Touch of Surrender

by Rhyannon Byrd

  While the guards hauled a shouting Micah Sabin to his feet, Juliana came over and thanked them, apologizing for her brother’s behavior.

  “Have you heard any news of a high-security compound in the Wasteland?” Morgan asked her. “One being used by the Kraven?”

  “I’ve heard there’s a Kraven who paid good money for the use of the Carringtons’ land.”

  “Christ,” Granger muttered, his expression grim.

  “What is it?” Kierland demanded.

  “The Carringtons are a marked nest.”

  Morgan lifted her brows. “What’s that mean?”

  “Rumor has it that they poisoned themselves by drinking the blood of innocents, draining them dry. Unlike Micah, the poison they suffer from can be passed on to their victims. Which means that traveling through their lands is going to be dangerous as hell. For Kellan and for us.” Cutting a dark look toward Juliana, he said, “Do you know where the compound is?”

  “I’m afraid not,” she murmured. “The Carringtons have claimed thousands of acres as their own, stealing it from others. There’s no telling where the compound is hidden.”

  “Come on,” Granger rasped, jerking his chin toward Morgan. “We need to get going. No way in hell am I camping here for the night.”

  “There’s a cabin in the east region of our land. You can stay there for the night, if you’d like,” Juliana told them, her long hair streaming over her thin shoulders as she turned to watch her guards carrying her struggling brother from the clearing, her profile etched with strain. When they disappeared into the thick forest, she turned her gaze back to Granger. “The cabin is actually protected by a spell, so you’ll be safe there.”

  “Thank you,” Morgan murmured, and Juliana quickly told them the directions.

  Eyeing the female vampire with a wary gaze, Granger asked, “Is there a password to cross the threshold?”

  She nodded. “Yes, and it should be easy to remember. Just keep in mind that it’s something we have very little of here in the Wasteland.”

  “Sunlight?” Morgan guessed, shivering as a gust of wind swept through the shadowed clearing.

  Juliana shook her head, a sad smile tucked into the corners of her mouth as she told them the magic word. “Peace.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Tuesday night

  THOUGH MORGAN WASN’T entirely certain they could trust Juliana Sabin, she was beyond thankful for the use of the Deschanel’s cabin. She needed a respite from the cold. Needed to feel warm, if only for a handful of hours, and the fire Kierland had started in the hearth already had delicious waves of slow melting heat spreading through the rustic room.

  The Wasteland, Morgan had decided earlier that day, was even worse than she’d imagined it would be. You could literally feel the heaviness of the air there, the weight of the spell that entrapped the exiled Deschanel nests, like the Sabins, hanging over the land like a heavy shroud. She’d wondered, as they’d sat around the cabin’s small table with their dinner of sandwiches and chips, if that was why Monica Harcourt hadn’t been able to tell them that her sister was being held there. Perhaps the spell that protected the Wasteland was even strong enough to keep out a ghost.

  The Watchman was still lost in her thoughts, worrying about Kellan and what the coming days would bring, when the door to the small bathroom on the other side of the cabin opened. Without turning away from her spot at the window, she listened as Kierland spoke to Ashe, who was resting in a chair by the fire, telling him it was his turn to clean up. There obviously wasn’t any hot water on tap, but they’d been able to heat some buckets of fresh water on the fire and use them for sponge baths. Morgan had gone first, her hair still damp from its recent washing, her body now covered in sweatpants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. She’d chosen comfort clothes, since they were planning to make use of the cabin’s beds and rest for a few hours. Though there was a double bed behind her, placed close to the hearth, a doorway next to the bathroom led to a small bedroom that housed another bed, that one a single.

  The second Ashe shut the bathroom door, Kierland came up behind her, close enough that she could feel the feverish heat of his body blasting against her. She’d been staring up at the silver moon rising in the sky, and wanted to stay lost in its peacefulness, but knew he was waiting for her to turn around. As she lowered her gaze, she could see the reflection of his gorgeous face and broad shoulders in the window’s frosted surface, his larger frame towering over her.

