Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (9 page)

She could run, but she couldn’t hide.

Prague, Czech Republic

Sunday morning

NEARLY EVERY MAN IN THE ROOM turned his head and
watched as Morgan entered the hotel’s busy café. Kierland had sent her a text
asking her to meet him for breakfast, but now he regretted the public setting.
It made no sense, but his possessive instincts were kicking into overdrive. He
wanted to grab a damn bag and throw it over her head, then wrap a heavy blanket
around her sumptuous body, just to keep other men from noticing her.

There was no justification for the Neanderthal urges.
They were stupid, ridiculous, destructive. But the jealousy seething inside him
was impossible to ignore, flavoring the thoughts in his head, as inexorable as
his need to breathe.

And yet, if he were forced to be honest, Kierland knew
it wouldn’t be this way if the past had played out differently and he’d
followed his instincts, going after Morgan, instead of running to Nicole. The
simple fact of the matter was that if Morgan was his—her beautiful body marked
with his bite—he wouldn’t want to hide her away. Instead, he would have been
proud to show her off as his woman.

It was the “not having her” that made him want to
shove his fist through a wall in a juvenile act of frustration. The fact that
he had no claim on her. No right to object if another man caught her eye and
approached her. Touched her. Seduced her into his bed.

Not that Kierland wanted that right, damn it. Even if
he didn’t have his father’s blood flowing through his veins, he would never
bind himself to a woman whose affections could be bought and sold by the Consortium.
Or who could flirt with him so innocently one moment, then turn and slide into
bed with an arrogant son of a bitch like Granger in the next.

Being his father’s son simply closed the deal.

Which meant that nothing was going to happen between
him and this woman.

Not now. Not ever.

His beast growled in reaction to the familiar phrase,
the low, visceral sound rumbling through Kierland’s body like a fault line
breaking open in the ground.

The problem, he’d finally concluded at about 3:00 a.m.
that morning, when he’d been tossing and turning in the hotel’s bed, was that
he’d never gotten Morgan Cantrell out of his system. He might hate the choices
she’d made in her life, but the wolf still craved her, wanting a taste of what
it’d never had. Like a festering wound, he still carried the hunger pangs of a
gnawing, lingering need that had never been satisfied.

Then maybe it’s time to lance the wound, and bleed her
out of our systems.

He tensed in reaction to the wolf’s treacherous words,
because he knew damn well what his beast was suggesting. And he didn’t trust
it. The animal had always been too possessive of Morgan. It knew how he
thought, how to manipulate him. It would fight dirty to get what it wanted. It
had no morals, driven solely by its primal, animal instincts.

Keep thinking we’re different, but what I am, you are,
as well. Same wants. Same hungers. Same needs.

Kierland’s hand curled into a fist on the tabletop
until the veins beneath his skin stood out in stark relief, but he took a deep
breath, forcing a look of bored indifference to his face as Morgan approached,
unwilling to give anything away.

She wore another pair of hip-hugging jeans with her
boots, but her sweater this time was a soft gray that nearly matched her eyes.
The thick curtain of her dark hair was straight, falling like silk over the
feminine curve of her shoulders, the bangs making her look too young…too
innocent. She didn’t wear any makeup except for a berry-colored gloss on her
full mouth, but then she didn’t need any.

The cake, as Kellan would have said, was already
mouthwatering. It didn’t need any icing.

Morgan murmured a quiet greeting and took the seat
across from him. “Any news this morning?” she asked, reaching for her linen
napkin. There was a nervous edge to her movements, though he could tell she was
trying hard to hide it.

“I had a call from Seth. He’s leaving England and
heading back to the States.”

Seth McConnell was a former Lieutenant Colonel in the
Collective Army, and as such, he should have been their enemy. Fate, however,
had other plans, and in an ironic twist, Seth was now fighting alongside the
Watchmen and the Merrick in their war against the Casus. The disillusioned
officer had broken ranks with the Collective when he had learned that his
commanding officers had made a deal with the Casus and their allies, causing
him to question the very beliefs that the Army had been founded on. Although
the others in Kierland’s unit had been fully prepared to despise the man who
had once hunted those like them, Seth, who looked more like a California surfer
than a soldier, had turned out to be a hard man to hate, his smile too easy and
warm…and his regret for his past mistakes too genuine.

The last time Kierland had seen him, the shadows under
Seth’s dark green eyes had been proof that the guy was running as ragged as the
rest of them. Before coming to Harrow House for a brief visit, the former
Collective officer had been doing his best to find Westmore these past weeks,
as well as to uncover whatever information he could about the whereabouts of
Chloe Harcourt. But so far, Ross Westmore had done an excellent job of covering
his tracks and Seth, along with the soldiers who’d remained loyal to him from
his Collective unit, hadn’t been able to get their hands on any useful
information. Until now.

“Why is he going back?” she asked.

Kierland kept his voice low as he explained. “Seems
his men have scored a bit of a coup. Finally got their hands on one of the
high-ranking Collective officers who’s been working with Westmore and the
Casus.”

She lifted her brows. “And the officer talked?”

Kierland nodded. “Seth’s not sure how much this guy
knows, but he thinks he might be able to get more out of him. From what the
officer’s said so far, it seems he was never all that keen on working with the
monsters.” He took a sip of his coffee, and tried like hell to ignore how good
she smelled as he went on. “I guess the guy’s already told them there’s a rumor
spreading that the Generals are having second thoughts about the deal they made
with Westmore. Some of the soldiers are even threatening to revolt, since they
don’t like the way things are going down.”

“Has he told Seth’s men where Westmore’s compound is?”
she asked. “Or anything about Chloe?”

“If the guy knows, he hasn’t shared anything.” He
leaned forward and braced his crossed arms on the table. “But like I said, Seth
is hoping he can get some more out of him when he gets there.”

