Air Bound

3

AIRIANA would not go with him. Screaming would only draw Lexi out of her hiding spot, so there was little point in indulging her fear. There was no one to hear her but these men—and Lexi—everyone else was away. She would not bring her younger sister into danger she was certain was hers.

She made up her mind she wasn’t going with this man. Wherever he was taking her was definitely a place she didn’t want to go. She forced her mind to calm. To think. Her brain was her best defense, at least both Levi and Thomas insisted it was. To make her assailant continue to think she was panicked she kept struggling, but her mind was already laying out the farm in grids for her.

She began to weave the fog, binding it into long ropes as she pounded on his back with her fists. She timed his steps and threw a loop over his back foot as he raised it. He stumbled, nearly dropping her, forced to catch himself. Quickly she looped the fog around his neck and head, dropping it over him like a hood. She kicked hard, driving backward, using her legs and arms for momentum as well as his forward fall to throw herself off.

She hit the ground hard and rolled away from him, scrambling on all fours in an effort to make it into the brush. He threw out his hand blindly, but unerringly, probably feeling, as she could now, exactly the position of everyone around him in the fog.

He shackled her ankle with his hand—a big hand. He was a big man and incredibly strong. Once his fingers circled her ankle, she felt not only his strength, but his will surrounding her flesh and bones. She also felt his shock at her fight—and his amusement. Well, he wouldn’t be amused for long. She turned over as he dragged her back to him, and kicked his knee hard, once again using his own force against him, driving hard with her combat boot.

He grunted and the amusement vanished. He hung on to her, knocking her leg down when she came in for a second kick. Her leg went numb with the force of his blow. She felt the burn of tears, an automatic reaction. That just made her even angrier.

Fighting him physically was impossible and his hold on her ankle seemed unbreakable. She forced her body to relax while she went back to what she was most familiar with. She could manipulate air. Sitting up fast as he crouched down, his upper body coming toward her, she shoved air at him with both hands, a burst of wind at a frightening rate of speed. Honestly, she hadn’t meant to push so hard, but she was terrified, angry and determined.

The wind caught him square in the chest, lifted him and threw him back. She was up and running again, pretending she was a gazelle and could run fast. Running had never been her thing. Blythe and Lissa could run forever and enjoy it, but she had always considered it a waste of time. Now, she called on air to keep her lungs filled, to move through her body and aid her as she sprinted as fast as she could.

She hit a barrier, soft this time, and knew it was a net of woven fog. The moment she encountered it, skin to fog, it wrapped around her like a sticky spiderweb. The more she struggled, the tighter it got. She closed her eyes and pushed down a sob as she once again found the control to stop moving her body when she wanted to scream and tear wildly at the bonds holding her prisoner.

Taking a breath, she tested the ropes, trying to find a weak strand. He was adept, extremely skilled, but he had to work fast and that meant his weave wasn’t perfect. She tried not to admire his work, but his will was iron and somehow he embedded sheer determination within his weave of air. She tested several strands and realized he was so certain he had won that he wasn’t running to catch up with her, he was walking. Once again she could feel his amusement.

Airiana turned her attention to her assailant. With every movement he made, he displaced air and transmitted information to her. He was well over six feet with very broad shoulders and a thick chest. His body felt mainly muscle. He was a machine, she realized, a fighting machine. He was purposeful and confident. He knew she was small and he felt completely in control.

She tilted her chin, holding herself still so once again she appeared resigned to her fate. Very slowly, so as not to disturb the air around her, she began to weave a thin chain going from one tree to the other just in front of her, the trees he would have to pass to get to her if he continued in a straight line. It was a long, very thin strand, neck high, impossible to see in the surrounding fog.

She concentrated on defiance and fear as her uppermost emotions, knowing he could read both just as she could feel his amusement at her pitting herself against him. He didn’t seem the least inclined to call to his partner to help him. Both things told her he was arrogant and definitely felt in charge.

Once again she began to test the strands holding her prisoner. She would only have seconds to loosen the ropes of fog if her plan worked. She had to have a place to start. Up around her shoulder was a thinner strand and she concentrated on it. She felt the exact moment that the man hit the “clothesline” she’d fashioned.

For one small second the bonds loosened and she struck at the weak link, lightning fast. He went down hard, and this time he swore—in Russian. Her heart contracted painfully in her chest. She backed away from him and turned to run. She had taken four steps when he tackled her and brought her down just as hard. She hit the ground, his body over hers, both of his arms wrapped around her waist and the considerable weight of him slamming her to the ground.

