crack of a branch snapping was loud. Something hit a tree trunk with a resounding crash. Sam turned and dove onto Azami, all in one move, taking her down hard, both arms going around her and rolling away from the sound. He did his best to protect her from the worst of the rocks and fallen branches. Azami didn’t fight; instead she ducked her head into his chest and held on while he took them as far from that sound as possible.
The explosion rocked the ground, the sound so loud it hurt their ears. Sam put his lips against Azami’s ear so she would feel his mouth moving. His words, however, were projected into her mind.
Are you hurt?
His breath caught in his throat—waiting.
Azami shook her head, an almost imperceptible movement.
They have someone waiting ahead of us and on either side. They’ll keep blasting, herding us toward their trap. I want you to backtrack . . .
Before he could finish, she shook her head again andpressed her lips against his ear. “I’m staying with you. Just move.”
Azami was telepathic. There was no question in his mind she was psychic. She’d felt those surges of energy when he’d contacted Kadan and Nico and she’d heard him clearly, although he hadn’t spoken aloud.
Thorn stiffened, her fingers curling around the dagger hidden beneath her jacket. She’d screwed up. Totally screwed up. The moment Sam’s arms had wrapped around her body and she felt him, felt every muscle hard and defined, felt his much larger body imprisoning hers, she went into major meltdown. Never, in all her existence, had such a thing happened. Her world—
she
—was all about control.
Eight years of her life had been spent in torture and she’d never flinched, never once made a mistake. The years with her father had instilled even more discipline, and yet with Sam’s scent finding its way into her lungs, invading every one of her heightened senses, she couldn’t find her breath. The sensation was so strong, so intrusive, she felt threatened at her most elemental level—and yet more alive than she’d ever felt in her life.
She had been very careful to keep apprised of Whitney’s experiments and she knew he paired GhostWalkers with his orphaned female soldiers, but she was gone long before Sam had become a GhostWalker. She
couldn’t
be paired with him. Whitney could have perhaps saved something of her DNA to pair her with Sam, but he didn’t have access to Sam prior to her being thrown away. It was impossible and yet . . .
Breathe
.
That single, velvet-soft enticement filled her mind, rocking her far more than the second explosion did. His voice was a caress, a weapon with more power than a knife or a gun had over her. Instinctively she began to inch the dagger from the sheath. Sam’s hand clamped down hard on her wrist.
Our enemies have us surrounded. Do you really want togo to war with me right now? Let’s get out of this first and deal with what’s happening between us afterward
.
She detested that he knew her reaction to him—but at least she wasn’t alone. He’d admitted he was just as shaken as she was. Shame poured through her. Regret. She had dishonored herself and her father by such a disgraceful mistake. Nevertheless, she had to move forward. She relaxed her grip on the dagger and nodded her head to indicate she agreed with him.
We move straight ahead. They’re trying to keep us boxed in. We’ll have to take out the soldiers in front of us as quietly as possible and slip through their line. I’ve tried to isolate separate sounds to see what we’re looking at, but the concussions messed up my hearing
.
Sam’s voiced steadied her. He was matter-of-fact, a soldier assessing their situation. She forced air into her lungs. Sharing her mind with him seemed almost more intimate than sharing her body. He was everywhere, his body rock-hard while she had melted into him, becoming part of him. She felt as if she shared his very breath. She was samurai and she could handle this
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