Here’s what Romantic Times BOOKreviews has to say about RHYANNON BYRD’S BLOODRUNNERS seriesfrom Mills & Boon® Intrigue Nocturne

Last Wolf Standing

“4 1/2 stars…Fast paced and exciting, Rhyannon

Byrd’s Last Wolf Standing is hard to put down.”

Last Wolf Hunting

“Top Pick. 4 1/2 stars.”

Last Wolf Watching

“Top Pick. 4 1/2 stars…Rhyannon Byrd’s

compelling, sexy characters and exciting story

make Last Wolf Watching a must read.”

Also available from Rhyannon Byrd

Don’t miss the rest of the dark and sensual

PRIMAL INSTINCT trilogy, coming this autumn

from Mills & Boon® Super Nocturne

Edge of Hunger Now availble

Edge of Desire October 2009

And available from Mills & Boon® Intrigue Nocturne, the BLOODRUNNERS series

Last Wolf Standing

Last Wolf Hunting

Last Wolf Watching

EDGE OF DANGER

BY

RHYANNON BYRD

MILLS & BOON®

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dear Reader,

I’m thrilled to present Edge of Danger, the second book in my new PRIMAL INSTINCT series with Mills & Boon® Super Nocturne. Set within a world where paranormal creatures live hidden among an unknowing humanity, this provocative trilogy continues with the story of Saige Buchanan and the dark, devastatingly sexy shape-shifter who steals her heart.

Michael Quinn is a hero who refuses to forget his past…or to risk his future. And yet the instant he sets eyes on Saige in a crowded Brazilian bar, he wants her with a relentless hunger that’s impossible to deny. But Saige has fears of her own. To get what he wants, Quinn must conquer not only his own demons, but those of the wary, tempestuous Buchanan as well.

I’m so excited to be sharing Quinn and Saige’s wickedly seductive romance with you, and I hope it will be one that truly touches your heart!

All the best,

Rhyannon

To my amazing editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, without

whom none of this would have been possible. Endless

thanks for the wonderful guidance, support and insight.

You’re helping me to grow so much as an author and

I’m so incredibly lucky to be working with you!

Embrace the danger…

CHAPTER ONE

Embrace the danger….

Thursday evening

The Amazon

IF THE WOMAN was trying to blend in, she wasn’t very good at it. It’d taken Michael Quinn no more than five seconds to pick her out in the dim, crowded interior of O Diablo Dos Ángels, a rickety roadside barra in the bustling market town of Coroza, Brazil. He’d been traveling for two days now, working his way through the stifling, humid depths of the Amazonian rain forest, and it showed in his haggard appearance. Two days that felt more like weeks, each passing hour grating against his nerves like a rusty nail, until he was in what could only be classified as a category-five, off-the-Richter-scale, completely uncharacteristic foul mood.

Not that he was usually cheery. Normally Quinn just…existed. It’d been years since anything, or anyone, had managed to touch him or throw him off his firm, even keel—and now this. He couldn’t explain it, but from the moment he’d been given Saige Buchanan’s photograph, his cool, steady calm had begun to fade, slipping away from him like water spiraling slowly down a drain. And in its wake, he’d been left with this seething intensity…this gripping tension.

What made it even worse was the fact that Quinn hadn’t even wanted the assignment—had, in fact, been adamant in his refusal. And yet, here he was, with his damp shirt sticking to his skin, the heavy scent of tobacco and sweat making his head hurt, while something piercing and uncomfortably sharp slithered through his system at the sight of his prey.

Huh. So this is little Saige, he thought, moving along the wall, away from the door, careful to avoid her line of sight as she sat at a small table on the far side of the room, a bottle of water held in one delicate hand. At her side sat a young man who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, his dark skin, hair and eyes attesting to his Brazilian heritage. The boy’s lips were moving, and though Quinn’s hearing was far better than a human’s, he couldn’t make out the words over the raucous cacophony of sound coming from the crowd.

It seemed a strange setting for an American woman and her young companion, and yet, no one bothered them. Not even the drunks. Was she a regular, then? Under the owner’s protection? Or was there some other reason the locals kept their distance?

Whatever the answer, it couldn’t be from lack of notice. Saige Buchanan stood out among the weathered patrons like a neon sign in the midnight pitch of night, glittering and bright.

Quinn rubbed his palm against the scratchy growth of stubble that came from going several days without a shave, then slowly shook his head, already revising his analogy. No, the reportedly brilliant anthropologist wasn’t brash or bold, like neon. As bright as she shone, there was a soft, almost tender aura about her, which probably made her stick out even more than that angelic face, lush body or unusual shade of hair. Neither red nor brown, it hovered somewhere in between, picking up the soft, hazy glow of light that spilled down from above, struggling against the lengthening evening shadows.

A heavy wooden door suddenly slammed behind the bar and Quinn locked his jaw, marveling that the ramshackle structure didn’t crumble down around them in a pile of mortar and bricks. Flicking a quick glance upward, he was surprised the stained ceiling actually managed to remain in place, even with the various thick support beams wedged between it and the sawdust-covered floor. Without a doubt, this place made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like being closed in, confined, preferring the outdoors and the endless freedom of the sky.

And why don’t you stop moaning and just get on with it? The sooner you get your hands on her, the sooner you can get out of here.

Sound words, and yet, now that he’d found her, the last thing on earth Quinn wanted to do was touch her—to get his hands on her. Not that he was concerned he couldn’t handle her if she decided to be difficult. Saige Buchanan may have been more than an average human female, but then he was hardly an average man. He could scent that her Merrick had yet to fully awaken—and until it did, he would be able to retain the upper hand when it came to physical strength.

Later, after her awakening…well, he’d never gone head-to-head with a Merrick female before, but he sure as hell hoped she wouldn’t be able to kick his ass. If that ever happened, his friends back at the compound would never let him live it down.

As a member of the Watchmen, an organization of shape-shifters whose duty it was to watch over the remaining bloodlines of the original ancient clans, Quinn had been taught a little about the Merrick, once one of the most powerful nonhuman species to walk the earth. And since the crap that had recently gone down with Saige’s older brother, Ian Buchanan, he now knew even more. But Saige was…different. Unlike her brother, who experienced certain physical changes when the Merrick blood in his veins rose to the surface of his body, it was believed that Merrick females, while gaining in strength and agility and heightened senses, didn’t change in appearance. She wouldn’t sport talons on the tips of her delicate fingers. Wouldn’t bulk up with thick, massive muscles. And her nose wouldn’t alter its dainty, feminine shape.

But you’re forgetting the fangs.

Ahh, right. Evidently, that was one of the changes the Merrick women did experience, in order to feed the primitive parts of their nature. Lifting his hand, Quinn rubbed at an odd tingle on the side of his neck, as if he could already feel the pleasure-pain of Saige Buchanan sinking her pearly whites into his flesh, taking the hot wash of his blood into her mouth, at the same time she took him deep into her body.

Whoa…

Scowling, he lowered his hand, fingers curling into a tight fist, and wondered what was wrong with him. Had the heat gone to his head? Had going without sex addled his brain? Or was he truly losing his mind?

Leaning his elbow against the small counter built into the side wall of the bar, Quinn shook off the irritating thoughts and signaled a stout, middle-aged woman who roamed the room with a tray, delivering drinks while she chatted with the customers. As she stepped closer, he could read the name Inez embroidered onto her apron, and despite the friendly way she’d handled the crowd, she leveled a cold, chilling look at him. Her dark eyes were wary now, and as they slowly inspected him from his scarred boots, up over his dirt-streaked jeans and damp black T-shirt, he said, “Uma cerveja, por favor.”

“Tell me,” she replied in heavily accented English, the corners of her wide mouth pinched with suspicion. “Why do you watch our Saige like you are hungry?”

Quinn locked his jaw, angry that he’d revealed the focus of his attention to those watching him.

“Well?” she persisted with an air of command that made him suspect she was more than a barmaid.

“No idea what you’re talking about,” he countered in a low, graveled voice, returning her hard stare. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to back down, she muttered under her breath and turned around, making her way back to the bar.

Mentally kicking himself in the ass, Quinn purposefully withdrew his attention from the American and looked around the barra. In a strange way, he felt as though he’d walked onto a movie set. It was that surreal, complete with braying donkey outside the front door, the veil of smoke from cigarettes and cigars so thick you could all but slice it with a knife. The only thing that made it bearable was Saige. Her scent wrapped around him like a soft, clinging vine, enticing and warm and sweetly addictive. It was like…like a rain shower, refreshing and clean, washing away the suffocating grime. It even eased the tension he felt at being in such a crowded, noisy, closed-in space. With a conscious effort, Quinn focused on that mouthwatering scent, drawing more of it into his lungs, desperate to block out the rest of his surroundings.

Unable to help himself, his gaze slid back to Saige, greedily soaking up the visual details, hungry for the data. For the way her wavy hair fell around the delicate angles of her face. That impish sprinkle of freckles and the lush shape of her provocative mouth as she spoke with the young Brazilian.

Even without the photograph tucked into his back pocket, Quinn knew he’d have recognized her the second he set eyes on her. Though her coloring was fairer than her brothers’, her feminine frame slight compared to their brawny strength, she still bore the marks of the Buchanan bloodline. Despite the thick smoke that filled the room, he could see the dark, deep blue of her eyes as if he were sitting at her side. And there was something about the angle of her jaw that attested to the Buchanan stubbornness he’d dealt with on a firsthand basis since meeting her siblings.

The small, tight T-shirt she wore fit her body like a glove, hugging a pair of lush breasts that were surprising on a frame as slight as hers, and his mouth almost curved with an appreciative male grin. Just because he didn’t plan to touch, didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view. The frayed khaki shorts and flannel shirt tied around her waist did nothing to disguise the womanly curve of her hips, and Quinn found himself wondering if her ass would be as enticing as the rest of her. He guessed her height to be somewhere around five-six, and though that wasn’t overly tall, she looked smaller, somehow fragile. Still, her muscles were toned beneath the peaches-and-cream complexion, testament to the fact that she lived a physical life. She probably spent her time crawling in and out of archaeological digs, climbing up the treacherous sides of mountains, traipsing through the rain forest—all places where a fey little creature like herself didn’t belong.

The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitched as he pondered her reaction to that chauvinistic observation. The impudent set of her chin told him that Saige Buchanan was the kind of woman who went where she wanted, when she wanted, her safety and the opinion of others be damned.

The boy said something, smiling at her, and she reached out, ruffling his thick black hair with an easy camaraderie that spoke of friendship. Of closeness. Quinn’s eyes narrowed, and he about jumped out of his skin when the serving woman, Inez, came up behind him, smacking his beer bottle down on the counter. She muttered under her breath some more as she stomped away, and he grabbed the bottle, taking a long swallow of the lukewarm beer, while silently lecturing himself.

Wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth, he grimaced, thinking it was impossible that he could be jealous of a kid. It was moronic to think he could be jealous at all. Jealousy stank of possession, and he gritted his teeth, unwilling to go down that particular road.

Still, Saige was his responsibility until he delivered her safely to Ravenswing, a Watchman compound in Colorado and Quinn’s home, where her two brothers were waiting for her. He knew the Buchanans hadn’t wanted one of the Watchmen alone with their baby sister, just as he knew Kierland Scott, his best friend and unofficial leader of their unit, would have assured the Merrick that they had nothing to fear from him. From the others, yeah—but not from Quinn. His bed partners, when he needed sex, were always ones he was never likely to run into again, which meant soon-to-be housemates were off-limits.

Rolling his shoulder in a hard, irritated gesture, Quinn focused his thoughts back on the task that lay ahead of him. He needed to get her home, in one piece, and it wouldn’t be easy. A Merrick female was going to be considered easy pickings by those who were hunting her. He and the Watchmen had hoped that Riley Buchanan, the middle son, would awaken before his sister, but now that he’d set eyes on Saige, Quinn knew that wasn’t going to be the case. He could scent the coming change in her, the awakening of her ancient bloodline, and though she hadn’t fully awakened yet, it was on its way.

Which meant that a newly liberated Casus was most likely already onto her, and Quinn’s job had just gone from dangerous…to deadly. Though there was still so much they didn’t understand, it was firmly believed that the Merrick awakenings were triggered by the presence of the Casus, a race of preternatural monsters who preyed upon the Merrick, feeding from their flesh for power, as well as revenge. The immortal Casus, who’d been imprisoned for centuries for their indiscriminate killing sprees, had finally discovered a way to escape from their holding ground back to this realm. And though their numbers were still small, Quinn and his fellow Watchmen feared what was to come.

Taking another long swallow of beer, he watched Saige from beneath hooded eyes, wondering how much she knew. What was she doing in South America? Did she know the Casus were hunting her? And where the hell was Paul Templeton?