  “I heard you and Granger talking on the way to the cabin.” His voice was a low, provocative scrape of sound. “About the last woman he was dating. Some dancer in Paris.”

  Morgan lifted her brows, as if to say “And?”

  Rolling one shoulder in a restless gesture, his tone held an edge of impatience as he said, “Doesn’t that make you jealous? Hearing about him and another woman?”

  “Not at all,” she replied, keeping her voice soft, neutral. “But I worry for him. He deserves happiness. Someone who will love him for who he is. Not an endless stream of bimbos who just use him because he’s beautiful.”

  “He’s not that bloody beautiful,” he muttered with a heavy dose of disgust, curling his lip.

  She smiled at his dry tone, but the smile fell as he ground out his next question. “What the hell did you ever see in the cocky bastard?”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she glared at his reflection through narrowed eyes. “I don’t owe you an explanation, but let’s just say that he was there when I needed him. If anything, I feel badly for Ashe. I used him when we were together just as much as you’re using me.”

  His eyes darkened with questions and confusion, as if he could tell she wasn’t talking about those infuriating orders he thought she’d followed. “What do you mean, you were using him?”

  Shaking her head, she gave a weary sigh. “Do you really not know, Kier?”

  “If I knew, damn it, I wouldn’t have asked.” A frustrated burst of words, punching against the quiet of the room, and Morgan flinched from their bruising force.

  “Just forget it,” she whispered, lowering her gaze until she found herself staring into her own weary, worried eyes. “It’s not important, anyway. And I’m getting pretty tired of your mercurial mood swings, so I think I’ll pass on this conversation, fun as it is.”

  Silence, so heavy and thick she could feel its weight draped across her shoulders…and then his slow, guttural rasp. “Yeah, well, at any rate, I’m sure Granger didn’t mind being used. Not when screwing you was part of the bargain.”

  Trying to hold on to her temper, she took a deep breath, filling her lungs with the provocative, primal blend of burning wood and Kierland’s own rich, mouthwatering scent—but it didn’t work. Instead, she watched as her mouth curled with a slow smile, her words deceptively soft as she said, “Hmm, you’re probably right, Kier. In fact, now that I think about it, he was awfully thankful for my virginity.”

  He jerked with a hard shudder, as if he’d been dealt some kind of blow, then went completely rigid, not even breathing. A second passed…and then another, and then a rough sound vibrated in the back of his throat, and he turned away from her. Looking over her shoulder, Morgan watched him quickly pull on his boots and jacket, before slamming out of the cabin.

  A moment later, she could hear the sounds of destruction ripping through the forest, and knew the Lycan was taking out his need for violence on some unsuspecting tree, no doubt damaging his hands in the process. The Kierland she’d always known had been too controlled, too disciplined, for such a Neanderthal-type reaction, and she could only shake her head in amazement, shocked that she’d been able to get to him so easily.

  Then again, maybe his violent reaction didn’t really have anything to do with her. He had to be worried sick about his brother, as well as his friends back in England. Not to mention the danger surrounding them in the Wasteland. It could have been a whole combination of things, which meant she would be foolish to make too much of it.


  God, she didn’t even know why they’d been fighting.

  “Whoa, honey. What’d you do to the wolf?” Ashe suddenly drawled near her ear, making her jump about a foot in the air. Pressing one hand to her chest, over her pounding heart, Morgan turned around, smacking her other hand against his shoulder.

  “Damn it, Ashe. Don’t do that!”

  “Do what?” he asked with a lazy, innocent blink, though she could see the laughter lurking in his silver eyes.

  “Don’t sneak up on me like that. I swear you float over the ground like a ghost.” For such a big, muscular male, Ashe had always moved with an effortless grace that was common among the Deschanel.

  “You gonna answer my question?” he murmured, moving to her side so that he could prop his shoulder against the wall. He jerked his chin toward the window. “It sounds like he’s trying to kill something out there.”

  Crossing her arms over her middle, Morgan explained that she’d said something to tick Kierland off…and he’d left.

  Ashe hooked his thumbs in his pockets and playfully waggled his dark brows, his gorgeous mouth curved in a teasing smile. “If you really wanna drive him crazy, we could always jump into bed together.”

