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control it. To battle it down.
    To keep the power that was trapped within her safe and dormant and locked away tight.
    How fucking wrong he’d been. And dammit, dammit, god- fucking- dammit, he knew damn well that he was the reason she’d lost her grip. That he was the one who had ripped the power loose. Who had sent it spiraling up almost to the point of explosion. And it had taken all of his control and strength to keep the whole fucking world from ending.
    He’d almost failed.
    God help him, he’d been so lost in the feel of her that he had almost been too late.
    He’d won, though. In the end, he’d won, at least if you could call it a win. Mal really wasn’t sure anymore.
    Maybe he’d saved the world by absorbing her energy, but she was lost to him once more.
    No longer his mate, but his prey.
    Not his lover, but the woman that he had been tasked to kill.
    Goddammit all to hell.
    A wave of nausea swept over him as he crouched to retrieve his fire sword. Without shifting his gaze from where Christina lay asleep on the ground, he extended the blade, oddly comforted by the familiar vibration of the weapon in his palm.
    He lifted it, knowing what he had to do. Knowing that if he didn’t take action—if he didn’t destroy her yet again—that he was putting not only his race at risk, but this entire world.
    One breath, then another.
    It was easy. Hadn’t he done it a hundred times? A thousand? Just a contraction of his muscles. Just a few moments of heartbreak and then it would be over. He would be free for another decade, another century.
    Free, and alone.
    Free, and miserable.
    He didn’t lunge. Didn’t bring the sword down and steal this life, this existence, from the woman he loved.
    Instead, he deactivated the weapon, then slid it back into the pocket of his jeans.
    He stood a moment longer, looking down at the woman and at the man who still slept beside her.
    And then Mal, who had never once defied orders or ignored his mission, turned the opposite direction, and walked away.

Chapter 5
    ‡
    I wake to the sun streaming through the window, then stretch lazily in the huge bed that dominates the guest suite in Brayden’s massive apartment.
    I’m naked, and the sensation of the cool sheets sliding over my heated skin is incredible, allowing me to fully enjoy the lingering remnants of a truly exceptional dream.
    Sadly, in the way of dreams, I cannot grasp even the tiniest tendril of memory. I know only that the dream was deliciously sensual and starred a gray-eyed man whose face I cannot see no matter how hard I try. Nor can I conjure the sound of his voice. Just one word lingers— Lover .
    The thought of it makes me shiver.
    I am not prone to erotic dreams, and this morning I can’t help but think how unfortunate that is, because I have awakened wet and aroused, and I have to say that I like it.
    Bray and I had returned to the apartment after our effort to snare Roger the cat had failed, despite having braved the dark shadows and hideous odors of one of New York City’s alleyways.
    A full day of travel—punctuated by fainting spells and cheesecake—must have finally taken its toll, and I’m glad that we didn’t go for drinks. Considering my exhausted state last night, I can only imagine the kind of hangover I’d now be suffering.
    Brayden’s parents divorced when he was six, after which Brayden and his newly single mom moved to my neighborhood. But Brayden is a Kline on his father’s side—as in the massive hotel chain that has pretty much taken over the Northern hemisphere—and that means that hospitality is in his blood. And that means that my room overflows with amenities. Right now, I’m especially appreciative of the fluffy white robe. I put it on, cinch the tie, and stumble from the guest suite into the state of the art kitchen.
    I expect to find Brayden there, but of course I’ve forgotten that he has class. He’s left me a note, though, telling me that he’s going to stay at school all