“Take me to my room.” Her voice was coaxing, seducing, mesmerizing. “I want to be alone with you.”
Never allowing his eyes to leave hers, he slipped his arm under her knees and lifted her small frame. With the added dimension of his touch, Meg knew she was in complete control. As though led by a marionette’s string, the soldier carried her quickly toward one of the doors twenty feet down the passageway.
Meg watched from the corner of her eye as he held her with one hand and opened the door with the other. Once inside, he kicked the door closed behind them. By her will, he laid her carefully on the bed with straps. It was the only piece of furniture in the hospital-style room.
“Laz,” she began her completely unrehearsed speech, “my wrists and ankles are hurting.”
He stood silent, awaiting her emotional will before he nodded absolutely and reached behind the waistband of his standard-issue camo fatigues. From his weapons sheath, he removed a seven-inch blade and slipped the glistening metal between her ankles. With a deft tug, he sliced the ziptie.
“That’s right, Laz. Now my wrists.”
Seductively, Meg rolled onto her belly to give Laz easy access to her secured wrists at her back, watching him over her slim, muscular shoulder.
“But, I’m supposed to restrain you for the Director.” Laz’s brows furrowed—his will momentarily fighting to stay in control. An inch of worry is all Meg allowed the soldier.
“Of course you are, Laz. I’m already in a detention room. You’ve done your job well. Dr. Williams will be so impressed. I know I am.” She offered a soft smile over her shoulder, dark hair framing the dark eyes that held the metasoldier transfixed.
The soldier nodded in agreement, and slipped his knife slowly between her skin and the thick plastic holding her wrists together.
Meg sat up slowly, rubbing her wrists. “Thank you, Laz. You’ve done well.”
The soldier, completely commanded by the small female metahuman before him, smiled hesitantly.
“You must be tired. You’ve worked so hard tonight,” she cooed hypnotically.
“I am a little tired,” he echoed her will.
“Sit,” she motioned with her free hand to the space beside her on the bed.
Inside, she cringed as he positioned himself directly beside her, but she pushed her true will aside and focused every bit of her energies on controlling the despicable soldier.
His body heat pressed against her will. She could nearly taste his lust and resisted gagging from it.
“You’d like to lie back and relax,” she told the soldier.
He watched her face. He couldn’t resist her siren’s call. A halo of white radiated off her skin, enveloping her. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever seen.
A wave of sleepiness crashed over him with such strength, he felt drugged.
“Yeah, it’s been a long day,” he said in a slurred voice, leaning back against the wall behind the strap-laden bed.
“Rest, Laz. You’ve earned it. Let me watch over you for a while. You deserve the rest.”
“I am pretty tired, now that you mention it,” he managed before his body slumped to the side—dark blue eyes, dilated and fixed on the girl.
“Close your eyes, Laz. Rest. Let me take care of you,” Meg heard her voice offer.
The soldier’s eyelids dropped, heavy and sedate.
“You’ll stay with me?” he murmured, his eyes fighting to stay open and locked onto the mesmerizing female.
“You’ll never forget me, Laz. I’ll be crisp and clear in your mind, as long as you live. Rest. Feel the heaviness of your body. Sink into the bed. Be at peace,” Meg’s voice was hypnotic.
The soldier obeyed without another word. Soft snores resonated through his body within moments.
She watched him, debating what to do. He had resheathed the blade into its holster at his back.
Knowing she was crossing a line she’d never wanted to cross, she slipped her hand deftly to the soldier’s back and soundlessly slipped the seven-inch blade free.
“Laz, where have they taken the male?” She kept her voice hypnotic, soothing and in control, even as she gripped the deadly weapon.
“Hum?” he mumbled.
“The other metahuman—where have they taken him?” she repeated in the same tone, ready to strike.
He soldier’s eyes drifted open momentarily and held Meg’s gaze like an oxygen mask to his suffocating will.
“Third floor…lab,” he mumbled obediently.
“Thank you, Laz. Sleep and feel nothing,” she coaxed watching his eyes drift closed again.
Knowing she was crossing a line, she felt a wave of hatred vibrate through herself toward the disgusting creature who’d tried to violate her for sport less than twenty minutes before. She held the knife up to the slowly pulsing throat of the sleeping metahuman. Just as she was about to slip the sharp blade across the exposed flesh of his throat, she caught her distorted image reflected in the pristinely polished metal and grimaced at what she saw.
Her hand flew to her mouth in abject horror.