It wasn’t the first time Kierland had heard that sort of insult levied against the Watchmen and their rules of engagement, and it wouldn’t be the last. The highly trained shifters were never meant to interfere in the workings of the clans until their superiors said differently. They kept “watch” over the preternatural species and reported their findings, only acting when the Consortium ordered them to.
At least, that was how it was meant to work. The first time Kierland had broken the rules, Nicole had lost her life. His knee-jerk reaction had been to follow all future orders to the letter, to the point of obsession—until the Casus had returned and the Buchanans had needed his unit’s help. And ever since Kierland and his friends had chosen to act on their own orders, waging war against the Casus without the consent of the Consortium, the Lycan had found himself breaking one rule after another. It was as if a chain reaction had been set into motion, culminating in those intensely erotic moments a few hours ago.
Suddenly, the Consortium’s “golden boy” had become the biggest rule breaker of them all—not that Kierland would ever make such an admission to Granger. Instead, he curled his lip and muttered, “The rules that govern the Watchmen are there for a reason.”
“And are you really going to lecture me about obeying those pompous bastards?” Granger questioned in an easy drawl. “From what I hear, wolf, you’re no longer even on good terms with the grand ol’ Consortium.”
Kierland could have told him that the leaders now viewed him as a loose cannon that they couldn’t control, but held his tongue. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was make it sound like he and the vamp actually had something in common. “My unit’s fight against the Casus is nothing like your idea of vigilante justice, Granger, and you damn well know it.”
“Sticks and stones,” the vampire murmured, slanting him a wry smile as he lifted his dark brows. “And dare I ask what you’re doing here? I’ve been trying to figure out what could possibly be dire enough to bring you and Morgan together, then send you coming after me. But I’m completely at a loss.”
“We need a guide through the Wasteland,” Kierland said in a raw, muted voice.
The Deschanel cut him a hard, swift look, all traces of sarcasm and humor dulled by shock. “What the hell for?”
Rubbing at the tension knots in the back of his neck, Kierland explained about his brother’s plan to get captured by Westmore and taken to the Kraven’s hidden compound, so that he could rescue Chloe Harcourt. Ashe shook his head the instant Kierland mentioned Kell’s name, saying, “I should have known it had something to do with Kellan. No way in hell would Morgan risk something this insane unless someone she cared about was in trouble.”
Kierland grunted in response, his thoughts suddenly diverted by the strange realization that he hadn’t reacted to the Deschanel’s words with his customary possessive bite of jealousy. Two days ago, he’d have sworn that Morgan had, at some point in the past, been to bed with his brother, considering how close they were…and he’d have been wrong. She could have been lying all the times she’d told him that she and Kell had never been involved sexually, but for some illogical reason, Kierland actually believed her. He didn’t trust her worth a damn, but he believed her. He had no proof. No evidence. And yet, as strange as it was, his gut instincts told him that they hadn’t.
What was even stranger was the dawning discovery that even if they had screwed around together, Kierland would have still wanted her, and that thought was so bloody out of character for him that he wanted to retreat. Wanted to take ten steps back from the situation, from her, and give his mind the time to figure out what was happening to him.
Time, however, was something he didn’t have.
He and Granger made the last block of the walk in silence, until they reached the Whitney and took one of the side elevators up to Morgan’s room, avoiding any curious eyes in the hotel’s lobby. “Is she asleep?” Kierland asked, unable to see her face beneath the heavy fall of her hair, her body relaxed in the vampire’s arms.
“Barely,” Granger murmured. “So keep your voice low.”
It was impossible to conceal his worry as he asked, “Is this normal?”
Granger studied his expression with a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “She reacts this way sometimes,” he finally replied. “If the panic gets a strong enough hold on her, it pretty much wipes her out afterward.”
