“And you’re obviously drunk,” she shot back, looking away from that knowing gleam glittering in his eyes. With the fight over, the mass frenzy of writhing bodies picked up right where they’d left off, focused on sex again rather than fighting.
“Oh, come on. Is she actually calling the cops?” Morgan asked, noticing that the blonde with the ponytail was now holding a cell phone to her ear, the woman’s scornful gaze locked onto Morgan with the ferocity of a rabid pit bull.
Kierland looked over his bloodstained shoulder, then cursed something crude under his breath. “Probably one of her brothers,” he grunted with a thick dose of irritation. “We need to get out of here before her entire pack shows up.”
Glancing at his hard expression, Morgan lifted her brows, the corner of her kiss-swollen mouth kicking up with a wry grin. “Wow. I never thought I’d see the day when the wolf was scared of a flock of birds.”
“Stop trying to pick a fight with me,” he muttered, grabbing her wrist and pulling her along behind him as he began elbowing dancers out of his way. “We don’t have time for it.” But as they broke through the last of the dancers and she got a clear shot of the wide double doors that led out to the street, Morgan could see that they were already too late.
THE ONLY THING STANDING between Kierland and Morgan and the freedom of the street were five massive jackal-shifters, unless more happened to be waiting outside the club’s entrance. Another quick look over his shoulder showed Kierland that retreat wasn’t an option, since the bodyguards he and Morgan had been fighting—at least the ones who’d managed to get up from the floor—had huddled together at the rear exit.
The tallest of the jackals, a barrel-chested brute with a shaggy head of black-and-brown hair, looked hungry for blood, his ham-size hands fisted aggressively at his sides as the others fanned out around him.
“Call me crazy,” Morgan murmured out the side of her mouth, “but those guys don’t look like swans.”
He blew out a tense breath, keeping his attention focused on the one in the center as he said, “That’s because the blondes are adopted.”
“By a family of jackals?” she croaked.
He gave a tired sigh. “Yeah.”
“Wow.” Disgust laced her tone, but he couldn’t blame her for it, considering the circumstances. “You really know how to pick them, don’t you?”
“You have no idea,” he muttered under his breath, while she moved to stand at his side.
Wearing expectant looks of aggression, the jackals came forward, spreading out in a wide arc. Like the one in the middle, they were all tall, with thick, stocky shoulders and square jaws, their eyes already glowing with preternatural fire. “Get behind me,” Kierland said in a low voice, fully expecting the order to be followed.
Of course, he should have known better, considering who he was dealing with.
“Behind you?” she snorted. “Yeah, right.”
“This is no time to argue, Morgan.” He released his long, razor-sharp claws, allowing his hands to transform into that deadly phase that existed between man and wolf—the ones humans called “were”—then allowed his fangs to slide from his gums. Kierland was fully prepared to fight as dirty as he had to in order to get Morgan out of there alive, ripping out a few throats if that’s what it took.
Just like I do for any of my fellow Watchmen, he silently growled, obscenely irritated by his beast’s rumbling pleasure at the idea of protecting this particular woman.
“Looks to me like the perfect time to argue,” she shot back. “I’m a soldier, Kier. Same as you. I don’t need to hide behind your back.”
Kierland knew it was true, especially after seeing how fiercely Morgan had fought during the battle in England the month before. But he was still…concerned. That grueling confrontation with the Casus had simply been too close. He and his friends had left the fight barely standing, and they’d been lucky they hadn’t lost anyone. Another minute and someone from their group would have undoubtedly gone down with a serious injury, if not worse. But they’d fought with the sheer determination to do whatever it took to keep their friends and loved ones protected, and Kierland knew that the fortitude and strength that could be tapped into when fighting for the ones you cared about was something that the Casus would never understand.