Templeton was the Watchman who’d been assigned to Saige for the past several months, but when they’d put in the call for him to bring her back to America, there’d been no response. Either Templeton had gone AWOL, which no one believed, or he was already a casualty of what was set to become a war of deadly proportions.

Circumstances being what they were—which was about a mile deep in shit and sinking fast—Quinn knew he didn’t have any choice but to move as quickly as possible. He needed to act. Now. But something kept him back. Kept his ass planted against the rickety counter, his body vibing with a hot, angry restlessness.

When someone accidentally knocked over a chair, Saige turned toward the sound, angling her head to the side, revealing the vulnerable length of her throat. It was at that moment that hungers too long restrained stretched to awareness within Quinn, the animal side of his nature blinking its eyes open to a lazy, dangerous, smoldering fire. He didn’t take blood in the way that a Merrick did, but he still longed to clamp his teeth onto that tender, provocative part of her, while sending himself as deep into her as he could get.

As if she felt the press of his stare on that pale, feminine curve of flesh, she lifted her hand to the side of her neck. Then she suddenly twisted in her chair, scanning the room, and Quinn quickly turned toward the wall, giving her his back. His fingers clenched around the bottle, nearly shattering the glass in his grip.

Had he gone out of his mind? All hell was about to break loose, and here he was nursing a warm beer, with a raging case of lust that could only land him in trouble. He didn’t have time for this crap.

Stop stalling, damn it, and get on with it.

Turning purposefully back toward the room, he watched as she said something to the boy and stood up, making her way to the bar. She was talking to the short, smiling man behind the counter as Quinn moved to her side, draining the last of his beer. The second she turned and caught him in that deep, dark blue stare, the color as fascinating as the luminous perfection of her skin, he knew he’d been marked.

Quinn set his empty beer bottle down on the counter, preparing to introduce himself, when she reached for it. He wondered what she was doing as her fingers closed around the thick green glass, her expression instantly shifting from wary unease to full-blown panic. Then, before he could even guess her intention, she suddenly hurled the bottle at his head. The glass cracked against the edge of his right eyebrow, splitting the skin, the hot wash of blood flooding his vision.

Son of a bitch.

She immediately started running, shouting something in Portuguese to the boy, who took off past Quinn, out the front door. Moving in the opposite direction, Saige hefted the backpack she’d grabbed from the table onto her shoulder and pushed her way out the back exit, disappearing into what Quinn knew was the jungle.

Swearing, he tossed a wad of bills on the counter and set off after her, hoping to God he could catch her before the fool woman managed to get herself killed.

As he ran out of the bar, into the humid warmth of the evening, the air thick and damp against his skin, the last watery threads of sunlight began fading beneath the heavy weight of night. Quinn followed her scent, dodging the clinging vines of the jungle, his long legs making good time against her shorter strides, but she was fast.

Too fast, he realized in the next moment, as a strong, noxious odor reached his nose, coming from the same direction Saige was moving.

We’re out of time, he thought, gripping his T-shirt and pulling it over his head as he allowed the change to flow over him.

Hell was already there, and she was running straight into its deadly grasp.

CHAPTER TWO

MOVE IT…MOVE IT…MOVE IT.

Saige Buchanan chanted the choppy refrain within her mind again…and again, forcing her legs to keep going, even after the cramping had set in, demanding she stop. Though she’d done her best to sit at the table and act as if nothing was wrong, reality couldn’t have been further from the truth. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders, her nerves so frayed, she felt as if she were unraveling at the seams. Despite the fact she felt safe at the local barra that was owned by Inez and her husband, Rubens, who were good friends of hers, Saige knew she shouldn’t have risked meeting with Javier Ruiz in such a public place. But she’d needed to go back for the valuable maps she’d stored in Inez’s safe before she left for America, and it had been her last chance to see her young employee. In the time he’d worked for her and the other members of the research team at their dig site, Saige had come to think of the cheerful Brazilian as a younger brother, and she hadn’t wanted to just disappear without telling him goodbye.

The plan had been so simple. Say her farewells to her friends, grab the maps, then put herself in plain sight as she headed for the airport in the nearby town of São Vicente. Instead, she’d run without the maps, and for all she knew she might have gotten Javier marked as a target by the dark-haired stranger who’d been watching her with that sharp, penetrating stare. Saige couldn’t be certain of who or what the man was, or even what he was after, and she hated the fact that she might have exposed Javier to danger.

Face it, chica. You screwed up. Big-time.

A low, choked stream of curses slipped from her lips at the frustrating thought while she shoved the dense jungle foliage out of her way, jumping in midstride to avoid a thick tangle of roots, but it was too late to go back and undo her actions. She’d made a mistake, and she was paying the price for it, perhaps even running for her life.

Was the man giving chase a new threat, or was he somehow involved with whatever had been tracking her every move for the past few days, stalking her like a shadow? Saige had felt its malevolent presence almost every hour she’d worked in the jungle, like a low-frequency wave of evil that made her skin crawl. Even now she could have sworn its noxious scent lingered on the evening air, slipping into her pores like a sickness.

Knowing what she did of the gypsy legend that foretold the time when the Casus would escape their holding ground and make their way back to this realm, prompting the awakening of the ancient Merrick bloodlines, Saige couldn’t deny the growing veil of terror creeping over her, binding her in its cold, slimy grasp. Had the Casus escaped? Had the moment she’d always feared, since hearing the first hazy fragments of the legend from her mother, finally arrived? Fragments that Elaina Buchanan had nearly driven herself insane to uncover, as her obsession with the Merrick had reached a point that even Saige had known was unhealthy—but in her own way, had understood. Fragments Saige herself had spent her life working to piece together. To fully understand.

Or…was the threat merely a mortal one? Had she already become a target of the Collective Army? Saige had no doubt that, once aware of the awakenings, the ruthless human mercenaries devoted to obliterating all preternatural life from the world would do everything they could to destroy the Merrick. All of which meant that until she actually came face-to-face with her enemy, she would be left guessing as to which one had found her first—supernatural monster…or human zealot?

“And where exactly does the guy from the bar fit in?” she grunted under her breath as she hoisted her backpack higher onto her shoulder, her fingers biting into the strap so hard they’d gone numb. Was he after the powerful cross she’d unearthed in the depths of the jungle…or her life? Either scenario seemed likely, and yet, it wasn’t ancient weapons or murder she’d seen when she’d touched that empty beer bottle. It had been sex. Hard, grinding, explicit images of the two of them together, his mouthwatering body covering her, thrusting savagely between her spread thighs, while he growled her name and she sank a heavy pair of fangs into the side of his strong, corded throat. Her body had writhed beneath his dark, beautiful form, consumed by searing waves of pleasure, and she nearly stumbled as she pressed her left hand low on her belly, against the strange, provocative sense of heaviness that filled her. It was almost as if he were actually a part of her—as if he were, in that moment, driving that thick, heavy part of him deep inside her, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her—and she bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning at the breathtaking sensation. Her temperature spiked, a stinging in her gums unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, the painful cadence of her heart more from the hard, demanding rise of hunger than from fear.

Which means that you’ve gone stark barking mad! You don’t feed from the enemy, you idiot. And that guy sure as hell wasn’t your buddy.

Frustrated that she had so little control over the violent, visceral cravings of her Merrick, Saige ground her teeth and focused instead on keeping her body moving as quickly as possible, her speed so much greater than a human’s, despite the fact that her awakening had only recently begun. She still looked the same…still sounded the same, but inside…inside she was becoming something so much more than what she’d been. Her senses were sharper, the vivid, breathtaking details of the surrounding jungle swarming her mind with a brilliant, chaotic flood of information. Colors exploded with electrifying focus, her hearing so precise she could detect the nocturnal animals scurrying for shelter in the underbrush.

Certain that she could sense the stranger closing in behind her, Saige pumped her legs with greater force, ignoring the sharp burn of pain in her muscles as she shoved at the thick, damp leaves that crowded in on her. The small, silver compass that she wore around her neck thumped repeatedly against her pounding heart, beneath her sweat-damp shirt, and for a moment she wished that it was the cross, which could supposedly be used as a source of protection for anyone who wore it.

Wincing as the jungle flora scratched against her arms and legs, Saige figured a little protection would have come in handy right about then, but the cross was already gone. After finally uncovering the second Marker’s resting place that very morning in the stifling, humid depths of the rain forest, Saige had secretly sent the cross to Colorado in the care of a fellow colleague named Jamison Haley, then purposefully remained behind as a decoy. It’d been a risky move, but she was banking on the expectation that if they were out there watching her, the last thing in the world the Casus would expect her to do, after discovering one of the Markers, was separate herself from the powerful talisman.

Which apparently wasn’t the smartest move, now was it?

Obviously not. She might have managed to throw them off Jamison’s trail, but at the expense of throwing herself into what looked to be one heck of a fire.

“But it’s not like you had any choice,” she muttered to herself, casting a quick glance over her shoulder before narrowing her gaze back on the darkening forest. Untold dangers lurked in its shadowed depths, her Merrick blood altering her vision, allowing her to see far better than her human eyes had ever done—and yet, she still couldn’t say what lay ahead in the coming flood of night. She only knew it was there….

Enemies are coming who will take me from you.

When she’d laid hands upon the mysterious weapon, those were the words its voice had whispered through her mind, eerie and ancient and soft, so unlike the “voices” or “images” she usually picked up. But then her strange little talent for reading physical objects was most often a lark…a fluke. Only in her work did it tend to give her something meaningful. An object unearthed from hundreds of years ago, if not more, revealing its secrets to her as Saige first touched her fingers to its surface.

It was when it came to everyday life that the excitement faded. She would pick up a ketchup bottle in a restaurant and find herself privy to the internal thoughts of the last person who’d held it. Did I turn the iron off? Are these calories going straight to my thighs? Should I have the ice cream for dessert…or the apple pie? Hardly earth-shattering revelations, and she’d gotten good at shuffling the mundane facts in and out of her mind, like a revolving door, giving them little notice. Only when touching something from the past did she pay attention—focus and search for more.

Like when she’d found the first elaborately carved cross—or Dark Marker, as Saige had learned they were called—in Italy last year, and it had told her of its power: that it was one of the ancient weapons meant to destroy her enemies, as well as a source of protection. Saige had been awed by its warmth against her skin, by the beauty of its intricate design, and she’d vowed to search for the others with the use of the maps she’d found wrapped in an oilcloth, buried beside it. Worried that her discovery of the Marker was a portent of things to come, she’d wanted her mother to have the cross’s protection, and so she’d left the talisman with Elaina Buchanan while on a trip home to South Carolina. Now that her mother was gone, Saige only hoped the right decision had been made in passing the Marker on to her eldest brother, Ian. Her mother had written a letter asking that the cross be left in Ian’s possession, and Saige had found it impossible to ignore Elaina’s last wish. Knowing how much Ian had always despised any talk of the Merrick, all she could do was pray that the first Marker wasn’t lost…or thrown out, because there was no doubt they were going to need it. Especially now that she knew there were others who wanted the powerful, mysterious weapons.

After hearing the second Marker’s chilling words of warning, Saige had known she had to do everything she could to protect it. With the rest of the international research team having headed back to their various home countries the week before, she and Jamison, an archaeologist from London, had been the last remaining members to stay behind, continuing on with her private search. Over the course of the past year and a half, Saige had come to know Jamison well, and he was one of the few of her colleagues she actually considered a friend. Young and studious, the freckle-faced Brit wasn’t exactly a warrior, but what he lacked in brute strength he more than made up for with brains, and Saige trusted him implicitly—which was why she’d entrusted him with her precious find. She would meet up with him on Tuesday afternoon in Denver, and then once reunited with the cross, her plan was to track down her brother Riley and force him to take the Marker whether he wanted it or not, knowing he could protect it better than she ever could.

It would have been nice to think that Riley, a county sheriff in the Rocky Mountains, would invite her to stay with him, so that they could go through this nightmare together, but Saige had no illusions. She knew her brothers had loved her in their own way, but her and Elaina’s obsession with the Merrick had driven a painful wedge between them, a rift that had only widened as they’d grown older. She hadn’t talked to Ian in years, and even though she still saw Riley from time to time, their relationship continued to suffer. They hadn’t spoken since Elaina’s funeral, nearly six months ago, but the wounds from their argument were still fresh in her mind, seeping and raw. He’d called her obsession with the Merrick a ridiculous waste of her life, criticizing the dangers she kept subjecting herself to, traipsing all over the world in search of answers to a past that they had sure as hell better hope never touched their lives. Though Saige knew there was a part of him that believed the stories they’d been raised on, Riley was hardly willing to accept the truth about their bloodline with an open heart. He believed, but he wasn’t happy about it, harboring a bitterness that Saige had never shared…nor completely understood. A bitterness that had made his last words to her the most painful of all, as well as ones she wouldn’t ever forget…or forgive.