As they exited the elevator on the eleventh floor, Kierland took out the extra key they’d given him at check-in and opened the door to her room. Stalking toward the huge window on the far side of the room, he stared out over the glittering city, listening as Granger softly pushed the door closed behind him. The fiercely possessive animal inside him writhed with the urge to turn around and rip Morgan out of the vampire’s arms, but he locked himself in place, his every muscle coiled hard and tight with seething tension.
Stay cool. Calm. And whatever I do, I can’t let the bastard rile me.
Kierland exhaled a rough breath of air, the predator in him enraged by the presence of a rival male…while the man in him struggled to make sense of the madness in his head. Finally, he locked his jaw, forcing himself to turn around, and had to bite back a sharp snarl at the sight of Granger sitting on the bed, another one of those crooked, mocking smiles curving his mouth as he returned Kierland’s blistering stare.
The vamp sat with his back to the wooden headboard, Morgan’s lean body draped across his wide chest, the side of her face resting trustingly against his shoulder. In that moment, with jealousy and hatred and raw aggression searing through his system, scraping him raw, Kierland could have happily driven his fangs into the bastard’s throat without suffering a single moment of regret.
He didn’t want to think about how good they looked together. How right. But he couldn’t tear his gaze away, drawn to the sight of them the way a person’s eyes were drawn to something horrible, like a roadside accident. Their hair was nearly the same burnished brown, and though Morgan’s eyes were closed, Kierland knew they were almost the identical shade of gray as the vampire’s.
As he watched Granger run his hand over her silken hair, cuddling her against his chest, it was painfully obvious to Kierland that the vamp still wanted her. That he still cared.
Holding Kierland’s narrow stare, Granger spoke in a deep, quiet voice. “You’re not going to tell them about the panic attacks, are you?”
The question caught Kierland off guard, and it took him a moment before he said, “Tell who?”
“The Consortium.”
He slowly shook his head. “No, I’m not going to tell them. How often do they happen?”
“No idea,” the vampire admitted with a grimace, his touch gentle as he looked down and pushed the stray strands of hair from Morgan’s pale face. “She won’t tell me.”
Beginning to piece various fragments of the puzzle together, Kierland asked, “Is it because of the panic attacks that she wants to take the position on The Guard?”
A sharp nod, and Granger said, “She’s not going to find the protection work nearly as exciting as what she does now, but she’s looking forward to those wide-open spaces in Australia.”
“Why?” He ground out the question, stalking toward the foot of the bed, unable to stand still. “I mean, why does she have the attacks?”
The vampire slowly lifted his head, his expression mocking as he held Kierland’s burning stare. “What makes you think I know?” he asked in a laconic drawl, arching one of those dark brows again.
Kierland glared, a muscle ticking in his locked jaw, and the vampire sighed, saying, “Even if I wanted to tell you, wolf, it’s not my secret to share.”
“But she told you, didn’t she?” he demanded, digging his fingers into the top edge of the footboard.
Another crooked smile, and the vampire conceded, “Actually, she didn’t have much choice in the matter. I was determined to look after her. To be her friend when she needed one.” A pause, and then he softly added, “Unlik
e some people.”
The reins to Kierland’s control slipped a little further out of his reach, and the wood of the footboard groaned as his fingers tightened their grip. In a raw, stifled voice, he said, “At least she’s never had to fuck me for my help.”
Instead of flinching at the crude accusation, Granger lowered his head, a slight half smile curving his mouth as he pressed a tender kiss to her smooth forehead. “Actually,” he murmured, “you’ve never helped her at all. And I’ve always been willing to do anything Morgan wanted. All she’s ever needed to do is ask.”
“Is that right?” he snarled, no longer even sounding like a man.
Lifting his gaze, the vampire replied in a dry tone, “I’m going to lead your ass across the Wasteland, aren’t I? I should think that’s answer enough.”
“But when she came to you under the Consortium’s orders, you didn’t turn her down, did you?”