She cried out, the force of the blow driving the air from her lungs. She couldn’t have moved if she wanted to. Her body went slack and her lungs burned painfully. She gasped, a fish out of water, desperate to breathe, her diaphragm spasming.

He turned her over, surprisingly gentle, his hands going around to the back of her waist, lifting her slightly to ease the cramping. “Just breathe. You’ll be all right.”

Intellectually she knew he was right, but the reality of not being able to catch her breath left her panic-stricken.

He lifted her again, and the breath slipped back into her lungs. The air around them shifted and she could see his face now. A man’s face. Purely masculine, except, perhaps, for the long lashes framing his glacier-blue eyes. He had the coldest eyes she’d ever seen. She shivered, terror pushing at the edges of her control. He looked invincible. He felt invincible.

“I’m not going to hurt you unless you make me. We have to get you out of here and I don’t have much time to explain to you. Your father sent me. I’m not with the others, and you’ll need to stick close to me so I can help you.”

He pushed the words into the small space of air between them, using the technique she had used with Lexi. It was a thread of sound that couldn’t go anywhere other than straight where the thread was directed.

“I don’t have a father.”

“You do, and he wants you safe.”

“If you were trying to help me, you’d let me go,” she pointed out.

He lifted her into his arms. His strength and the sheer hardness of his body were overwhelming, making her feel as though it would be impossible to defeat him.

“You are no longer safe here. These men with me want you for a very different reason than me. Follow my lead and I’ll see to your safety.”

He was covering ground fast with long strides. Never once did she hear his breath hitch. He moved with fluid steps, with a strange grace for a man his size. He seemed to flow over the ground rather than step, never once jarring her.

“Let me go.” Airiana tried to keep the plea from her voice, but it was there. That quiver of fear she couldn’t quite suppress.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Once I get you to safety, your father wants a few words with you. Then you’re free to do as you wish, once the threat has been taken care of.”

“I told you, I don’t have a father.”

“His name is Theodotus Solovyov.” He waited a moment as if she might have heard the name.

The fog thinned more, allowing her to make out the helicopter sitting in the middle of Lexi’s carefully planted field.

She gasped. “You ruined Lexi’s lettuce.”

It was now or never. Once he had her in that helicopter, he could take her anywhere. She felt him startle at her words, the beginnings of amusement—it was always nice to have information on one’s enemy—and she knew he had a sense of humor.

She hit him hard with her fist right under his chin and leapt out of his arms—or tried to. He caught her before she actually touched ground, yanking her none too gently back against his chest as if she was a rag doll.

“Stop it,” he hissed between his teeth. “You keep it up and I’m going to knock you out. It’s for your own good. You’re in danger.”

She knew she wasn’t going to get away, that she had no real chance. The knowledge hit her hard. She’d been certain with her gifts she would manage her freedom, but this man was far more knowledgeable than she was when it came to manipulating air. She wasn’t going to make it out of this. No one was going to get there in time to save her, and she couldn’t save herself.

Visions of her mother, cut to pieces on her bedroom floor, rose up. She would rather die right there. She had nothing to give these people. She hadn’t worked on the project in close to eight years. What could she possibly tell them even if they tortured her? She fought back burning tears. The lump in her throat burned as they approached the helicopter.

There were two others beside the pilot inside the helicopter and a third, probably the man who had hunted with her captor, stood outside of it. Her heart sank. They were heavily armed. She couldn’t stop her body from shivering and the man carrying her drew her closer to his body as if sheltering her with his heat.

“Maxim, you got her,” the man on the ground greeted.

“Of course,” her captor snapped briskly. “Was there any doubt? Let’s get out of here. This took longer than expected.”

He didn’t hand her into the helicopter although one of the men inside reached for her. Maxim leveled a look at him and the stranger stepped back. Slinging her over his shoulder, he crouched and jumped, landing softly on the soles of his feet inside the helicopter. He swept past the others, slipping her back in front of him, almost hiding her from the others as he made his way to the back of their transportation.

The moment he set her in a seat, she shrank away from him. He acted as if he didn’t notice, but snapped a seat belt around her. “Don’t give me any trouble,” he said, once again using that thread of sound. “Our lives depend on your cooperation.”

The men kidnapping her were definitely Greek. Well, not Maxim, she was fairly certain he was Russian. The men were talking back and forth rather abruptly and she recognized the Greek language. The other man leapt into the helicopter, his weapon in a ready position, as if he was prepared for combat. She was grateful that Levi and Thomas were away from the farm.

