Savage Transformation: Savage Australia, Book 2

by Lexxie Couper

  Especially since Einar’s “retirement”.

  The dark thought extinguished the rising heat in Marshall’s body and he clenched his jaw. His ex-partner was never long from his mind. Nor were the man’s actions since P.A.C. had “let” him go. Daeved Einar’s activities were not only thoroughly documented by the Paranormal Anti-Crime Unit, they were classified security-level red.

  That he’d contributed to Einar’s freedom was an atrocity he could never forget.

  “Who has my friend?”

  Jackie Huddart’s low growl snapped Marshall’s mind from his ex-partner with a start, a part of him disturbingly pleased that she no longer assumed he was a part of Delanie’s abduction.

  But if she really knew…

  He focused his gaze and his senses on the woman standing before him. The fingers of her right hand were wriggling. What did that mean?

  You will have the time to figure that out. If she falls for this next bit.

  “I can’t tell you that, darlin’.”

  “You can tell me who took her, or I can arrest your arse and charge you with aiding and abetting an abduction.” Her eyes flashed gold fire. “Or I can snap your neck and leave you here on the side of the road. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re not really in a busy part of town. It’s after work hours on a Friday. No one will find your body for over forty-eight hours.”

  The pit of Marshall gut tightened. His inner beast growled. He studied her, weighing his options. He needed her. She, on the other hand, didn’t need him at all. She’d find Delanie McKenzie without his aid, of that he had little doubt. But she wasn’t expecting someone like Einar waiting for her when she found Delanie. She wasn’t expecting to walk into a trap. A trap Marshall had a certain amount of responsibility for.

  Ha, that’s an understatement.

  The idea of Jackie getting hurt had become inconceivable the moment her eyes connected with his. The moment she’d regarded him with steely, confronting strength when inside he knew she must be broken with worry and fear. He couldn’t let her walk into Einar’s trap unprepared. Besides which, he couldn’t ignore the fact his best chance at catching Einar was still by Jackie’s side. Staying near her and remaining undetected hadn’t worked. All it had achieved was an ache in his groin that wouldn’t quit and a guilt in his soul that wouldn’t leave him. It was time to try something new.

  Just pray to God you’re not fucking it up even more, Rourke.

  “I can’t tell you who took her, detective,” he said, emphasizing her rank. “But you need to believe me when I say the person who has taken Delanie will have her skinned and gutted before the cops can even think about putting out an APB.” He paused. “Or before my body begins to rot, if that’s the path you chose to follow.”

  The brutal description of her friend’s possible fate drained the blood from Jackie’s face. The first true reaction he’d elicited from her.

  “I can help you, detective,” he hurried, before her terror overrode what little control she still held. “I am here to help you. I know the MO of Delanie’s abductor and I want to help you get her back.”

  Her jaw bunched and she stepped toward him, closing the small distance he’d left between them. He wished she hadn’t. Her unique scent, unlike any he’d tasted before, filled his breath, and his balls, already heavy with a carnal interest, grew heavier. Oh, boy, he hadn’t counted on this at all.

  “Who are you, Mister Rourke?” Her heat folded around him, a thrumming contradiction to the icy rage in her eyes. “If I’m to trust my best friend’s life to your oh-so-mysterious hands, at least tell me who you are.”

  He looked down into her face. A gentle wind blew at her hair, lifting the burnished chestnut curtain from her temples, and his chest squeezed. This close he could see the faint smattering of freckles across her nose. This close he could see the gold chips in her eyes. This close he could see the fine bone structure of her skull, the soft fullness of her lips.

  This close his inner beast could feel the ancient croi of her inner animal.

  Feel and crave.

  Damn it, he needed to get himself under control. Now. “I’m no threat to you. That’s all I can tell you.” It was a lie—he was a threat. At least, what he was doing threatened her life, but he couldn’t think about that now.

  She studied him; face expressionless, eyes conflicted. She wanted to tell him to go to hell, but the fate of her friend held her tongue. The fingers of her right hand wriggled. “You have exactly thirty minutes to ‘help me’ find my friend. After that I will call the cops.” She paused. “Or snap your neck.”

