Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (25 page)

“Wait,” he grunted, immediately pulling his other hand
out of her pants. “Something’s wrong.”

“What?” She shook her head as if trying to wake up
from a dream. “What’s wrong?”

Kierland lifted his head, sniffing at the air. “Shit,
something’s coming. Don’t move,” he growled, drawing one of the guns they’d
picked up that morning as he turned to face the clearing. She fumbled with the
button and zipper on her jeans, oddly bemused by the fact that Kierland had
situated himself in front of her, as if she was going to cower behind his back.
His protective streak was kinda sweet, but she had no intention of allowing him
to face the coming danger on his own, without her help.

No matter what was out there, she would fight beside
him. Though the darkness was deepening around them, she had a wide-open sky
over her head, and fresh air gusting against her face. No way in hell was she
going to let the panic sink its teeth into her again.

A second later Ashe loped into the glade, his gun
drawn, as well. “We have company.”

“How many?” Kierland grunted.

“One Deschanel male for sure. Maybe more.”

“How close?” Morgan asked, pulling her own gun from
the pocket of her coat. Bullets alone weren’t going to kill a vamp, but at
least they’d slow it down.

Before Ashe could answer her question, a raspy voice
came from the trees off to their left. “Not nearly as close as I’d like to be,”
challenged a tall, rangy male, his wild eyes glowing an unnatural silver in the
flickering light cast from the fire. Morgan could tell from his scent that he
was a Deschanel. He was dressed in boots, bloodstained jeans and a torn black
T-shirt, his skin covered in a glistening sheen of sweat, as if he didn’t even
register the cold. “Do you know you’re trespassing on my land?” he demanded,
his English heavily accented.

Ashe’s deep voice was calm, if not friendly. “This is
neutral territory.”

“Not anymore,” the male argued in a rising voice, his
gray gaze jerking over Kierland and Ashe, before flitting to Morgan’s face,
where it stayed. He was over six foot, his powerful body lean, making the
definition of packed muscle sharper beneath his pale skin. Thick,
chocolate-brown hair was brushed back from his flushed face, which would have
been handsome if it weren’t for the heavy, potent pulse of madness vibing off
him. “I’ve claimed this land as my own,” he added, “which means that everything
on it belongs to me.”

The vamp was clearly off his rocker, and Morgan’s
stomach knotted with tension, a slithering sensation coating her skin at the way
he kept staring at her, his bloodshot gaze moving slowly over the front of her
body, lingering on her breasts…her thighs. There was a dark, reddish smear at
the corner of his wide mouth that looked like dried blood, and she wondered who
or what he’d last attacked.

“We don’t want any trouble,” Kierland said in what she
could tell was a forced effort at sounding reasonable. “We’re not staying. Just
passing through.”

“You want across my land,” the vampire snarled,
cutting a dark look toward Kierland as he released his razor-sharp talons from
the tips of his fingers, “then you’re gonna have to fight me for the woman.” He
took a deep breath, and Morgan knew he was pulling in her scent. His tongue
flicked against his lower lip, as if he could taste her there, and his voice
roughened with lust as he added, “She smells good enough to eat.”

“Oh, hell. This is the last damn thing that we
needed,” she whispered, checking her grip on the gun. “I thought you said you
could get us across the Wasteland without any problems, Ashe.”

“I never said one of us wouldn’t have to fight for
what we want,” Ashe replied, his tone deceptively mild. “And by want, I do mean
you, sweetheart.”

“Damn it, Ashe. Did you do this on purpose?” she
gasped, turning an incredulous look on him.

“Come on,” he snorted. “Would I do a thing like that?”

Before she could respond, Kierland took an aggressive
step forward. “If I find out you deliberately put her in danger,” he growled,
his deep voice vibrating with rage, “you’re a dead man.”

The corner of Ashe’s mouth twitched with a wry smile.
“I don’t know what you’re so upset about, Lycan. Now’s your chance to prove to
her how badly you want her.”

She jabbed her finger against the center of Ashe’s
chest, her voice shaking. “Who said Kierland has to do the fighting?”

