Power and confidence radiated from him.

He had a hard edge, as if he could cut with knifelike precision through every bad element that ever rode a New York subway. Yet he had the face of a gentle warrior. Sienna’s breath caught. She felt a stir of sexual chemistry.

He was as lonely and grief-stricken as she was. Her heart twisted. Who had hurt this man? She wanted to go to him, comfort him and ease his sorrow. Sienna smiled.

A crooked, charming smile touched his full mouth. Twin dimples appeared on those taut cheeks, making him appear younger and boyish. She felt all her own pain slowly evaporate. Gods, he was handsome. An odd connection flared between them. Sienna locked her gaze to his, desperately needing someone who understood.

Then her nostrils flared as she caught his scent. Hatred boiled to the surface. Not a man. Draicon.

The enemy.

Dear Reader,

In 1943, my uncle Ed was drafted to fight in World War II. Once, while his unit remained safely outside, Ed sat inside a burned-out building, working on a bomb that he held between his legs. He was just a kid, praying the entire time that he wouldn’t blow himself up.

The courage of Edmond Fischer, and many other servicemen and women, inspired me to write The Covert Wolf—the first in a new series about a top-secret group of US Navy SEALS who are also paranormals.

Matthew Parker is a Draicon werewolf and a navy SEAL who is tormented by the death of his best friend in Afghanistan by pyrokinetic demons. Matt is determined to find a magick orb the demons want to use to destroy the world. He teams up with Sienna McClare, one of the few who can identify the missing Orb. Working together, Matt and Sienna discover the inner strength to accept their true natures, and the quiet courage it takes to do the right thing—no matter how scared you are.

Happy reading!

Bonnie Vanak

About the Author

BONNIE VANAK fell in love with romance novels during childhood. After years of newspaper reporting, Bonnie became a writer for a major international charity, which has taken her to destitute countries to write about issues affecting the poor. When the emotional strain of her job demanded a diversion, she turned to writing romance novels. Bonnie lives in Florida with her husband and two dogs, and happily writes books amid an evergrowing population of dust bunnies. She loves to hear from readers. Visit her website, www.bonnievanak.com, or e-mail her at bonnievanak@aol.com.

The Covert
Wolf
Bonnie Vanak

www.millsandboon.co.uk

In memory of my father-in-law, Frank Senior. We love you, and miss you.

Prologue

Afghanistan, Helmand province

The clay desert was hard-packed, mirror-flat and easy to scan. But the foothills, ah, the damn rugged outcroppings of rock and earth that began the river valley, that’s where they would hide.

Where I would hide, if I were targeting a kill, thought Lieutenant Matthew “Dakota” Parker as he scanned the dangerous terrain.

With its engine still running, their Hummer was parked on the isolated roadway as Matt and his partner checked out a suspicious trace of spectral magick he had glimpsed on a small berm. As a Draicon, his senses were sharper in wolf form, but damn, it was hard to drive, as Adam joked, when your paws didn’t touch the pedals. They didn’t train you for that in BUD/S, the intense twenty-six-week program that weeded out those not tough enough to become a U.S. Navy SEAL.

But a shape-shifting rat could see that spark of trace magick. It glowed black.

Demon-black, empty and soulless.

Or as his teammate Ryder Thompson always said, “Empty as the bottom of my damn wallet after leave.”

Matt smiled as he thought of Ryder, aka “Renegade,” a fellow Draicon wolf whose specialty was languages. Like Matt and Adam, Ryder was a member of SEAL Team 21’s elite Phoenix Force. Eight men, all great guys. All SEALs, part of Naval Special Warfare. Like Delta Force, they were so secret the Department of Defense never admitted they existed.

Except their human counterparts had no idea what they truly were….

The Phoenix Force was a special counterterrorist ghost squad, but the terrorists they fought had fangs and claws. Every member was a paranorm. Only a few high-ranking officials knew their special abilities, including Keegan Byrne, a four-star admiral who was a Primary Mage. Byrne could wipe a person’s memory clean with the snap of his lean fingers.

Standing on the berm, Matt kept his Heckler & Koch MP-5 submachine gun trained on the jagged outcropping of rock, his gaze and his senses sharpened as he watched Adam. Chief Petty Officer Adam “Wildcat” Barstow was his best friend and swim buddy. The black jaguar’s sharp claws dug into the pebbled sand as he pressed his nose close to the ground.