  Again, his inner dire wolf reacted to her—a deep, base reaction. It wanted her. It wanted to mate with her.

  And so does your inner man, Rourke. Fess up.

  A sudden lump filled his throat and he swallowed. He did. She was sexy. Sexy on every level. Dangerous sexy, feisty sexy, gorgeous sexy, petite sexy, determined sexy, animalistic sexy. He was attracted to her already. Wanted to taste her sweat, her sex, her cream. Wanted to feel her body move under his as his fingers entwined with hers. Wanted to look into her face while one orgasm after another claimed her. Wanted to ride each wave with her until they were both drained. Damn, as clichéd as it was, he’d never felt like this before.

  Which made lying to her now all the more problematic.

  “Thirty minutes,” he said, holding his hand up as if taking the Pledge of Allegiance. “And it’s Marshall.”

  Jackie didn’t say a word. Just looked at him, poker face firmly in place. Yet her fingers were no longer wriggling. Which meant something, he just didn’t know what. Yet.

  He held out his arm, turning to his left as he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring, trust-me-I’m-the-good-guy smile. “My chariot’s this way. It will get us to Delanie faster than your legs.”

  Still not a word in response. But she began to walk in the direction he indicated.

  He grinned behind her back.

  All right, P.A.C. Unit Special Agent Rourke. You’ve got her. She’s with you. Now do what you came here for. Before she discovers just what that really is.

  What are you doing? Are you insane?

  The questions punched through Jackie’s head—incredulous and accusatory. She suppressed the urge to fidget in her seat, staring fixedly at the road before her instead of looking at the man behind the Audi’s leather-bound steering wheel.

  Marshall Rourke directed the luxurious car through the quiet streets of the industrial area of St. Helens, the deepening dusk sky turning his face into a mask of shadows. He kept shooting her sideways glances, as if waiting for her to do or say something. He was on edge. She could detect it in the minute tension of his muscles. She did nothing to ease his current state. There was nothing about the situation she liked, no matter how quick and ardent her physical reaction to the man was. Finding Delanie was all that mattered. Besides, her sexual response to Rourke had little to do with the way he looked and everything to do with her stupid thylacine/human cycle. Of all the time to come on heat.

  She curled her fingers into tight fists, driving her short, no-nonsense, cop fingernails into the centre of her palms. God, she wished she had her gun. That she was relying on a complete stranger to take her to her abducted friend made her antsy. Was she doing it because she was coming on heat?

  She shot Rourke a quick look. No. Not because of her mutated human/thylacine cycle—although heaven help her if she got a whiff of the man’s blood. As mysterious as he was, something about him made her feel, of all things, safe.

  Which made no sense at all.

  She pressed her nails harder to her palms. He knew what she was, he knew what Declan O’Connell was, he knew who Delanie was, he’d been following her since she landed in Launceston, and who knows for how much longer before that, and yet when her eyes made contact with his, she felt her animal relax. Even as a wicked sexual hunger made it stretch and preen and strain for release.

  Jackie bit back a snort of disgust. This was why she’d sto
pped listening to the creature—raw instincts alone didn’t make for a smooth existence. Just a confusing one.

  She stared at the road illuminated by the fading sun and streetlights only just flickering to life. The wind from the car’s open windows whipped into the cabin, playing with her hair and filling every breath she took with Delanie’s scent.

  At least you know he’s taking you to Del. He’d not lying about that. If he wasn’t you’d have to incapacitate him.

  Flicking Rourke another look, she suppressed a sharp sigh. Incapacitating him may not be as easy the second time round. She’d caught him unawares back on the roadside, but something about the straight set to his shoulders, the coiled strength in his biceps told her that was unlikely to happen again.

  There you go, checking out his muscles again.

  Jackie ground her teeth. Damn it, she was insane.

  “Do you always growl under your breath when in a car, or is this just a one-time thing?”

