Blood Moons (4 page)

"C'mon." Tristan grasped her arm again and pulled her along. They dropped off their trays and he led her back to their cell as quickly as he could, keeping her between him and a wall at all times to limit her exposure. It was more for her peace of mind. Neither he nor the wall would offer much concealment, but there were other ways to hide her. She just wasn't aware of them. "Get your soap and whatnot." He grinned wryly. "Just don't drop it."

She picked up her things as if she was bracing herself for battle. She didn't say a word, but he could see the unspoken question on her face. "There is only one showering area, but the women's is curtained off."

He saw the instant relief on her face and just stopped himself from lashing out. Naive was one thing, this was bordering on idiocy. And it would get her killed if she didn't learn fast enough, which meant that Tristan had just become her teacher.

There were few who would not pity her.

"You little fool!" he hissed. "Women aren't your friends any more than the men are. Talk to no one. If something happens, you haul ass back here and hide. Understand?"

She looked startled, but still those pretty eyes of hers searched his face. It was unsettling to be looked at like that.

"Why are you helping me?"

Fucking figured, even her voice would be perfect. Melodic and sweet. Soft, like a caress. "You'd be dead in a day if I 31

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didn't," he said more harshly than he'd intended, then shrugged. "Consider it my one good deed." And because benevolence made him uncomfortable as hell, he decided to distance himself so she wouldn't look at him like some fucking hero anymore.

Dara had problems. That was a given. But as she weighed her options, she came to the conclusion that fear could not be one of them. Not here. If she allowed it to get a foothold, she'd spend the rest of her days in panic-stricken catatonia.

Dara had to be as badass as all the other badasses here, or at least give a convincing impression of it. She wasn't completely useless.

Yes, her mind was broken, but she'd had years and decades to get used to it. She'd even picked up a trick or two along the way. Usually when she wanted a person to leave, she could make them feel so uncomfortable that they eventually excused themselves, sweat dotting their foreheads and all but ran away. Dara would bet that if she could just concentrate a little, she could get that result faster if push came to shove. It wasn't much, and it wasn't a guarantee.

Chances were that she wouldn't be able to make it work and she'd waste precious seconds in a tight spot, but it was something. She had to work with what she had.

Taking a bracing breath, Dara left the cell again and followed the others, this time to the showers. Hunt had been right—there was a small area curtained off from the rest for the women to shower in. She ducked inside and shed her clothes quickly, stepping into the stream of water before the others got there. It was a welcome comfort, the feel of 32

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lukewarm water on her body. But she didn't allow herself the luxury of enjoying it. The other women were lagging behind and she wanted to get out of here before they could confront her.

On the other side of the curtain the men talked, some of them shouting. There was laughter and curses, and more than once she heard the impact of physical blows and people falling to the wet floor. Dara worked very hard to block out the groans and shouts of pain. She hummed to herself, focusing on the melody to get through the next few minutes, praying that no one decided to pull the curtain aside and expose her.

She scrubbed herself quickly, washed her hair, and then grabbed a towel to wrap herself in.

A moment later, Dara sensed the women's approach, but by then, she was dressed and heading out of the showers.

Her hair was dripping, but she toweled it dry even as she moved. The cloth was big enough to hide her head and she made good use of it on her way back to the cell.

Hunt was still gone. Good. Making a frustrated sound, she tossed the towel into a corner. So this was to be her life now.

If one could call it a life.

Determined to last at least a full month, until she would get the hell out of here, she studied her surroundings. Any advantage would help, wouldn't it? The cell was actually not that small. It was only when Hunt was in residence that it seemed to shrink around her. There were cabinets other than the ones under her bed, but she didn't look into them. They probably held Hunt's things.

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A toilet and sink stood to one side, and it appeared that the tooth rinse would be provided every morning and evening for both her and Hunt above the sink.

Dara wondered if everything here was touch or voice activated. She was about to try it when Hunt returned. "There is a gym on the fourth level and an entertainment area on the sixth," he said without looking at her. "It's ancient. Sixty-inch flat screen televisions and some DVDs." He was still wet from his shower, shirtless. Dara almost sighed as she covertly ogled him for a moment. The water beaded on his pecs and abs, creating an effect similar to oil on skin. But this was no model posing for his shot. Hunt made those guys look like immature little boys.

Freaking unbelievably sexy man.
She did sigh a little at that thought. So unfair.

No!
Convict.
He was a convict. Who knew what he'd done to land himself in here? What the hell was she doing thinking like that?

Dara forced her wince into a smile that felt very uncomfortable and took up her comb. She broke off a tooth almost immediately. Her hair was soft, but there was so much of it that it took a long time to comb out the knots and snarls.

Making a face, she sat on her bed to finish her task.

For a moment, she was at eye level with Hunt's crotch.
So
unfair!
Had he lost weight or something since the last time they issued him pants? Why did he have to wear them so low? She could almost see his...

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Do
not
think it. Don't even look.
Dara plied the comb through her hair again, welcoming the sting of torn-out follicles as a distraction. It was proving feeble, at best.

Hunt bent double to look at her. "Well? What's it to be, lady?"

Dara frowned. What was it he'd been asking?

"Gym or the TV? I don't have all day. There's still some things I need to explain to you before I cut you completely loose."

He was tapping his foot at her! Definitely
not
a fairy-tale hero, no matter how hot he happened to be. But he was all she had to stake her hopes on. Dara raked the comb through her hair again, wincing as a few more hairs snapped at the tension. "And what important business do you have to keep you busy today?"

His face went blank, then a slow smile spread to reveal strong white teeth. "Touche."

