Primal Hunger: Pendragon Gargoyles, Book 1

by Sydney Somers

  He spared her a sharp glance, but said nothing. She hovered over his shoulder, watching him check caps and fluid levels. She was opening her mouth to point out that she had known enough to check the obvious, when he straightened abruptly and pivoted on his heel, knocking into her.

  Kennedy clutched the front of him to steady herself, her grip on his T-shirt seeming to drag him even closer. Too close. Heat radiated from him and his rich masculine scent overwhelmed her senses. She studied the strong column of his neck—she didn’t dare meet his gaze—thinking she’d like to press her mouth to the small scar where his neck met his shoulder.

  His muscles tightened beneath her hand and a soft sound, almost a growl, rumbled in his chest. Then he moved past her, sliding behind the wheel of her car as though she hadn’t been a heartbeat from crossing the line. And running her tongue up his throat to meet his mouth definitely would have qualified.

  As if she hadn’t already pushed her luck with him tonight.

  Kennedy closed her eyes, leaned her forehead against the edge of the propped-up hood. If this kept up, she was seriously going to have to consider looking for a new job.

  Drawing one more steadying, get-over-him-already breath, she edged around to the driver’s side. No matter how many times Tristan cranked the ignition, the engine didn’t turn over. An expression that bordered on desperation furrowed his brows.

  He didn’t look at her when he climbed out, slamming the door behind him.

  “If I’m keeping you from something or someone…” She trailed off, thinking of the slinky redhead she’d noticed him with earlier.

  “You’re not.” His annoyed tone suggested otherwise.

  “Look, if your cell is working I can just call a tow truck and you can be on your way.”

  He turned around quickly, scanning the area for something. “Yours isn’t working?”

  She shook her head. “No signal.”

  He pulled his phone out of his pocket, tearing his gaze from across the street long enough to check the screen. He tilted the phone up as though it would suddenly capture whatever waves the damn things transmitted on.

  “No reception either, huh?”

  Shaking his head, he shoved the phone back in his pocket. He propped one hand on the edge of the hood, his expression wary.

  Kennedy turned to follow his gaze, a chill darting up her spine as she searched the dark street behind her.

  “I’ll give you a lift home.”

  She wouldn’t have objected if he hadn’t sounded as though he’d rather lie down in the middle of the street and wait for the next car to run him over. “You know—”she reached into her car and grabbed her purse, “—I think I’ll just walk back to work and catch a ride with one of the girls.”

  “Everyone’s gone already.”

  She frowned. “Even Cale?” She swore the man slept at the bar most nights.

  Tristan scowled. “My brother had plans. I’ll take you.” He didn’t wait for her to agree before opening the BMW’s passenger door.

  Knowing she’d be stupid to refuse a second time, especially when the sensation of being watched continued to linger, she locked her car and joined him. The lowered roof gave her an uncompromised view of the convertible’s expensive interior. Still, she hesitated to slip into the black leather seat that looked soft enough to melt beneath her.

  She turned her head in Tristan’s direction, disturbed to find him standing closer than she’d realized. Close enough that his thigh brushed hers, forcing her to tip her head back to meet his eyes. She might not have a water hose pointed at him now, but the fierce gaze he pinned her with made her wish she did.

  He planted an arm on the car behind her, blocking her in. In case she changed her mind?

  He leaned forward, and her pulse jumped as his rough jaw whispered across her cheek. She closed her eyes, a wave of delicious warmth uncoiling deep in her belly.

  “Don’t forget to buckle up.”

  Tristan was already rounding the front of the car when she realized he’d moved away from her. She sank into the seat and closed the door, resisting the urge to fan her face. Between the lingering humidity that promised a sheet-tangled sleep and her internal temperature skyrocketing, she had to be flushed from head to toe.

  Hand on the door, Tristan froze.

  “What’s wrong?”

  He whipped around. The sound of a wild animal—a pissed off animal—rumbled on the air.

  It wasn’t…coming from Tristan? Kennedy straightened to get a better look around.

