by Anne Marsh
He wasn’t in any position to protest. Because, yeah, he’d kept her up last night. There hadn’t been a whole lot of sleeping going on in their bed. Still, now he could look at her. Drink in the dark fringe of her lashes resting on the pale skin of her face. He reached for her hand. He wanted to feel her.
Savoring the soft rub of her skin against his, he drove, drinking in the smooth ribbon of road and the softer purr of the motor. Nothing, no one, lived out here. The countryside as you left M City and headed toward the steppes was nothing but thick slices of forest and the occasional ruined town.
And quiet. No sound at all but the softer shush of Mischka’s breathing and the whisper of the tires over the pavement.
Just being near her calmed him. The thirst, he realized with some surprise, was more a pleasant ache than a raging hunger.
Peace, he decided, was a strange sensation. And psychoanalysis sucked. Instead, he let himself drive, his fingers stroking softly over the bare skin of her wrist, savoring a moment that couldn’t possibly last forever.
Seventeen
The countryside was an education in itself. With the high-speed bullet trains authorized by an ambitious president a few decades back, it now took just one day to reach M City. Since most passengers purchased a private pod, they didn’t have to interact with the others. Train staff hooked and unhooked pods as the train pulled into the stations. Your money bought you a four-by-six-foot glass and steel box, two bunk beds and a small glass porthole through which you could watch the passing countryside as it streamed past you.
Convenient. Efficient. Admittedly, a tad bit sterile.
Right now, Mischka would have welcomed sterile. She’d woken from a nap troubled by shockingly sensual dreams. And watching Brends drive wasn’t helping cool her blood any. Those large hands handled the wheel of the car with the same sensual efficiency he’d played her body with last night. Male power. A hint of the black markings around his wrist showed as the cuff of his shirt moved when he directed the car around a particularly large pothole in the road. No one maintained these roads anymore.
The GPS unit had fallen silent when they left M City behind six hours ago. It was impossible to lose the road out here, a straight shot away from the city, although she suspected you could lose any number of other things. Starting with your life. Fortunately for her peace of mind, the SUV was built like a tank. The reinforced, bulletproof glass of the windows provided some small comfort. Brends wasn’t taking chances.
She was.
Something had been bothering her since they left the city behind them. Something she hadn’t thought about too clearly. You weren’t thinking at all, a little voice nagged her. You were too busy trying on your bad-girl panties. Or losing them. How had Brends known which direction to go? He hadn’t hesitated. When he slid his large body behind the wheel of the car, he’d punched in a destination for the GPS. Without hesitating. Sure, he could have been taking a stab in the dark, but her instincts screamed that Brends Duranov didn’t do a damned thing without having a very good reason.
She sifted through the pictures he’d handed her. Someone, somewhere, had himself access to a particularly well-positioned spy satellite. The images were crisp, full of damning black-and-white details. Pell. An unfamiliar Goblin. Tall and dark like the rest of them, but his body angled protectively between her cousin and the street as he handed her into an SUV. This was no forcible abduction. Unfortunately, she couldn’t tell from the photograph whether they’d bonded, but their body language screamed intimacy. This was no one-night stand Pell had picked to piss her family off and make her point. Whoever the male was, he meant something to her.
Damn.
“They knew each other before Pell disappeared.” She was suddenly sure of this.
Brends turned his head, his gaze unfathomable before he returned his attention to the silver ribbon of road in front of them. “Yeah.” The admission didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. And it sure as hell was no news flash. “Pell came to the club frequently. She and Dathan became friends.”
“Friends.” She tried the word on for size, but it seemed awkward. And it sure as hell didn’t seem to cover the depth of emotion she was sensing from the photographic montage staring up at her. Was friendship possible with a paranormal? Had Pell found something to trust in the unknown male? “She never talked about Dathan.” Ever.
His hands tightened almost imperceptibly on the wheel. “Maybe she chose not to tell you. Maybe she didn’t know how to tell you.” His tone clearly stated that he knew what kind of a reception that sort of revelation would have received. “We’ve gone over this before. Your cousin is a grown woman, smart enough to know what she’s getting herself into and to make her own decisions. She doesn’t need you making them for her.”
The fear was a familiar companion by now. If Pell didn’t need her, Mischka had nothing left to offer. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing any more family. She swallowed. “Pell knows I love her.”
“And that means you’ll welcome her lover with open arms?” His voice was scornful. “Think again, baby. I’ve heard you talk about paranormals. We’re not good enough for you. We’re animals, not humans.”
She hadn’t said that, had she? Although, she admitted, she’d probably thought it. Brends was not an animal. Feral, yes. Wild, absolutely. But she’d never made the mistake since the night she met him of thinking him less than human. He was more. So much more.
“How do you know where to go?” She gestured toward the silent GPS. “You laid in a course. You had a destination in mind.”
She hated his damning silence.
“You set me up,” she accused.
“I’m taking you to Pell.” His eyes never left the road. “You asked me to take you to Pell and that’s exactly what I’m doing. Find fault with my methods all you want, but you’re getting what you wanted.”
The hell she was. “How do you know where she is?”