After the waitress came and took their breakfast
orders, Morgan turned her head, staring out the café’s front window. “I can’t
believe we’re actually sitting here, having breakfast together.” Her voice was tight,
strained. “It’s so surreal.”

“If you’re ready to run, Morgan, then go ahead. It’s
probably the smartest thing you could do. Just try to give me the loc—”

“You’re not going to talk me out of going,” she
muttered, cutting him off. “So you might as well give up, Kierland.”

They sat there in heavy silence for a few minutes—her
staring out the window, Kierland staring at her—until the waitress came back
with Morgan’s coffee and then their food. As he ate his omelet, Kierland found
himself torn between frustration over the fact that she either wouldn’t, or
couldn’t, give him Kellan’s location…and the unwanted reaction of his beast.
The bastard was all but howling with satisfaction, eager for this chance to
spend time with her, thinking that Kierland’s willpower would eventually
crumble and he’d finally give the animal what it wanted. Which was a taste of
this one exasperating, complicated, thoroughly delectable woman.

“About last night,” he murmured, just to see how she
would react. And he wasn’t disappointed.

Morgan’s face turned bright red, her cheekbones
darkening with color, and Kierland found himself wanting to drag his mouth
along that warm, smooth skin, just so he could taste the heat of her blood
blooming beneath its surface.

“Not. A. Word.” Keeping her gaze locked on her plate,
she forced out each word with slow, careful precision, as if she was afraid he
wouldn’t get the point.

Kierland pushed his empty plate aside and braced his
arms on the table again. Quietly, he asked, “So we’re just going to pretend
that nothing happened in that bathroom?”

Her nostrils flared. “You bet your ass we are.”

He didn’t know why her refusal made him so angry, but
it did. “Damn it, Morgan. That’s not going to solve any—”

“I don’t care if it solves anything or not,” she
snapped, gripping her fork so tightly he was surprised it didn’t snap in two.
“Please, just leave it.”

The waitress returned at that moment to refill Kierland’s
coffee cup, and he was forced to sit there, seething with frustration, while
Morgan chatted with the woman about the hotel and the city. Then, the instant
the waitress had walked away again, she asked, “Are we still dropping by
Gideon’s apartment this morning?”

“Yeah,” he replied, deciding to let her get away with
the evasion. For the moment. “That’s the plan.”

She took her last bite of scrambled egg and picked up
her coffee. “Have you tried calling him?”

He nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “His phone
is switched off. Knowing the vamp, he’s probably sprawled in bed somewhere with
a horde of women. We might very well have to track him down, but his apartment
will be the best place to start.”

Her phone started to buzz, and she pulled it from her
pocket, glancing at the screen. “Anything important?” he asked.

Without looking at him, she said, “It’s a text from
Olivia.”

Kierland found himself sitting there with his gaze
locked on her face as she read the message, thinking about how easily the group
back in England had embraced her. She’d become good friends with all of the
women, and the men loved her, as well. “Everything okay?” he pressed.

She glanced up at him with a lopsided smile. “That’s
exactly what Liv wants to know.”

“Have you told them anything about where Kellan is?”
he asked, as she started to type in a response on her keypad.

She shook her head, still typing. “All they know is
that he’s in Norway.”

“Good. Don’t tell them anything more.”

Her fingers stilled, and surprise showed in her gray
eyes as she lifted her gaze, locking it with his. “You’re not going to tell
them where we’re going?”

“Not until I know what’s going on. I’m not going to
risk the whole unit following after us if they get worried because we haven’t
checked in with them.” Before he’d finished the last word, his own phone began
buzzing in his pocket.

“Is it Gideon?” she asked.

Kierland shook his head as he glanced at the screen.
“It’s Quinn,” he told her, answering the call. Keeping his voice low, he said,
“I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to call me, you son of a bitch.”

Quinn’s deep voice rumbled over the line. “Don’t be
that way, man. You know why I did it.”

“I know I’m going to kick your ass the next time I see
you.”

“You can’t kick your best friend’s ass,” Quinn offered
in an easy drawl, and Kierland would have bet money that the shifter was
smiling. “I’m sure there’s some kind of law against that.”

“Then trust me when I say it’s a law that’s gonna get
broken,” he shot back, while Morgan stared into the depths of her coffee cup
with a slight grin tucked into the corner of her mouth, listening to every
word. “Was there a reason you called? Or did you just want to bug me?”

Quinn sighed. “I just heard from Seth. He told me you
said something about heading into the Wasteland.”

Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Kierland choked back a
graveled curse. “Nothing’s positive at this point. What about it?”

He could feel Morgan watching him as he listened to
Quinn say, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go alone.”

“We won’t be alone. We’ll have a guide.”

A surprised pause, and then Quinn asked, “What kind of
guide?”

“Can’t get into it now,” he said in a hard voice.
“I’ll explain later.”

“Well, I still think one of us should come over.”

“And I think you should all damn well stay where it’s
safe,” he snapped. “There’s nothing out here that Morgan and I can’t handle.”

“Like hell there isn’t,” Quinn argued. “We still don’t
even know what those Death-Walkers are capable of.”

Quinn was right, but it wasn’t going to change his
mind. If he was going to be stuck dealing with Morgan, Kierland didn’t want one
of the others there, watching them constantly. He’d had more than enough of
that in the past month back at Harrow House. “We’ve gotta get going,” he
grunted, “but I’ll be in touch.”

“Damn it, Kierland. Don’t hang—”

AS KIERLAND DISCONNECTED THE call and slipped the
phone back in his pocket, Morgan studied his expression, trying to gauge his
mood. “Looks like our friends are worried about us,” she murmured, taking a sip
of her coffee.