Adam turned, shifted back into human form and used magick to clothe himself. The SEAL was dressed like Matt—lightweight desert battle dress uniform, boots, gloves and vest weighted with survival gear, plus seven magazines and hand grenades. A cammie helmet covered his ash-brown hair. Adam frowned as he flexed his fingers.

“Damn sand. Gets in my paws. All clear.”

Matt scanned the sand, bothered by a niggling instinct. He knew what he’d seen. “Spectral traces of demon magick don’t just vanish. Not even with this wind.”

“There’s nothing out here, Dakota. No lions, tigers or bears. We’d have seen them,” Wildcat pointed out.

They were returning to camp after searching for a local warlord rumored to be hiding in the hills. The warlord had a fondness for roadside bombs targeting NATO troops. The marines accompanying them had already searched this area. Matt and Adam were a half mile behind the marines when Matt had spotted the black trace of dark magick.

He didn’t like it. Something reeked about this op. And the commanding officer back at base had specifically requested their presence.

No paranorms out here, not even a desert jinn. The desert was empty of magick. Yet the niggling suspicion wouldn’t quit. Matt rubbed the back of his sweating neck. He didn’t like how vulnerable and exposed the gun turret made Adam.

“Let me take the gun. You’ve been on top long enough,” he urged.

A distant look came into Adam’s eyes. For a moment, he saw an odd flash of grief. Then the jaguar gave the ghost of a smile. “Not a chance, Dakota. You always wanna be on top.”

“Gets me no complaints from the ladies,” he cracked.

The wind blew over the rocky sand, stirring the dust. His unease grew. Anything could be hiding in those hills. Insurgents, suicide bombers.

Or worse.

Gooseflesh erupted on his bare forearms. Matt glanced at Adam, newly mated to a beautiful black-haired jaguar shifter. They were trying to have a baby, he remembered.

“Spooky out here. Wildcat, you drive,” Matt urged.

Adam shot him an amused look. “You need the big gun to hide behind, Dakota? Why? You scared? Wuss.”

He laughed, glad to see the melancholy gone from his friend’s face. They climbed back into the Hummer. Adam stood in the gun turret, his upper body outside as he manned the .50-caliber machine gun, continuing his sweep of the sands. Matt disliked the armored-up Hummer. It added too much weight and the damn thing had a rep for the doors jamming during an attack, trapping whoever was inside.

They drove onward.

“Hold on. Traffic ahead.” Matt’s instincts sharpened as he spotted a man standing by a hill beside the road, waving to them. “Check him out.”

“Huh. Not a hell-raiser,” Adam said, using the squad’s code word for enemy paranorms. “And doesn’t carry the stench of Taliban. Just a human friendly.”

The gray-bearded, elderly man pointed to his leg. Blood stained his tattered trousers. He was wounded. Needed medical assistance. His expression looked strained. Terrified.

“Help me,” he mouthed.

Matt stopped the Hummer. “I’m getting out. Can’t catch his scent.”

“Stay there.” Adam’s voice was sharp with concern. “I got this.”

The elderly man opened his jacket, showing rows and rows of dynamite. With a look of stark terror, he thumbed a switch.

“Get down!” Matt yelled to Wildcat.

The bomb exploded laterally, but the heavy armored vehicle held. Matt swore as he jimmied the door.

Jammed.

“Yo, Dakota. I’m a little stuck here.”

From the force of the blast, metal compressed against Adam as he stood in the turret. His legs were pinned.

“Hold on.”

Matt tried pulling him down, but Wildcat was too tightly wedged. Using his werewolf strength, he managed to pry back a piece of damaged frame from Adam’s legs but, as he did, suspicion raced through him. No ordinary blast could cause such precise damage. It had to be …

He looked out the window, saw a pulse of black spectral magick. “Whiskey, Tango, Foxtrot,” he yelled.

Ten insurgents carrying AK-47s appeared on the sand. Only these had pointed ears and pale skin, instead of leathery, tanned skin. Darksider Fae. They began spraying the vehicle with small-arms fire.

They’d been set up.

Adam fired back, the machine gun rattling like thunder. The enemy dropped dead, then their bodies began to smoke. The Fae vanished in an explosion of dust.

