Chapter Eighteen

Heather blinked awake slowly. She was on her stomach, sprawled in Isaiah’s huge bed. The room was filled with light. It was day. She’d slept hard. Late. She inhaled the scent of coffee and remembered she could reach out to Isaiah without moving.

“Where are you? Please tell me you’re pouring me a mug of that coffee I smell.”

He chuckled into her head. “Be right there.”

She still hadn’t moved when he entered the room carrying two mugs of coffee. He set them both on the bedside table and sat on the edge. “You’ll never be able to take a sip in that position.” His hand trailed along her spine to her bottom, making her stretch and moan.

“I think I died.”

“Please no. I like you.”

She giggled. “Good thing. Because you’re stuck with me.”

“I’ll take it.” He drew circles on her ass and then her thighs.

She spread her legs, hoping he would reach between them. She might be unable to move, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t work his usual magic.

He chuckled again and then slapped her ass playfully. “I have a fantastic bathtub with your name on it.”

“Really? Did you get it engraved?” she teased.

“Hmm. No. But I will if you’d like.” He patted her butt again. “You have to be sore. I’m gonna start the water. You drag your carcass out of bed and come to the bathroom, okay?”

“Or what?” When did she get so snarky?

“Oh baby, you’re playing with fire.” This time he pinched her ass.

She flinched with a squeal. “You pinched me.”

“You taunted me. Now, you going to get up on your own, or do I need to toss you over my shoulder? I’ve done it before. I’ll do it again.”

“I’m counting on it.” More teasing. More banter. More of everything she loved. Her heart was full.

Shocking her, he leaned forward, set his teeth on her shoulder, and bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to draw her entire body into a heated state of instant arousal. “Isaiah…” Her vision blurred.

“That’s what I want to see. That look right there. Jesus, woman. You’re going to drive me mad with your moans and your looks.”

“Mad enough to make good on that bite?” She focused on him, twisting to her side so she could see him more fully. “I want it, Isaiah. I want to be yours. I want you to be mine. I can’t be more blunt.”

He nodded. “I get that. If nothing else, I felt your total surrender just now when you thought I might do it. Not an ounce of hesitation. Not a flinch.”

She scrambled to sit up and then climbed onto her knees and crawled around to straddle his lap. He didn’t have a shirt on, but he was unfortunately wearing jeans. She gripped his shoulders and held them tight. “I’m ready.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

A loud sound at the front of the house made them both jerk their gazes toward the bedroom door.

Isaiah acted fast. He lifted her off his lap and set her on the bed so fast her head was spinning. “Put something on, baby.” And then he was gone. Out the door. Down the hall.

She slid off the bed, grabbed his T-shirt from yesterday, and drew it over her head without paying any attention to whether it was right side out or even backward.

It was too quiet.

She inched toward the door, her heart beating fast.

“Stay in the bedroom, baby. Shut the door. Lock it.”

She grabbed the door to push it closed, but before it snicked shut something got in the way. She glanced down to see a foot.

Her mouth opened to scream, but nothing came out. The door flew open and a hand landed over her mouth before she could process what was happening. “Isaiah,” she screamed in her head.

Pounding footsteps headed toward her, but the man who held her took several steps farther into the room, dragging her. Her feet barely touched the ground. Something was biting into the skin under her chin. Her eyes went wide as she stopped breathing.

He had a knife. And he spun around to face the door.

Isaiah appeared in the doorway. “Let her go, Antoine. You do not want to do this.”

The man holding her laughed, a crazed sound that made her blood run cold.

Fear crawled up her spine. She grabbed his forearm, clawing at it.

He gripped her tighter, lifting her all the way off the ground until she was precariously hanging by the arm under her breasts and the knife pressing too hard against her throat.

She fought, instinct causing her to flail in his grip, kicking at him. Nothing fazed him in the slightest.

Isaiah crept closer. “Antoine, what do you want? Tell me. Put her down. Let’s talk.”

He laughed again. “I’ll tell you what I want. I want you to choose.”

“Choose what?” Isaiah held both hands out, palms up. His gaze was on Antoine, but she felt the life leaving his body as if he were dying.

She tried to calm herself. For him. For them. To stay alive. She didn’t need to make things worse by slitting her own throat. Who was this guy? She tried to place the name. Antoine… Shit. He was a Tarben. He was Austin’s brother.

The man’s breath wafted across her face as he lowered his mouth toward her cheek. He smelled awful, like cigarettes and stale beer. Bile rose in her throat.

She thought he was going to kiss her, but his lips moved to her neck. “You choose, Arthur. Either I kill her now and neither of us gets her, or I bite her and bind her to me.”

She thought she would faint. Would he do that? There was a fate worse than death. She knew it with every fiber of her being. Blood ran from her face. She had to fight to stay lucid.

“Don’t do this, Antoine. I said we could talk. Set her down. She’s not the one you have an issue with. Talk to me. Tell me what I can do.”

He chuckled sardonically, his teeth grazing her skin with too much pressure.

Yeah, she was going to die. She knew it because she would jerk her head forward and slice her own throat before she let him sink his disgusting teeth into her neck.

“Antoine, look at me man. Let’s figure something out.” Isaiah’s voice was getting closer, but she no longer looked at him. She couldn’t bear to see the fear in his eyes.

