damaged, but I would’ve preferred a scan to be sure.”

She shone a light into his eyes. His pupils contracted normally. Some of the veins on the outer extremities had burst. Outrage and compassion filled her anew.

She lowered her voice. “They tortured you, didn’t they?”

He didn’t reply.

“It’s illegal, you know,” she said. “You can lay charges.”

Wait. That sounded obscure. He was detained in a dungeon, chained, and tortured by the SS, no less. What hope did a prisoner in such circumstances have of exercising his legal rights? None. Whatever dangerous picture the agents had painted, he seemed calm and kind as he lay there, submitting to her probing and prodding which had to hurt like hell.

She straightened with a soft sigh. “Let’s get you cleaned up as best as we can.”

At the basin, she poured water into a dish and squirted anti-septic soap on the sponge. Being as gentle as she could, she started giving him a sponge bath. As her fingers skimmed over his abdomen, his cock twitched. The reaction was slight, but not so slight that she could miss it. His gaze moved to where his flesh was starting to stiffen before he fixed those eerie golden eyes on her face, again.

She cleared her throat. “Don’t worry about it. It’s a natural reaction.”

“I’m not worried about it. On the contrary.”

At her chastising look, his lips parted in a smile. He was perfection, but when he smiled he was pure seduction.

“Do you get that a lot?” he asked.

“It happens in my profession.”

“What profession is that?”

“You don’t know?”

“No.”

“You can’t tell from the uniform?”

He eyed her wet tunic. “No.”

He definitely wasn’t from this planet. “I’m a nurse.” With his erection growing between them, she needed to take a distance. She pressed a sterile gauze to his shoulder. Miraculously, it wasn’t bleeding as much as a wound of that depth should’ve.

“Turn around,” she said in her best professional voice. “If you can’t lie down on your stomach, you can sit. Here, let me help you.”

Lying on his stomach, he looked like one of Michael Angelo’s marble statues. Maybe David with his perfectly defined back muscles, broad shoulders, and narrow waist. It was best not to go into a detailed description of his ass.

She changed the water several times, until he was as clean as he was going to get with a sponge bath.

“You can turn back now,” she said when she was done.

She gathered the disinfectant and sterile gauzes. “Ready?”

He grinned. “Seeing that you’re my best shot, yes.”

Eyeing the gaping wound on his shoulder, she caught her lip between her teeth. It was going to hurt like a bitch. A hiss escaped his lips when she poured disinfectant over the wound.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Why? You didn’t cause the wounds.”

“I’m sorry that it hurts. I’m sorry I can’t give you something for the pain.”

Something shifted in his eyes. “The guard who attacked me, how is he doing?”

“I don’t know.” She glanced at the mirror. “They didn’t tell me anything.”

“You didn’t lie when you said you don’t have authority here. You’re not part of this organization.”

“I work at a hospital. They only brought me in to take care of your injuries.”

Donning a new pair of gloves, she threaded the needle with the surgical thread. Staples would’ve been easier, but the cut was deep. Good, old-fashioned thread would be more effective. She hated that she had to hurt him more.

“It won’t be worse than what I’ve already suffered,” he said as if he could read her thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, she inserted the needle into his skin at the top of the cut, pulling the thread through as carefully as she could. Aside from the occasional grunt, he said nothing as she first stitched up his shoulder and then the long cut on his shin. He didn’t need stitches in his side. A skin adhesive was sufficient.

When she’d applied an antibacterial ointment and bandages to the cuts, she stepped back to examine her work. He needed antibiotics and a tetanus shot. He needed to be in a hospital bed under observation. It went against every grain of her humanity to leave him like this.

She couldn’t help herself from reaching out with a soothing touch, laying her hand on his forehead. “How are you doing?”

He sat up slowly, turning sideways on the stretcher so she was standing between his legs.

Giving her a beseeching look, he said, “You’ve been very kind, but if I don’t get back to my pod, I’ll be dead in a few days.”

“Your pod?” This situation was getting more bizarre by the second. Her voice came out as a whisper. “What happened to you?”

