She shrugged again, but the movement was tighter. Definitely defensive. Possibly lying. Leto’s senses flared to full alert. Mentally, he pushed past the barrier of the collar. Extending. Reaching out.

“So you’ve met every Tigony?” she asked.

“No. Just never met one I wanted to study so closely.”

Nynn whirled her face toward his, then backed away. “Really? Don’t start.”

“You’d rather I be like the other men here? Those workers in the mess hall, who sneak around corners to catch a glimpse of you? Because I won’t do it.” He stroked a finger along her jaw. She flinched. When he did it again, and again, she closed her eyes. “If I’m going to stare at you, you’ll know it. And I won’t apologize for it.”

Tension pulled her mouth into a grimace. His senses expanded yet again. He could detect pheromones, tiny tremors, the prickling of her hairs beneath his touch. Finally, he detected the change in her breathing. She relaxed. Minutely. Not like sleep, but that place of calm just before drifting off.

“You’re making me proud,” he said roughly.

Dragon be, where had that come from? He’d been more frustrated with her than pleased, right from the start. And even if his words were true, he wasn’t in the habit of praising neophytes.

“I don’t want to make you proud.” Her voice was whisper soft. Her eyes remained closed.

“I know what you want. And you’ll have it. You resist me at every turn, but we work toward similar goals. Tell me that you understand that much.”

A shuddering exhale bowed her shoulders. She didn’t pull away. “You want to stay here. I want to escape so badly that I’d chew your leg off for the possibility. How is that similar?”

Leto cupped her shoulder and stroked damp, bare skin. The strength contained within her lithe limbs was heady. He’d thought about the obvious. They would fuck. Body on body. Rough hands and even rougher satisfaction. He’d never thought about touch.

Maybe because touching like this—soft, urging—was something he’d never thought to use when indulging in a woman.

“Think nearer to today.” He dipped his head. Gave her time to back away. Made her aware that, yes, he meant to kiss the shoulder he held. “What do we both want in one week’s time?”

His lips met her salty flesh as she whispered what he’d needed to hear. “To win. We want to win.”

“That didn’t make me proud,” he said against her skin. “That was pure pleasure.”

The kiss didn’t end so much as shift. Farther up her shoulder. Past the metal collar that kept him from tasting her throat. He settled his mouth against the hollow just beneath her jaw. Sipped her. Inhaled the perfume of her body. Goose bumps raised in the wake of his lips. Too tempting. He flicked his tongue to smooth them away.

Nynn lifted her face to the ceiling. She gripped the bench with both hands. Wearing nothing more substantial than her underclothes, she breathed quickly. Her chest lifted and lowered. This flimsy cloth, already so near to mimicking the contours of her breasts and her flat stomach, was a weapon only a woman could wield.

Memories overlaid his present state. Only in his small room did he think back on how she’d appeared on day one. Elegant and bold, frightened and clumsy from the cold. Through the centuries, tales of goddesses in possession of untold beauty had been inspired by Dragon King women.

Nynn was Venus made real.

She silently taunted him until, alone in his quarters, he took cock in hand and stroked as hard as he would thrust between her thighs. Or she would follow him into dream where she smiled, opened for him, and took his full, hard length into her mouth. In those dreams-like-nightmares, he didn’t put as much force behind each deep drive of his hips. The pleasure was in seeing how much she could take. How deep. How fast. And how long he could hold out before losing his mind.

Lust stiffened his cock and snapped his limbs taut. Anticipation, desire, want. He tilted her stubborn chin and brought their lips close. A whisper of air between them. If she touched him, she’d ignite him as surely as she’d blown holes in his armor. But she didn’t, with her knuckles still bone white as she clutched the bench. This was submission—to a point. It certainly wasn’t participation.

He’d been working toward her participation for weeks. Only now, he had two goals. They were interwoven in his mind as surely as their limbs would twist and wind together when sharing his bed. They would win their match, and Nynn would be the woman he chose as his reward.

Her heavy-lidded eyes fluttered, trying to open. “Stop touching me.”

He did. Hands off.

Just before he kissed her.

She gasped into his mouth—the only place where their bodies met. Lips slid over lips. She stiffened. Leto wouldn’t have expected otherwise. But she didn’t pull away. Again he thought of a wary creature coming to him by shy steps and little gestures. Victory was a long way off when taken at such a slow pace.

Yet what a victory.

She moaned softly. She opened to him. She nipped his lower lip between her teeth.

It was Leto’s turn to moan. If she meant for the delicate blend of sweet and raw to drive him mad, she succeeded. Without thought, he had slowed to her pace. His tongue pushed inside. He angled his mouth over hers, taking her kiss and taking everything he wanted—all at half speed. Quarter speed. The agonizing slowness still sped his blood, fast, faster, just as his gift could power his body around a Cage. He dragged her taste into his mouth, pulled her scent into his lungs.

That deliberate, aching kiss tested all he was.

How much control could he give up?

How much pleasure could he find in holding back?

He’d never asked either question. But then, he’d never kissed a woman when he was so certain she’d hurtle out of his grasp at any moment, even if that grasp was simply the magnetism of their exploration. Not his strength. Not his skill. He held her by no concrete means.

With the same aching slowness, he withdrew. That whisper of air settled between their mouths again, cooling his lips. He had kept her awake when she needed sleep. He had fed her an unaccustomed ration. And he had spoken soft words.

He petted one finger along her jaw, lifting her chin so that their eyes met, and realized how well he’d played the moment. Her blue eyes shimmered with an iridescent glaze, where desire mixed with relaxation. She probably hadn’t known its like for more than a year.

She was, in effect, what he’d intuitively needed her to be: Receptive. Pliable. Open.

“Nynn,” he said against her cheek, “do you want to use your powers?”

“I don’t have . . .”

“You do. Now tell me the truth. Do you want to use what resources you have? To win?”

She shuddered. “Yes.”

“Why do you resist?”

A blink changed the color of her eyes, from iridescent to ice. She appeared even more vulnerable than during their kiss. He expected her to rear away from their intimacy at any moment. She would realize exactly where she was, who she was with, what she was doing. And she’d take her softness away.

Stay.

He shoved the disconcerting plea away. Far away.

“Dragon damn you, Nynn.” Only, his curse was a whisper. “Make this possible for both of us.”

“I can’t remember some things. Parts of my youth. Just like I can’t remember when I used them, in there.” She glanced past him, toward the practice Cage, as if it was the enemy. “How is that possible? It’s all blank.”

Telepathic block.

In an instant, Leto knew it was true. He and his siblings had all required blocks of varying strength. Coming into one’s gifts could be difficult—or even impossible, as in Pell’s case. Telepathic blocks from powerful Indranan, those Heartless monsters, were sometimes the only means of survival.

No one could come into a gift like Nynn’s without trauma.