She bit her lip hard, not looking at any of the men, knowing that would terrify her more. She kept her eyes glued to her safe haven, the farm where she had finally managed to feel happy and alive.

She couldn’t go with them. That was a certainty. Wherever they were taking her would only end in torture and death anyway. She had nothing to exchange for her life, and she wouldn’t want to anyway. These men could very well have been the ones who had murdered her mother.

Airiana couldn’t prevent the delicate shudder that ran through her body. She hadn’t made a sound, but beside her, Maxim turned his head abruptly to look at her, as if without looking, he had still felt the tremor running through her.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he promised, the sound clear in her ear.

His voice should have instilled confidence. It was strong and commanding, just like the man himself, almost bordering on arrogance, but that only added to her belief that there was no hope of escaping him. The helicopter lifted from the lettuce field, banked sharply and began to fly toward the sea. They had left the doors open so the gunners had a clear shot should they be interrupted.

She doubted they would be. The sound of the helicopter itself seemed to be muffled, rather than the loud ones she was familiar with. Whoever had hired these men to kidnap her had money. Lots of it.

She closed her eyes and concentrated on the air outside. Not the fog this time. A heavy wind could wreak havoc with a helicopter. She knew from the sea rescues performed by the forestry department that it was dangerous to fly in winds, especially when near the cliffs. And they were moving fast toward those cliffs.

She waited in silence, allowing herself to look through her long tangle of eyelashes at the scenery as they passed over Sea Haven. She tried to reach out to her sisters, to at least encompass them with her love. They meant the world to her. They’d given her back her life.

She built the storm slowly, carefully, not wanting Maxim to notice the difference in the clouds forming just ahead of them. Of course the pilot noticed. He grunted and said something under his breath she couldn’t hear.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Maxim warned.

She didn’t look at him. She didn’t look anywhere at all, holding herself still. Waiting. Airiana was a patient person, and there was no need to engage with any of them. She doubted if any of them would make it out of the helicopter alive.

Airiana waited until they were over the ocean, close to the cliffs, and she lifted her arms and called the wind. Using every bit of force and determination in her, she drew the wind from the sea, from the air, from the upper atmosphere. Waterspouts erupted from the ocean, climbing high, spinning like giant fingers reaching for them. The wind slammed into the helicopter and sent it spinning out of control, straight for the jutting bluffs and the sea-stacks.

For the first time, she felt Maxim’s anger. It radiated from him, a dark, monstrous entity that enveloped her, swallowing her whole. He slammed his palm into her arm, knocking it down, giving her a dead arm. She thought he might have broken it. His shoulder hit her next, shoving her hard against the wall of the helicopter as it spun madly.

Maxim threw his own hands into the air and wove a pattern quickly, overshadowing her command, taking back control. The helicopter slowly righted itself, although not before the men were thrown around and one nearly was pitched into the sea.

“What the hell, Roman?” one called to the pilot. He was a swarthy man with a dark complexion, the one who had run after her with Maxim in the fog.

“Shut the hell up, Cyreck,” the pilot snapped back, clearly still fighting to keep them from crashing into the water below. “Is everyone all right back there? Did we lose anyone?”

“Istvan nearly went out the door,” Cyreck reported, “but Deke managed to hang on to him. All of us got thrown around.”

“What about the prisoner?” Roman demanded.

“Maxim has her pinned up against the wall and seat. She’s not going anywhere,” Cyreck said. “The storm came in fast.”

“Just our luck,” Roman snapped.

Already the wind had died down, much more slowly and naturally than Airiana would have thought, and she knew Maxim was responsible.

“Are you crazy?” Maxim hissed in her ear, his breath coming from between strong, white teeth. “You’ll kill us.”

Her arm hurt so bad she couldn’t think for a moment. He had her pinned tightly against the wall of the craft, so that she hadn’t moved at all when the force of the wind hit. She hadn’t been thrown around like the men, but her entire body felt bruised and battered.

“That was the point,” she hissed back, not certain why she continued with their private conversation.

Her body had begun to shiver uncontrollably, stress and pain taking their toll. Maxim sighed softly and eased his weight off of her, but was careful not to give her any room.

“Don’t do it again or I’ll knock you out. Do you understand me?”

She forced herself to turn her head and look at him. Straight into his eyes. Their gazes collided. She was caught there. Held there. A prisoner of his sheer iron will. If anything, his eyes were colder than ever. Like beautiful, untouchable glaciers. A startling blue, like a great pool of ice she fell into and froze there, unable to get out. The shivering increased until her teeth chattered, but she couldn’t look away from him.

