Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (14 page)

They had another fifteen minutes until the train was
scheduled to pull out of the station, and when the refreshments cart went by,
Kierland bought them both a soft drink and candy bar. But the caffeine from the
sodas didn’t keep them from crashing after the adrenaline high they’d been
riding since the accident. By the time the train finally got on its way, Morgan
was exhausted, but too nervous to sleep. Instead, she curled up in her seat,
resting her face on her folded hands…and kept watch over the wolf.

Kierland’s head had tilted toward her as he dozed,
leaving her free to stare at his gorgeous face. She’d never realized how boyish
he looked when tension wasn’t hardening those tough, bold features. And yet, it
was definitely a man’s face. Strong jaw. Long nose that had seen its share of
violence. But there was softness, as well. The full, sensual lips, slightly
parted for his slow breaths. Long, burnished lashes that any woman would have
loved to possess. For slowly passing minutes, Morgan studied the pattern of
stubble darkening his jaw, the soft hair at his temples and the dark slash of
his brows. She couldn’t get enough of the details, soaking them in, dazzled by
them in a way that she’d never thought was possible.

And he smelled so damn good. Logically, Morgan knew
that scent didn’t have a flavor; only…she would have been willing to bet her
life that Kierland’s did. She could taste his scent under her tongue, on her
lips, filling her mouth, drugging and rich, reminding her of their kiss from
the night before. In the interest of self-preservation, she’d been trying not to
think about it—but it was like trying to convince her body that it didn’t need
air.

Then there was the way he’d carried her out of the
crowded arcade. And the car crash. When she’d finally come to, his warm mouth
had been pressed to her forehead, a low, husky whisper of words falling from
his soft lips. Morgan had strained to hear them, but he’d gone silent the
instant he’d realized she was awake. For just a fleeting moment, though, she’d
felt herself transported back to that brief period of time when they’d been
friends and he’d been the person in the world who’d made her feel the most
safe. When she’d been so certain that he had cared for her and she’d believed
the future would turn out so differently.

Of course, Morgan could just as easily remember the
day all that had changed, when he’d introduced her to his girlfriend. God, she
could still recall the moment she’d first met Nicole with such crystal clarity,
it was as if she was watching it happen in real time. The human had been the
complete opposite of her, with pale blond hair and a petite little body that
was all softness and curves. She’d beamed at Morgan, glowing with bliss as
she’d confessed that she’d been chasing after Kierland for years…and had
finally caught him just weeks before. As the happily spoken words had filled
Morgan’s head, the pain in her chest had been so excruciating, she didn’t know
how she’d stood there and smiled and exchanged pleasantries. But she had.

And then she’d run. Straight into Ashe Granger’s arms.

Though Morgan still didn’t understand how it’d
happened, she’d somehow managed to catch the gorgeous Deschanel’s eye shortly
after he’d agreed to help out at the academy. He’d been the devilish darkness
to Kierland’s golden light, making her impossibly nervous, and yet, she and the
vamp had become friends during her training. Ashe had made it clear that he
wanted to be more, but up until the day she’d met Nicole, Morgan’s entire focus
had been on the Lycan. And when she’d run to Ashe afterward, needing him to
hold her and take away the wrenching pain, he hadn’t laughed at her or treated
her like a conquest. In truth, he’d been unbelievably tender with her, which
had been surprising, considering his sordid reputation for one-night stands.

Morgan had never understood why Ashe had been so
different with her, but he had. And she had no doubt that he’d been faithful to
her during their brief affair. Despite his dark, devastating sexuality, it
wasn’t that Ashe couldn’t commit to a woman—simply that he’d never wanted to.

In fact, Morgan still believed that she might have
even had a chance with the beautiful, charismatic vampire, if her life at that
point hadn’t been filled with such turmoil. First there’d been her broken heart
over Kierland, and then everything had slipped into madness when Nicole had
been killed by the rogue nest of vampires Kierland and his trainees had been
hunting. A few days after Nicole’s death, Kierland had found out about her
relationship with Ashe…and the Lycan had drawn his own sordid, hateful conclusions.