Darksider Fae were hard to detect because they could impersonate anything, such as a certain arrogant C.O. back at base. They were rogue Fae, their leash held by a bigger master. But who? Matt whipped his head back and forth, searching the sands. The human grandfather was bait, forced to kill himself.

Adam’s voice crackled over his headpiece. “Damn it, Dakota, I’ve been hit.”

“How bad?” His heart raced as he forced himself to calm.

“A little bit. Bleeding like an SOB.”

Jaguars didn’t heal as quickly as Draicon werewolves. Matt cranked around, saw blood dampening Adam’s pants leg.

“Have to shift, only way out.”

Magick shimmered in the air as Adam shifted, and the energy from the change peeled back the metal, freeing him. The large, black jaguar leaped off the Hummer and landed on the sand.

“I’m coming, buddy,” Matt signaled, and grabbed his Medipack.

His skin crawled as he saw the blood matting the jaguar’s midsection. Matt couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Gutshot. Fatal wound.

His training kicked in. The camp was only an hour’s drive away, but he had to save him by keeping the bleeding under control until Wildcat received medical attention.

The jaguar turned its head and, for a moment, sorrow filled its gaze.

Something hot and evil stirred the air.

Matt jimmied the door again. He tried shotgun side, but it was also stuck. The wind stirred the pebbled sand, spiraling it into miniature sandstorms. His heart leaped into his throat as the sandstorm blew closer. The big cat charged the sandstorm.

Damn it! The storm dissipated into four distinct, gray shapes.

Pyrokinetic demons.

Panic squeezed his throat. With a sickening twist of his stomach, Matt saw the pyros assume form. Two went for the jaguar. Two more spun toward the Hummer, flames pouring from their gray talons, from their opened mouths.

Wildcat was wounded and fur gave little protection against fire.

He grabbed the fire extinguisher from the back, kicked the passenger door with every ounce of werewolf strength. It swung open. He had just scrambled out the other side when he heard Adam’s scream.

Matt hit the sand, rounding the Hummer. With a deafening yell, he hit the extinguisher’s switch. The device emptied, spraying a demon, who squealed and died.

He lifted his H&K MP-5, firing away to shoot the other bastards when the flames hit his legs. The flame-retardant material began to slowly peel away beneath the five-hundred-degree heat. Matt ducked back, gasping. Felt like someone flicked a lighter inside his bones. The pain was acid-hot, but he had to get to Adam. His buddy was hurt.

Snarling, he pushed on, firing his weapon. The demons were retreating, falling back over the slope, their powers sapped. One turned and aimed a blast of dying flame straight at Matt’s chest. He screamed in agony, but kept firing until the demons faded into the wind.

Matt struggled to stay conscious as an excruciating pain fogged his mind. He had to save his buddy.

It was the last thing on his mind as he fell to the uncaring earth.

Chapter 1

Lieutenant Matthew Parker wanted to ram his fist into a wall when he thought about how demons, aided by Fae, had killed his best friend, Adam “Wildcat” Barstow. Instead, he rubbed the heel of his hand against the subway’s plastic seat.

Never had he felt so alone, trapped in this conveyance filled with humans who would never know about Wildcat. Never pay respect to Adam for serving his country with devotion.

There’d be no military parade, no funeral with a flag-draped coffin. No newscasters with solemn faces talking of Adam’s courage and skill. There wasn’t even a body to bring home. Adam had been burned to ashes, his remains scattered. Matt wanted to scream at the passengers, shouting Adam’s name until his throat went hoarse. No one would mourn Wildcat other than his grieving family, who thought he had died in a car crash. All memories of Adam’s existence had been purged from any human or paranormal who knew him.

Matt felt his neck muscles grow tight as a blizzard of smells and sounds assaulted his senses. He tried shutting them out as he’d been taught in training, but he was drained, his defenses lowered. The creaking of the subway car as it sped on the metal tracks toward Times Square, away from Brooklyn and Adam’s weeping mate, grated on his ears like spikes. Desperate for a connection, he looked around for someone to pay attention to him. Just one paranorm like himself, who would acknowledge his existence.

He rode a subway filled with human robots. No one looked up, even gave him a curious glance. He was invisible.

Someone, just look at me. I feel so alone. Doesn’t anyone care?

