Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (15 page)

And as far as Westmore was concerned, he still had the
upper hand. After all, the Watchmen and Merrick were clueless as to why he
wanted the Markers, as well as to why he was so determined to facilitate the
return of the Casus. And that was how he wanted it, for now. When the time was
right, all would be revealed, and they’d be left broken and bleeding on the
battlefield, while he and the Casus ushered in a new era of leadership over the
clans…and eventually the world.

And all thanks to the precious little crossbreed in
the cell before him.

She lay on her small cot, shivering beneath a pile of
blankets. Clearly, she was cold, the hearth on the far side of the compound’s
underground level doing little to ease the snap of chill from the air.
Half-psychic, half-Deschanel, she was also hungry, but Westmore knew better
than to give her blood. He needed her weak enough to control, keeping her just
on the edge of survival with the bits of food he allowed her to have.

Sensing his presence, she lifted her head from her pillow,
staring at him through the most unusual color eyes he had ever seen. The pale
pure gray of the Deschanel, but with threads of dark blue woven through,
creating a mesmerizing effect, reminding him of lightning flashing through a
warm summer sky.

“You know why I’m here,” he murmured, stepping closer
to the bars. It was time for his little psychic to use her powers and tell him
where the Watchmen would be searching for the next Dark Marker.

Lowering her head again to the pillow, she rolled
over, giving him her back. “And you know my answer,” she responded, her English
perfect, without any trace of an accent. “I have nothing to tell you, except
that I wish you would die and go to hell, where you belong.”

Keeping his voice gentle, he said, “Come now, Raine.
Can we not be civilized in this exchange?”

“From what I’ve seen, there’s nothing civilized about
the Kraven. You’re as monstrous as the Casus.”

Yes, she knew what he was—but then she was part
Deschanel, and it was the vamps who had kept the existence of Westmore’s race a
secret for so many years. A secret that had been so well preserved, not even
the Consortium and their little Watchmen had learned about the Kraven until
Westmore had launched his campaign to bring back the Casus.

Walking along the front of her cell, he ran his hand
along the iron bars, his light tone completely at odds with the warning his
words imparted. “If you force my hand, Raine, you know what will happen. Do you
really want to be the Casus’s plaything again? You barely survived your last
punishment. If you’re not careful, your impertinence is going to be the death
of you.”

He watched as her slender back stiffened and knew he’d
hit home with his threat. He didn’t dare allow those under his command to lay a
hand on the Mallory witch imprisoned a few cells down, since she was being
saved for Anthony Calder. A powerful Casus who was leading his brethren within
Meridian, Calder was working with Westmore to coordinate their return.

But while Chloe Harcourt was to be protected, this
little psychic vamp was free game, so long as they didn’t kill her.

“Tell me where it is,” he commanded in a soft,
intimate rasp.

“Go to hell,” she groaned, huddling beneath the
covers. “I told you yesterday, the Merrick female hasn’t finished deciphering
the next map.”

It’d taken Westmore months to find a psychic with
Raine’s unique gift of seeing into the past and the present—but as powerful as
she was, there were still certain limitations to her abilities. For one, she
could only “see” within a living subject’s lifetime. So while she could
mentally “watch” as Saige Buchanan deciphered the encrypted maps that led to
the hidden locations of the Dark Markers, she couldn’t simply “see” the Markers
being buried, since the one who had buried them was already deceased. As a
result, she was forced to wait until Saige had determined the location. Then,
once Raine passed that location on to Westmore, as she’d done twice before now,
it was a race to see who could uncover the Marker first. The Kraven and the
Casus…or the Watchmen and the Merrick.

After a brutal session with four of his Casus
soldiers, Westmore was confident that Raine had learned her lesson and now knew
better than to feed him false information—and yet, he didn’t trust her not to
drag her feet when it came to imparting her mental findings. Which was why he’d
made sure to procure a new incentive that would earn him her cooperation.

Pushing his hands into his pockets, he propped his
shoulder against the cold metal bars, proud of the fact that he was the one
standing there, delivering threats, wielding all the power. He wasn’t the
best-looking of men, or even the most physically imposing, but then, when you
were the one in control, those things didn’t matter.

And when it came to the insolent little
twentysomething in that cell, he was definitely the one in control.

Casually, as if he weren’t about to break her heart,
he said, “By the way, have I mentioned that we found your little brother?”

She sat up so fast that the cot nearly toppled, her
expression stricken with fear as the blankets fell away from her pale body,
exposing small breasts that hadn’t quite healed from her punishment, the tender
flesh still bruised and marked with fading bite wounds. “You didn’t!” she
cried. “That’s not possible! He’s in hiding!”

“Yes, well, you’d be amazed what information can be
bought when you offer the right inducement. Luke wasn’t so hard to find, once
the right numbers were mentioned.” Giving her a small smile, he relayed, “You
should be proud of him, Raine. He’s quite brave, for an eight-year-old.
Threatens to kill me every time I see him, which is more than I can say for
that sniveling sister of yours who would never stop whining.”

“You bastard!” she shouted, trying to lurch to her
feet. But her naked body was too weak, and she fell to the floor, smashing her
bare knees against the cold gray stone. “He’s just a child,” she said in a
broken voice, the soft words ravaged by despair as her shoulders hung forward,
her small hands wound into tight fists.

Westmore made a crooning sound under his breath, then
shook his head, his tone deceptively mild as he demanded, “Pay attention to the
Merrick bitch and tell me when she has a reading on the map, Raine. If you
don’t and they find the next Marker before we do, I’ll bring your baby brother
to you in pieces, just like I did with your sister. Do you understand me?”