“I asked you if you understood?” he persisted, each word distinct.

Airiana nodded her head. If she tried to speak she knew she would cry. No one could defeat this man. No one. He was a born killer. She could see it in the cold, dispassionate expression on his face and the deadly quiet of his eyes. He would hit her if she tried anything else and knock her out and not think twice about it.

There was temptation in the idea. She might not wake up. If she provoked him . . . he had a temper. A really dangerous one. But he hadn’t lost control.

“Whatever is going on in that brilliant mind of yours, just stop now.”

Her stomach lurched. Brilliant mind. He knew. They had come after her for that horrible project she’d conceived when she was a child. It wouldn’t go away, no matter how hard she tried to make it.

“Airiana, just for a few minutes, trust me. Nothing is going to happen to you.”

Somehow the way he said her name, almost as if he was familiar with her, twisted her up more inside. Of course he knew her name. He had to know whom to kidnap, didn’t he? But calling her by name made her resistance seem even more futile than ever.

She detested that he used that low, almost velvet voice, as if he brushed his fingers over her skin to soothe her—or caress her. There was no way not to be affected. She was absolutely certain this was the most lethal man she’d ever come across—and that included both Levi and Thomas.

Tears burned in spite of her violent blinking to prevent them. Her lashes grew wet and spiky just before she managed to pull her gaze away from his.

“I need to take a look at your arm,” he said, reaching for her.

There was not a single soft note in his voice, yet he still managed to send her the strange sensation of brushstrokes over her skin. He sounded commanding, clearly not asking, but his touch was gentle when he wrapped his fingers around her wrist and tugged.

She bit her lip hard, suppressing a cry of pain as he straightened her arm. He hadn’t hit her in the shoulder, but just above her elbow, a short, straight blow with the heel of his hand that packed a lethal dose of power. She shook her head but didn’t attempt to pull away from him. Instinctively she knew he didn’t much care what she wanted, and she also was very aware that any movement hurt.

Tears tracked down her cheeks, but at least she remained steadfastly silent, not giving him the satisfaction of having her fall apart. What was all the crap about her father, anyway? Some new psychological warfare to make her think he was on her side? If he’d been on her side, he wouldn’t have kidnapped her for these men.

It was difficult, so close to him, not to let his scent surround her. He smelled surprisingly good. Worse, he had gorgeous hair. Thick and black, and it fell around his face in a shaggy cut as if he’d taken scissors to it himself, and she found herself totally caught up in the patterns she saw there.

Her breath caught in her throat and she closed her eyes briefly, resolutely turning her face away from Maxim to stare out the open doorway of the helicopter. They were headed out to sea. Helicopters didn’t get far without fuel, so there had to be a boat, a ship, a yacht, something big waiting. Her heart pounded harder than ever at the thought. There would be no escaping, not this far from land with no boat, even if she did manage to slip away from them. She would drown before she got to shore.

“I have to take off your sweater,” Maxim said. He touched her wild hair, brushing silken strands from her face. “It’s going to hurt for just a moment, but then I can help take the pain away. Do you understand?”

That just plain irritated her. “Of course I understand. I’m brilliant, remember?” It would have been a lovely comeback but for the hiccup in her voice.

“You have the mind of your father. You know that’s why they want you, right? To force him to give them what they want.” He slipped the sweater from her arm as he gave the piece of information.

Her heart jerked. She turned her head to stare at him. Shook it. He nodded as he pulled the sleeve from her arm. It hurt, but she was so distracted by his revelation she barely noticed.

“He is a great man, brilliant beyond any other in my country. He was attacked some time ago for his work. They were able to steal a microchip but it was taken from them, apparently sat in oil for five years and all the data was destroyed. Theodotus told everyone it didn’t matter, just as long as no one else could get the information off of it. Theodotus believes the only way they have a chance of persuading him to do their bidding is to take you prisoner. You’re the only Achilles’ heel he has.”

Hope flared for the first time. They didn’t know. If what Maxim was telling her was true, they didn’t know anything at all about her project. This kidnapping had to do with her birth father—a man she’d never met in her life. She still didn’t altogether believe Maxim, but what could he possibly get out of lying to her?

His fingers touched her bare skin. Heat flared. Sparks bit at her arm, like little fireflies lighting all over her and leaping away. The air crackled between them. He gasped and removed his hands from her skin, leaning back away from her, his eyes glittering with menace.