And after that, things had never been the same between
them.

Morgan was still lost in the wrenching memories, her
eyes heavy, drifting in that languid state of half sleep, when Kierland’s low
groan suddenly jerked her back to awareness.

“Kierland?” she whispered, reaching for his face. At
the touch of her fingertips against his bristled jaw, he groaned again, the low
sound pulling at her heart. It made her uncomfortable, this soft burst of worry
taking shape inside her at that purely masculine sound of distress. Foolish,
and yet, Morgan couldn’t help but remember the unmistakable concern that had
sharpened his rugged features as he’d carried her through the woods.

Leaning close, she brushed the dark, silky strands of
auburn hair back from the damp heat of his brow, and said his name again.
“Kierland…”

KIERLAND WAS DREAMING, trapped in cloying, oppressive
layers of sleep that were impossible to break, like an insect trying to fight
free of a spider’s web. He knew it was a dream, and yet, he couldn’t pull
himself back to consciousness. The nightmare was sucking him under, despite how
hard he was fighting against its inexorable pull. Despite how badly he didn’t
want to watch the scene playing out before him. It was too sharp, the setting
as clear as it’d been all those years ago, when he’d been standing in his
kitchen at home, witnessing the impossible happen.

“Don’t leave me,” he’d whispered in a small voice,
watching his mother’s life drain away.

As his father had stood over her bleeding body, he’d
said, “Never love, Kierland. It’ll rip even the toughest bastard to pieces.”
Then his father had torn his bloody claws across his own gut, spilling his
insides out over the floor. Kierland had stood there, his small body frozen in
horror, while the pool of crimson around their crumpled bodies had spread like
a stain, coming nearer…and nearer, inching toward his toes.

“Kierland, damn it, wake up!” The harsh words were
followed by a set of feminine hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him
violently. His eyes snapped open, and instead of that blood-covered kitchen, he
found Morgan leaning close, those soft gray eyes filled with stark concern.

She lifted her cool, slender hand to stroke his cheek,
her voice so soft and soothing as she said, “You were having a nightmare.
That’s all. Just a bad dream.”

His throat was tight, his breath jerking in panting
gasps. He could still smell the coppery scent of the blood, but he ground his
teeth, not wanting to think about the dream or his father or the past. He just
wanted to keep staring at Morgan, breathing in lungfuls of her warm,
mouthwatering scent. She made more of those soft little soothing sounds, like
you would to a child, but instead of calming him, his heart thundered, pounding
faster…harder, something primal and wild rising inside him, demanding release.
Demanding the things it’d wanted for so long. It was like a tidal wave crashing
through him. A violent force of nature that couldn’t be constrained or
controlled.

Kierland knew the instant she realized what was
coming. She started to back away, but he reached up and curved his hands around
her skull, pulling her mouth against his. His fingers were tangled in her silky
hair, her lips tender and sweet as he licked his way inside with a rough,
explicit kiss—and suddenly the most delicious scent he’d ever known was filling
his head, churning a thick, guttural sound from his chest. In that moment, the
Lycan knew that he’d caught her by surprise and she’d forgotten to put up her
shields. He could scent her desire rising from her warm skin, mesmerizing and
lush, telling him how much she wanted him, and it damn near blew the top of his
head off. He wasn’t thinking, was acting purely on instinct, and it felt good.
Better than good.

Damn it, it felt incredible.

Keeping one hand on the back of her head, Kierland fed
his ragged breaths into her mouth, while his other hand slid down the supple
length of her spine, curving around her ass as he pulled her against him, her
breasts crushed against the solid wall of his chest.

She gasped his name, and he kissed her harder,
ravaging her mouth, terrified she was going to tell him to stop. The Watchman
was grateful for every ounce of his strength as he suddenly flipped their
positions, pushing her deep into the corner of her seat, his body angled over
hers, his hips wedged hard between her thighs. With one hand still cradling her
head, he used his other hand to grip her hip as he thrust against her, and he’d
never been so thankful for privacy in his entire life as he was in that moment,
the rest of the car still blessedly empty of passengers.