“Trust me, sweetheart.” A lazy, laughing drawl, as if
Ashe was actually enjoying the horrific situation. “There isn’t a chance in
hell the wolf is gonna let me fight for you. Isn’t that right, Lycan?”

Kierland muttered something ugly under his breath
about Ashe’s parentage, then handed her his gun. “You’d better hold on to that
for me,” he rasped, holding her worried gaze as he slipped out of his jacket,
tossing it over a low-hanging branch.

“Don’t do this,” she pleaded, begging him with her
eyes. “Please, Kier. Just…just shoot him and let’s get out of here.”

“You know I can’t do that,” he grunted, shaking his
head.

“Why not?” she whispered, keeping a careful watch on
the vampire from the corner of her eye. “Because he issued a challenge? Forget
your freaking pride, Kier. This guy isn’t sane. Something bad could happen.”

“How about a little faith?” he muttered, making her
want to grab his broad shoulders and shake some bloody sense into him. But he
was already turning away from her, heading toward the waiting challenger. When
he stood about ten feet in front of the restless vampire, he stopped and flexed
his hands, his body held lightly on the balls of his feet, waiting for the vamp
to make the first move.

“Be careful he doesn’t bite you,” Ashe called out.
“Some of the exiled clans are poisonous.”

“THIS JUST KEEPS GETTING BETTER and better,” Kierland
muttered under his breath, keeping a careful eye on his opponent as the vampire
flexed his talon-tipped fingers. There was a glazed look of insanity in the
guy’s pale eyes, his skin slicked with a light sheen of sweat despite the
bitter, biting cold.

“Come on, wolf. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

In the next instant, the vamp launched his attack, and
Kierland gave himself over to his instincts, blocking a series of powerful
kicks, then countering with a swift right hook followed immediately by an
uppercut that jerked the vamp’s head back with a sharp crack. The Deschanel
roared, lashing out with his talons, and Kierland had to duck and weave to
avoid the lethal swipes, before twisting around and nailing the vamp in the
kidneys with a powerful roundhouse. Although the guy was obviously a hell of a
fighter, he couldn’t maintain his balance, and he stumbled, falling to his
knees. Keeping his arms loose at his sides, Kierland bounced lightly on his
feet, waiting for the vamp to get up, but he didn’t. Instead, a sharp scream
poured from the guy’s throat, and he curled his arms over his head, his body
shuddering as if he was in excruciating pain.

“What’s the matter with him?” Kierland grunted, his
brows pulled together in a deep scowl as he kept a wary eye on the vampire.

“He’s been poisoned.” The soft words came from the
other side of the clearing, where a petite, dark-haired woman was stepping out
of the thick forest, her pale face pinched with worry.

“Who the hell are you?” Granger demanded.

“My name is Juliana Sabin,” she replied, then gestured
toward the vampire who was now slowly dragging himself back to his feet, his
body swaying, as if he’d been drugged. “And that’s Micah, my brother.
He’s…unwell. I ask that you turn him over to us.”

“Us?” Kierland asked, keeping a careful eye on his
opponent.

“My guards,” she explained. There was a rustling of
leaves, and four males came through the trees, flanking her sides. “If you’ll
let us, we’d like to take custody of Micah.”

“Stay out of this, Jules,” the vampire slurred, and
then he staggered forward, targeting Kierland with a savage slash of his
talons. Kierland dipped back, then swept his left leg low, catching the vampire
on the backs of his calves. With his balance already off, Sabin pitched
forward, going down hard on his knees again, his body shaking with what
appeared to be some kind of violent convulsion. Acting swiftly, Kierland
trapped the vampire’s hands behind his back and shoved him face first into the
snow-dusted ground.

“Please, don’t hurt him!” the young woman cried. As
Kierland braced his knee in the center of Sabin’s back, keeping his struggling
arms pinned, she came closer, walking around the fire.

“Remember what I said about certain nests here being
poisonous,” Granger called out. “I don’t recall anything about the Sabin nest,
but I wouldn’t let her get too close if I were you.”