And then a sweet fragrance caught his attention. A scent of meadows and mountains, cool, crisp air and forest. It refreshed his weary spirit. Matt’s nostrils flared. A very female fragrance. Draicon werewolf, just like him.

His pulse pounded with awareness and a sudden sharp bolt of desire. Then he caught a tendril of fear threaded through her scent. Protective instincts sharpened with knifelike awareness.

She was scared. Who was she?

He scanned the crowded train.

Two seats away on the opposite side, a woman sat with her head bent. Long, straight brown hair, parted down the middle, spilled past her shoulders and curtained her face. She wore the uniform of corporate America—black woolen pencil skirt with matching jacket, white, starched blouse and sleek, expensive black high heels and leather briefcase.

She slipped off the heel of one shoe and absently let it rock back and forth against her heel. She was scared, but hiding it well.

He admired the curve of her calf, the arch of her foot. Matt unclenched his fists.

Look at me.

A subtle but strong command. Matt pushed a little more, using his powers of mind control. Look at me. Please.

The woman glanced up. Sexual awareness shot through him like a bullet. Her nose was small, her mouth wide but soft and sweet-looking. In her eyes he saw a reflection of his own haunting misery, so deep it shattered him. Tears filled her mossy green eyes.

Who had hurt her?

Nothing pushed his buttons faster than seeing a vulnerable Draicon female, alone, without pack to protect her. He wanted to comfort her, and beat the living crap out of whoever made her cry. His teammates teased him about his shining-knight complex. “Because it always gets you laid,” Wildcat had insisted.

Once after a mission overseas where Matt had rescued a pretty kidnapping victim, Wildcat brought a white horse onto the base, along with an empty suit of armor. “Your new uniform,” he’d teased.

Thinking about Adam, his throat tightened again. I miss you, buddy.

Matt concentrated on the woman. With her creamy skin, delicate features, combined with a strong, stubborn chin, she looked slightly exotic and fey. He could nearly taste the sweetness of her mouth, with its full and lush lower lip. He felt another stir of sharp chemistry, a pure male response to a lovely female.

But striking as she was, it was the grief that called to him.

He longed to wipe away her tears with the edge of a thumb, coax a smile to that down-turned mouth. Matt focused all his efforts.

Please, he thought desperately. Look at me.

Sienna McClare was Fae, accustomed to open air and field. Not this boxy subway car.

The oily smell of fear clogged her nostrils, leached from her pores. The train with its human cargo felt like a coffin. The scent of humans mingled with something darker and more sinister. She was trapped. No way out of this speeding deathtrap. Panic surged, bright and sharp.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She inhaled deeply and thought of deep green forests and quiet glades. Tall pines waving in the wind, the chatter of birds and scolding of squirrels, a deer cropping grass. A wolf watching a deer, waiting. Prey. Images of fangs flashing, tearing, wet sounds …

No!

She fought the panic freezing her blood. Draicon werewolves were vicious killers. Merciless as her father—the man who’d raped her Fae mother and then killed her when his pack attacked her mother’s Fae colony after his pack returned for Sienna.

Air blew through the vents, but it wasn’t enough to banish the smell of humans. They belonged to someone. She did not. Not in this city with its neon lights and busy streets.

Or anywhere.

Sienna hated glamouring herself as a Draicon werewolf, but it was necessary if she were to find the Orb of Light. Someone had stolen the Orb from her colony, the Los Lobos Fae. A Draicon who’d been seen in the area previously was suspected. Sienna had eagerly seized the chance to help when Chloe, leader of the Fae colony, had approached her and promised that once she found the Orb and returned it to them, she’d receive a hero’s welcome back into her colony. No longer would she be an Outcast. The Fae would not pretend she was invisible. They’d cast her out when she was older and able to survive on her own, because she was a hybrid. The bastard child of a sweet-faced Fae and a Draicon killer. Her mother’s people had raised her with love and affection, making her feel accepted, and then, eight months ago when she turned twenty-one and was considered an adult, they’d kicked her out.

If she found the Orb, Sienna could return to the only home she’d known. I just want things to go back to the way they were.

In two hours, she’d meet with a U.S. Navy SEAL assigned to help her find the Orb. Chloe had been vague about details. Sienna didn’t care if it meant working with the devil himself. She’d do it.

