As eerie as that was, it was a question for another time. Nynn was his concern now. He had come to care about her. Yes, he cared enough that he would not see her permanently marked by the men she despised—men she would remember one day.

A more selfish reason was that she would never forgive him for letting it happen.

He’d been reviled before. The air around him was filled with the stench of unresolved anger, jealousy, and rage, much of it pointed at him. Being champion had afforded him respect and fear, the latter of which would turn against him when the opportunity arose. He trusted none of them.

To be hated by Nynn, however, was unsettling.

He shook his head as he lifted her from the chair. Nothing was making sense. She’d hated him throughout weeks of training. She’d hated him when he treated her as lab filth, watched her dress, cut her hair. She’d hated him when he used Kilgore as punishment. Why would this be any different?

Because he’d become vulnerable.

He’d enjoyed Nynn’s companionship as a neophyte, because she was a challenge. He’d enjoyed it even more when she stood by his side as his partner. No one else had ever held his hand in the dark, and no one else had needed him to hold.

She wouldn’t get out of his way, or quit talking to him, or stop touching him. Touching him. How could he keep from opening himself to this woman? He’d have thought of a way by now, had it been possible. That meant one day, when she was free of the mental blocks and reunited with her son, she would hate him just as much as the Asters.

He liked having her there. As he held her over his shoulder and carried her toward his dorm, he liked knowing she would share his bed—quietly at first, as she healed and awoke from the golish stupor. Passionately later.

He had promised her pleasure. And he had promised to keep her safe.

In body, that had been an easy vow. But her mind? What would be left of her when she returned to herself? Nynn would leave him. And Audrey MacLaren would never forgive him.

Nynn awoke by slow, slow, slow degrees. At first only her mind worked, behind the dark of her closed eyes. She never thought her sense of smell could be so powerful. Wherever she was, she was surrounded by masculinity—leather, metal, musk. That wasn’t just any man. It was Leto. She could smell him in ways she’d never imagined, as if each of her cells had been designed for taking in his fragrance, appreciating its notes as she would scent the blood of a warrior soon to be bested.

Now that she knew he was near, she wanted her other senses back. Soon. Which would return to her first? Taste, apparently, which wasn’t nearly as rewarding. Blood stained her tongue with the bitterness of copper. Overwhelming it was the sweet remains of the golish that had sent her into this nightmare tunnel where her body and mind had parted ways.

Make that stop. No more.

She wanted to hear him, see him, feel him.

“Nynn.”

She nearly purred at the sound of her name. There was another sense. She could hear him. More than that, now she knew he was nearby. His voice was quiet thunder and distant winds. Elemental. Stronger than man, and even stronger than Dragon King. She wanted to hear her name again, even as she imagined the shape of his lips as he formed the word.

Warmth enveloped her. She was protected. She was safe in ways she hadn’t felt in . . . Her memory didn’t go back that far. Or couldn’t. Some dark force blocked the way. She preferred sinking into the comfort of the moment, no matter how disorienting her awakening.

That warmth moved. His hands. He was touching her, skin to skin, maybe even body to body. That delicious heat was all around her, from her cheek to her toes. Was she lying with him? In his room? She shivered, and he pulled her closer.

“Nynn, come back.”

On her first try, her voice was barely more than a rasp. She swallowed past that painful ache—the most immediate of so many aches clamoring for her attention—and tried again. “To you?”

“Yes.” He stroked her forehead. “Come back to me.”

Big, assured hands caressed up and down her arm. She melted into that rhythm. She must’ve been lying near him, perhaps on top of him, because every concession her body made elicited more from him. She shifted closer, and he gave her more. Deeper strokes of his fingers along her sore muscles. Longer pulses of his wide palms, until her hip and thigh came within his reach.

“Give me a reason,” she said, the words breathy. “Dark is safer.”

He kissed her temple. That such a ferocious, unyielding man could deliver a kiss so soft made her closed eyes prickle with tears. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been comforted, and she couldn’t remember the last time she cried. Abnormal, some deep corner of her mind screamed. Impossible.

Remember.

“Dark is safer.” She would keep saying it until it was true and she could hide there forever.

Another kiss. “But then I can’t see your eyes.”

Nynn groaned. Unfair. So beautifully unfair.

“Open your eyes for me.” His breath brushed her temple as he spoke. Another form of touching. Another comfort. “I want to see your eyes and know that you want to be here.”

“Where?”

“In my bed. In my arms.” Those arms flexed subtly, as if she needed a reminder of his brawn. The beat of his heart sped as he talked. “I want to keep touching you. I want to do more than touch you. But I won’t do it if the golish still poisons your thoughts and leaves you unable to say no.”

“I won’t say no.”

“You need to look at me when you say that.”

She was identifying more detail now. His chest was bare. He was on his back. She was lying on her side. Was he wearing any clothes? Was she? The thrill that she could be naked in his bed shot tingles of electricity through the rest of her numb places. She was Tigony. Gathering electricity was her gift. She imagined it to be the key to bringing her body back to life.

Slowly she opened her eyes, expecting a sharp shaft of light. Yet the room was nearly dark. No fluorescents in here. No bare bulbs. Details came into focus with the same sloth. A gleam caught her attention. The scant light that shone from a far corner caught on a pristine set of armor hanging on a wall. And three other sets of armor, actually, of different designs.

They hung . . . at the end of a narrow bed.

Aside from a sink, a footlocker, and a few hygiene products, the room was empty. Stark. The lack of decorations accented what was most important to Leto of Garnis. His armor. His life’s work.

Then why was she in his bed? Nothing else mattered to him. In that violent place, there was no room for distractions.

Maybe that’s why they lay together in the near darkness. It was a violent place. If two people could find a moment’s respite, why deny herself? She wanted him. Her body—beaten and aching—craved his. As long as she was condemned to surviving, forced down in the underground darkness, she might as well enjoy what pleasure they could give one another.

Condemned?

Forced?

Shivering fear tingled up from her toes and lodged at the base of her skull. A headache exploded with the concussive force of releasing her gift. She groaned and pushed her forehead against Leto’s chest.

“What is it?”

“Headache,” she gasped. “Fuck.”

He sat up, urging her to do so. The blackness was back as she squeezed her eyes shut against the pain. “Head between your knees. Bend low.”

Deadly hands turned tender as he massaged up the back of her neck. Nynn groaned again, this time because of the relief he provided. The headache burned like a brand in her skull, but he forced it back, back into a corner. Soon he was paying equal attention to the tense flesh between her neck and shoulders. Only when he kissed along the top of her spine did her body react with want rather than gratefulness.