And above all, he’d made it clear that she was in this alone.

Which you should be damn used to by now.

Saige scowled at the silently sighed words, refusing to waste time feeling sorry for herself, no matter how scared she was. And there was no denying her fear, the sickly emotion coating her skin in a slick, clammy film. After spending her entire adult life in preparation for this moment, now that the time of the awakening had finally begun, terror consumed her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a safe pair of arms and seek comfort…solace. If not from her family, then from someone who at least cared about her. Who would wrap her in his arms and hold her tight, sheltering her in his strong, possessive embrace, even if only for a few stolen hours of peace.

Dream on, Saige—because in case you didn’t notice, this isn’t a fairy tale.

Other than her mother, the closest she’d ever come to having anyone take an interest in what happened to her was the Watchmen, but even they’d abandoned her now. There’d been a moment back at the bar when she’d thought there was a chance the gorgeous stranger was another of the mysterious “watchers,” like the man who’d disappeared earlier that week, but it was a benchmark of their organization that they always kept their distance, never getting as close as he had. Saige figured she should know, considering she and her brothers had been under surveillance for years, if not their entire lives, by the shape-shifters whose job it was to watch over the ancient bloodlines. The suddenly absent Watchman had simply been the latest in a long line of men and women whose responsibility it had been to keep an eye on her, waiting for the day when she was no longer human.

Saige had always done her best to ignore them. After all, they never interfered in her life. They were just there, like the birthmark on her hip, constant and predictable. And in a strange way…oddly comforting.

But there’d been something alarmingly different about the breathtaking stranger back at the bar. Instead of easing her mind, he’d completely overwhelmed her senses. When she’d touched his empty beer bottle, the vision that had roared through her brain had been shocking in its force, completely stunning her. Saige normally didn’t read objects that strongly. Nor did she pick up on such powerful, visceral emotions, and she’d panicked…running straight into the comforting arms of the jungle. A place where she’d always felt at home, despite its inherent dangers. The forest wasn’t an enemy, and it wasn’t simply a place. It was her companion and she trusted it, knew what to expect from it, unlike people.

People were unpredictable, but nature always folowed its course. Yes, it could be merciless and unforgiving, but it could also be generous in spirit, sharing its beauty…its splendor, asking for nothing in return but respect. Saige had always felt at peace in its embrace, but tonight, she drew no comfort from her lush surroundings. The shadows were closing in on her, panic tripping her feet, thickening in her lungs, burning in her muscles. Scents that had once been clean and fresh now slithered against her skin, sinking into her pores, wet and dank and meaty. Her sanctuary was being transformed, stolen from her, replaced by terror and fear, and she wanted to get her hands on the one responsible and make him pay.

Which would be a heck of a lot easier to do if you’d taken what your body wants…and found someone to feed from. And the cross would have helped, as well.

Hating that she’d become such a bloody whiner, Saige gritted her teeth and ran faster, pushing her body to its limit, when a stark, demonic howl suddenly broke through the night, directly ahead of her. She stumbled, almost falling, but turned to her right and kept running, painfully aware of the shock jolting through her system. She went hot…then cold, her eyes wide as she struggled to wrap her mind around it. Though she’d been a believer for so long, it was still a brutal assault on her system to find that she’d actually been right.

Oh God, she thought, followed swiftly by a choked, breathless outburst of “Shit!” and “Hell!” and “Not now, damn it!”

Struggling to keep hold of her backpack, Saige managed to lean down and grab hold of the small knife that she carried in the top of her right boot, clutching it within her damp grasp. The terrifying, sickening howl came a second time, right in her direct path again, and a sharp, choking sound of panic broke from her throat. Not knowing what to do, she cut left this time, feeling as if she were being herded…hunted…stalked. Which she was.

Think, damn it. Think!

Her Merrick grew more restless, seething within her body, eager to break free and confront the coming threat—but until she nourished that savage, primitive part of her soul, the ancient creature would be unable to fully break its way out of her, no matter how much danger she found herself in.

Which means that you are so freaking screwed, she thought, just seconds before the dark-haired stranger called out her name, his deep, resonating shouts coming from just behind her, full of guttural fury and concern.

“Saige! Goddamn it, stop running. The Casus is closing in. You’re going to get your crazy little ass killed!”

Not if I can help it, I’m not.

She panted, her chest heaving as she cut to her right for a second time, completely clueless as to where she was going. Was she running in circles? Running right toward it? Another scraping howl came from ahead of her again, as if the monster was playing with her—taunting her—and she struggled against a strange, instinctive urge to suddenly turn around and run back toward that rough, compelling voice still shouting for her to stop. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard, even when cut with the savage edge of rage, fitting the mouthwatering male to perfection.

Don’t get dotty now, woman. You don’t know him. And don’t forget what made you run in the first place. He was thinking about having sex with you, not saving your life.

Right, right. She wasn’t thinking clearly. God, she wasn’t thinking at all, operating on nothing but pure adrenaline and fear at this point.

The man was gaining on her, getting closer, and she could have sworn she could draw in his intoxicating scent. The bar had been too smoky for her to pick him out right away, until the power of his stare had touched her like a physical caress. Still, it wasn’t until she’d stood beside him that she’d gotten the full effect of that rich, woodsy, masculine smell—so different from the vile odor that filled the jungle ahead of her, coming from the Casus.

She slowed, her face damp with the salty sting of tears, and had no idea in which direction she should turn. Some soldier she was.

Suddenly, the stranger roared with fury, and in the next moment, the creature Saige had spent a lifetime envisioning burst out of the thick foliage, about thirty feet in front of her. She stumbled, screaming, eyes glued to the sight of its massive, grotesque body and beastly mouth of fangs, the muzzled shape curling in a cruel, sadistic smile as it zeroed in on her. Its grayish skin stretched tight over heavy, bulking muscles, body hunched from the ridges that marked its curved spine. A faint clacking noise came from its hands, where it clinked its razor-sharp claws together, the deepening shades of twilight casting a silvery glow on their sinister length.

“Merrick,” it growled, and the smile spread in an expression of pure, unadulterated evil.

Terror clawed at Saige’s throat, and she could read in its pale blue eyes its anticipation as it lurched toward her at an awkward, loping run. She flinched, knowing she was going to die, the knife held tight in her fist. She was prepared to go down fighting, when a great swooping rush of air brushed against her back.

In the next instant, the night went black.

One second she was standing her ground, facing certain death…then Saige Buchanan was flying.

CHAPTER THREE

DESPITE THE FURIOUS, keening howls of the Casus, Saige could hear the stranger’s graveled voice snarling a visceral string of curses near her ear. She twisted and kicked, struggling to break free…to see what was happening, but he’d thrown something soft and damp over her head, pitching her into an infuriating darkness. She couldn’t even punch or scratch at him, her arms pinned tight in a hard, unbreakable hold, the backpack smashed uncomfortably against her chest.

“Fuck,” he grunted, clutching her tighter, while his body burned like a fever against her back. Another sinister, bellowing scrape of sound came from below, just seconds before something cruelly sharp, like a claw, grazed her left calf. Saige flinched from the searing pain, a soblike noise tearing from her throat as the knife slipped out of her stunned grasp, falling to the ground below.

She hated not being able to see, the terrified landscape of her mind providing one vivid, grossly detailed scenario after another. Was the monster leaping for her again, its gruesome jaws gaping? Reaching out for her with extended claws? And how exactly was she…flying? What in God’s name was happening to her?

She wanted to demand an explanation from the beautiful stranger who had his strong, muscular arms banded about her torso, holding her tight, but couldn’t stop screaming long enough to form the words. For long minutes, he carried her through the sweltering twilight, over the dense jungle that she could scent just beneath them, until her screams finally died, her sickening fear slowly replaced by a mounting fury.

“Put me down!” she seethed, the enraged sound muffled beneath the cloth. “Goddamn it! Put me down or you’re going to be sorry!”

“And let you become its next meal?” he growled, his own anger giving his words a biting, guttural edge. “I don’t think so.”

He was obviously pissed that she’d run from him—and the fact that she’d tried to brain him with that bottle probably hadn’t helped.

Refusing to feel guilty for what she’d done, she continued to rant at him, though it was another five minutes before he finally lowered their elevation, the flapping rush of what sounded strangely like powerful wings becoming softer as they whopped against the forest’s upper canopy. An embarrassing, completely girly squeal of sound jerked out of her when his hold began to ease, though he didn’t completely release her until her feet touched the ground. Her forward momentum made her stumble for a few steps, so that by the time she managed to drop her backpack, peel what looked to be his shirt off her head and get turned around, she caught only a glimpse of massive ink-black wings from the corner of her eye. In the next instant, they disappeared behind him, the movement so smooth, it was as if he’d absorbed them into his body.

Gasping at the stunning sight, Saige stumbled back a step, then another, while he stalked toward her, his powerful muscles coiling and flexing beneath the bronzed sheen of his skin. His mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line, his dark, angry eyes burning like a midnight stretch of star-studded sky, pulling her in, making it impossible to look away. She was trapped, held in place by the sheer power of his presence, and Saige knew she’d have been terrified by the smoldering force of his fury, if she weren’t so bloody angry herself.

“What are you?” she demanded, holding her ground as he came a step closer. She’d deliberately put the emphasis on what instead of who, his species a heck of a lot more important to her than his name.

Instead of answering, he stopped a few yards away and crossed his strong arms over what was assuredly the most mouthwatering chest Saige had ever seen, either in the flesh or on the silver screen. Solid, powerful slabs of muscle were packed beneath smooth, burnished skin that gleamed like satin, begging for the touch of a woman’s hands. For the soft, sensual press of her lips, inviting her to lose herself in his warm, masculine flavor. She didn’t need any proof to know it would be dangerously tempting. Didn’t need to taste him to tell he would be perfect and spiced and wildly addictive. It was there in that earthy, evocative scent, reinforcing the unsettling fact that she was hungry—starving—for something that she instinctively knew this man, this stranger, could give her. Something that the awakening creature within her wanted…badly.

And I’ve apparently lost my freaking mind, she thought, wondering how she could be caught up in such an urgent, violent clutch of lust when she’d only just escaped death by a wing and a prayer. Literally.

“Do you belong to the Collective?”

The dark slash of his brows lifted. “How many shifters do you know in the Collective Army?”

So he was a smart-ass even when he was pissed off. Great. “Then who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Michael Quinn,” he replied in that deep, husky voice that was the perfect complement to those devastating looks. There was even a bit of twang to the words, hinting at a long-forgotten accent. He took his time looking her up and down, and with a wry drawl rounding out the edges of his speech, he said, “I’d ask if you’re Saige Buchanan, but I think that’s fairly obvious.”

He must have read her intention to turn and run again, because his eyes narrowed as he quietly added, “I caught you once, lady. Don’t think I won’t be able to do it again.”

“Are you kidnapping me, then?”

“I’m just stating a simple fact,” he rasped, his tone saying that he definitely thought she was crazy. “If I tell you not to run, then you had damn well better stay where you are.”

“And just where do you get off telling me what to do?” she objected through her clenched teeth, mustering what was left of her bravado, hoping it didn’t land her in more trouble than she could handle. And considering she’d managed to drop her only weapon, it didn’t look as if she could handle much at the moment. At least not from him. He had a racehorse-lean physique that was nothing but sleek, solid muscles and beautiful lines—the perfect personification of a dangerous predator. No doubt the man was built for power and speed, as well as other things she had no business thinking about, considering she didn’t know him from Adam. And she was alone with him in the jungle.

“One would think you’d be a bit more grateful, considering I saved your life,” he pointed out in one of those cool, utterly male voices of reason that always made her want to stamp her foot in a childish display of temper. Thankfully she squelched the ridiculous impulse and straightened her spine instead, determined to stand her ground. With her shoulders pulled back, Saige lifted her chin and wished for the thousandth time that she’d grown a few more inches at some point in her life. She’d always hated arguing with someone who towered over her, and she suddenly had a vision of herself facing him down while strapped into a pair of four-inch stilettos, then nearly snorted at the absurdity of it. Not exactly jungle-wear, but at least she could have used the heel as a weapon.

Through the thick weight of his lashes, he watched the chaotic shift of emotions flash across her face, her thoughts scattering like so much confetti being tossed in a violent breeze. She shifted uncomfortably, her skin too sensitive, her breath short, and could have sworn there was a soft, hazy spark of humor easing the sharp edges of that piercing gaze, which just pissed her off even more. Here she was shaking in her boots and the arrogant jerk thought it was funny.