Granger slid him a laughing look. “No sane man would, I assure you. In fact, I’ve always wondered just where you found the willpower to keep your hands off her. It made me especially curious ten years ago, in light of the fact that you were so crazy about her.”
Kierland found it impossible to hide his involuntary flinch, then realized that he really wasn’t all that surprised that Granger had known how he’d felt about Morgan. It must have been obvious to anyone who had seen them together.
Granger shifted his focus toward the delicate bite wound on the side of Kierland’s throat, barely visible above the collar of his dress shirt. “I’ll tell you this, though,” the Deschanel added, the low words roughened with a deliberate note of warning. “She’s not always as tough as she pretends to be. Morgan needs loyalty. Not some jackass who’s just going to use her and then toss her aside like yesterday’s garbage.”
Shaking his head at the bastard’s audacity, he snapped, “If that’s true, then why did you crush her by breaking things off with her? She was in love with you, you son of a bitch.”
The vampire’s lashes lowered, concealing the look in his eyes. “Considering how you’ve treated her for the past decade,” he murmured, “I can’t help but wonder why you would even care.”
There was nothing that Kierland could say that wouldn’t bury his ass ten feet into trouble, so he changed the subject. “Are you really going to be able to do it?” he demanded in a gritty rasp, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “Actually get us across the Wasteland? Or is this just some macho ego crap you’ve fed to Morgan?”
Laughter danced in the vampire’s eyes, his smile cocky as he said, “You really don’t like me, do you, wolf? Is it because of what I had with Morgan?” Pulling her tighter against his chest, his voice lowered as he continued, “Or is it because of what I have with her now?”
“Just answer the damn question.”
“I can do it. It won’t be pretty, but I can get you across.”
For a moment, Kierland simply held Ashe’s stare. “You screw this up,” he finally warned in a quiet voice, “and there won’t be anything left of you when I’m finished.”
He turned then, heading for the door, unable to stomach the sight of Morgan in the vampire’s arms for another moment. He’d just pulled open the door, when Granger called out to him. “Just one more thing.”
Kierland looked over his shoulder, and in a soft voice, the vampire said, “Hurt her, and I’ll have you gutted before you even know what’s hit you.”
A slow, feral smile twisted the Lycan’s mouth. “I can’t tell you how much I’d love to see you try,” he shot back.
Then he stalked out of the room, determined to find a way to forget about the infuriating little Watchman wrapped up in his enemy’s arms.
THE SLAMMING OF THE DOOR brought Morgan back to a jarring, aching awareness, a low groan spilling from her lips as she lurched upright into a sitting position.
“Easy there, sweetheart. You’ve had a helluva night.”
Despite the lingering pains from her fight with the vampires, she managed a shaky smile. It was impossible not to love the sound of Ashe’s voice, the husky blend of Eastern European and cultured British dazzling her senses. “I’m okay now,” she told him, touched by the concern she could see tightening his beautiful eyes, the shadow of a beard darkening his jaw only accentuating his dangerous looks.
“You sure?” he pressed, using the sleeve of his cashmere sweater to dab at her bloodied nose, and she nodded in response, laying her cheek against his chest again. “What do you do when I’m not around?” he asked, his touch gentle as he pushed her hair from her face.
With a stiff shrug of her shoulders, Morgan gave him an honest answer. “I manage on my own.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” he muttered, running his hand down her back.
“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t be doing whatever it was you were doing in that club tonight,” she argued.
His chest shook beneath her cheek with breathless laughter, and Morgan could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Touché.”
“So, um, where’s Kierland?” she asked, trying to sound casual, though she knew the intuitive vamp could read her too easily.
“If I had to guess,” Ashe rumbled, playing with the ends of her hair, “I’d say he went downstairs to the bar after storming out of here. The wolf definitely looked like he could use a drink. Or three.”
Groaning, she pulled back so that she could look him in the face. “Did you fight with him?”
“Not yet,” he admitted, a lazy grin curving his lips. “But I relish the opportunity.”