Sensing someone staring, she glanced up and focused on a man across the aisle. He was heavily muscled, wore a black leather jacket, black jeans and boots. Dark, wavy hair wreathed a solemn, handsome face with brutal cheekbones, a square chin. Eyes as blue as the ocean studied her.

Power and confidence radiated from him. He had a hard edge, as if he could cut with knifelike precision through every bad element that ever rode a N.Y. subway. Yet he had the face of a gentle warrior. Sienna’s breath caught. She felt a stir of sexual chemistry.

He was as lonely and grief-stricken as she was. Her heart twisted. Who had hurt this man? She wanted to go to him, comfort him and ease his sorrow. Sienna smiled.

A crooked, charming smile touched his full mouth. Twin dimples appeared on those taut cheeks, making him appear younger and boyish. She felt all her own pain slowly evaporate. Gods, he was handsome.

An odd connection flared between them. Sienna locked her gaze to his, desperately needing someone who understood.

Then her nostrils flared as she caught his scent. Hatred boiled to the surface. Not a man. Draicon.

The enemy.

Matt willed the woman across the aisle to connect with him. He assumed a nonthreatening posture, his arms open, palms spread.

Come on, sweetheart. Smile at me. You’re not alone. We’re the only Draicon in this steel cage.

Hope surged as a small but vital connection flared between them. He leaned forward, his heart beating fast. Their gazes caught and met. The woman pushed at her mink-brown hair, and gave a small, shy smile.

He let his own smile widen, let her see the pull of sexual awareness between them. Interest flared in her gaze, and she tilted her head.

Then suddenly her smile wobbled. She made a moue of disgust. Slipping her shoe back on, she shook her head.

“Draicon dog.”

The word was a low mutter, but his sensitive hearing caught it as if it were shouted. Stunned, he sank back into his seat. She called him one of the most filthy insults among their kind.

Ice slid over his heart, made his spine rigid. Matt felt his smile crack like brittle glass.

Then he gave her a long, cool look and turned away. Ignoring her, as she’d ignored him.

Reeling in his control, he resisted the urge to punch the wall again. Matt folded his arms, stretching the shoulders of his battered leather jacket. He dragged in a deep, calming breath.

And smelled something dark and foul.

His gaze landed on a man in a suit. Italian, expensive. But the wearer had cold, dead eyes. He stared at the Draicon female as if she were steak. Matt inhaled again, catching the scent of shaved metal and putrid sickness. He briefly touched the man’s mind and reeled back from the dark images there.

Not good.

The subway stopped at the Canal Street station. The Draicon female gave one last disgusted look at Matt and slipped out of the car.

The human suit followed, his expression hungry.

Matt leaped up as the doors began to close. Werewolf strength easily held them open and he bounded onto the platform.

The woman was in danger. And he couldn’t ignore a threatened female, no matter how badly she’d treated him.

Both had vanished into a tunnel leading to another platform, but he caught their scents. Matt tracked them, increasing his pace. Worry stabbed him. The tunnel was well lit, but he’d seen that man’s expression, smelled his lust.

The business suit intended to rape her.

Not on my watch.

Wolf snarled to the surface. Down, boy. He resisted shifting into his animal side. A wolf stalking through the subways would attract attention. He could handle this as a human. The Sig Sauer holstered at his side was an old friend, but his hands were weapons, as well. He could kick that guy’s ass for daring to even think about hurting a woman.

Heels click-clacked ahead of him, the sharp tap of the woman’s shoes and the brisk sounds of the suit. Matt hugged the wall, every sense screaming awareness.

There.

Before a short set of stairs, the suit had pinned the woman against the wall. No one else was around. Black briefcase lying on the cement, opened, papers spilled out. The suit flashed a dark smile, his fingers splayed along the female’s throat. Light glinted off the polished metal of the knife he held against her throat. A thin trickle of blood dripped onto her pristine white collar.

Matt suppressed a low growl and remained still, gauging the best move. He didn’t want one more drop of blood spilled. Except from that bastard.

Even as he started forward, his footsteps silent, the woman glanced at him. She rolled her eyes. At the very same time, the attacker turned his head.

Matt sprang forward, but the woman punched her would-be molester in his soft stomach, sending him reeling. Cursing, he raced forward.