  Without warning, Tristan vaulted over the door and dropped into his seat. He shoved the key into the ignition and the car roared to life just as something sailed past the front of Kennedy’s face.

  “Down,” Tristan yelled, pushing her lower in the seat. “Fuck.”

  She raised her head enough to see something red sticking in his neck. No sooner did he pluck it out than another dart struck his shoulder. The snarl of fury that burst past his lips made her heart pound faster.

  His head lolled forward and he forced it back, his hand clumsily searching for the gearshift.

  “Drive,” he mumbled. “Kennedy…drive…”

  His words slurred together before his head fell to the side, his eyes closed.

  Shit!

  Another dart lodged into the trim around the windshield. Without a clue where they were coming from, she scrambled into Tristan’s lap, her feet tangling with his in search of the gas pedal. She didn’t take even a second to glance around before shoving the gearshift into drive and punching the gas.

  The BMW shot forward and her fingers tightened on the wheel that dug into her bare thighs. She drove right through the stop sign ahead, and then the next one. She half hoped a cop car might notice and offer some kind of help from whoever had just attacked them.

  Her gaze snapped to the rearview mirror in search of pursuing headlights. But instead of seeing the dark stretch of road behind them dotted with the occasional street lamp, her face stared back at her.

  Her face but for the black, bleeding eyes.

  Kennedy let loose the scream she’d been clinging to for the last two minutes and looked over her shoulder. The backseat was empty. Another terrifying glance at the rearview mirror revealed nothing but passing landmarks that blurred past.

  What the hell?

  Grateful for almost no traffic, she ramped up their speed, taking turns at random to throw off anyone who might be following. The tops of her thighs felt rubbed raw from each crank of the steering wheel, but she didn’t stop driving. Not until she hit the other side of town and found herself facing the docks between the industrial park and acres of land slated for condo development.

  She shoved the car into park, but didn’t turn it off. Neither could she pry her eyes off the rearview mirror.

  Shock. There was no other explanation for what she’d seen. The feeling of being watched, coupled with the attack and Tristan losing consciousness had drop-loaded too much adrenaline into her system.

  When a few more minutes passed and no one pulled up behind them, she relaxed back against Tristan. Feeling around the wheel, she released the catch and tipped it up, giving herself a little more breathing room. Once her heart stopped threatening to break right through her ribs, she turned to check on Tristan.

  The slow rise and fall of his chest confirmed he was still breathing.

  Kennedy cupped his face. “Tristan?”

  No response.

  She tapped his cheek. “Come on, wake up.” Nothing. She dropped her head to his shoulder. “Please, please wake up.”

  A flash of red between the seats caught her attention. She plucked the small feather-tipped dart from the leather, careful not to stick herself with it.

  What was in it, some kind of tranquillizer? And why the hell had someone shot darts at them to begin with? A drive-by, carjacking or mugging she could understand—even if she’d been parked in a fairly safe part of downtown—but darts?

  Kennedy tried again to rouse him,
then reached for her purse. Half the contents had been spilled across the floor of the car during her drag race through town. She gave up on feeling around for her cell phone when she remembered Tristan’s. Turning so she sat across his lap, her feet in the passenger seat, she dug into his pocket. Her fingers had just brushed the phone’s edge when a soft sound left Tristan’s lips.

  She nearly whimpered in relief. “Tristan? Tristan, wake up!”

  His lashes didn’t so much as flutter. Hoping she hadn’t imagined the small response, she waited another few seconds, willing him to open his eyes, then continued to try and free his cell phone.

  “Oh, come on.” She squirmed forward, twisting a bit to get a better grip inside his jeans pocket.

  An arm clamped around her. “Don’t. Move.”

  Part warning, part plea, the growled command stopped her in her tracks.

  Chapter Two

  Sweet Avalon.

  The cat in him stretched its claws in pure pleasure, wanting more of the soft female slowly driving him out of his mind. Indulging the beast, Tristan pressed his face against her throat. Silky tendrils of her hair slid along his cheek.