Antoine continued to drag his teeth over her skin. He licked the spot several times too. She shuddered, seriously afraid she would vomit. The knife dug too deep. A trickle of blood ran down her throat. Fear weighed heavily. It was hard to stay alert. Her vision was going black. Was she getting enough oxygen?

“What do you want, Antoine?” Isaiah spoke louder. “Tell me.”

Antoine jerked his head upright, heedless of the knife at her throat. He didn’t care if she died. She was a pawn in another game.

“It’s too late,” the man shouted. “You Arthurs think you own the world. Like you’re better than everyone else. You think a new girl shows up in town and she’s automatically yours? I don’t think so. If you hadn’t interfered, she would belong to my cousin Jack. It’s time you stopped living with such entitlement.” He jerked her body, making her scream out. But her voice wasn’t audible. Her throat was too constricted. Not enough oxygen… She was certain she would pass out any second.

“Don’t move, baby. Do. Not. Move. Stay with me.”

She heard him as if he were far away. She didn’t have much left in her to fight with, but she would. For him. She would do anything for him.

“Heather,” he shouted into her head to get her attention.

Her eyes widened. She met his gaze.

Antoine had his teeth on her neck again. He wasn’t paying attention as he muttered, “Fine. I’ll choose. I choose the girl. At least I can fuck her for a few days before I kill her. It will be cool to see the total devotion to me in her eyes.”

“Heather, do not move an inch.”

She heard him. She remained still.

Suddenly, he lurched forward. One hand landed on her forehead and one hand landed on her captor’s face.

Startled, the man lowered the knife as a reflex reaction to fight back against Isaiah.

Isaiah’s fingers gripped Antoine’s face hard enough to keep his teeth off her neck.

She went totally limp, making it impossible for the man to hold on to her. Her body slid to the ground, and she scrambled on all fours to get away from him, coughing, gasping for air. When she spun around to continue crawling backward, she screamed.

Antoine held the knife in the air, plunging it toward the side of Isaiah’s chest.

At the last second, Isaiah lurched to one side and slammed his palm into the hand holding the knife. It flew through the air several feet before landing on the carpet.

Heather still couldn’t breathe.

The men fought. They were a good match. Isaiah might have been an inch taller, but Antoine was in good shape, and he had the adrenaline rush of years of hatred on his side. Whatever his perceived wrongdoing had been, it must have been horrific. Rage filled the room like a living thing as Isaiah punched Antoine in the face, making the man stagger backward.

Antoine yelled a battle cry as he rushed forward, shoulder ducked to slam into Isaiah’s body.

Isaiah fell against the bed. His attention jerked to the side, though she had no idea what he was thinking as she continued to press backward until she hit the wall and hugged her knees against her chest.

Isaiah’s hand flew out to grab one of the mugs, and in less than a second hot coffee rushed through the air. It splashed across Antoine’s face, making the man scream out in pain.

That was the opening Isaiah needed to make his move. His fist raced through the air next, landing so hard on Antoine’s temple that he was forced to stagger backward, shock registering on his already pinkening face. His eyes were wide, his mouth open, and then he passed out, landing on the floor with a hard thud.

Isaiah wasted no time getting to Heather in two strides. He tucked one arm under her knees, the other behind her head, and lifted her off the floor. As he raced from the room, his face was blank. She knew he was shouting in his head at any member of his family who could hear him.

He ran straight to the kitchen and set her on the island. His gaze roamed her body. He tilted her head back and to the side. She knew she was bleeding, but didn’t think it was too bad.

His fingers trailed through the blood where the knife had dug into her skin. “Jesus. Shit.” He didn’t meet her gaze. With one hand on her thighs as if she might fall otherwise, he reached behind him, turned on the faucet, and grabbed a washcloth. Two seconds later, he was wiping the blood from her neck. It stung. She didn’t care. She didn’t even flinch. It meant she was alive.

Seemingly satisfied about the cuts, he grabbed her chin next and tipped her head to the side. His fingers danced over her shoulder. He was breathing so heavily, and she knew he was holding on by a thread.

When she realized his intent, she found her voice. “He didn’t bite me, Isaiah. It’s okay.” She would know, right?

Fear grasped her again, squeezing her chest, and she leaned her head farther to give him a better angle. What if his teeth broke her skin? Was it possible? What would happen to her?

His fingers were rough, abrading her skin, working feverishly to ensure she was not bitten. He held her steady, staring forever.

“Isaiah, I’m okay,” she whispered.

Finally, he released her, cupped her face, met her gaze, and held it. His eyes were pools of the worst fear she’d ever seen on another person. The depth of his fear was beyond what she’d felt, and she’d been the one held in that vile man’s grasp with a knife to her throat and his mouth on her neck.

Isaiah jerked her toward his chest as if she were a rag doll. He held her tight. Too tight. She couldn’t breathe again, but she knew he needed this moment to feel alive.

She snaked her arms around his waist and squeezed.

A noise behind her made her jump and twist her head.

Wyatt stood in the doorway, out of breath, gasping. Fear covered his features too. “Where is he?”

“Bedroom. Knocked him out.”

Wyatt ran that direction just as Bernard entered the house. His gaze followed Wyatt’s departure, and he, too, ran in that direction.

Heather fell limp against Isaiah’s chest, tears running down her face. She was alive. She would be okay.

They would be okay.