  Rourke’s drawl made her start and she glared at him. Growling? Again? She was closer to losing control of her thylacine than she thought.

  White teeth flashed in the muted glow from the Audi’s dashboard. Grinning. He was grinning at her.

  “I know you want to ask me a ton of questions,” he went on, the grin on his lips echoed in the tone of his voice. “Hit me with one and I’ll see if I can answer it.”

  Jackie narrowed her eyes. “Why are you so glib? Is it a defense mechanism?”

  “I’m not glib. I’m sardonic.”

  “Ah, and that is so much better.” Her fingers wriggled before she could stop them. “You want questions? Let’s start with the obvious. Who are you? Who has Delanie? How do you know? And why do you want to help me?”

  A low chuckle floated through the cabin. “That’s alotta questions, darlin’. I guess I did ask you to hit me.”

  Jackie gave him a cool smile. “Trust me, if I hit you, you’re not making lame jokes afterwards.”

  Rourke chuckled again. “And here I was trying to break the ice, and you’re thinking about breaking my head.”

  As infuriated and worried as Jackie was, she couldn’t stop her smile twitching into a reluctant grin. “Not your head,” she said. “Your ambiguity.”

  “I’m sorry. If I could answer those questions I would. It would make you trusting me so much easier.”

  Jackie cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, I’m all for trust in this relationship. Oh, wait a minute, we don’t have a relationship. We have a situation. You stalk me, my best friend goes missing, I kick your arse, you take me to her. That’s our situation.”

  He hissed in a long breath. “Damn, darlin’. That’s cold.”

  “No, that’s the truth. Which is exactly not what I’m getting from you.”

  Silence followed her blunt statement, and the darkening shadows in the car’s cabin hiding his expression.

  She twisted in her seat, staring hard at him. “Who has taken Delanie?”

  Another silence filled the Audi, before Rourke let out a sharp breath. “An enemy.”

  “Whose enemy? Mine?”

  Rourke kept his stare on the road. “No. Yes.” He made a face. “It’s complicated, darlin’.”

  Jackie clenched her jaw. “Try me.”

  He didn’t respond for a moment. Jackie studied his profile. High forehead, long, strong nose, blonde bristles not even coming close to taking the smooth perfection off his square jaw.

  Perfection? Is that your damn thylacine libido talking or you?

  “Someone wants something from you. Your friend unfortunately has been caught up in the trap.”

  His statement turned the twisting heat in the pit of her belly to a cold knot. “Someone? Who? And what?”

  Rourke shook his head. “It’s better I don’t answer those.”

  “Better for who? You? Me? This mysterious someone?”

  He shot her a quick look, the dashboard light catching in his eyes for a split second, turning them to twin silver discs. “You.”

  The tone of his voice—flat, serious—made Jackie’s stomach clench. She swallowed, not liking the sensation at all. “Okay,” she said, staring at the side of his face. She wished he’d look at her. She wanted see his eyes again. She wanted to gage his reaction to what she was about to say. “Seeing as you’re reluctant to share information, let me tell you what I know about you already.”

  His eyebrows dipped into a brief frown and his jaw bunched. “Okay, darlin’.” He inclined his head a fraction in a shallow nod. “Give it your best shot.”

  “You’re not a cop, but you’ve had training of some sort, possibly military, most likely government funded. You move like you are constantly prepared to attack or be attacked. You didn’t like being bested back in the street, but there was a part of you that was impressed. Secrets are second nature to you. You try to pretend you’re laughing at what’s going on around you, but you are really observing every little detail. You catalogue everything you see for future use, either as a weapon or as a weakness. Your right arm moves slightly farther from your body than your left, meaning you are used to a holster being under your right armpit. This makes you left-handed, another trait you try hard to conceal by doing most things with your right—removing your sunglasses, scratching your nose, adjusting your shirt. But when you do something with your left hand the action is more fluid, less contemplated. You have a callous on your left thumb pad from years of cocking the safety on a gun. The indent on the inside of your middle left finger indicates your new weapon—most likely a Glock—is heavier than your old one. You’ve spent many hours at a firing range, and you tend to squint slightly with your left eye when you take aim.” She cocked her head to the side. “You should do something about those wrinkles before you lose your Texan good looks.”