  Kennedy.

  He breathed deep, inhaling her enticing scent until his blood ran hot. She resisted the hand pressed against her back, the one coaxing her closer, but he only smiled against her skin. The more she resisted, the more both man and cat craved a brush of her fingers, a taste of her lush mouth.

  She wanted him. That she planted a palm in the middle of his chest did nothing to change that fact. Not when his senses drowned in the tease of her increasing arousal. Needing to feel more of her, he slipped a hand beneath her shirt and spanned his fingers across her lower back.

  Her sharp intake of breath echoed in his ears, and he knew she felt it too. The same tangle of need that caught him hard in the gut every time they were in the same room.

  “Closer,” he demanded, opening his mouth on the curve of her neck. She arched beneath his lips, slowly sagging against him, her body melting into his. He wanted to roar in primal satisfaction.

  Tristan tunneled his fingers through her hair, cupping her nape as he ran his tongue from the soft hollow of her throat to the corner of her mouth. Gods, he’d known she’d taste this good, feel this good. And he wanted more. More bared skin. More quick catches of her breath. More of her wrapped around him.

  She murmured something but the words ran together in his head. The hazy fog he couldn’t shake drenched her voice in lulling dips and waves that drove the cat wild. With one hand buried in her hair, his other swept up the inside of her leg. He bit at her bottom lip, catching the lusty sigh that rolled off her tongue the moment he molded his palm along the inside of her thigh.

  Kennedy squirmed in his lap, and he hissed out a breath at the sweet friction against his cock.

  “Tristan.” Her voice sounded far away, but no less turned-on than he was.

  He inched higher, groaned louder when she squirmed again. He knew without slipping beneath the hem of her shorts that she was growing hotter, wetter. Nipping a path along her jaw, he skimmed his fingers higher to her shirt, tugging at the fabric until he could work a hand beneath to cup her breast.

  Her nipple jutted against her lacy bra. Fumbling with the clasp, he jerked the material down and grazed the puckered flesh. He needed to see her breasts, to run his tongue between them, over them. He ached to watch her face as he licked the dark pink tips before sucking her into his mouth.

  “Tristan, listen—”

  He trapped her nipple between his thumb and finger, tugging gently. Her whimper of pleasure only made him harder. Lifting his hips, Tristan tugged her down to grind against his shaft. With the sweet curve of her ass nestled so snug to him, it was all he could do not to thrust against her like a savage animal.

  The cat didn’t think there was a damn thing wrong with that.

  “Touch me.” The gravelly plea didn’t sound like him, but that didn’t stop him from snagging her hand and bringing it between them.

  The first tentative brush of her palm was nothing more than a tease. He laced his fingers through hers, tightening her hold on his cock. They both moaned as she stroked him through his pants.

  “We have to stop,” she whispered, her protest quickly lost beneath his tongue.

  He angled her head back, sinking fast and hard into a hungry kiss. He’d been thinking about it for months. Every time he noticed her smile or glower he’d thought about covering her mouth with his, pushing his tongue inside until she gave it up to him. Gave him everything.

  And everything was exactly what he wanted right now. The hot, naked, burying himself inside her kind of everything. The finding ways to make her scream in pleasure kind of everything.

  “Harder.” He gripped her fingers tighter, guiding them up and down his shaft, then turned his attention back to the sweet spot between her legs.

  The brush of his thumb inside the hem of her shorts made her tremble, so he did it again and again, moving a little higher each time. The lacy edge of her panties was the only thing preventing him from tracing the damp folds of her sex.

  “Stop.”

  The demand managed to penetrate the silky fog clinging to Tristan’s mind. He reluctantly forced his eyes open, knowing the dream was going to slip away from him. With one more lazy sweep of his mouth across hers, one more slick stroke of his tongue, he drew back, prepared to find himself alone.

  A maze of fuzzy colors blurred across his vision. He struggled to focus.

  “Tristan?”