“We’re not one of the infected families,” the female
argued, stopping a few feet away from where Kierland had trapped her brother
against the ground. “But when we were exiled to the Wasteland several years
ago, Micah was infected by a rogue female. We haven’t been able to extract the
poison or find a cure, but it isn’t a contagious strain.”

“Some of them are also liars,” Granger murmured. For
whatever reason, he’d clearly taken a disliking to the woman, his tone thick
with derision. “So be careful what you believe. This is, after all, a prison.
If the Sabins are here, there’s a good reason for it.”

Juliana compressed her lips, refusing to argue, though
her eyes glistened with tears as her brother began to cry out in pain, another
convulsion shuddering through his body.

Kierland could have easily gone for the kill, using
his claws to remove the vampire’s head, but he held back. If Juliana Sabin was
telling the truth, then the man he was fighting wasn’t in his right mind, which
made killing him out of the question.

“Please,” Juliana choked out, lifting her hands in
entreaty. “Please, don’t. If you’ll hand him into my custody, I give you my
word that I’ll do everything I can to see that he won’t escape again.”

Kierland consented with a brief nod, and she called
her guards forward, telling them to carefully bind her brother’s ankles and
wrists. Moving to his feet, Kierland made his way back toward Morgan, her
expression a mixture of lingering fear and sharp relief as she stared into his
eyes.

While the guards hauled a shouting Micah Sabin to his
feet, Juliana came over and thanked them, apologizing for her brother’s
behavior.

“Have you heard any news of a high-security compound
in the Wasteland?” Morgan asked her. “One being used by the Kraven?”

“I’ve heard there’s a Kraven who paid good money for
the use of the Carringtons’ land.”

“Christ,” Granger muttered, his expression grim.

“What is it?” Kierland demanded.

“The Carringtons are a marked nest.”

Morgan lifted her brows. “What’s that mean?”

“Rumor has it that they poisoned themselves by
drinking the blood of innocents, draining them dry. Unlike Micah, the poison
they suffer from can be passed on to their victims. Which means that traveling
through their lands is going to be dangerous as hell. For Kellan and for us.”
Cutting a dark look toward Juliana, he said, “Do you know where the compound
is?”

“I’m afraid not,” she murmured. “The Carringtons have
claimed thousands of acres as their own, stealing it from others. There’s no
telling where the compound is hidden.”

“Come on,” Granger rasped, jerking his chin toward
Morgan. “We need to get going. No way in hell am I camping here for the night.”

“There’s a cabin in the east region of our land. You
can stay there for the night, if you’d like,” Juliana told them, her long hair
streaming over her thin shoulders as she turned to watch her guards carrying
her struggling brother from the clearing, her profile etched with strain. When
they disappeared into the thick forest, she turned her gaze back to Granger.
“The cabin is actually protected by a spell, so you’ll be safe there.”

“Thank you,” Morgan murmured, and Juliana quickly told
them the directions.

Eyeing the female vampire with a wary gaze, Granger
asked, “Is there a password to cross the threshold?”

She nodded. “Yes, and it should be easy to remember.
Just keep in mind that it’s something we have very little of here in the
Wasteland.”

“Sunlight?” Morgan guessed, shivering as a gust of
wind swept through the shadowed clearing.

Juliana shook her head, a sad smile tucked into the
corners of her mouth as she told them the magic word. “Peace.”

Tuesday night

THOUGH MORGAN WASN’T entirely certain they could trust
Juliana Sabin, she was beyond thankful for the use of the Deschanel’s cabin.
She needed a respite from the cold. Needed to feel warm, if only for a handful
of hours, and the fire Kierland had started in the hearth already had delicious
waves of slow melting heat spreading through the rustic room.

The Wasteland, Morgan had decided earlier that day,
was even worse than she’d imagined it would be. You could literally feel the
heaviness of the air there, the weight of the spell that entrapped the exiled
Deschanel nests, like the Sabins, hanging over the land like a heavy shroud.
She’d wondered, as they’d sat around the cabin’s small table with their dinner
of sandwiches and chips, if that was why Monica Harcourt hadn’t been able to
tell them that her sister was being held there. Perhaps the spell that
protected the Wasteland was even strong enough to keep out a ghost.