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Clothes were waiting for her, laid out over one of the chairs, when Scar padded out of the bathroom. Tyler’s were there too.

He lifted the scrap of black leather and a flush burned over his cheeks. “Should have known,” he murmured.

“You’ve fought in less.”

Tyler’s gaze slid to her and a smile twisted his mouth. “I was usually alone.”

“So you say.”

His smile grew. “And I didn’t expect to get the crap beaten out of me by a woman with a very active tail.”

He ran his finger along its short length and Scar pulled in a quick breath. She whipped away from him. “Least I get to dress this time.” She snorted as she pulled on her underwear. “But the Caraniae have an obsession. If it’s a ritual, you have to be as near-naked as possible.”

“I know.” He sighed and stared at the leather scrap in his hand. “Turn around,” he said.

“Tyler, you’re naked.” Scar slapped an exposed cheek, the sound satisfying. Still, her hand stung and she winced. The man was solid muscle. “You’re putting clothes on.”

He glared at her. “I’ve worn something like this before. You are not going to see me get into it.”

Scar bit back her smile and had to cover her mouth with her hand. She held it there tight, forcing back the bubble of laughter. She took a steadying breath. “Will you…wiggle?”

“Scar…” The warning growl in his voice had her skin flaring, but it wasn’t enough to break her humour.

“You’ll have to wiggle and squirm into it, won’t you?”

Heat burned over his face. “It’s undignified,” he muttered.

“All right.” Scar fought to keep her face straight and grabbed her clothes. “I’ll put these on in the bathroom.” She flicked the leather with her fingernail. It really wouldn’t cover hardly anything. “I’ll still know you wiggled though.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

She grinned at him. “Yes,” she said and let the bathroom door close on her. Scar let out a slow breath. Reality had started to settle in and all humour left her. Tyler had fought the Caraniae before. The graphic evidence was there on his back. But the amount of damage that opponent had inflicted was frightening.

Scar forced her mind from that thought and pulled on the smooth, single suit. Patting over the secret tabs, she smoothed it down over her stomach and hips. Her reflection caught in the wide curve of the mirror above the sink. She brushed back the wild tangle of her hair and stared at her face. Thin streaks of honeyed marble swirled over her features, but otherwise her skin looked unblemished. She ran a finger around her mouth. Yes, the healing packs they’d used earlier had done their job.

Her hand started to tremble. The thought of Rilean Harannah wouldn’t leave her alone. Coming from the First House, he would be a warrior of the highest rank, formidable, ruthless. Tyler had risen to the rank of Commander in the Corps, proof of his ability to fight. She bit her lip. He was still only human.

She opened the door and willed herself to leave the room.

Tyler paced the carpet, his face bleak.

Her heart twisted, and for an insane second, she wanted to bury her face in his chest. But he didn’t need her fear clouding him. So she coughed and waved her hand at the white silk sheet half-wrapped around his body. “That is hardly fair, Tyler.”

A smile tugged at his mouth. “You really think I’m going to wander about the corridors with just a…pouch…on?”

“Most Caraniae will think you overdressed.”

He tugged at the sheet and it puddled at his feet in a soft slide of cloth. He winced. “I know, I know.” He lifted his hand. “Laugh, and you’ll be on your back so fast…”

Scar pressed her fingers hard over her lips. “That is not an incentive to stop me, Tyler.” She let out a slow breath and her gaze slid over his lithe perfection. Before she realised, she’d padded towards him, wanting to touch, to taste the heat of his skin, run her hands over the sharp definition of his arms, his chest, his stomach.

She licked her lips and smiled at the soft rumble rising from his throat. Her fingernail ran over the hard muscle of his chest, chasing a path down his stomach to the offending leather. Heat radiated off him. He smelled of lemon and his own intoxicating skin. “If there was time,” she murmured, her palm sliding over the leather to cup him. He groaned and her mouth dried. She swallowed, her eyes holding his. “Will you fight for me?”

His eyes darkened. The familiar curl of need tightened low in her pelvis and her body swayed towards his. “With my last breath.”

Satisfaction and pain warred within her. “It’s almost time.” Scar pulled back from his body and took his hand. Sanity edged down over her thoughts. She cursed her Caraniae genes for getting them into this mess, but it was too late. She couldn’t change who she was and what they had done. “We’ll take the service stairs, they lead down to the basement complex.” She twitched a smile. “Some of your dignity will remain intact.”

“Some.” He shifted his hips. “Damn thing cuts in.”

The bedroom door shut behind them. Scar tried not to panic, and pushed down her fear. She glanced down at his backside. “You definitely had to wiggle into that.”

“Scar, I still have a no laughing rule.”

“Spoil sport.”