Dara inclined her head in a semi-bow. She was not going to be smitten by that smile. No way.

The huge hand he extended to her had calluses, hinting at hard work, or hard exercise. She didn't know which. "Tristan Hunt," he said. "We haven't been introduced yet."

Wiping the water from her hand, she slipped it into his grip. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunt." It wasn't until he released her hand again that she noticed there were no spills of unwanted knowledge. No secrets tumbling out of his head and into hers. Physical touch tended to reveal more of a person. Apparently, Hunt was still immune. All that was left 35

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over from his touch was the warmth of his hand that seemed to stay around hers like a glove. Odd, that.

"And your name?"

"I have many," she said with an impish grin, quoting a movie from the early twenty-first century. "But we're all so much more ... complicated than our names." When he only stared at her, uncomprehending, she shook her head. "Never mind."

"Okay ... what do I call you, then?"

"Dara. Dara Frost."

"Strange name," he noted.

"Yes it is, Mr. Tristan Hunt," she returned pointedly and he scowled at her.

"Pick your fancy, Dara."

"Are there any books?"

As if on command, a panel slid opened in the wall, revealing a small chamber and in it a screen. It listed genres and a search window.

"I should have figured you'd be a bookworm. Guess further instruction can wait until tonight." Hunt left grumbling.

Dara didn't know what his problem was; she was delighted! She browsed through a couple of genres, then stated her selection with a voice command. The screen went blank and the bottom of the shelf opened while a book was pushed up. A real book! With a broken spine and paper pages and everything! Dara hadn't held one since grade school. She picked up her book and brought it to her nose. The old book smell almost made her swoon. Dara returned to her bunk grinning like an idiot.

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At least there was something here that she would be able to enjoy. She might never even leave this cell. Except for showers and meals, of course. And at least this way, she'd be out of sight and far enough from the others that she wouldn't be bothered by their thoughts.

Determined to keep looking on the bright side of things, she opened the book and lost herself in a story for a while.

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The gym took up the entire second level. It was a vast expanse of equipment and fields, pools and machines. It was a haven for those who required daily physical exertion, or those who were required to get it as part of their assigned treatment.

Prisons were not just holding cells anymore. They were sophisticated laboratories in which the inmates were lab rats.

Extensive studies and experiments were performed, typically without their consent, to improve the lives of all other people.

If someone happened to die because of the treatment, well, it was considered a small price to pay. Most men were here for the rest of their lives anyway.

Tristan didn't give a shit one way or another. The monitoring device was a small patch that adhered to his skin and relayed information to the electronic notepads all the doctors carried. It didn't bother him while he worked out, so he didn't give it much thought.

After basic stretches and an hour-long jog on one of the machines, he dived into the first empty pool he could find.

This was the only place where he still felt human. When he swam, he could pretend he was somewhere else. The pools were small, fitted to the individual, who swam against an artificial current.

Usually the swim was timed. With so many prisoners and only one gym, the limit on equipment usage prevented fights.

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For Tristan, exceptions were made. The doctors adored him because he never gave them any trouble. He didn't give a damn what they did to him, so they didn't hesitate to do anything and everything they wanted. In return, Tristan got to spend as much time in the water as he wished.

Today he planned on staying as long as possible. He needed to clear his head. There was only so much meddling a man could stand and Herb had just crossed the line. It was a good thing the clerk never came to Wolf block. Tristan doubted he'd be able to restrain himself.

His new
roommate
was a monumental new headache.

A female.

Not just any female, but a fucking telepath!

Did they even know what she was capable of? Or was that why she was here in the first place? The thought chilled him.

It was one thing to play with his chemistry, quite another to play with someone's mind. The only reason they weren't doing
that
to him was they had no idea. Oh, but one telepath always sensed another. He'd suspected Dara from the first, but when she'd tentatively reached out to his mind, he'd been certain.

She was unskilled. It took a lot of training and guidance from someone who'd mastered the art to control something like that. Dara seemed only to be able to hush the voices slightly. She couldn't even shut them out altogether. It was why he'd shielded his thoughts around her. Tristan had meant to scan her while she'd slept, but he hadn't. He'd have to do it tonight.

The alarm beeped.

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Tristan gritted his teeth and passed his hand in front of the sensor, turning off the flow of water. When he got to the pool's edge, the guard who'd escorted Dara to his cell crouched there, grinning. "So?" he asked, quietly so that only Tristan heard him.

"So, what?" Tristan levered himself out of the pool, forcing the guard to step back.

"How is she?"

Tristan looked him in the eye, judging his intent. Just as he'd thought. Blanc was all talk and very little game. He wanted Dara, but wasn't man enough to face off with Tristan for her. She wasn't worth that much trouble to him.

"Adapting," he answered.

Blanc chuckled. "I'll just bet she is. Do you gag her, or just put a pillow over that pretty face to shut her up? Word has it Wolf block was awful quiet last night."

"You know I don't kiss and tell." Tristan took a towel and dried himself off. In a few minutes he would get to the weights.

Blanc's eyebrows shot up. "Could it be ... You haven't—"

He burst out laughing, drawing undue attention to them.

"Shut your mouth, Blanc," Tristan warned, keeping his voice neutral and his gaze elsewhere. "I didn't have any problem shutting it for you three months ago. I could do it again."

Blanc continued to chuckle. "I'll make a deal with you, Hunt." He stepped closer, his mouth twitching. Tristan was taller than Blanc. Stronger too, but the weapon at Blanc's side was a great equalizer. It gave the guard far more courage 40

Blood Moons