Talon slammed his taut arms around me from behind. He pinned both of my arms to my sides in an iron grip. I pushed and flailed against him, but he managed to hold me so my heels only clipped his legs without doing any real damage while my ribs felt as if they were stabbing right into my lungs.

“Nice try,” he grumbled in my ear, “but you’re not going anywhere.”

He swiveled me to the side just as Garrison shoved a wooden chair with wide arms into place next to us. Talon shoved me into it, using his knee to hold my legs down, bracing my forearms against the arms of the chair. All I could move was my head, and his was too far away for me to butt it, as much as I’d have liked to right now.

He wasn’t just strong. This asshole knew how to fight—really fight. But if I hadn’t been injured…

I met his eyes with a glare, and he gazed back at me with no sign of anger or even irritation. Suddenly I was sure even his supposed frustration with me this morning had been as much an act as Garrison’s kindness. His pale blue irises held nothing but cool indifference, like this was just a job to him rather than a matter of survival like it was for me.

I should have been chilled, but the sight woke up something else inside me. I was abruptly hyperaware of the flexing of his hands against the bare skin of my arms, of all the power emanating from his pose over me. Of how close he was leaning—not close enough for me to launch another attack, no, but enough that his breath grazed my face with each exhale.

He was breathing a little raggedly. As strong as he was, I’d given him a challenge even with my injuries. And he’d given me a hell of a challenge too.

An unexpected heat pooled between my legs, a sensation I’d never felt before except when I touched myself there. The image passed through my mind of him leaning even closer, pressing all of that sculpted power right against me, and I didn’t shy away from it. If anything, my body welcomed the idea.