He didn’t answer for a moment. Finally, he said, “Because I sent Dathan out of town with her. I knew you’d want to follow. And our rogue will follow the two of you.”
Disbelief warred with betrayal. And anger. She chose the anger, welcoming the hot, familiar slide of emotions. He’d set her up.
“Was it worth it, Brends?”
“No,” he said coolly. “Last night had nothing to do with Dathan and Pell. It had to do with us, Mischka.”
“There isn’t an ‘us.’” There couldn’t possibly be. Not after his betrayal.
“Trust me.” His body was deceptively relaxed, but his eyes never left the road.
“Not wise, Brends,” she said coolly.
Even she knew she was tense, irritable. He was too close, pushing too hard. Their bond was a dark presence in the back of her mind, a shadow watching her. Too intimate. Too close. He was holding back, trying not to crowd her. Objectively, she knew that, but she still wanted to lash out at him.
When the balloons waved cheerily at them from the roadside gas station, bobbing madly in the car’s sharp draft, he slowed the SUV. The balloons were anchored prominently to a clump of bushes. A deliberate attention grab. Brends did a little pedal-to-the-floor action, bringing the SUV to a swift, sudden stop. Two more feet and he’d have missed it.
The human female was petite and slim, with those big, brown eyes that made most males want to go all gruff and protective—until they saw the bite of humor that sparkled in their depths. Unlike most of the females Eilor had spotted in M City, her skin was neither ghostly pale nor overly bronzed—the faint glow of golden color had been rightfully earned playing some sort of outdoor sport. Perhaps she jogged. She’d certainly sprinted through the parking lot where he’d found her fast enough. Pity he didn’t have the time to release her and catch her all over again. He enjoyed a good game of chase, particularly when there was no doubt as to the outcome.
Unfortunately, Eilor was behind schedule.
He had no desire to end up like the little human Cuthah had toyed with. That
meant he needed to complete his mission. Successfully.
Pelinor Arden and Mischka Baran. Kill one. Bring the other one back.
It was going to be so very simple in the end.
The gleaming black SUV had stood out in the countryside like a neon target. The Fallen inside undoubtedly knew Eilor was on their trail, which meant the warrior had reasons of his own for drawing the pursuit this way. For now, Eilor was willing to oblige. Both his targets were now out in the countryside. They were sitting ducks, just the way he liked his females—and there was nothing the two large warriors who guarded them were going to be able to do to save their female companions.
Just as no one would be able to save the female wrapped up in a few yards of silver duct tape next to him. She was merely an appetizer—and a memo to his pursuers. He hadn’t even bothered to search for another one of them. His pursuers didn’t understand the connection between his targets, and that was best. So this female was merely a happy coincidence.
For him, of course.
Not for her.
“Now, bébé,” he said as he moved purposefully toward her, “it’s just you and me, darling. I believe it’s time you served your purpose, don’t you?”
The woman whimpered.
Before long, the blade was slicing through the flesh and the female had stopped screaming.
Oil tankers hadn’t visited the gas station in at least a decade. The place stank of neglect and something more chemical. Time had done a postapocalyptic decorating number on the unused place. The dirt-streaked windows of the little convenience store prevented Brends from looking inside, but there was a new scent seeping out to greet him. Death. Recent death. The bright, copper tang of blood hit him hard, but there was no whiff of decay yet. The bastard was still here.
Not an ambush, he decided, but a setup nonetheless. There was blood outside on a gas pump. And then he saw the female body sprawled on the cracked asphalt like so much garbage.
The rogue was thumbing his nose at his hunters.
The door of the women’s restroom gaped open, a dark cavity of space that invited him in for a look-see. Yeah, as if he’d take the rogue up on that offer.
“Oh, my God,” Mischka said beside him, and yeah, she had one hand reaching for the door handle while the other fumbled for her seat belt. He wasn’t losing her now.
“Stay here,” he barked.
She didn’t listen and he wondered when he’d started expecting that miracle. “We have to help her,” his bond mate said instead, and the belt clicked free. Christ. He jammed the locks as he got out of the car and headed into the restroom, but he knew locks wouldn’t stop Mischka for long. She was going to see the rogue’s welcome message and he would have given anything to prevent that. The dead female had probably been a local human holdout. Now she was just dead. The blood splattered across walls was fresh enough; when Brends touched it, his finger came away red. Hell. Bastard wasn’t behind them at all. He was in front of them.
And not far in front of them.
He heard feet crunching on the gravel. Anger and fear roared through him.
“Get back in the damn car,” he bit out. Mentally, he slammed into her. He had to get her to safety. Only after he knew she’d be safe could he do what needed to be done here. He locked her mind down, picked her up and placed her carefully back into the SUV. She wouldn’t be able to move a muscle until he permitted it, and now they both knew it.
She blinked once as she lost control of her body to him, and he swore he could see the outrage in those witchy eyes of hers. Yeah, she still didn’t like commands. She’d get over it. Or learn to put it up with it. He was keeping her safe, damn it.
“Let me go. Now.”
He stared at her, coolly. “No. Not now.”