  She laughed, knowing he was only joking. They hadn’t slept together in a decade, since the end of their brief affair, and she knew they never would again. After the long, intense years of friendship, it would have been like sleeping with her brother. “You get a real kick outta pushing his buttons, don’t you?”

  The vampire’s response was almost painfully dry. “Seeing as how he’d love nothing more than to dismember me, I think a little button pushing is only fair.”

  “I seem to recall you having that effect on a lot of people,” she murmured, arching her brow.

  “What can I say?” His mouth curled with a slow, cocky smile. “It’s a talent I’ve spent decades perfecting.”

  “I meant to ask you before,” she said, changing the subject, “did you manage to get in touch with Gideon before we entered the Wasteland?”

  He shook his head, his expression revealing his concern. “I couldn’t get through to him, but I left a message for him with one of our cousins.”

  “I hope he’s okay.”

  He sighed, saying that he did, too, then asked, “So seriously, what’s the deal with the Big Bad Wolf?”

  “There is no deal,” she said flatly. “At least, not one I should want to be a part of. Like I told you last night, he’s just using me.”

  Instead of agreeing with her, Ashe surprised her by saying, “You sure about that?”

  Morgan snorted. “Pretty sure.” The edges of her words were rough with frustration. “He just doesn’t like to share his toys.”

  Watching her closely, he offered, “You know, angel. It could be that his jealousy is born from something deeper.”

  “Not likely,” she scoffed, knowing it would be emotional suicide if she allowed herself even the slightest shred of hope.

  “Make as many arguments as you like, but I’m right about the wolf. He wants you.”

  “And you’re starting to sound like a know-it-all,” she muttered, slanting him a disgruntled look.

  “It’s a tough job,” he drawled with a lopsided grin, “but someone has to have all the answers. Just think about what I said, Morgan. Because when a man chooses to fight against a psychopath like Sabin, I don’t care what he might say. It sure as hell means something.”

  She rubbed her hands against her upper arms. “God. Just whose side are you on, anyway?”

  He leaned forward to press a tender kiss against her forehead. “Yours, sweetheart. Always yours.” Then he straightened and turned to walk away.

  “Where are you going?” she asked, gripping his arm.

  Ashe jerked his chin toward the door. “He’ll be coming back soon. I’m going to make myself scarce.”

  “That’s not necessary,” she protested, but he lifted his hand, gently placing his fingers across her lips.

  “Shh. Let’s not waste time arguing, because I know my limits.” A quick, crooked smile touched the corner of his mouth. “I’m afraid listening to you and the wolf might be more than I can stomach.”

  Grasping his wrist, Morgan pulled his fingers from her face, determined to protest his decision. “But that’s hardly fair, Ashe. You hate the cold.”

  “I won’t stay out too long. In an hour or so, I can climb through the window into the other bedroom and catch some sleep. And hell, it’s not like the cold will kill me.”

  “You are so impossible sometimes,” she breathed out, suddenly realizing that she was actually worried about being left alone with Kierland. Not because he scared her—but because of her desperate longing to find something in him that simply wasn’t there.

  “And just so you know,” Ashe told her, pushing a lock of hair back from her face. “I’m willing to give him a chance to prove himself, for your sake. But if he hurts you, I’m killing him. No arguments. He’s a dead man.”

  The sound of the door being jerked open made her jump, and she stiffened, her face burning from the force of Kierland’s gaze as he came back into the cabin. Morgan didn’t need to look at him to know he was glaring at her and Ashe.

  The Watchman didn’t say anything as the door slammed shut behind him. He just walked across the wood-planked floor, coming to a stop in front of the roaring fire in the hearth, his back to the room. But his silence spoke volumes.

  Ashe took hold of her upper arms and gave her a gentle squeeze as he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek. Then he gave her one of those slow melting smiles that would have made most women weak in the knees, and turned away, silently making his way out of the cabin.

  Okay, she thought, pressing one hand to her hammering heart as she turned to look at Kierland. Let’s see what you’ve got.