“Men,” she muttered, her eyes narrowing as she noticed the dark shadows lurking beneath the vampire’s silver eyes. “What’s going on with you, Ashe?”
“Just the usual,” he responded too quickly, his arms locked in an easy hold around her waist. “Work’s been crazy. The Casus’s return has caused every kind of madness. Seems like all the psychos and megalomaniacs are coming out of the woodwork these days, eager for their slice of the power pie. If the Consortium doesn’t wise up, it’s going to find itself toppled before this thing is over.”
Crossing her arms over her chest, Morgan frowned. “I’m sure you’re right, but I think you’re involved in something that’s…more personal to you than work. Or maybe to your family. When Kierland and I went to Gideon’s apartment in Prague, someone had trashed it. Then I find you hanging out with those creeps tonight at that club, doing God only knows what.”
She could see his brain working as he decided how much to tell her, weighing it against how much to keep to himself, and then with a tired sigh, he said, “Yeah, we’ve got some family troubles, but it’s nothing that Gideon and I can’t handle.”
Watching him carefully, she asked, “Did you know that Gideon is working with Kierland?”
He answered with a nod, saying, “Gid told me the last time we talked.” His mouth twisted with a wry smile as he added, “I guess it just goes to show that taste doesn’t always run in the family.”
She wanted to know if Kierland had told him why they’d tracked him down, and Ashe told her that he had. “As grateful as I am for your help, I want you to promise me that you won’t start any fights on this trip,” she told him, her firm tone warning him that she meant business.
Curiosity smoldered in his eyes, but instead of giving her the third degree about her relationship with the sexy Lycan, he just grinned at her, stating, “You still love to boss me around, don’t you?”
“Promise me,” she persisted.
With a theatrical wince, he cursed under his breath. “Come on, Morgan. That’s just cruel.”
“I mean it, Ashe.”
“All right,” he groaned, pulling a face. “I promise. But you’re no fun, lady.”
“Tell me about it.” Sighing, Morgan leaned down, pressing the side of her face against his chest, and smiled at the heavy thumping of his heart—just one more thing that the human folklore had gotten so wrong about Ashe’s species. “Was Kierland mad when he left?” she asked in a q
uiet voice, remembering how the Lycan had looked when she’d instinctively thrown herself into Ashe’s arms.
A low, rugged laugh, and he answered, “He glared at me like he wanted to rip my head off, but he wasn’t mad at you, sweetheart. To be honest, he seemed worried as hell every time he looked at you. As well as confused.” A pause, and then he quietly continued, “I take it you haven’t told him about what happened to you with the rogues.”
Sinking her teeth into her lower lip, Morgan shook her head. “I can’t,” she rasped, the husky words scratching her throat. “I don’t want him to know about the past, Ashe.”
“Why not?” They were gentle words, without any judgment or criticism, but she knew from past conversations that Ashe didn’t agree with her.
“Because it wouldn’t make any difference now,” she told him, thinking about the situation. There was something odd about Kierland’s actions that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. If he was using her to get back at Ashe, like she’d accused him of wanting to do before they’d slept together, then why had the stubborn Lycan left her in the comfort of the vampire’s arms? Why hadn’t he used the opportunity to create a scene?
Morgan was still mulling over the question, when Ashe said, “So, you finally slept with him.”
Her body jolted with surprise, an unsettling mixture of shock and hurt instantly ripping through her system as her brain zinged to the logical conclusion. “He told you that?” she choked out.
“No, he didn’t say anything, honey. But…I can tell.”
A piercing wave of relief made her light-headed, and she buried her face against his chest. “You’re crazy, Ashe. Especially if you think I’m going anywhere near that subject with you.”
“You can’t lie to me, angel.” His hand moved to her hair, stroking its length. There was nothing sexual in the soothing touch. It was simply comfort…caring. “I know you too well.”
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