The jackal in the center of the group had obviously been given their description over the phone, because he scanned the crowd with slitted black eyes before pinpointing that feral gaze on Kierland. With a curl of his lip, the shifter said something to the man at his right, jerking his chin in their direction. Though the crowd had stopped dancing for the second time that night, the music continued to blare through the speakers. Just as a heavy, bone-jarring drumbeat began to blast through the club, the jackals rushed at them like a great battering wall of fury. Kierland took a deep breath, then gave himself over to his natural instincts as the bloodthirsty battle began.
From the corner of his eye, he could see Morgan fighting with the graceful poise and agility that he’d come to expect from her. He still didn’t understand how the guards had been able to get the better of her just before he’d lost his mind and kissed her. He’d seen her fight enough times to know that it didn’t matter if she was outnumbered and outsized. She was always fast and wily enough to avoid the brunt of blows directed at her, while delivering a maximum amount of damage. For whatever reason, she’d faltered earlier, but she was in prime form now, ripping through her targets with an efficiency that he couldn’t help but admire.
And it was strange, how fluidly he and Morgan had always fought together, when they chose to stop bickering long enough to actually focus on the other’s actions. Still, it was a bloody, messy brawl, and the bastards got in some good shots against them both, though Kierland tried hard to put himself in the way of any slashing claws that were aimed for the female Watchman.
He didn’t know how long the fight might have gone on, if the sudden sound of distant police sirens hadn’t filled the air. Though no one from the crowd had bothered to offer them any assistance, someone had apparently thought to call the police.
Obviously in no mood to tangle with the local human authorities, the jackals snarled their intent to “finish them off later” and disappeared through the front of the club. Kierland waited until the bastards were out of sight, then shifted his hands back into human form and wrapped his fingers back around Morgan’s delicate wrist. “Let’s go,” he grunted, quickly moving with the exodus of patrons who were heading for the rear exit and choosing escape from the police over the chance for another dance.
Shuffling out with the others into the cobblestoned street, Kierland instantly looked to the skies to ensure that nothing was preparing to swoop down on them from above. There were too many damn dangers for Morgan to be out on her own, and the Death-Walkers were especially a problem, considering the ones they’d encountered so far were able to take a vaporous form that enabled them to fly.
“You got a flask on you?” he asked. They’d started carrying flasks of salted holy water after learning that the combination could be used to scare off the Death-Walkers. Unfortunately, they still didn’t have a clue how to kill the creatures, but Kierland was hoping his sources would be able to come up with something soon.
“I’ve got my flask,” she told him, sticking close to his side as he pulled her through the crowd.
“It was stupid for you to come here,” he grumbled, keeping his hold on her wrist. “Too much of a risk.”
“Yeah, well, a phone call wouldn’t have done the trick. You’d have just run off before I could finish what I’ve come to say.”
Kierland couldn’t imagine what that could actually be, but forced himself to be patient until they were someplace quiet and out of danger. And in the meantime, he still had plenty to say about what she’d done. “The point is that you shouldn’t have left Harrow House for any reason,” he growled. “It’s the only place that’s safe right now. I can’t believe Quinn—”
“Your b
est friend doesn’t have any say in what I do. God, Kier. I’m not a child.”
Ha. As if he thought of her as a child, even with that new haircut she was sporting. She’d had long bangs cut into all that straight, shoulder-length brown hair since he’d left England. It made her look younger, like the girl he’d known all those years ago, and his gut clenched at the memory. But he sure as hell didn’t think of her as a kid.
Itchy. That was how Morgan Cantrell made him feel, as if he had a million freaking ants in his pants, all of them skittering over his skin. Tall and slender, with shadowy gray eyes and a heart-shaped face that looked as if it’d been carved from fine porcelain, she was undeniably beautiful. She had the firm, lean physique of a woman who was a trained fighter, and yet, she still carried a sensual, earthy aura of femininity that was hell on any man’s libido. Not to mention how it affected the predatory side of a male’s nature. Kierland’s wolf had always been mesmerized by her, to the point that it all but howled every time she walked into a bloody room.