Before she could think better of it, she opened her mouth and gave voice to the snide retort perched on the tip of her tongue. “Let’s get one thing straight here, birdbrain. You may have been handy back there, but I did not ask for your help.”

He’d started to move closer, but halted midstep, his dark, onyx-colored eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “Did you honestly just call me birdbrain?”

Saige lifted her chin a notch higher at his outraged tone, almost giving herself a crick in the neck. “You’re damn right I did,” she muttered, figuring she had no choice now but to brazen out her loss of sanity.

He shook his head, clearly at a loss as to what to make of her. “I’m starting to think you’d rather I’d left you back there to become its next plaything. Is that it, Saige?” His tone was more graveled now, his jaw hard as he stalked closer. “Or do you not know what Casus do to women before they kill them?”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle, chilled despite the stifling heat of the evening. Now that the terror of that blind flight was over, her mind spun with dizzying speed, centering on one undeniable fact. After all the worrying…and wondering, she now knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that the Casus were real—that they were the ones after her. A bloody monster who could rip her apart with its bare hands as if she were nothing more than a troublesome insect, and in that moment, Saige finally realized that there’d been a silent, frightened part of her that’d been wishing…hoping…that maybe, just maybe the legend was wrong. After all her planning and research and the crazy things she’d done to make sure she protected the Dark Markers, she’d been hoping it wasn’t real—the monsters and murder and mayhem. And now that she knew the truth, there was no going back. Ever.

“I know what the Casus are—what they’re capable of,” she whispered, hating the way her throat shook and her eyes burned. Hating that she couldn’t hide it from him—from this beautiful stranger whose presence completely screwed with her body and her mind. “I don’t need details.”

“Maybe you do.” His tone was equally soft, but hard, his mesmerizing eyes still narrowed with frustration. “Especially if you think you can traipse off through the jungle like a stupid little idiot when you have a sadistic killer on your tail.”

“Excuse me for panicking,” she ground out, caught in that dizzying, explosive state between fury and fear, “but I wasn’t thinking about monsters when I ran. I was too busy trying to get away from you and your perverted mental sex show!”

The second the words left her mouth, his expression turned livid. “Just what the hell does that mean?”

Saige glared at him, while in a far corner of her mind she accepted the fact that this was by far the strangest conversation she’d ever had—and God only knew she’d had a few. She hadn’t meant to blurt that little tidbit out, but terror had apparently seized her ability to self-edit.

Clearing her throat, she tried for a calmer tone. “I…I know what you were thinking about back at the barra.”

His gaze sharpened with suspicion, the sharp ridges of his cheekbones flushed a dull shade of red that she could clearly see in the thickening lavender twilight. For a moment it looked as if he was going to demand how she knew, but then he scraped his hands back through his short black hair, the raised position of his arms accentuating the predatory power of his muscles, making him look like some kind of carnal god come down to tempt her with the savage beauty of his body. Pressing one hand to her pounding heart, Saige could have sworn that a nearly silent, gritty burst of laughter rumbled deep in his chest, though the seductive sound never quite reached her ears.

“Do you read minds, then?” he asked.

Unwilling to reveal the truth, she hedged, saying, “I’m not blind, Mr. Quinn. It wasn’t hard to read your thoughts with that look you had on your face.”

She couldn’t believe it, but his blush actually deepened. “Christ, you Buchanans are all the same, aren’t you?” He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, staring at her with a searing intensity that made her feel hot and cold all at once.

Taking a deep breath, Saige searched his expression…and found herself mesmerized by the shifting heat and shadows in his dark, beautiful eyes. Was he after the Marker? Or was it something else he wanted?

“What do you know about the Buchanans? What exactly do you know about me?” Other than the fact that you know I want to bite you, she silently groaned, thinking uncomfortably of the vision. It was madness, how much the idea of sinking her teeth into him excited her. The heaviness and stinging heat in her gums was growing worse, signaling the release of the Merrick’s fangs.

It won’t be long now, she thought. Like a match set to a fuse, there was something about the tantalizing Michael Quinn that had her primal blood surging, pulling her awakening closer to the surface…urging it on.

Which meant that her hunger would grow stronger, demanding to be fed.

He watched her with that hard, silent gaze, making her feel as if he were listening in on her private thoughts, which she seriously hoped wasn’t the case. Finally, after what seemed like a long, painful forever, he answered her question in a low rumble of words. “I know enough to believe that you understand what’s going on here. I also know about your family, your mother, even the cross you found in Italy. And I’m also pretty damn sure that you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say that I’m a Watchman.” He paused, as if waiting for her to deny it, but she simply stood there, dazed, wondering what in God’s name she was going to do. Being a Watchman meant that he was one of the good guys, which should have been a relief…and yet, Saige couldn’t deny that she felt more restless than ever.

“You can trust me, Saige. If we’re going to make it out of here alive, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” She stared, thinking he was unlike anything or anyone she’d ever imagined as a Watchman—and yet the truth burned in that dark, smoldering gaze. She believed him. But if he was what he claimed, then he was clearly breaking every one of the Watchmen’s rules. “I know how this is supposed to work,” she murmured, unable to disguise her suspicion. “You’re meant to watch me, to keep your distance. Not walk right up to me in the middle of a crowd…while thinking about…about what you were thinking,” she finished lamely.

“You know what they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures? Well, this is one of them.” He pulled a photo of her out of his back pocket, and held it up for her to see. “I have orders to get your troublesome little ass back to Colorado, to your family. Your brother Riley gave me this to help me find you.”

Saige looked at the picture taken of her two years ago, when she and Riley had spent Christmas at home with Elaina, then back at the man who called himself Quinn. “Why would Riley send you after me? And what was all that about back at the bar?” she demanded, only to immediately wish that she hadn’t, too aware of the fact that the more she thought about that explicit image, the warmer she got, until it felt as if she were melting from the inside out, and her stomach actually gave an embarrassing growl.

Cool it, Saige. You need to stay sharp…not starving.

Unfortunately, the primal creature awakening within her had other ideas.

Quinn rolled one of those broad, bronzed shoulders in a casual gesture, as though the situation was no big deal and she’d overreacted. “Yeah, I was thinking about having sex with you—but that doesn’t mean that I’ll do it. Doesn’t even mean that I want to.”

Huh. She didn’t know whether to be relieved, insulted or strangely disappointed. “Well, gee, thanks.”

“Look, my temporary case of lust, or insanity, or whatever you want to call it has been cured,” he added with an impatient scowl, probing meaningfully at the nasty gash at the edge of his eyebrow. “So let’s just get the hell out of here before that thing tracks us down.”

He returned her picture to his back pocket, then reached down and picked his T-shirt up from where she’d dropped it on the ground, his muscles bunching across his chest and arms with each movement of his beautiful body. Saige blinked, wondering what kind of gene pool a guy had to come from to look that good, the dusky, vibrant glow of twilight only accentuating his raw masculinity, as if he were some dark, sylvan creature escaped from a primeval forest—and she seriously hoped there wasn’t an embarrassing stream of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.

“What was up with the blindfold, anyway?” she asked, her voice oddly husky as she watched him pull the shirt over his head, the soft black cotton tight against his powerful build, hard biceps stretching the seams at the sleeves.

Despite his lingering anger, he slanted her a laughing look. “Your brothers mentioned your fear of flying.”

“So you thought not being able to see would make it better?” She shook her head, her tone dry as she rubbed her palms on the front of her shorts. “And for the record, I’m not afraid of flying. I’m just a firm believer that if the gods had meant for us to take to the skies, they would have given us wings.”

He didn’t say anything, just arched one midnight brow in her direction, and she pressed her lips together, fighting the ridiculous urge to grin. Since the second she’d first set eyes on this man, she’d felt like a hormonal wreck, going from one extreme to the other in a dizzying maelstrom of emotions that were wreaking havoc on her sanity. Prickly. Frustrated. On edge and uncomfortably agitated—while at the same time filled with some odd, inexplicable sense of security. She felt sheltered and threatened all at once, aware of him in a way that she’d never experienced before, the disquieting sensation flowing through her with piercing intensity. In the past, Saige had always been at ease around men, working among them as an equal…just another one of the guys. She didn’t usually take notice of them as sexual creatures, not even the blatantly beautiful ones—and never in the way that she was “noticing” Michael Quinn.

And her “fascination,” for lack of a better word, was officially freaking her out.

Not knowing much about how Watchmen shifted into the shapes of their beasts, she wanted to ask him where the breathtaking black wings had gone, but bit back the oddly personal question, feeling as if it breached some intimate barrier that she couldn’t cross. Not when he was staring at her as if he couldn’t stop. “Hand me the photo,” she said instead, holding out one hand.

“Why?” His tone was odd…almost wary as he held her stare. For such a testosterone-oozing male, she couldn’t help but notice that he had the most amazing eyelashes, ones that actually cast shadows on his sharp cheekbones.

“Just hand me the photo,” she repeated, snapping her fingers like some kind of commando she-bitch. God only knew she wasn’t making much of a first impression, but she chalked it up to circumstance, seeing as how it’d been a bitch of a night—one that was only just getting started.

Saige took the picture from his grasp when he offered it to her, and the second her fingers touched the paper, she knew he was telling her the truth. Riley had given it to him. Damn it. She hated having to apologize, but knew it was the right thing to do.

Still, the words were tight in her throat as she said, “I’m sorry about what happened back there.” She ended the apology with a pointed look toward his injured brow and tried not to wince.

Instead of accepting, he made a rude, utterly male sound in the back of his throat. “You threw a goddamn bottle at my head, Saige. I don’t think some lame-ass sorry’s gonna cut it.”

She bit her tongue to keep from mouthing off, wanting information more than she wanted to argue—but Quinn had questions of his own. “What can you tell me about Paul Templeton?” he grunted, taking the picture from her and slipping it back into his pocket again.

Saige didn’t recognize the name. “I don’t know anyone named Templeton.”

“He’s the Watchman who was assigned to you,” he explained with a grim expression, rubbing one hand against his shadowed jaw. “And I’ll bet money you knew Paul was trailing you. You must have some idea of what happened to him.”

She shrugged, while a sour feeling slid through her insides. “I honestly don’t know. He just seemed to disappear a few days ago.”

“Christ,” he muttered under his breath, and she wondered if the missing Watchman had been a friend of Quinn’s.

It was ironic, how she’d always taken the Watchmen’s surveillance for granted, never really appreciating it, until this man he called Templeton had vanished. Suddenly, she’d been alone and afraid, reminding her of how she’d felt as a child, when all the men in her life had turned away from her, one by one. After her dad had run out on them, her brothers had been her world, until they, too, had drifted away from her. Ian had run away from home, unable to handle Elaina’s obsession with the family bloodline, and God only knew what had happened to make Riley so resentful. He’d changed after Ian had left, and they’d never been close again.

Turning her attention back to Quinn and the missing Paul Templeton, she said, “I got worried when I could no longer sense him watching me. I’ve been…more cautious than usual the past few days, unsure of what to expect.”

Liar.

Am not, she silently growled back. Maybe that wasn’t the complete truth…but it was a version.

A skinny one that isn’t going to do him a damn bit of good. You need to tell him about the Marker!

From the way he watched her, she wasn’t even sure he was buying it, but when he spoke, he simply said, “We can talk this out later. Right now we need to get on the move. I have a room in São Vicente where we can spend the night.”

“You still haven’t explained what you’re doing here,” she murmured. All the photo had told her was that Riley had asked him to bring her to Colorado, but it’d said nothing about why.

“Like I said, I’m here to get you back. Preferably in one piece.” His tone bristled with impatience, and there was an undercurrent of energy buzzing about him that told her he was completely in tune with the surrounding jungle, reading the signs and aware of any coming danger. “After seeing what happened when they came after your brother, I have no doubt that bastard is going to be gunning for you hard and fast.”

Her stomach dropped, and she wet her mouth, not liking the sound of that. She took a sudden step forward, the distance between them no more than a foot now, bringing the details of his gorgeous face into sharper focus. “What do you mean when they went after my brother?”

Around them, the forest fell silent and still, as if waiting with her in breathless suspense as Quinn quietly said, “He’s already gone through his awakening.”

Saige hadn’t expected the sharp stab of fear that twisted through her middle, along with something that felt uncomfortably like guilt. For a moment all she could do was hold that dark gaze, trying to find some kind of reassurance in it, and then she finally found her voice. “Is Riley okay? What happened? Was he prepared? Please tell me that Ian didn’t throw out the Marker.”

“Riley’s fine,” he told her, watching her closely. “But he wasn’t the one.”

She blinked. “Ian?” she said, her hoarse tone thick with surprise. “Jesus, it was Ian?”