She couldn’t look away, not even if her life depended on it. His eyes were a clear deep blue, and so icy she should have been shivering with both fear and cold, but instead her blood had caught fire and rushed through her veins with the searing heat of a fireball.

“You’re Maxim Prakenskii, aren’t you?” she whispered, shocked. Horrified. Terrified. She touched her tongue to suddenly dry lips in an effort to moisten them, to get some balance.

Of course he was one of the Prakenskii brothers. She should have known by those eyes. She was more afraid than when she thought he was a stranger kidnapping her. Of course he was a stranger . . . but . . . he was Prakenskii. She knew three of his brothers, and every one of them was dangerous. Potentially he could be dangerous on a personal level as well.

His fingers tightened hard around her arm—her injured arm—to the point of bruising. “Don’t use that name. Do you hear me? Anyone who knows that name doesn’t live very long. Do you understand what I’m saying to you?”

“That you’ll kill me if I reveal your true identity.” She didn’t look away.

“You’ve never heard of me or my family. Especially my family.”

The grip on her arm was fierce and it was beginning to draw the attention of some of the other passengers.

“Is she giving you trouble, Maxim?” Cyreck called. “I’ll be glad to come and help you tame that little wildcat.”

The man who had nearly fallen from the helicopter, Istvan, laughed nervously, but the other one, Deke, looked down at the ground. That told her a lot about Maxim Prakenskii. He was considered a man not to mess with. Cyreck had been careful to use a playful tone, one he hoped to garner an atmosphere of camaraderie with.

Airiana nodded her head ever so slightly. Prakenskii was clearly not part of this group, yet they wanted him to be. Like his brothers, he’d been taken at birth and trained to be used as a tool for the government—and she knew the brothers were highly skilled in weapons, hand-to-hand combat, even sexual practices. More, they were all gifted with psychic abilities.

She knew the brothers were used for assassinations and undercover work. They all spoke multiple languages. Maxim wasn’t hiding the fact that he was Russian, so whatever cover he had included his own nationality. The Prakenskiis were true operatives, able to shed one skin and easily slip into another.

Just because she knew his brothers—his family—didn’t mean he was any less dangerous to her. If anything, he might decide to kill her outright to protect their new identities. She was positive she was right about him, yet not enough that she would ever mention Levi, who was supposed to be dead, or Thomas, who had changed his identity.

The third brother, Ilya, lived openly and comfortably with his own name. He had been an Interpol agent and had much more easily transferred his life to the States—to Sea Haven more precisely, and it would stand to reason that she would know him since the village was quite small. Maybe that would keep her alive. She couldn’t help but know of the man married to such a famous singer as Joley Drake. Everyone knew of Ilya Prakenskii.

Maxim looked across the helicopter at Cyreck, and the Greek shrugged his shoulders the moment those icy blue eyes stared a hole through him. Maxim wasn’t the friendly type, that much was made clear.

Once again, Maxim took her arm, the pads of his fingers moving over her bruised skin. Each stroke seemed to ease the pain, but her heart only pounded harder. She should never have tipped him off that she knew his identity. Of course he would kill her. How could he not? So far she hadn’t seen a single real expression cross his face. Had she not caught that brief glimpse of his temper, she would never know he could be human. She swallowed hard, fighting back tears all over again.

Her gaze was drawn to his fingers against her skin. His hand was large enough to wrap around her arm and then some, yet he didn’t seem disproportionately large. She guessed it was the way he moved that made him seem leaner. He looked rough, scary even, although she suspected much of that was because she was terrified. She had made a terrible mistake blurting out that he had to be a Prakenskii.

“Please, please believe me, I don’t have a father. I’ve never met anyone, spoken to or received even a single piece of mail from someone claiming to be my father,” she whispered, remembering at the last moment to keep the thread of sound between them.

“Your mother—her birth name is Marinochka Venediktov—was a student at the Moscow Institute of Physics and Technology when she encountered Theodotus Solovyov. He had gone there to consult with a distinguished professor and friend who happened to have Marina in his classroom.”

“My last name is Ridell. I don’t know any Theodotus Solovyov, or for that matter Marinochka Venediktov. You have the wrong person.”

Her arm had gone from a throbbing pain deep in her bone to a dull ache, like a nagging, sore tooth. When he released her, he took the warmth of his touch with him. Who would have suspected that a man so cold could radiate so much heat?