In fact, it was the wolf’s fascination—its incessant craving for a taste of her—that had finally sent him slumming tonight in the first place.
Kierland didn’t resort to the club scene often, but these were desperate times. He’d been forced to be close to Morgan for too damn long and had needed to get away. Though he’d barely said two words to her in the past month, he’d felt her presence at Harrow House as if she were a part of him, plastered against his skin. When he’d slept, she’d filled his dreams, and his waking hours had been spent constantly wondering where she was…what she was doing. It’d driven him crazy, the way she got on with the others, her acceptance a given, as if she was already a part of their growing unit, when all he wanted was to be rid of her.
The sharp squall of the approaching police sirens filled the air, and he moved his grip to her hand, pulling her along behind him as he started running down the street. “Come on. I have a car parked a few blocks away.”
They cut around the next building, ducking into a dark alleyway. He concentrated on looking for any potential dangers as they sped down the narrow passage, and tried not to think about the woman running along behind him.
“You’re going to have one heck of a hangover,” she told him, making a soft sniffing sound.
“Doubtful.”
“Haven’t you ever heard that liquor can get a man into trouble? It’s stupid to get drunk,” she lectured him, “especially these days. You need to stay alert.”
Kierland snorted. “I’d agree with you, if I was actually drunk.”
“Come on,” she drawled. “You smell like a distillery. I’m getting high just from the fumes.”
In a dry tone, he said, “That’s because I had a bottle of whiskey cracked over my head back at the club.”
“No way. Who did it?”
His tone was even drier than before. “I think one of the blondes objected to the way I was fighting her brothers.”
She snickered, snuffling something that sounded like “Classic” under her breath. Then she said, “Still, that doesn’t mean you’re sober. I saw you with a drink.”
“A drink. As in one. I weigh a solid 230, Morgan. It takes a helluva lot more than one drink to knock me on my ass.”
They turned out of the alley and onto a sidewalk that bordered a wide, busy street. As they slowed to a fast walk, cars sped by, throwing slashes of color across them with their headlights.
After a moment, she coughed, then said, “Are you, uh, telling me that you’re not actually sauced?”
“’Fraid not.”
“Then what was that kiss about?” she burst out.
Ah, so that’s what has her so uptight, he thought, running his tongue over his teeth. Damn it, he should’ve just gone with the alcohol-induced-stupidity plea when he’d had the chance.
Without looking at her, Kierland rolled his shoulder and answered, “I was just trying to get your attention. At the time, it seemed like the only way to get you to stop terrorizing my date.”
She pulled her hand from his grip and crossed her arms. “You mean dates.”
“I’d planned to settle on one,” he said reasonably. And it was the truth. He’d just needed a female for the night to help him burn off some steam. Ironically, the swans had appealed to him simply because they were so unlike the woman currently giving him hell.
The woman he’d been trying hard to forget.
“One of them, huh? How noble,” she offered with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “And like I said before, they started it.”
Kierland slid her a curious glance from the corner of his eye. “You usually aren’t so easily riled.”
“And you usually don’t go for the drug scene,” she shot back, her slight shrug pulling the fabric of her sweater tight across her breasts. They weren’t heavy or overly large, but a man would have had to be blind not to notice that they were…well, perfect.
And Kierland, unfortunately, had excellent eyesight.
“I wasn’t there for the drugs,” he muttered, ripping his attention away from her. He stared straight ahead, determined not to look at either her or her perfect breasts, because once he started, he couldn’t be entirely certain that he’d be able to stop. She might be one of the most irritating individuals he’d ever known on the inside, regardless of their species, but he couldn’t deny that on the outside she was exactly what he liked in a woman.
It was just one of those maddening anomalies in the universe that made it clear someone up there either had a really sick sense of humor…or just got a kick outta screwing with some people’s lives—because there was no doubt that the world would’ve been a hell of a lot simpler for Kierland if he’d gotten off on short blondes, instead of leanly muscled brunettes with prickly attitudes.