“Yeah, but he’s all right. A little lost at first, but we found him in time to give him the information he needed.”

There was a note of censure in his graveled voice that cut her deeper than she’d have thought possible. After all, it wasn’t that she hadn’t tried to share what she knew with her brothers. Well, maybe not with Ian, but damn it, she’d tried to warn Riley. Not that she’d known then as much as she did now. She’d learned so much since she’d last seen him at their mother’s funeral—things that she’d planned on sharing when she made it back to America, whether he wanted to listen or not.

But time had run out…more swiftly for Ian than it had for her, if what this man claimed was true.

“Of course Ian’s all right,” she said, her voice soft, while her mind churned it over…and over, trying to grasp it. She should have figured it out before. If she hadn’t been so scared, she’d have realized that Riley wouldn’t have had any involvement with the Watchmen, giving Quinn her picture and asking him to come after her, unless something had already happened. And she could just imagine how furious Ian must have been to discover he was the first, considering how he’d always detested any talk about the Merrick. “According to Riley, Ian’s like a cat. He must have nine lives.”

“I imagine he lost a couple during the past few weeks,” Quinn commented dryly. “The thing hunted him down, Saige, targeting some of the women he’d dated. They’re making it personal, striking where it hurts.”

Stunned, she barely managed to scrape out her words. “Are you telling me that it killed human women?”

“Killed is putting it too lightly. It tortured them, and made it a slow, grueling process, just to mess with your brother’s mind.”

“But I thought they would come after us—after the Merrick.” She wrapped her arms around her middle again, somehow trying to hold herself together. “We’re the ones they’re supposed to want. The ones they need.”

“Oh, they’ll come after you,” he rasped, the husky notes of his dark-velvet voice stroking her senses, despite her horror with the situation. “And they’ll do everything they can to screw with your life until they’ve got you.” He shifted closer, making her want to retreat from his intensity…from that piercing gaze and his devastating beauty. “That’s where I come in.”

Her breath caught so hard that her chest ached. “Meaning?”

“Meaning you’re my responsibility now. Wherever you go, I go. I’m not letting you out of my sight, so you might as well get used to it.”

Saige could tell from his tone that he was hardly thrilled by the circumstances. “I didn’t ask for this.”

“Yeah?” he drawled. “Go ahead and ask me how much that matters.”

She was angrier at fate at the moment than with him—but fate wasn’t there to hear her complaints. “Are you always this aggravating?” she demanded, giving him her best glare.

For a split second, a funny expression crossed his chiseled features, and he lifted those mouthwatering shoulders in a wry shrug. “Believe it or not, I’m usually the most easygoing guy around. I guess you just bring out the worst in me.”

“The worst in you, huh?” Lowering her brows, she wondered what she must have done in a past life to have earned such cosmically crappy luck. “Funny how I always seem to have that effect on people.”

“Aggravating or not, I intend to keep you alive, and that thing back there is programmed on to you.” Saige knew what he meant. She’d heard about a Casus’s ability to lock on to a Merrick, as though she were some kind of metaphysical beacon for its hunger. “That’s why we need to get to the safety of Ravenswing, the Watchmen compound in Colorado, as soon as possible.”

Saige shook her head, a new fear quickly taking form, twisting through her like a physical pain as she reached down and grabbed hold of her backpack, hooking it over her right shoulder. “I’m not going anywhere until I’ve checked on Javier.”

Dark brows drew together over darker eyes. “Who?”

“The boy I was with tonight,” she explained, adjusting her hold on the heavy pack. “He lives in Coroza with his brothers, not far from the bar.”

Quinn frowned. “You know he’d be better off if you just stay away from him.”

“But you said yourself that the Casus went after some of the women Ian knew,” she argued. “I need to make sure that Javier made it home okay. Give him enough money to get out of town for a while.”

“Then call him,” he said flatly.

“He and his brothers don’t have a phone,” she explained with a heavy dose of frustration.

He studied her posture, his hard, hypnotic gaze lingering on her face…her eyes, noting her determination. “It isn’t safe for you to go near him, Saige. If they’ve marked him, you’ll be putting yourself in danger again. Just going back into Coroza is a hell of a risk.”

She was going to have to go back into Coroza one way or another, anyway, considering she still had to retrieve the maps from Inez’s safe—but she wasn’t going to explain any of that to Quinn. And at the moment, her only concern was Javier. “You can try to stop me,” she said, “but I’m giving you fair warning. If you do, I’ll stab you in the heart the second you let your guard down, then come back without you.”

She’d expected him to shout at her, but it was quickly becoming apparent that Michael Quinn wasn’t an easy man to predict. Instead of reacting with anger, he actually grinned at her quietly spoken threat, the devilish curve of that hard mouth making her toes curl inside her hiking boots, though she struggled not to show it. “You’re not afraid of me at all, are you?”

She was almost grinning back at him as she said, “Just don’t forget it.”

“I’m not likely to,” he murmured, the heavy look in his eyes making her shiver with awareness. In that moment, she was distinctly aware of their differences. Of his rugged maleness compared to her softer femininity. And yet, she still didn’t feel threatened. Not by Quinn.

No, for some unfathomable reason, she felt safe.

A gentle breeze blew her hair across her face, and she lifted one hand, tucking the wayward strands behind her ear. “I understand the risk, Quinn. But I have to do this. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t.”

He held her in his dark gaze as the seconds stretched out like a body being tortured on the rack. Just when she was ready to start arguing in earnest, he blew out a rough breath, and quietly said, “How’s the leg?”

Her leg? Glancing down, Saige noticed the bloodied scratches the Casus had left on her calf. She knew it was a sign of her nerves that the wound wasn’t bothering her. Looking back at Quinn, she said, “It’ll be fine.”

He arched his brows. “Then are we walking or flying?”

Relief hit like a physical blow to her chest, though she tried to hide it. Thinking over his question, Saige listened to the night. She could tell from the distant sound of church bells that the terrifying flight had kept them close to the outskirts of the city, rather than taking them deeper into the jungle. “We’re not far from Coroza,” she murmured. “You can’t very well go flying into town.”

He shrugged, though there was an odd light in his eyes, as if he were teasing her. Not knowing what to make of him, Saige looked to the evening sky for her bearings, then headed west, acutely aware of the man named Michael Quinn following closely beside her…every step of the way. It was an odd, overwhelming sensation, having him so near. And one she wished she didn’t like nearly as much as she did.

Pressing one hand to her stomach, she struggled to push away the unwanted sensations, and reminded herself that her life had just been turned upside down…and would never be normal again.

Not that you did normal all that well anyway, she thought with a frown.

She didn’t know him, and she sure as hell didn’t trust him with her secrets, but as they walked through the verdant beauty of the jungle, Saige couldn’t deny that she was utterly…unusually…and unequivocally fascinated by the dark, intoxicating stranger who’d just landed in her life.

She only wished she had a clue what to do about him.

CHAPTER FOUR

SENSING THE ARRIVAL of a dominant predator, startled wildlife scurried back into the underbrush as Gregory DeKreznick stepped from the thick, humid veil of jungle. Wearing a feral smile, he stalked toward the center of the clearing nestled beside a meandering offshoot of the river, the darkening summer sky shot with fading, violent streaks of purple and pink. A lone wooden hut sat at the north end of the small, cleared patch of dense tropical foliage, a fisherman’s weathered boat propped against its side, testament to the trade of the man who’d lived there, until Gregory had killed him earlier that week. Mere miles from the site where Saige Buchanan had been searching for another of the lost Dark Markers, the meager dwelling had been an ideal location for him and his fellow Casus and so they’d claimed it as their own.

Tonight, the small cabin huddled silent and dark in the moonlight, telling him that at least for the moment, he had the clearing to himself.

Throwing back his wolf-shaped head, the monstrous creature stared up at the infinite, cloud-scarred stretch of night, and allowed his true shape to melt away, pulling back into the body of his human host. Rolling his broad shoulders, Gregory cracked his head to the side with a popping burst of sound, then slicked his chin-length, sun-streaked hair back from his chiseled face, the spattering of blood from the evening’s kills still warm against his skin. Scratching lazily at his chest, he savored the thick, meaty taste of his most recent victims against his tongue, running the tip across the smooth surface of his straight white teeth.

He could have taken Javier Ruiz and used him as bait to draw out his prey, but there’d been no need to go through the hassle when killing him had proven so much more effective. Gregory had gotten what he needed, and as a whole, the Ruiz brothers had been fairly satisfying—though not nearly as sweet as when he feasted on warm, womanly flesh. Men were filling, but females gave him so much more…pleasure, like savoring a fine wine after years of nothing but tepid water.

That was the difference between him and Royce. A team player to the very end, Royce Friesen had been told not to feed from the humans, and so he’d obeyed, drinking the water while Gregory savored the succulent feast. And what a feast it was. He’d hungered for too long while trapped in the holding ground they’d named Meridian. While locked away from the things that made him whole…that made him complete, and no matter what Calder and his followers had told him before his release, Gregory had no intention of obeying their asinine rules.

Friesen, however, lived the servile existence of a good little soldier, only dining on the local livestock. He’d even been warned not to feed from the Merrick bitch until she’d fully awakened—and though it went against everything that the Casus were, the idiot obeyed, following his orders to a T. Even knowing that Gregory grew stronger every day, Royce remained committed to his decision to comply with Calder’s ridiculous dictates, and today it had nearly cost him. They’d trailed Saige Buchanan for hours, expecting her to leave the country once she’d found the second Marker and that milksop of an archaeologist had skipped out, but she’d spent the afternoon scurrying all over town instead. By the time she’d headed toward O Diablo Dos Ángels late in the day, Royce had already gone too long without one of his meager feedings and was growing weak. He’d been forced to travel into the jungle in search of animal prey, leaving Gregory to watch over their target while she visited with her friends at the rustic barra.

Enjoying having her all to himself, without Royce’s irritating presence, Gregory had watched her from afar, biding his time like a shark slowly circling in for the kill, and it had almost paid off. When she’d run into the jungle, he’d thought she’d finally be his…only to have her snatched from his grasp. But he didn’t intend to let it stand.

With a sharp smile of anticipation for the moment he knew would eventually be his, Gregory stretched his arms over his head, aware of the muscles flexing beneath his skin, along with the hard ridges of bone and ropey sinew. For a human, the body he’d taken wasn’t half-bad. Over six foot, with a muscular build, it was better than he’d expected from something that was no better than mere prey, even if the man did have a speck of Casus blood flowing through his veins. When the shades of Gregory’s kind were freed from Meridian, they were required to seek out a human who carried the ancient blood of their ancestors in order to retake a corporeal form. Once taken, the human’s soul was forced from its body. The Casus, however, retained the host’s memories, which enabled them to function in these unusual modern times—and they were thankfully capable of shifting into their true form when needed.

Gregory wondered if Malcolm, his only blood brother and the first to be sent back from Meridian, had enjoyed his freedom this much, then quickly beat down the destructive thought, locking it away with his hatred, where it belonged. It hurt too much to think of Malcolm—of what that eldest Buchanan bastard had taken from him. That was why Gregory wanted his hands on Saige so badly—to show that prick what it felt like to have something taken away, ripped from your life, knowing that you could never get it back.

She might have been “meant” for Royce, but Gregory had no intention of letting the other Casus have her. She’d gotten away from him tonight—but it wouldn’t happen again. No matter what Friesen decided to do next, Gregory had a plan, one that he intended to execute with or without his fellow Casus.

While Royce and the others concerned themselves with securing the crosses and building up their strength in order to bring more of their kind back from Meridian, Gregory cared only for Buchanan blood. After all, it was the Merrick who had trapped the Casus so many years ago, cursing them to a fate worse than death. Because of their immortality, they could not die, and so they’d simply wasted away to mere shades of the powerful beings they’d once been, forced to dwell within human bodies once they’d regained this realm. But it was the eldest Buchanan sibling who had used the first Dark Marker to destroy his brother’s soul, condemning Malcolm to the pits of hell for all eternity. For that, as well as the incarceration of his species, Gregory had vowed to make them pay. The ability to love might not be a common trait for the Casus, but they understood loyalty to family like no other. In a world as vicious as theirs, sometimes it was the only way to survive.

“And Watchman or not,” he rasped with a hard smile, remembering the moment when he’d licked the blood from her leg off his claws, “I’m going to enjoy taking little Saige Buchanan to pieces.”

Rumbling a dark burst of laughter under his breath, he started to step toward the cabin, when a sound to his left snagged his attention, and he tensed, listening…completely alert to his surroundings as readiness spread through his muscles like a sharp, piercing pain. Pulling back his shoulders, he’d just taken a deep pull on the humid air when a solid bulk of muscle and bone rammed into him, slamming him to the damp, moss-covered floor of the clearing. “You wanna explain what happened tonight?” the Casus roared in his face, pinning his forearms to the ground. “I can smell her on you!”