  She paused, noting with a perverse sense of satisfaction the white tightness of his knuckles on the wheel and the balled muscles in his jaw.

  “You’re older than you look, but not by much—maybe mid-thirties. You give off no scent whatsoever, which I have to admit, both irks and intrigues me, and you know what I am, which leads me to consider you yourself are not strictly human.” She paused again, her throat tight at the fact.

  If he was not human, what was he? Shifter? Demon? Or something else?

  Rourke didn’t say a word. Silence stretched between them as the Audi ate up the road.

  Jackie cocked her eyebrow again. “How did I do?”

  “You did very well.”

  She smiled at the begrudging compliment.

  “Except I’m in my late thirties, thirty eight to be exact.” He gave her a crocked grin. “In human years, that is.”

  Jackie’s chest grew heavy. “What are you?”

  He shook his head. “That’s irrelevant to our situation.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Our situation still is in a state of ambiguity.”

  He chuckled. “No, our situation is just as you stated. I stalked you, your best friend went missing, you kicked my butt and I’m helping you save her.” He gave her another grin, this one not so lop-sided and way more mischievous. “Oh, wait, there’s a new element. You think I’m good looking.”

  Jackie stared at him. After all that, the one thing he latched onto was a throwaway line about his looks?

  A throwaway line completely unnecessary to proving your point.

  She bit back a muttered curse. This was getting her nowhere. Except closer to a headache she didn’t need and a state of interest she didn’t want. She had to focus on Delanie. “I’ve had enough of the word games, Rourke,” she snapped. “Who the hell are you, who the hell has Delanie and what do they want from me?”

  His grin disappeared and he turned his attention back to the road. “I’m the man here with you now, not the man holding your friend. Remember that.”

  Jackie shook her head. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”

  “It means,” he answered, directing the car into an abrupt right turn, “things are about to get n
asty.”

  The Audi jolted to a sudden halt, the tires biting into what sounded like gravel seconds before Rourke released his seatbelt, flung open his door and leapt from the car.

  Jackie blinked, snatching her stare from the man’s empty seat. She looked out the window, the abrupt change in their “situation” making her chest tight and her pulse rapid.

  What were they doing at the abandoned St. Helen’s greyhound-racing track?

  Is this where Delanie was?

  The realization she was still sitting in Rourke’s rental while the Texan stood looking at her from the Audi’s grill smacked into her like an open palm. With a low snarl, she yanked her seatbelt off and shoved open her door, cheeks filling with disgusted shame.

  She moved on silent feet to stand beside the man professing to be Delanie’s only hope, wishing she had her gun more than ever. Her gun would not only help with whatever waited for them inside the racing grounds, but its solid steel weight and texture would keep her animal in check.

  She didn’t want to transform. Whatever went down behind the high, corrugated fence surrounding the track and derelict buildings, she didn’t want to transform. Not unless Delanie’s life depended on it. No matter what her animal and her body were trying to tell her about the mysterious Marshall Rourke, she didn’t trust him. Not enough to let him see her shift.

  Rourke leant at his hip to bring his lips even with her temple. “This is it, Detective Huddart.”

  She studied the dilapidated fence before her, the dying sunlight turning the rusted metal a dark old-blood black. Somewhere on the other side was Delanie. Lifting her chin a little, she drew in a deep breath.

  The acrid stench of ancient dog piss, beer, excrement and rabbit threaded into her lungs, drowning out Del’s scent. She curled her lip. The St. Helens’ dog track had closed down years ago, but the remains of its purpose lingered in the soil—death and sweat and drinking. Dog’s trained to run faster than any other, petrified rabbits used to frenzy them before a race, owners and gamblers alike drinking excessive amounts of alcohol as the greyhounds ran themselves almost to death chasing a lump of metal doused in rabbit urine. Mankind at its finest. It was the perfect place to hide from someone capable of tracking by scent.