She nodded, her body trembling as she rocked back and
forth, her long, honey-colored hair hanging in tangled, dirty waves over her
shoulders, nearly reaching the floor.

“Good girl,” he murmured, enjoying the sight of her on
her knees, cowed by his ruthlessness. It was the kind of image that Westmore
relished, and as he turned to walk away, his smile found its way back into the
corners of his mouth. Whistling softly under his breath, he made his way along
the winding stone staircase that led to the upper floors, the raw sounds of
Raine’s grief keeping him company along the way.

Weesp, Netherlands

Monday afternoon

“THERE’S SOMETHING WE NEED to talk about.”

Despite his outward appearance of calm, Kierland had
to push the low words past his lips, forcing them out, while his heart beat
like a cornered animal trying to pound its way through his chest.

He was sitting with Morgan in a pub in the Dutch town
of Weesp, a twenty-minute drive east of Amsterdam, their booth surrounded by a
slew of chattering customers. By the time they’d arrived in Hannover the
previous night, Morgan could sense that Ashe Granger had already moved on.
They’d been tired—and Kierland had still been worried about the knock that
Morgan had taken on the head—so they’d decided to get some rest and booked two
rooms at a local hotel. He’d made some calls before heading to bed, checking in
with Aiden again to see how Noah was doing, and had learned that three more
Merrick deaths had been reported, as well as the deaths of two Watchmen who
were believed to have been killed by Death-Walkers. He’d also talked to Seth,
who’d finally gotten back to the States and hooked up with his men, but there
hadn’t been any new information for the soldier to share.

After taking a long, scalding shower, Kierland had
spent the night tossing and turning, twisted by worry and restless frustration,
the memory of those scorching moments on the train with Morgan completely
screwing with his mind.

For hours, he’d replayed that blistering kiss over and
over, analyzing and observing, trying to figure out what had happened to make
him go after her that way. Yeah, he’d been caught off guard by the dream, but
the visceral surge of need he’d felt when he’d opened his eyes and found
Morgan’s face so close to his had been…uncontrollable. In that moment, he
hadn’t cared about the past or the future. He’d just wanted her, more than he’d
ever wanted any other woman before.

And he still did.

When he’d finally returned to his seat and had tried
to scrape out a lame-ass apology, she’d refused to talk about what had
happened. Her tone had been distant as she’d blown him off, murmuring something
about how it’d been nothing more than a “stress reaction” to what they’d been
through. Then she’d completely ignored him and buried herself in a paperback
she dug out of her bag, barely saying two words to him as they’d made their way
to the hotel.

They’d met for an early breakfast that morning, and
after poring over her maps, Morgan had determined that Granger was now in Amsterdam.
So they’d altered their course again, heading west from Hannover. It’d been a
stressful day of travel on the crowded trains, and they’d finally decided to
get off at Weesp so they could grab a hot meal.

The waitress had already cleared their lunch plates
and the bill had just been paid, which meant it was time for Kierland to say
what needed to be said.

A part of him sat aside, slack-jawed at what he was
about to do, but he didn’t see any other way. As he’d lain in bed during the
long, sleepless night, he’d finally come to a conclusion.

He had to have her. It was as simple as that.

And yet…there was nothing simple about it.

The remnants of his nightmare still lingered in his
mind, causing twinges of horror and grief, but he had to face the facts. Sooner
or later, the lust that constantly fought to pull him and this woman together
would have to be dealt with. And he’d rather deal with it on his own terms.

Warnings from the grave or not, this was his only
choice. Kierland couldn’t be near her and not touch her, as last night had
proven. If he was going to survive the coming days as they continued the search
for his brother, then he needed some kind of temporary claim on this woman. It
was the only way he could keep himself from losing his freaking mind. But he
would have to be smart. Would have to approach it in an objective, rational
way, making it about nothing but the physical release, since to get involved
with a woman like Morgan Cantrell on any emotional level would be the greatest
act of idiocy he could ever commit.

Leaning back against the padded booth, Kierland
watched as Morgan applied a quick sheen of that berry-colored gloss she always
wore over her lips, then pushed up the sleeves of her violet sweater to her
elbows. As she took a quick look at her cell phone, scrolling through her text
messages, he thought about the proposition he was about to suggest…and knew
that he wouldn’t have been able to make it before, when she’d been a trainee at
the academy. The “quick sex” option simply wouldn’t have been possible then,
because he never would have been able to touch her without losing control and claiming
her with his bite, marking her as his mate. Her effect on him had simply been
too strong.

When he’d first met her, the physical attraction had
been immediate, but it’d been more than that. Once he’d gotten to know her,
Kierland had found that he liked everything about her. Her strength. Her
smiles. Her laughter. He had no doubt that to touch her would have been to put
a permanent claim on her.

But now they had the past between them. His mistakes.
Nicole’s death. Her relationship with Ashe. All the bitter, nasty years of
anger and cutting remarks that had been designed to push her away and make her
hate him.

But she still wants you, the wolf whispered through
his mind. If nothing else, her reaction to that kiss last night is proof that
she still lusts for you.

It wasn’t much, but Kierland would take it. Hold on to
it with everything that he had, until it was time to let her move on and they
went their separate ways.

Closing her backpack, she looked over at him, a
quizzical expression pulling her brows together. “Didn’t you just say that you
had something you wanted to talk about?”

Kierland nodded, and she lifted her brows, waiting for
him to get on with it.

“I need a woman,” he growled, and would have laughed
at the bluntness of that statement if he weren’t drawn so damn tight, his body
knotted with tension and hunger and barely restrained lust. There wasn’t any
space for humor in the primal, volatile mix. Hell, there was barely even room
enough for him to remember what it was he needed to say.