Knowing it would only infuriate Royce further if he remained calm, Gregory casually related the evening’s events, and his comrade took the news as badly as he’d hoped. Concealing the enjoyment he got from seeing Royce so furious, he finally concluded with a solicitous drawl, “You did tell me to keep an eye on her.”

“You incompetent idiot,” Royce seethed, his rage glittering like so many shards of ice in his pale blue gaze. “I told you not to lose her—not to reveal yourself. What did you think you were doing?”

“Exactly what I was bred to do,” he replied with a sharp smile.

Royce’s eyes narrowed with fury. “Don’t push me, Gregory. In future, you stay away from her. If you don’t, I’ll make sure you pay.”

“As fun as this is, get the hell off me, Royce. We both know you can’t kill me.”

The beast lowered its snout, going nose-to-nose with him. “Is that what you think?” it asked silkily, the sinister words warbled within the muzzled shape of its wolflike head. “The only reason Calder allowed you to come through with me was because he considered you too much of a liability back in Meridian and he wanted you gone. And the only reason I agreed to bring you along was because I wanted out of there, and no one else would take responsibility for you. But you lay a finger on Saige Buchanan again, and I’ll kill you myself.”

“And face Calder’s wrath?” Gregory mocked, clucking his tongue.

Royce’s words shook with his anger. “After the screwup Malcolm made of his assignment, don’t think for one second that Calder gives a shit about what happens to you.”

Gregory laughed. “And you think Calder cares any more about you, Royce? The truth is that he doesn’t give a shit about either one of us.”

Shifting back on his haunches, Royce released his hold on Gregory’s arms, eyeing him with a cold, hard stare. “He’s a good leader,” he ground out.

“Just not a very trusting one.” Gregory snorted, hoisting himself up onto his elbows. “Has he told you how he learned to send us across? Hell, he hasn’t even told you how many Markers we’re after, or exactly why we need them.”

Royce moved to his feet in a fluid ripple of powerful muscle, allowing his true form to gracefully slip away, easing back into the shape of his human host. “He has his reasons,” he muttered.

“Sure he does,” Gregory drawled, rolling his eyes. “And at any rate, tonight wasn’t my fault. This was the best chance we’ve had to grab her since she found the Marker. Would you have rather I just let her slip on by?”

“We were only going to grab her if we ran the risk of losing her. Otherwise, we were told to wait until she’s fully awakened.”

“And the Marker?”

“The Marker we could have stolen from her,” Royce growled, his lip curled with disgust. “But now, because of your little stunt, she knows we’re after her, which means she’s going to be guarding it as well as she can.”

“She already knew,” Gregory countered, his brows arched as he stared up from his place on the warm, damp ground. “Why else do you think she’s always looking over her goddamn shoulder? She knows we’re watching her.”

Royce’s mouth tightened, the muscles across his chest flexing with each of his hard, heavy breaths. “Knowing and suspecting are two different things. That Watchman bastard isn’t going to let her out of his sight now. And if he flew, chances are that he’s a bloody Raptor.” Royce glared down at him, his lip curled in an arrogant expression that made Gregory want to tear into him, as slowly and painfully as possible. “So now, thanks to you, we’ve lost her and the Marker.”

“Not exactly,” he offered in a soft rumble of words as he moved to his feet.

Royce paused in the act of turning away, his brow drawn in a deep frown. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that I don’t think she has it. At least not on her.”

At his sides, Royce’s big fists clenched tighter, the veins sticking out in sharp relief beneath the golden sheen of his skin. “What are you talking about?”

“I was able to cut her tonight,” he explained, rolling his shoulder, “which means she wasn’t wearing it.”

“Then she must have hidden it,” Royce murmured, raking one hand back through the thick, chocolate strands of his hair. Despite the fact that their human hosts—American brothers who had owned a tourist fishing boat in Rio—were almost identical in appearance, Friesen’s hair was not only shorter, but several shades darker.

“If she did,” Gregory drawled, “then she’s an idiot for not keeping hold of the only thing that can protect her.” Calder had told them that they would be unable to kill her so long as she wore one of the ancient Markers, the power of the crosses protecting her from their fangs and claws.

“Either that, or she’s very clever. Somehow she must have figured out that we’re after the Markers, as well. I told you before, you’re underestimating her.”

“Am I?” Gregory asked with a laugh as he scraped a palm over his rough jaw. “She ran tonight, just like a pathetic woman.”

Royce sent him an impatient look. “And since you said yourself she was running away from the Watchman, I think we can safely assume that had nothing to do with you at that point.”

“You’re giving her too much credit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I keep telling you that she’s nothing more than food.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think of her, Gregory, because she’s my food. As soon as you know where your Merrick is, do as you like—but until then, stay away from mine.”

Gregory held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Come on, man. There’s no need to be so suspicious. I was going to bring her to you,” he murmured, enjoying the potent force of Friesen’s frustration as it blasted against him like a hot wind.

Royce jerked his chin and snorted. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Still don’t trust me?” he asked lightly, wearing a ghost of a smile.

A bitter laugh fell from Royce’s lips. “Try ‘will never trust you.’”

“And yet,” Gregory said softly, his gaze hard and steady, “you need me.”

“I need that Marker…and then I need the woman. You, I have no use for.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I would be lying if I didn’t say that the feeling is mutual,” he offered with a low, throaty chuckle. “And, like you said, I have my own waiting for me, so you can have her flesh.” It was a lie, but as much as he enjoyed taunting his comrade, he knew better than to push too far. Not yet, when they now had a Watchman to contend with.

And Gregory knew how touchy Royce was about the little Merrick bitch’s life.

According to legend, each time a Casus shade escaped from Meridian, one Merrick would awaken, in keeping with nature’s need for balance. In an effort to promote order among the newly escaped Casus, it’d been decided that since only a fully awakened Merrick could provide their kind with the “ultimate” feeding, each escaped Casus would be allowed exclusive rights to the Merrick their return to this realm had caused to awaken. It was an important rule, as only a Merrick could provide the power charge needed for the Casus to “pull” another one of his kind back from Meridian, bringing them across the divide. Seeing as how the desire to build their numbers so that they might rule as they once did was the driving force that motivated so many of his kinsmen, the awakened Merrick were going to become a hot commodity.

Gregory, however, couldn’t have cared less about his species’ power base.

The only power that concerned him was his own, and for that reason alone, he planned to eventually find his Merrick and kill it. But first, he’d deal with the Buchanans.

“Until you can focus,” Royce drawled, “you know damn well that you’re never going to find your own Merrick.”

“Oh, I’ll find mine,” he murmured, scratching lazily at his blood-spattered chest. He knew the full extent of Royce’s anger from the simple fact that the uptight bastard had failed to notice he was covered in blood. “But for now, our problem is Saige Buchanan. You can’t blame me for tonight. If you had been there, you wouldn’t have been able to resist any more than I did.”

“I’ve resisted so far, haven’t I?” Royce said over his shoulder as he headed toward the cabin. Though the moonlight somewhat softened its defects, it still seemed a marvel that the structure remained standing, its sad-looking roof sloping on the right side, as if it would eventually just slide its way into the dark, murky waters of the river.

“At least I didn’t come home empty-handed,” Gregory commented with casual indifference, following after him.

“Do I even want to know?” Royce asked with a hard sigh as he opened the front door.

Stepping inside the ramshackle structure, Gregory headed toward the lone sink and began running water in its stained basin. His reflection stared back at him in the dingy panes of the window before him, providing a hazy view of the moon and the wine-dark water that snaked its way through the jungle like a serpent. “I paid a visit to her little helper on my way back here.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Royce’s hands fisted angrily at his sides for the second time that night, but knew the bastard didn’t have the guts to take a swing at him. Not when Gregory was vibing with the hard, thick power of his recent kills. “You bloody idiot,” Royce growled through his clenched teeth, his rage echoing through the room like a physical force, nearly shaking the shadows from the cobwebbed corners. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

“I wanted to know more about the Marker,” he calmly explained, splashing water onto his face and chest. After losing Saige, he’d wanted to hit her where it hurt. And he had.

“And?” Royce growled, taking a step closer.

“The boy claimed to know nothing about where she’s keeping the cross, but he did say that he thinks they’re keeping some kind of papers for her at the bar.” Turning, he caught Royce’s pale, interested gaze. “If Calder’s right about her having the maps, that could be them.”

They had been told there was a good chance that Saige Buchanan had found a set of maps that led to the location of the Dark Markers. The maps, according to Calder, were a closely guarded secret that not even the Watchmen knew about, and an invaluable resource to the ones who possessed them. Which meant that he wanted them—badly.

“You were thorough?” Royce asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Gregory lifted his brows. “Trust me,” he purred. “The boy told me everything he knows.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Royce sighed. “If the maps were there, she probably got them tonight.”

Grabbing a towel from the counter, Gregory wiped at his damp face, then hooked the cloth behind his neck. “She didn’t. He said she got scared away before she could get them.”

Royce slid him a thick look of frustration. “And did it ever occur to you that he could have been lying?”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “I had my claws dug into his groin, Royce. The kid would have told me where I could find his mother if that’s what I’d wanted.”

Pushing one hand back through his short hair, Royce stared through the open front door, obviously thinking over his options. It was a waste of time, but Gregory let him have his illusion of command. When the moment was right, he’d show the bastard exactly who was the dominant Casus.

“She’ll have to go back for them,” Royce finally rumbled. “When she does, we have no choice but to go ahead and take her—but it won’t be easy.”

Gregory shook his head, understanding why Calder put so much trust in Royce Friesen. Calder obviously knew a follower when he saw one. The first Casus since the start of their captivity to succeed in organizing his kinsmen into a cohesive force, bringing rule to the anarchy, Calder was the one who’d finally offered them hope…a chance of escape. Like an angel surrounded by devils, he’d promised to deliver them into salvation—and yet, Gregory didn’t trust him.

And he had good reason to be wary, seeing as how Calder had been less than honest with his brother. Not only had Malcolm been denied certain information, but he’d been led to believe that it would take some time before Calder and his followers would be strong enough to send more Casus across. And yet, no sooner had they learned that Malcolm had safely made the transition, than they sent through two more. Two Casus who would hunt down their own Merrick, and then go after the Marker that Malcolm had hoped to secure for himself. Not to please Calder, but because his brother had planned to use the cross to barter for Gregory’s release, in the event he wasn’t able to “pull” him across himself. Malcolm hadn’t expected to have competition for the crosses so soon, and Gregory knew he must have been furious when he discovered that Calder had sent through others right after him.

Still, it was a long, strenuous process—one that was already taking its toll on Calder and his followers, which was why it was so important for the released Casus to contribute to the effort and “pull” back as many as they could using their own power. To date, there had been three Merrick kills: one in Canada, one in Germany and the last made in Australia. In all three cases, the Casus had been able to bring another across after feeding off the Merrick, and now they, too, would join the search for the Markers, doing everything they could to get their hands on the ancient crosses that Calder was so desperate to possess. They would also continue to hunt, seeking out any Merrick who managed to send a Casus back to Meridian. Without the power of a Dark Marker, the Merrick were unable to destroy the Casus’s soul in the way that Ian Buchanan had done to Malcolm, but they could still kill the host body, in which case the Casus shade was instantly sucked back into the holding ground, where it would wait to be released again.

As their numbers grew, Gregory knew that Calder’s hope of keeping peace among the escaped Casus wouldn’t work. As much as his kinsmen wanted their species to return to power, they would simply tear each other apart in a bloodthirsty battle for the ancient crosses, seeing as how Calder had promised to significantly reward those who found a Marker and delivered it safely into Ross Westmore’s possession. Westmore was another mystery in Calder’s scheme—one they knew next to nothing about. All he and Royce had been told before coming across was that the mysterious Westmore—whose species was unknown—would be their contact man once they made it into this realm, and was to be entrusted with any Markers that they obtained. Though they’d had brief contact with a few of Westmore’s men, they’d yet to meet the man himself, and Gregory couldn’t deny that his curiosity had been piqued. After all, Westmore was not only helping to orchestrate their return to power, but had also managed to infiltrate one of the most secretive organizations in history, using their money to fund the Casus hunts.

As far as Gregory was concerned, the guy was either a genius…or completely insane.

Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest, wondering if this mysterious Westmore would agree with Royce’s prediction that catching Saige wouldn’t be easy. “You know, I was always told that you held too much respect for the Merrick.”

Friesen snorted. “I don’t respect them, but I know better than to underestimate them.”