“My plane crashed.” He uttered plane carefully, as if it was a new word to him.

“What?” she shrieked. “You survived a plane crash?”

A voice boomed through the space, making her jump. “Secure the prisoner.”

There had to be a microphone hidden in the room. She had no doubt the agents were listening in on their conversation.

The prisoner wrapped his big hand around her wrist, gently holding her in place. “Tell me your name.”

The touch came as a surprise. Already on edge, it made her jump.

“Tell me,” he urged.

She wet her dry lips. “Ilse.”

“Ilse.” He said her name slowly and meticulously, as if he was not only testing the sound on his tongue, but also committing it to memory.

Questions flooded her mind. “Who are you?”

“Secure the prisoner. Now.”

He growled at the mirror, his expression so fierce it sent ripples of shivers over her skin, but when he looked back at her, his gaze turned soft again. Intense. Like his touch. Under the circle of his fingers her skin burned.

“Who are you?” she asked again, more urgently.

Before he could utter another word, the door flew open, and several guards armed with automatic rifles stormed inside. In a flash, much faster than humanly possible, the prisoner was on his feet. He yanked her behind him, placing his body in front of hers and snarling like a wild animal at the men.

Pete entered the room, pushing the men aside. “Inject him.”

“Wait!” Ilse stepped around the prisoner, his fingers still like a steel vice on her wrist. “He needs to lie down. Maybe you don’t understand the severity of his injuries, but––”

“The prisoner will be secured,” Pete interjected, “or we will sedate him to do so.”

She gasped. “Sedate him? I thought you said you didn’t have anesthetic.”

“It’s not the same,” Pete said. “This substance won’t be kind on his nervous system.” He gave the prisoner a pointed look. “It’s time for Nurse Gouws to leave. Let her go.”

Frik cracked the knuckles of his good hand. “Give me the needle. This time, asshole,” he said to the prisoner, “try not to choke in your vomit when you wake.”

“I’ll secure him,” Ilse said quickly, “if he’ll let me.” She looked at her patient with a pleading look.

The loathing disappeared from his face as he turned it from Frik to her.

“Please,” she begged. “I don’t want them to hurt you. It won’t help your healing.”

In wordless agreement, he loosened his fingers from her wrist.

“Get up against that wall,” Frik shouted.

“Take it easy,” Ilse chided. “He understood you.”

The prisoner backed up to the wall, his eerie eyes on Frik. What she saw in those depths made her tremble. The man spread his legs and lifted his arms in silent surrender. It crushed her heart to see him like that. Whatever his crimes, she didn’t believe he was the monster Pete and Frik had claimed. Underneath the stoic veneer, there was humor and kindness. Her gut trusted him. Not Frik. Definitely not after the injuries she’d witnessed. The cuts could be contributed to a crash, but not the bruises on his ribs and over his kidneys.

“Do it, nurse,” Frik said.

She advanced slowly, drawing out the inevitable with seconds. Staring into his eyes, she mouthed, “I’m sorry,” before closing the shackle around one ankle and then the other. Seeing that his wrists were too high for her to reach, Pete finished the job.

“Take her back to the parking,” Pete said to Frik. Then to her, “Agent Pillay will take you home.”

“I’ll have to come back to dress the wounds,” she said.

“That won’t be––” Frik started, but Pete cut him short.

“We’ll see. If needed, we know where to find you.” With a curt nod, he dismissed her.

She was about to walk through the door when the prisoner’s voice stopped her.

“Drako.”

“What?” She turned back to him.

“My name is Drako.”

Beside her, Frik uttered an ugly laugh. “Well, I’ll be damned. Looks like what we needed all along wasn’t torture, but a pretty nurse.”

Pete slapped the back of his head. “Get out of my sight before I fire your ass.”

“What?” Frik huffed.

“He made a joke,” Pete said to Ilse, “albeit not a very good one.”

It was better not to reply. With a last look at the prisoner, who now had a name, she left the building with Frik.

Drako.

She repeated the name in her mind. What kind of a name was that? What was going on here? What were the agents hiding? Would she ever see Drako again?