“And at any rate,” she murmured, “I wasn’t terrorizing your dates when you kissed me. I was getting mauled by one of their bastard bodyguards.”
He grunted in response, and walked faster, figuring he had a better chance of getting her to shut up if he kept her busy trying to keep up with him. “Get in,” he ordered a moment later, jerking his chin toward the sleek black Spider that sat parked on the curb.
A soft whistle fell from her lips as she ran her hand over the cold, shiny roof. “Nice. When’d you pick this up?”
“A few days ago.” She climbed into the passenger seat, and Kierland slid behind the wheel. It was a testament to his mood that not even the low purr of the V6 could soothe his nerves when he started the engine.
“How’d you get the Consortium to approve the purchase?”
“Actually, I paid for this one myself,” he explained, and she accepted the news with a quiet nod, since she knew he and Kell had inherited a near fortune from their grandfather.
“You always did like fast cars,” was all she said in response, before fastening her seat belt.
He waited for her to make some scathing comment about how he liked fast women, as well, but she seemed too absorbed in checking out the Spider’s sleek interior, a low, almost sexual kind of murmur falling from her lips as she ran her hands across the butter-soft leather of her seat.
Kierland ground his jaw, knowing he was in trouble when he got off watching a woman fondle his car. Pulling out into the traffic, he blurted out the first words that came into his mind. “You handled yourself well back there against the jackals.”
MORGAN SEARCHED FOR ANY hidden sarcasm in the gruffly spoken words, but couldn’t find any. It was a reflex reaction, since most people, aside from her family, treated her like she was something inferior. Kierland was one of the few exceptions. At least when she’d first met him. He’d pushed her harder than the others in her class, expecting her to be better than her peers, because in the field she would have to be if she wanted to survive. And then he’d demanded that she go above and beyond even the highest expectations of the academy. It’d made her feel foolishly special, until she’d discovered that he’d secretly harbored doubts about her abilities. The knowledge h
ad been one more pain on top of many, and she had never forgotten.
Clearing her throat, she finally decided to be magnanimous and said, “You weren’t too shabby yourself.”
In fact, she’d been mesmerized by his viciousness. Though she’d seen Kierland fight on numerous occasions, it never failed to amaze her how dangerously beautiful he was during combat, his body moving with a powerful, animal-like grace that rendered him invincible. Tonight, he’d slashed through the group with a ferociousness that she’d never seen from him before, and it had been nothing short of breathtaking, her soldier senses still humming with pleasure.
He seamlessly slid the car up a gear, speeding down the street, and rumbled, “Maybe now would be a good time to tell me what you’re doing here, before we get attacked again. Which, considering the way this night has gone so far, could be any second now.”
“Like I said before, it’s about Kellan.”
“Did he send you here?” Everyone knew that Kellan had been furious when Kierland had left Harrow House alone, arguing that his brother was taking too great a risk by staying in Prague by himself.
Wetting her lips, Morgan wondered how best to ease into what she had to say. “Not in so many words.”
He shot her a quick, hard glance. “Meaning?”
“Look.” She took a deep breath, and wrapped her hands around the strap of her seat belt. “There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to spill. Kellan has gone missing.”
Silence, and then his low, graveled rasp. “What do you mean ‘gone missing’? He’s in Norway, searching with Noah for the next Marker.”
Noah Winston was a human who had the rotten luck of carrying Casus blood in his veins—and it was bloodlines like Noah’s that were being used as “human hosts” for the Casus shades that escaped back to this world from Meridian, their name for the metaphysical holding ground where they had been imprisoned over a thousand years ago. Not wanting to end up being used as a “body suit” by the Casus, Noah had joined Kierland’s unit a few months ago, determined to help the Watchmen and the Merrick find a way to stop the monsters before it was too late.
Touch of Surrender Page 3