“You shouldn’t waste your time. It’s obvious that they’re no match for us.”

Lifting his right hand, Royce rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s thinking like that, Gregory, that makes you a liability. Among other things,” he muttered. Turning away from the doorway, he paced toward the threadbare sofa slumped against one wall, then back again, past the single archway that led to the bedroom, where a stained mattress lay on the floor.

“You actually think we’ll have trouble taking her?” Gregory asked, snuffling a dry laugh under his breath. “A woman? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“She’s not exactly alone anymore, is she? Raptors are some of the most bloodthirsty breeds there’s ever been.”

Gregory curled his lip. “Don’t embarrass yourself by actually sounding afraid of him.”

“The problem with men like you,” Royce warned, slanting him a disgusted glare, “is that you always fail to realize the difference between fear and intelligence.”

“You’re starting to sound cranky, Royce.” Taking the towel from around his neck, Gregory tossed it into the sink and slicked his hair back from his face, then bound it into a ponytail with the elastic band he kept around his wrist.

Tired of wasting his time on the obstinate ass, Gregory turned to leave, only to be caught short when Royce grabbed hold of his shoulder. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Shrugging off Royce’s hold, he flashed him a sharp smile. “All this chatting has worked up my appetite.” The words were meant to incite, but there was an undeniable truth to them. His cock was already hardening at the thought of satisfying his hunger, anticipation thickening like a feral syrup in his veins.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for tonight?”

“They were just a snack,” he drawled, his mouth kicking up at the corner with a cocky grin as he headed toward the door. “Now I’m ready for the main course.”

“We need to get back to the bar and keep an eye out for her. And if you don’t stop picking off the locals,” Royce called out, “we’re going to have an angry mob on our hands.”

With one last glance over his shoulder, Gregory could see just how badly Royce wanted a go at him, and his grin spilled into a slow, satisfied smile. “Then I guess it’ll be just like old times.”

CHAPTER FIVE

North Coroza

IT TOOK ALMOST an hour for Saige and Quinn to reach the crowded neighborhood where Javier Ruiz lived with his brothers. Night had spilled over the jungle in a warm, heavy pour of darkness, the last streaming shades of color finally fading from the bruise-colored heavens. Despite her continued assurances that the Casus couldn’t possibly attack them in such a populated area, Quinn kept a vigilant eye on the narrow, winding streets, as if expecting the obscene creature to suddenly emerge from the thickening shadows.

Watching him from the corner of her eye as they made their way down the weathered, cobbled road, Saige could sense that he had questions about what she was doing in Brazil. But Quinn was biding his time, his focus for the moment centered more on their surroundings than anything else. Not nearly as patient herself, Saige plagued him with questions about her brother’s awakening, and learned that Ian had used the cross she’d found in Italy to kill the Casus who’d been hunting him. Her mother, who had kept her maiden name of Buchanan for herself and her children, had heard the term “Arm of Fire” from her grandmother, but it wasn’t until Quinn explained how the cross had literally transformed Ian’s arm into a fiery weapon that Saige had understood what the term meant. She also learned that her brother had somehow soaked in the creature’s thoughts at the time of its death. He’d not only “seen” that more of the Casus had already escaped from their holding ground, but that they were also after the Markers themselves.

Saige absorbed the information with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, thinking of the warning the second Marker had given her just that morning.

Enemies are coming who will take me from you.

Throughout the day, her conscience had plagued her for involving Jamison Haley in her problems, and knowing that it was the Casus who were seeking the Markers only increased her sense of guilt. If the monsters discovered she no longer had the ancient talisman, they could very well conclude that she’d given it to the young archaeologist—which meant that she’d put his life in extreme danger.

Damn you, Haley. You should have just told me no.

Any other person would no doubt have done just that, if asked for a favor as bizarre as the one she’d begged from Jamison. But the endearing Brit was one of those rare few who actually believed that sometimes things really did go bump in the night—things that humanity was better off not knowing about. As such, he’d believed her when she’d gone to him for help.

He also had a problem saying no to females who asked him for favors, which she’d ruthlessly used to her advantage.

And yet, as horrible as Saige felt for exploiting Jamison’s soft side, there was still a tiny voice in her head arguing that she’d done the right thing by sending him to Colorado with the cross. If Ian was right, and the Casus were after the Markers, then protecting the cross was the only thing that really mattered, regardless of the risk to herself and the people she cared about—and she knew that if Quinn were aware of what she’d discovered, he’d feel the same way.

The intense Watchman definitely seemed like the type of man who put his job above all else. Even though she obviously frustrated the hell out of him, he remained intent on keeping her alive…keeping her safe. As they headed through the ramshackle town, his dark gaze constantly scanned the narrow alleyways and high buildings, alert to any danger, the tension in his tall body evident in the rigid set of his broad shoulders and the subtle flexing of his strong, powerful hands. It was clear that he didn’t care for the tight, closed-in walkways of the crowded neighborhood.

“How much farther do we have to go?” he rumbled in that sexy drawl that made her pulse quicken each and every time he spoke. Saige shivered in reaction, somehow feeling that evocative sound in the center of her body, penetrating and warm, as if she’d swallowed a hot, smoldering ball of fire.

“Just a few more blocks,” she said, wishing the skies would unleash a frigid rain to cool the simmering heat beneath her skin. She was uncomfortably aware of the Merrick’s agitation growing worse with each moment that she spent with him. It prowled within her body like a panther pacing its cage, taking a primal, feral interest in the man walking at her side. Struggling to remain calm, she crossed her arms over her chest and drew in a deep breath that filled her senses with the pulse of the ethnic neighborhood, and more important, with that hot, mouthwatering scent she’d already come to recognize as pure, intoxicating Quinn.

“Have you ever been to South America before, Mr. Quinn?” she asked, surprised by the huskiness of her voice.

“Just Quinn.” The brackets etched around his mouth deepened as he added, “This is my first time down here.”

“I thought so,” she murmured, a small grin playing softly at the corner of her lips. The roughened surface of the road crunched beneath their booted feet, but Saige hardly noticed the grating sound, too fascinated by the hard play of muscle beneath his burnished skin as he lifted one hand, pushing it through the dark scrub of his hair. The cut would have looked severe on any other man, but it simply emphasized Quinn’s outrageously good looks. Despite his “in your face” male ruggedness, his features were impossibly perfect, like something that’d been sculpted from marble, his sharp cheekbones only accentuating the strong, masculine angles.

Clearing her throat, she went on to say, “You look as if you don’t quite know what to make of this place.”

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was practically drooling over him, the tension around his mouth eased a little as he slanted her a lopsided smile. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, his smile widening as he rubbed his left hand over the tanned length of his right forearm. “I was hoping the tan might help me blend in.”

A shaky laugh vibrated in her throat, and she inwardly rolled her eyes at herself, unable to believe that she, Saige Buchanan, the most independent woman she knew, had gone gaga over a breathtakingly gorgeous stranger like some teeny-bopping airhead. “You just seem preoccupied with the neighborhood,” she replied, forcing her attention back to the shadowed street. On either side of the narrow road, windows flickered with the soft glow of light, reminding her of blinking, watchful eyes, and she tightened the flannel shirt around her waist, then hefted her backpack higher onto her right shoulder, seeking comfort in the mundane tasks. “I guess all this probably takes some getting used to,” she added, stepping around a frenzied group of chickens that were pecking at some scraps outside an open doorway. “Especially if you’re accustomed to the wide-open spaces of the mountains.”

“I guess so,” he drawled with a deep, decadent rumble of laughter that sounded so purely male, her temperature spiked higher. It was an almost dizzying sensation, that wild, steady rise of her Merrick within her body, the primal creature shifting sinuously beneath her skin as it raised its head and sniffed delicately at the air. She choked back a low, sensual purr, the carnal sound vibrating softly on her tongue, and could have sworn that she could taste the rich, sumptuous flavor of her need. The Merrick was hungry with bloodlust, its craving for nourishment more intense than it’d ever been before, and Saige suspected she knew why.

It was Quinn. Her growing fascination with the dark, mysterious Watchman had easily bled past the woman and into the powerful creature living within her. Even though her awakening of that ancient blood had only just begun, she could feel the building heat in her gums, the fiery burn in her veins…and knew it was coming closer. Mounting. Growing stronger. She was driven by a primal instinct to touch…and taste…and possess—the visceral, sexual urges so potent, she felt almost drunk on their power.

Desperately in need of a distraction, she searched her mind for a topic that was guaranteed to get her mind off sex and back on track. “So we, um…obviously know that the Casus are after me, but what about the Collective?”

Saige watched his expression harden, and could tell from his tone that he held no more love for the ruthless organization than she did. “What about them?”

“Are they already hunting us? Me and my brothers?”

“We’ve had some scouts show up in Henning, where your brothers live…or lived,” he explained. “Ian is at the compound now, and we’re still trying to convince Riley to move up, as well. We’re worried about him being down in town on his own, but so far the scouts haven’t done anything more than sniff around.”

“That seems odd,” she murmured. “Do you think they know Ian is at Ravenswing?”

He lifted one rugged, beautiful hand, and rubbed at the back of his neck, his powerful bicep straining the sleeve of his T-shirt. “If they do, I’m sure we’ll know soon enough, seeing as how Collective soldiers aren’t ones to employ patience. But for the time being, our biggest problems are the Casus and the Consortium.”

Saige sent him a startled look of surprise. “But I thought you were a part of the Consortium.”

“You know about the council?” he asked, his own surprise evident in the softly spoken words. Turning right at the next corner, they continued deeper into the aged neighborhood, the winding road taking a slight incline up the mountainside, back toward the jungle, while the succulent scents of home-cooked meals thickened on the air.

“From what I understand,” she told him, “the Consortium governs all the ancient clans, like some kind of preternatural United Nations.”

And as far as Saige knew, it was the Consortium who had helped the Merrick imprison the Casus over a thousand years ago, after the Casus’s relentless killing of humans threatened to expose the existence of the nonhuman races. The council had fashioned the Dark Markers to destroy the immortal killers, only to be murdered by the newly created Collective Army before they could complete the task. Years later, the Consortium had finally been formed again, but by then its original archives had been lost…all traces of the Markers supposedly destroyed during the Collective’s bloodthirsty raids, which nearly led to the destruction of the clans. By the time the Consortium was back in power, no one knew where the Markers were, or how to find them…or even if they had ever truly existed. The new Consortium had supposedly been searching for the original archives for centuries, as had the Collective, hoping the lost records would lead to some answers, but as far as Saige knew, neither group had ever found them.

“You actually report to the Consortium, don’t you?” she asked, wondering if Quinn was even aware of the maps’ existence.

“Yeah,” he rasped, slanting her an odd look.

“What?”

Quinn rolled his broad shoulders with only a fraction of movement, finally shoving his restless hands into his pockets. “I guess I’m just surprised that with as much as you know about everything—which seems to be a hell of a lot—you never tried to warn your brothers about what you’d learned. It would have been nice if they’d known what was coming.”

Instead of getting defensive, Saige responded with a small, bitter smile. “Who says I didn’t?”

She could read the questions in his dark eyes as he cut her a slow, interested look.

Wrapping her hands around the frayed strap of her backpack, she explained. “The last time I saw Riley, I tried to warn him…to tell him that I feared I’d found the cross in Italy for a reason. That I was afraid it could be a sign, one that meant the legendary awakenings the gypsies had foretold were actually coming. And do you know what he told me?” she asked, barging ahead without waiting for a response. “He said we’d be monsters if the things I believed ever turned out to be true, same as the Casus, and that we’d be better off dead. Then he said that if I ever mentioned the Merrick to him again, I could forget he was my brother.”

Quinn frowned, turning his attention back to the encroaching shadows. “I don’t know what Riley’s problem was,” he said, “but I might as well go ahead and warn you now, Saige. Both of your brothers are going to be furious when they learn that your awakening has already started and you didn’t come to them for help. They really are worried about you.”

“I doubt that,” she offered with a soft laugh. She had no idea how to deal with such a bizarre thought…and couldn’t help but doubt its truth, no matter how much Quinn believed it.

He slanted her a curious look, studying her from beneath those heavy lashes, and Saige had the strangest feeling that he could see right through her, into all the embarrassing longing and churning doubts that plagued her. “You just might be in for a surprise when we get to Colorado.”

“Look, I don’t know what impression my brothers have given you, but we’re not exactly close,” she said, her gaze sliding away from those dark eyes that made her feel too exposed…too bare. “It’s been that way since Ian started getting older. Everything began to change after that. My mother’s preoccupation with the family bloodline drove a wedge between me and my brothers, until not talking about the Merrick became the axiom of our twisted little family.”

“If that’s true, then I guess it would help explain why Riley never mentioned your warnings to Ian.”

