Misery by M. Garnet Page B

reflexes or your muscles, to recognize when someone or something else can be bruised or broken.”
    He still looked at her hand rubbing his arm. He did the unexpected. Still holding her against the wall, his hand at her throat, he lowered his head, bringing his lips against hers.
    At first she thought in panic he was going to bite her, but she felt the softness of his lips against hers, the heat of his body, as he moved in against her, pressing her slowly with his muscular frame to the cold hard wall behind her. But it was not the wall she was thinking about, it was the mouth on hers, as he slowly tasted her lips with his tongue. She felt a warm rush of her blood move downward through her veins. The tongue became more demanding as it wanted entrance. She surprised herself, as with a sigh, she parted her lips, letting him slide that hot tongue into her mouth to explore all of her.
    She felt a wave of desire sweep over her as she moved her hands up his arms. She was unable to move her head, but she really wanted to just let him continue to enter, to move, to taste, to know her.
    Finally, when he drew back, she opened her eyes, her mouth still flush. He left her lips conquered. She looked into his eyes. She saw that he was eating more than her mouth. He had received her reaction to the kiss. He had felt each unbidden emotion that her body sent along with the hot blood that the kiss woke within her breasts even down to her legs, especially that hot place within her womanhood.
    He nodded in acceptance of those emotions as he stood back. She was glad she had the wall to support her. She caught her breath, finally wanting the hungry dark eyes to move away. She tried to talk, but her voice was weak.
    “I will walk as you have instructed. Is there a special reason?”
    He stepped back, looked at her for only a moment. “It leaves me free to move to my strong right. It lets me know where you are.”
    “Thank you for the explanation.” She put her cell phone and the silver knife in her bag, decided enough was enough. This change in her life was letting her give up so much with such ease. She was becoming a different person, one she was not sure she liked. What did he call her? A warrior.
    They left quickly, going down to the parking area. In the garage Trump went out first and started the vehicle. Deck held the car door for Mis to sit in the back seat.
    They’d been on the road for about two hours. Mis was getting tired of watching the countryside when she felt the tension of the two nightwalkers.
    “Deck, what is it?”
    Neither answered. She watched as Trump spent more time watching the rear mirror than the road in front. She could only hope his reflexes were the same as Deck’s.
    After a long silence, almost twenty minutes, Trump spoke. “Do you see them? I should stop for gas.”
    “There must be several, but they are good.” Deck’s voice was a low rasp. “Go ahead, make the stop. Maybe one of them will make a mistake. It will flush them out.”
    It took a few miles to find a station, but they filled up with no problems. Then they were back on the road.
    “Well, that was a disappointment.” Trump looked around as he spit out the words.
    She could feel Deck watching in all directions without showing anything except his usual stoic unemotional statue-like mode. She thought he was in true warrior mode from the past.
    “Will someone tell me what is wrong?”
    The two nightwalkers looked at each other only for a second. Trump went back to driving — it was obvious he was waiting for Deck to explain and Deck never said anything.
    “Come on guys, no matter how bad it is, it is worse for me not knowing.”
    Finally Trump nodded. “We would like to take on some of them now. They are probably setting up a trap somewhere ahead that will have us so outnumbered that we don’t even want to think about it. If we can draw some out to fight, we can thin out the numbers on the way. We will have a better chance of getting you to