Page 12 of The Hunter's Mate

I lock eyes with him and take a step out of my pants, then another. I leave them in a pile behind me, all my nerves firing off as Nyrik watches me undress.

I’ll disarm him, bring him to my side.

I’ll beat him at his own game.

“Do I get my own set of armor?” I ask.

“I have none that would fit you.”

I cock an eyebrow. “Then I guess I’m sleeping naked.”

I step down into the tub and sink into the hot water. There’s some kind of filter wicking away the dirt inside, another filter letting bubbles into the pool. I soak for a second, dunking my head under and feeling the days of filth wash away.

“Pass me my clothes?” I ask.

Nyrik does as I ask without a second thought.

I rinse them in the water, letting the filter wick away the swamp water, the dirt, the blood. I wring them out and toss them on the side of the tub to dry, laying them out carefully.

When I turn back to Nyrik, his eyes are trained on my waist and ass, his frill out wide.

“Watching me wasn’t part of our deal,” I say.

“But there’s ever so much to see.”

“Soap?” I ask.

“My people do not use soap,” he replies. “The water should suffice.”

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll make do.”

I dip my head under the water again and rinse out my hair, massaging my scalp. When I emerge again, Nyrik has knelt beside the water, his claws skating across the water.

“You could join me,” I say.

“That wouldn’t be wise.”

“Neither would freeing the person you were contracted to catch,” I say.

His tongue flicks out as if to taste the air, his eyes flickering shut for jut a moment. His tongue is long—longer than a human’s and infinitely interesting.

“I may be an alien, but I’m no stranger to seduction,” he murmurs. “This is all part of your game, Fawn.”

I get out of the water, completely ignoring his accusation as I move back toward the bed. “Do you have a towel?”

I hear his footsteps—the telltale click of his talons—then his snout puffing out a breath against my neck.

“I won’t be made to take it easy on you because I like you,” he growls.

I look over my shoulder. “You won’t have to; I’ll beat you anyway.”

He touches me hesitantly, slowly. Cool claws on my hips, his scaled knuckles dragging down, down to my left thigh.

“I should check your wound,” he says.

“Have at it,” I say.

I turn to find him just inches away, boxing me in. He takes a step closer and I fall back to the bed, gazing up at him with my legs spread wide.