“To be honest, I’m not surprised that he didn’t,” she offered quietly, her mind taking her back to the past. “Something happened when Riley was in his teens, after Ian had already run away, but he’s never told me what it was. All I know is that he never talked about the Merrick again from that point on.” She drew in a deep breath, staring for a moment up at the peaceful beauty of the clear, star-studded sky. “Whatever it was, it still haunts him. When things started happening to Ian, Riley probably did everything he could to convince himself there was an explanation, logical or otherwise, that didn’t involve the Casus and the Merrick. I can imagine how he reacted when he was finally forced to face the truth.”

Another low rumble of laughter vibrated in his chest, the wry sound confirming what she’d already guessed. “He definitely didn’t take it well when my unit contacted him, but once we explained exactly what Ian was going up against, he came with us to help. And after he saw what the Casus was capable of, it drove him crazy that he didn’t have any way of contacting you. He was ready to come after you himself when we couldn’t get in touch with Templeton, but Kierland Scott, who heads up our unit, refused to tell him where you were. Said Riley was only going to run off and get himself killed, when he needed to be at Ravenswing, learning how to prepare for his own awakening.”

“But he’s still refusing to stay at the compound, right?”

He nodded. “Says he needs to be in Henning, protecting the townspeople who trust him to do just that.”

“That sounds like Riley.” Saige tilted her face toward the slow-blowing breeze, seeking relief from the thick evening heat and her own burning frustration. “But maybe he’s doing the right thing, keeping an eye on everyone. I was so certain the Casus would only target the Merrick, without wasting their time on humans, and look how wrong I was.”

“Even with as much as you’ve managed to learn, Saige, you still can’t expect to know everything. Until this started, none of us knew what to expect,” he offered in a low tone, almost as if he were trying to put her at ease. “Hell, we’re still piecing it all together…still trying to figure it out. Why do they want the Markers? What are they really after? How are they escaping from the holding ground and why now, after all this time?”

A brittle laugh jerked from her throat. “It’s maddening, when you think about it. Every answer only leads to more questions…and more frustration.”

Lifting his hand, he rubbed at the back of his neck again, making her wonder how much stress he’d been carrying. “That’s why my unit broke with our code and made contact with your brother.”

“And that’s why you’re in trouble with the Consortium?” she asked, surprised by how curious she was about him. Not just about the events that had led him to South America, but Quinn, the man, and as they hiked together up the rustic road, there were instances where she actually left reality behind, and found herself simply soaking in the compelling patterns of his speech and the way he moved, the way he breathed…even how he laughed.

There was a wry edge to his words as he answered her question. “Our involvement with the Merrick awakenings hasn’t exactly been sanctioned by our superiors. But we all decided that it was time to do more than simply watch from the sidelines.”

“Speaking of watching, how did you miss the discovery of the Marker in Italy? You said before that it was Ian who told you about it, after you’d made contact with him and taken him to Ravenswing. But wasn’t there already a Watchman keeping tabs on me?”

Quinn gave another low, rugged laugh. “Kellan Scott was watching you at the time. He’s the younger brother of my best friend, Kierland, and a good kid, but he still has a lot to learn. Seems he was a little too easily distracted by the local female population when he should have been working, keeping an eye on what you were up to.”

Snuffling a soft chuckle under her breath, she accidentally brushed against him as she sidestepped a rusty bicycle lying in the street. Her breath caught at the feel of hard muscle and hot male skin…making her wonder if he’d be that hard and hot everywhere.

Ripping her mind away from the dangerous territory of that particular thought, she cleared her throat, saying, “I bet you guys were pretty pissed when you realized what he’d missed.”

He nodded, his tone gruff as he said, “Yeah, but we were already ticked at him for not doing his job and watching you the way he was meant to.”

She lowered her gaze, thinking of the last Watchman who’d been assigned to her. “Do you think Templeton is dead?”

With his hard jaw and grooved brow, Quinn’s expression revealed his worry and frustration. “He would have contacted us by now if he was still alive. It’s a sobering thought, considering Templeton wouldn’t have been an easy man to take down, even for a Casus.”

“I hope it was quick,” she said softly, the words thick in her throat. “I hate the thought of it torturing him the way you said the Casus tortured those poor women who Ian knew.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he rasped, “Ian used the Marker to make that bastard pay. It made one hell of a weapon.”

“I don’t suppose you brought it with you?”

He shook his head. “We figured it was too risky, seeing as how we’re so far away from the compound. What exactly are you doing down here, anyway?”

“Didn’t Templeton tell you?”

“He said in his last report that he had his suspicions.” His tone was casual, but Saige could sense the keen edge of his curiosity. “To be honest, I’d rather hear it from you.”

Wondering how much to reveal—and how much she should keep to herself, at least until she knew more about him—Saige collected her thoughts for a moment as they made their way past a group of teenage boys sprawled on the front steps of a noisy building, the open windows allowing the layered, raucous sounds of music and voices to drift down from above. “I’m sure you already know,” she began, “that unlike my brothers, I chose not to run from what’s inside us. I’ve always been a believer, and I’ve spent my life researching the Merrick. I guess you could say that the pieces of the puzzle finally pulled me here.”

Quinn arched one brow. “Meaning?”

Wetting her lips, she ignored the annoying twinge of guilt in the pit of her stomach. Until she knew him better, there was only so much Saige was willing to share. “Meaning that I have reason to believe a Marker might be buried here. I got lucky and was able to join up with a local dig that was already in process, and I’ve been secretly working toward finding it ever since.”

“We wondered if you were searching for another one,” he murmured, looking as if he didn’t know quite what to make of her. “Most humans wouldn’t be so daring.”

A reluctant grin curled the corner of her mouth. “But we Buchanans aren’t exactly human, are we?”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed, rubbing his hand over the shadowed angle of his jaw, the ink-black stubble only accentuating the wicked sensuality of his looks. “You’re also hell on a guy’s ego.”

“Why’s that?” she asked, finding it difficult to believe that anything could dent his masculine pride.

“I’m just spit-balling here, but it could have something to do with how you tried to brain me with that beer bottle,” he offered dryly.

“And here I thought the Watchmen were supposed to be so tough,” she snorted, eyeing his wounded temple. “It isn’t even bleeding anymore.”

“It’s not so much the blood that irritates me as the fact that you had no reason to attack me.”

The corner of her mouth twitched at his put-out expression. “Would it make you feel better if I let you hit me back?”

Saige had never actually watched a man’s lip curl before, and was fascinated by the sight. “I don’t hit women.”

“Just because I’m a woman,” she lectured him, “doesn’t mean I can’t hold my own. I grew up with two older brothers, which means I learned how to fight dirty early on.”

“Don’t worry,” he responded under his breath, turning his attention back to the shadowed street. “I don’t think you’re weak, Saige. I just think you’re crazy.”

Unsure if he was teasing or actually serious, she opted to remain silent until they reached the next corner. “Javier’s apartment is at the end of this block.”

“Just make it quick,” he murmured, looking over the area. It was difficult to tell where one building ended and its neighbor began, the various balconies and awnings giving the three- and four-story structures a look of crooked imbalance. They’d always reminded Saige of building blocks stacked by a child, on the verge of teetering over if the wind blew too hard. “I don’t like it here. We’re not that far from the jungle, and there are too many places to hide.”

“This will only take a minute,” she assured him, hiking her backpack higher on her shoulder. Stepping up onto the raised front porch of the ground-floor apartment, Saige lifted her hand to knock, every sound coming from the nearby buildings making her flinch. Obviously her nerves were still raw from her recent brush with death, as well as her worry for her friends.

Blowing her hair out of her eyes, she knocked once…and waited. Then knocked again. Frowning, Saige started to reach for the door handle, when Quinn drew in a deep breath and grunted, suddenly grabbing hold of her hand and securing it in his steely grip.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, flicking him a startled glance. Like waves of heat, she could feel a strange energy pouring through the touch of his skin against hers, and her anxiety cranked higher.

“You can’t go in there,” he told her in a low, almost soundless growl.

Her eyes went wide. “No one in Javier’s family would hurt me. They’re my friends.”

“It’s too late,” he grunted, his expression one of grim resignation. “Come on.”

“What?” Saige pulled at his grip with her fingers and dug in her heels. “What are you talking about?”

“Casus,” he growled.

“Cas…” The word trailed off as she suddenly registered the strange, thick odor seeping beneath the door, and her stomach roiled.

Oh God, no. No. No. No.

“Javier!” she gasped, lurching for the handle, but Quinn held her in place. Banding his left arm around her waist, he pulled her away from the door and down the wooden steps of the porch.

“Trust me, Saige. You don’t want to go in there.” The words were hard…bitten, and yet somehow compellingly gentle as he scanned the street from side to side. The narrow road, for the moment, was empty, this section of the neighborhood quiet but for the bustling din of families sharing their evening meal, the clattering sounds of crockery spilling from open windows and doorways that had been left open to help alleviate the humid evening heat.

The breeze surged, bringing the combined scents of food and blood and what smelled like charred flesh into sharper focus. “I can’t…I can’t—” she choked out, painfully aware that she had to know what had happened. She couldn’t just run—not when there was a chance that Javier was in there, broken and bleeding…but alive.

Twisting suddenly out of Quinn’s grip, Saige turned and ran back up the steps, her backpack falling to the porch as she lunged for the handle. When it wouldn’t budge, she threw her shoulder against the door, instantly breaking it open. In the back of her mind, she acknowledged the fact that she shouldn’t have been strong enough to take down a door on her own, no matter how old it was, but the thought faded as she rushed into the ground-floor apartment. Her feet hit something wet and slick…and the next thing she knew, she was on her hands and knees in a thick, sickening pool of blood. It spread out around her like a crimson sea of hell, and her stomach heaved. Bile rose in her throat, and she lifted her head, too choked to scream as she took in the sight before her.

“Ohmygod,” she whispered, her lips so numb from the shock, the words felt strangely foreign in her mouth as she sluggishly stumbled to her feet. She was only distantly aware of Quinn’s strong, rough hands steadying her, of the sharp, virulent curse he scraped out, her entire attention focused on the mangled corpses of the Ruiz brothers.

Four bodies, all dead, sat with their backs propped against the far wall of the small sitting room, their long legs stretched out before them on the floor, while their heads lolled to the side like lifeless rag dolls. Gruesome, animal-like slashes and bite marks faded as their flesh continued to shrivel and char, huge pieces missing in some places, as if they’d been…eaten. What remained of their bodies smoldered, but without fire and flames, as if their skin was simply incinerating of its own volition—their eyes left open, mouths slack as blood continued to pool around them in a slow, sluggish pour.

A hysterical scream suddenly crawled up from the deepest part of her body, and she scraped her bloodstained hands into her hair, her body bent forward, as if the pain were pulling her in on herself. She teetered on the rim of a dark, deep chasm that was endless and black as pitch, a breath away from plunging forward, headfirst into that bottomless, suffocating pit. The horror was viciously destructive, like a poison rushing through her veins as she thought of Javier’s close-knit family. The brothers had had nothing but each other, and yet, they’d been the most giving people she’d ever known. And now they were dead—slaughtered—because of her.

The Casus, she thought. It had to have been the Casus.

Fighting the nauseating waves of heartache, she gulped in a huge, desperate gasp of air, and the pain transformed from one second to the next, the rise of fury—of murderous, red-tinged, gnashing rage—building up from the soles of her feet. It spilled through her body like something ugly and thick, slithering beneath her skin, and Saige realized in that moment that the primal passion of her Merrick was being distorted by hatred and anger. As she lifted her head and turned to stare at Quinn, his eyes went hooded. His body tensed. Saige knew he could feel it. Knew he could sense the rise of her beast, and acceptance settled across his stoic expression.

He was prepared to deal with whatever she needed to throw at him. To deal with her.

Giving in to the visceral, animalistic burn of rage, she made a deep, guttural sound in the back of her throat, then rushed at him, battering him with her fists, her blows landing heavily on his shoulders and chest. She wanted him to fight back, to lash out at her, justifying her attack, but he only held her, weathering the brunt of her assault, while doing his best to keep her from hurting herself. It made her angrier…made her want to hate him…to hurt him. Saige screamed again, louder, deeper, until the sound bled into a raw, sobbing cry and her violent fury crashed down into another shuddering, heaving storm of tears.

Unable to face him, she turned away, curling back in on herself, and found herself staring once again at the charred bodies positioned with such sadistic care against the far wall. Blinking, she was riveted by a familiar silver bracelet on the blackened corpse that sat at the far right. The bracelet had been a gift to Javier on his sixteenth birthday from his parents, who’d both died a month later in a fire at the factory where they worked.

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