  He still stood there facing the crackling flames of the fire, but now he leaned forward a little, his freshly scraped hands braced against the heavy mantle, long fingers digging into the dark wood. As she ran her gaze up the mouthwatering lines of his body, across the powerful shape of his broad, heavily muscled shoulders, Morgan couldn’t help but remember how he’d fought for her just hours before. He’d been every bit the primal, savage warrior, his muscle-ripped body moving with the sleek, deadly grace of a powerful predator—which was exactly what he was—and it reminded her of how he’d moved when he’d been inside her. Although the ache that lingered in the intimate parts of her body had finally begun to fade, the memory still burned in her mind, making her restless…making her crave.

  Clearing her throat, she swallowed a mouthful of nerves and carefully said, “I’d like to start over, if we can, and tell you that I’m sorry…about this afternoon. That you had to—”

  “It wasn’t your fault, so there’s no need to apologize.” He turned around, locking his gaze with hers, the look in his heavy-lidded eyes one of animalistic lust and aggression. “Where are you sleeping tonight?” he asked her, the rough, husky words slipping deliciously across her skin, leaving a wave of shivery sensation in their wake.

  Morgan pulled her lower lip through her teeth, sucking in a deep breath through her nose. “I don’t understand.”

  “I think you do.” Soft, almost silent words, his eyes smoldering with an unearthly fire that made her pulse race, the frenzied sound rushing in her ears.

  “You’re still jealous, aren’t you?” she whispered, wetting her lips. “Even though I keep telling you that there’s no reason to be.”

  “What I am is starving.” His big, battle-bruised hands twitched at his sides, his long beautiful body backlit by the flickering orange glow of the flames. “I have been all goddamn day. So make your choice.”

  “There’s no choice to make, Kier.” She lifted her chin, and took a step closer to him. “I’m staying here. With you.”

  For a moment, all he did was stand there, watching her with those predatory eyes, the long lines of muscle and sinew in his magnificent physique strai
ning against the confines of his clothing. She started to tremble, the fine vibration shivering under her skin, and the fire in his eyes burned brighter. “If you want to keep your clothes in one piece,” he growled in a low, guttural rasp, “then get them off. Now.”

  With shaking fingers, Morgan pulled the T-shirt over her head and walked toward him. But instead of putting her arms around his shoulders, she dropped down to her knees, and knew she’d shocked the hell out of him at the swift, indrawn sound of his breath.

  She’d never seen his eyes as green as they were in that moment, the flickering light from the fire gleaming on the wine-dark strands of his thick, unruly hair. In a voice that sounded like churning gravel, he said, “What the hell are you doing?”

  “You don’t have to be jealous anymore,” she whispered, reaching up and pressing her palm over the hard, heavy length of his cock. “You’re the only man that I want.”

  She leaned forward, scraping her teeth along that massive ridge constrained beneath tight denim, and a raw, fractured groan of pleasure tore from his throat, the erotic sound the sexiest thing she’d ever heard. His head fell back, his breathing loud…uneven, while his intoxicating scent grew warmer, drugging her senses.

  “Morgan.”

  She’d never heard her name growled with so much longing…so much need, and her own breath became choppy as she shoved the denim and cotton boxers down his lean hips, and then he was there, surging from that dark patch of hair, more brutal and beautiful than any man had the right to be.

  His breathing was ragged, the powerful muscles in his rigid thighs hard with tension, the air heavy with a sharp, seductive weight of anticipation. She could have played the tease, making him wait, but she was too desperate for his taste. There was far too much of him to fit in her mouth, but with a low moan of pleasure vibrating in her throat, Morgan took as much as she could, loving the salty heat of him, his sharp male energy blasting against her, hot on her face. With her hands wrapped around the broad base of his shaft, she licked and suckled, greedy for as much of him as she could take. In that moment, the only thoughts surging through her pleasure-dazed mind were of need and want and aching desire. Every voluptuous pull of her mouth on his hard, pulsing shaft was the answer to some burning question inside her heart. She needed his taste and his heat and his pleasure like she needed her next breath.