  Kennedy’s voice no longer sounded far away. Second by second he processed the dry ache in his throat, the faint pain that throbbed in the back of his skull—the female curled up in his lap.

  Not a dream.

  He glanced down. His hand really was halfway up her shorts, the heat of her skin warming him straight through to the bone. Lifting his gaze, he took in her raised shirt. A glimpse of one full breast peeked out from beneath the bunched material. Her chest rose and fell in rhythm with the shaky breaths that whispered across his cheek. A rosy flush clung to her neck and throat, and her damp lips…

  Tristan forced his attention all the way to her eyes. Definitely not a dream.

  Shit.

  —

  Don’t freak out.

  Kennedy repeated the same three words to herself for the dozenth time since Tristan had finally opened his eyes. Staying calm after the last twenty minutes was about as likely as a bachelor party turning down a free strip show.

  Tristan’s possessive hold on her thigh was the only thing keeping her halfway grounded—at least until he looked at her. Really looked at her. Her earlier relief evaporated as his brows drew together in confusion. Not that she blamed him. She wasn’t entirely sure how she’d gone from reluctantly accepting a ride to letting him feel her up.

  She’d been so damn grateful he wasn’t out cold that her brain took a while to catch up with her senses. The ones headed for full-blown short circuit since the moment he’d tugged her closer. Forget what his mouth had done to her, the lazy trace of his tongue, the scrape of his teeth…

  “You’re okay.” They were both okay. Mostly.

  “Am I?” He glanced down, drawing his hand away from her.

  Without the added distraction of his hands trailing over her skin—not to mention the slightly panicked expression on Tristan’s face—she scrambled back into the passenger seat.

  “What happened?”

  Kennedy righted her clothing, not meeting his gaze when she felt him watching her. She plucked the dart from between the seats and held it up. “Someone was either really bored tonight or a zookeeper couldn’t wait until tomorrow morning to go postal.”

  “Zookeeper?”

  “Can’t really think of who else carries around tranquillizer darts.” And that was a serious stretch of the imagination. So why didn’t he look half as confused as she felt? “Are you in any trouble?” Cale hadn’t said much about Tristan’s month-long vacation.

>   “Me? You were the one stranded on the side of the road.”

  “I’m not the one they shot, unless they have really bad aim.” She studied the dart he took from her. “Could this just have been someone’s idea of a sick joke? Otherwise, wouldn’t you have been unconscious longer?”

  Tristan set the dart in the console beneath the mounted GPS. He stared out at the harbor. “You drove us here?”

  “Like a bat out of hell.” The memory of black, bleeding eyes staring back at her in the mirror made her shiver.

  “What?”

  She shook her head. “Still a little freaked out is all.” And struggling not to look over her shoulder to make sure they really were alone in the car.

  “I’m not sure what happened,” he began.

  “It’s fine,” she interrupted. “You weren’t yourself…and I…” Hadn’t cared why he’d kissed her. Hadn’t cared about anything but enjoying the way he opened his mouth over hers, slowly drinking her in.

  God, did taking so long to slow things down count as taking advantage of him?

  Tristan arched a brow. “I started to say that I’m not sure what happened back at your car, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a mentally unstable zookeeper.”

  Her gaze slid to his. “Oh. Right.” Clearly she was the only one wondering how she’d let her hormones override her commonsense. At least he could blame his actions on whatever had been in the dart.

  A sexy grin curved his lips.

  “Why are you smiling?”

  “I’ve just never seen Kennedy Beaumont flustered before.”

  “Stick around. I’m just hitting my stride,” she mumbled, raking her hands through her hair.

  A chill danced down her spine, and she whipped around.

  Empty backseat. Deserted development lots stretched back into the darkness. No poltergeist Kennedy waiting to pounce.

  If she’d been back at the bar she would have poured herself a double shot of whiskey right about now. The alcohol would have gone a long way to soothe her frayed nerves and, if she was lucky, erase the taste of Tristan that lingered on her lips.