With a deep growl rumbling in his chest, he held her
close as he ate at her mouth, feeding on the pleasure gasps that spilled from
her lips, his cock so hard he could feel the imprint of his zipper biting into
his rigid flesh.

“Come for me,” he rasped, his voice ragged with lust
and excitement as he pulled back enough to stare into her eyes. Rolling his
hips, he ground the hard ridge of his cock against her clit, his chest heaving
as he watched her face turn deliciously pink, becoming damp with heat. “I want
to watch your eyes when you go over.”

She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, shaking her
head, fighting it. “I can’t,” she groaned, her eyes flashing like silver sparks
of fire, wild with need.

“You can.” His voice dropped, the guttural chords of
the wolf bleeding through. “Damn it. I need this.”

She shivered, staring up at him, and though he could
sense her caution and confusion, the look in her eyes turned vulnerable…soft.
“I need it, too,” she whispered, shocking him, the quiet words wreaking havoc
on Kierland’s control. She lifted one slender hand, and cupped the side of his
face, her other hand curling around the damp heat at the back of his neck.
Pulling him down to her, she said, “Just don’t leave me.”

Don’t leave me….

The whispered words, reminiscent of his dream, struck
like a hammer, battering him back to his senses. “Shit,” he cursed, suddenly
pushing her away from him, his hands hard on her shoulders.

She blinked up at him, her expression a mixture of
shock and hurt and disbelief. “What? What is it?”

Kierland shook his head, unable to explain, his
breaths jerking so hard that it felt like his chest would crack open. Words
bottled up in his throat, but he choked them back. He wasn’t going to spill his
veins, damn it, opening those old wounds—and even if he did, there would be no
point to it, because the past could never be undone.

“Please. Talk to—”

“Don’t.” The rough blast of the word made her flinch,
and she lowered her hands, the heat draining away from that burning silver in
her eyes, leaving a chilled slate gray in its wake. He pushed himself out from
between the seats, and stood in the aisle, staring down at her, while a
thousand expressions worked their way across his face, reflected back at him in
the endless depths of her eyes.

Curving his fingers into the tops of the aisle seats,
Kierland opened his mouth, wanting to apologize. To tell her that he was sorry
for acting like a bloody madman. But he couldn’t get the words out. All he
could do was shake his head again, mutter another sharp curse, and then
turn…and walk away.

The Casus/Kraven Compound

Sunday night

AS HE STOOD OUTSIDE THE SMALL cell located behind a
set of ancient iron bars, Ross Westmore pushed one hand through his light brown
hair and smiled at his good fortune. For a Kraven—a species that had been
treated as little better than slaves for their entire existence—he was making
quite a name for himself. A few cells down, the Mallory witch, Chloe Harcourt,
was sleeping fitfully, and before him was his newest addition to his
collection. She was slim and rather plain, but she was priceless.

They both were.

In fact, these two little females were his
metaphorical “ace in the hole,” and Westmore valued them as he valued his
intellect, which had always served him as well as his ruthlessness. Thanks to
the little gem before him, he’d been able to steal two of the coveted Dark
Markers right out from under the Watchmen’s noses. It was so sweet, he couldn’t
help but laugh every time he thought about it. In fact, he was enjoying himself
so much that he’d been willing to hold off going after those Markers that the shape-shifters
had already found, for no other reason than he enjoyed messing with their
minds. Making them wonder and second-guess themselves.

But recent developments had caused Westmore to change
his plans. Now that the shifters were sharing the dangerous weapons among their
brethren, making them readily available for the awakened Merrick to use against
the Casus, he’d decided to take action. They might have thwarted his attempts
so far, but he’d given orders that the entire Colorado unit of Watchmen, along
with their recent Buchanan additions, be killed. Although his enemies had had a
string of good luck so far, sooner or later they were going to slip up, and
when they did, the Kraven and the Casus were going to be there to seize the
opportunity.