“He said, if you were truly his daughter you would deny it without proof. I saw his proof, and he’s waiting to show it to you. There’s a Greek ship out at sea and the helicopter is heading for that. The Gratsos family owns that particular line of cargo ships. I’ll keep you close to me. Don’t make a run for it. Don’t draw undo attention to yourself. Just stay quiet and let me handle things.”

So far, no one else had come near her, and he wasn’t asking her questions she couldn’t answer. He wasn’t asking her any questions at all. Maybe they really did have the wrong person. It was possible the woman Marinochka he was talking about wasn’t her mother and someone had simply mixed things up.

She nodded her head that she understood as he carefully eased her sweater—Lexi’s sweater—back over her arm. The thick, familiar sweater gave her comfort and she pulled it closer around her. She put her nose against the threads and inhaled Lexi’s scent to drive away Maxim’s.

“Solovyov was married to a very wealthy woman with friends in high places. She enjoyed being the wife of the most intelligent physicist in Russia. She wasn’t a particularly nice woman and he was gone a lot working, which was just fine by her. She liked drinking and parties and men. Mostly she liked her status, and nothing was going to change that. Certainly not a young college student, no matter how bright and promising she was.”

Airiana felt eyes on her and she glanced up to see Cyreck staring at them. Something in the way he looked at her sickened her. This was not a man who would treat an injury gently on any woman, let alone one he’d kidnapped. She drew closer to Maxim without realizing she did, sliding her much smaller body nearly behind his in an effort to get away from Cyreck’s leering gaze.

Maxim flicked Cyreck a singular look from his glacier-cold eyes. “Is there something you want?”

There wasn’t an ounce of friendship in his authoritative voice. More like a challenge, daring the other man to cross him, even hoping he might.

“Just hoping you’re going to share the goods,” Cyreck said. “Mr. Shackler-Gratsos said he didn’t care what shape she was in as long as she was alive.” He stroked his crotch suggestively. “I want her after you.”

“I don’t share,” Maxim replied in a low, slashing voice. “I will cut you into little pieces and throw you to the sharks if you attempt to lay one finger on anything that belongs to me. I brought her out. She’s mine. When I’m finished with her, I’ll take her to Mr. Shackler-Gratsos myself. That was the deal I made with him.”

Cyreck swore in Greek, and turned away. Again none of the other men looked up, unwilling to go against Maxim.

Airiana let out her breath slowly. Maxim sounded like he was standing up for her, but he certainly had made some kind of deal with Mr. Shackler-Gratsos. She recognized the name. How could she not? Stavros Gratsos had drowned off the coast of Sea Haven the very day that Rikki had pulled Lev Prakenskii out of the sea and saved his life.

Gratsos had been a billionaire, a shipping magnate, and he had a brother. She didn’t recall the brother’s name, he was far less well known, but he had to have inherited everything. This helicopter and the ship they were taking her to were owned by the Gratsos shipping company.

What had been far less known about the playboy shipping magnate was that he operated a human trafficking ring as well as running arms to terrorists and anyone else who could afford his prices. Her heart began to pound as she tried to recall the facts she knew about the Greek brothers. It wasn’t much, but she knew Elle Drake had suffered terribly at their hands.

Maxim put a hand on her thigh and she nearly jumped out of her skin. His touch was completely nonsexual, but it didn’t matter, not with the memories of what Elle had suffered uppermost in her mind.

“Evan Shackler-Gratsos will not get his hands on you,” he said. “I’m taking you to your father.”

She didn’t look at him. That implacable, merciless face. Those ice-cold eyes. It didn’t matter that his voice was low and persuasive. Or that his touch could be gentle. She didn’t trust him. She knew that as a Prakenskii, he’d been trained in the art of seduction as well as killing. He probably knew how to charm the birds out of the trees and a dozen different ways to kill each of them as they flew to him.

She kept her head down, refusing to acknowledge him anymore. The only thing left to her was to wait until she boarded the ship and hope there was a chance to find a way to escape. She should have paid more attention when Rikki talked about her boat. There had to be lifeboats. Her mind began to try to formulate a plan.

“Airiana, look at me.”

Maxim’s voice was so compelling her gaze jumped to his. It was a mistake. She found herself drowning in his eyes. Her breath caught in her throat, and something deep inside her, something feminine and rebellious, connected with his penetrating stare.

“I will take care of you.”

“I don’t trust you.”

He nodded his head slowly. “I don’t blame you. How could you? I’m the man who put you on this helicopter and took you from your home. But you weren’t safe there and there was no other way to get to you. You have to trust me. You don’t have anyone else.”