“You bastard!” No sign of his ice princess now. Her eyes flashed delicious fire and for a moment he wanted nothing more than to explore the delicious possibilities of the situation. For all intents and purposes, he had her tied up. Unable to move and at his sensual mercy. Yeah, there were lots of things he’d like to show her.
Too bad duty called. “I’ll be back for you, baby,” he growled. “Then I’ll see to you. You can get as mad as you want.” He pressed a hot, hard kiss against her mouth.
He shut the door of the SUV and locked it for good measure, not because those locks would keep anything out, but because it made his point. He wanted her safer, wanted to know that no one—nothing—would get to her, but that kind of surety was a luxury he couldn’t afford. He needed her here.
He ran the odds in his head and called in his brothers, punching the distress code into the cell and barking quick orders into his earpiece. The rogue knew they were here, so no sense in trying to keep a low profile.
He eyed the gas station, and damn it, he hesitated. He had a job to do here and it didn’t matter if he didn’t like the balancing act. He couldn’t put Mischka first, because that was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Mischka alone in the SUV wasn’t good, but his brothers were two minutes out. He’d tracked and executed rogues before. This wasn’t any different and he had a damned job to do, whether he liked it or not.
Didn’t matter that today was a not kind of a day.
Muttering a curse, he wrenched open the door of the gas station and stepped inside. Assessed the store, looking for an angle he could work—and came up empty-handed. The store was like any convenience store, although there was nothing convenient at all about the situation he found himself in. A dusty cash register and a plastic-topped counter. Rolls of expired lottery tickets and shelves of stale tobacco. Maybe a dozen aisles with the remnants of prepackaged snacks and long-defunct drink coolers. Whatever had happened here had happened fast. The human owners were long gone, but they’d left their stock behind. Must have been nuclear, he decided. Or maybe they just hadn’t given a fuck when the human traffic dried up a few decades back, hadn’t felt like hauling a half ton of Twinkies with them when they headed out to wherever it was humans went when they moved out lock, stock and barrel.
He wouldn’t have waited around, either.
Palming a blade, Brends drew in a deep breath and centered himself. Fuck, but the scent of blood was worse here. The bastard must have started cutting inside and then moved outside.
The flash of steel coming up the aisle was all the warning Brends got.
Eilor came at him like a steam engine on full throttle. Bastard wasn’t waiting for introductions or second thoughts. Christ. Fine with him. It wasn’t like Brends had been planning on reading Eilor his rights and hauling his ass back to M City.
Not alive, at any rate.
With a low growl, Brends fended off the attack. Their arms locked, the two of them evenly matched. Then Brends realized his opponent’s weapon was no ordinary man-made blade. Hell, no. Bastard had a fyreblade. Power flickered up and down the steel length like a hungry motherfucker. In another minute, Eilor would have enough power to fire the blade and then all hell would break loose.
Strike. Fall back. The familiar rhythm of the fight energized him. God, he’d forgotten how good it felt. Circling his opponent in the tight confines of the store, he assessed the situation. Until Eilor got that damned blade’s power up all the way, they were evenly matched. Too evenly matched. Both had been a Dominion, created for the fight.
He hadn’t faced an opponent with a fyreblade in millennia. No one who was not angel-blood could draw those blades—let alone pull the power that was needed to send flames flickering down the lethal edge. Hell. If he’d needed any more proof that this rogue was an inside job, he had it.
Eilor flew across the room toward him, hell-bent on taking off Brends’s head.
“Not interested, motherfucker,” he said, and swung his own blade. He might not have angelfyre at his beck and call, but three millennia of practice came in handy. If he’d connected with his target, he’d have had one fewer rogue to sweat over. Unfortunately, the rogue also had superfast reflexes. He rolled, sliding under the arc of Brends’s blade, so that
the knife met the plate-glass window of the storefront instead of sinews and skin.
Glass shattered in a deadly rain onto the floor. Too bad a few minor lacerations wouldn’t do the job. Instead, Brends went after Eilor, crossing the length of the store in a few quick strides. Their feet were the first marks in the thick carpet of decades-old dust covering the linoleum tiles.
Peeling himself out of the store’s new entrance, Eilor made the return trip faster than Brends thought possible. Damn, but the bastard was fast. He barely had time to block with his arm, thrusting his opponent away from him. Eilor landed heavily in a display of soda bottles, sweet liquid spilling all around him.
Maybe he’d finally stay down for the count.
“That the best you can do?” his opponent challenged.
Or not.
Eilor was up and charging back toward him. Brends cursed the difficulty of fighting in the narrow confines of the station, but he couldn’t pry the bastard loose and out into the open. If he did get out, his team would take care of business. That was the point of backup. He blocked another punch.
The next punch caught him dead-on, and he heard the crack of his head snapping backward before the blistering pain turned his head into a drum. Shit. Staggering, he caught his hand on the counter. The dark thrum of power from Eilor should have warned him, but the edges of the male’s profile were smoking. Hell. This was so not good.
His earpiece crackled. “You got this or you need help?”
“You need help, bébé?” the rogue mocked. “Can’t take down one nasty on your own?” Yeah, the rogue’s edges were definitely smoking, an orange nimbus that lit the room. The sword burst into flames as the first of the backup team came through the front door.