The suit recovered, his face tomato-red. He came at her, the wicked blade raised.

She snarled and flung out her hands, raising her shoe. Her pointed shoe. The tip landed straight in the man’s groin.

Wincing, Matt watched as the suit let out a high-pitched, unholy scream. He cupped his groin, the knife tumbling to the floor with a clatter.

The woman kicked him again. This time the man yowled like a cat. The Draicon female studied him with a look of satisfaction.

Matt squatted down besides the attacker, squeezed a nerve on his shoulder. The suit fell unconscious as the Draicon female retrieved a cell phone from her briefcase. She thumbed in 911 and spat out instructions, then hung up.

Blood dripped from the small wound, staining the white collar of her shirt.

“You can leave now,” she told Matt in a rigid voice.

The dismissal was curt and brisk. Matt stared in disbelief.

“I know you’re not deaf, because I saw your reaction when I called you a dog. So, are you going to leave? I’ve got this.”

He gritted his teeth. “I was trying to help.”

She rolled those lovely eyes again. “Thanks for the help, hero.”

“He cut you.” His tone was curt, hiding the concern.

She wiped the droplets off her neck. “It’s just a flesh wound.”

At his hard stare, she shook her head and bent over, showing the delectable curve of her bottom as she gathered papers into her briefcase. “Not a Monty Python fan. ‘Course not. Draicon hotshots like you prefer Lassie. Although I doubt you have half the strength of Lassie.”

“Stop it.”

Glancing up, her eyes widened at his sharp tone. He clenched his fists as she snapped the briefcase shut.

“You can defend yourself. I get it. You don’t want help. I don’t need an instruction manual. But the Lassie dig—” Matt struggled with his rising temper “—has to go. I don’t know who knocked the brick off your pretty little shoulder, sweetheart, but it wasn’t me. So ditch the dog references, got it?”

He heaved in a controlling breath. “I’m not your enemy.”

Eyes wide and green as soft moss held his gaze for a moment. The previous misery had returned, making her look vulnerable and young.

“That’s what you think,” she said softly.

With a sharp turn of her polished heels, she slipped up the stairs and vanished from sight.

Matt rubbed his aching neck. This had been the ultimate bitch of a morning.

Couldn’t wait to see what the afternoon would bring. Lieutenant Commander Dale “Curt” Curtis, commanding officer of SEAL Team 21, had scheduled a top-secret briefing about the pyrokinetic demons who’d targeted Matt and Adam. His C.O. had told Matt to prepare for a new assignment.

With a new partner.

Even though he dreaded the idea of a new partner, Matt welcomed the chance to kick demon ass. If a new partner meant finding the leak, so be it.

As for the lovely, contemptuous Draicon … An ominous foreboding filled him.

He had a bad feeling he would see her again.

Very soon.

Chapter 2

The upscale hotel in Times Square boasted a grand view of the bustling streets and the colorful theater marquees. Sienna tapped her foot as she waited in the crowded lobby bar. Odd place for a meeting.

She ran a finger down the glass of water, catching a drop of condensation. Sienna brought it to her mouth, slowly licked it off. She sensed someone staring, and turned.

Son of a jackal …

Leather Jacket Draicon focused on her with a laser blue stare. Those eyes tracked every move her finger made, his gaze smoldering, his mouth compressed.

Had he followed her? And why? Her heart pounded hard at the idea. She studied the werewolf.

Heat surged through her, curling the tips of her toes in their not-so-sensible heels. He resembled a fallen angel with a face sculpted by an artisan’s chisel and cold blue eyes that could cut steel. Limbs sprawled out before him in a position of utter confidence, he looked dangerous.

He shifted position, the move opening his jacket and revealing a pistol strapped to his side. Sienna felt blood drain from her face.

Armed all this time.

Not a man, or a Draicon, to mess with.

As if he read her mind, he lifted the mug of beer in a mock salute and drank deeply. Fascinated, she watched the muscles in his throat work. He set down the glass, his gaze never leaving her as he backhanded his mouth.

“Woof,” he murmured.

Then he stood, dropping a few bills on the table, and left. Crimson flooded her cheeks. I deserved that.

“Oh, I love your Jimmy Choos!”

Startled, she turned. A buxom blonde in a print dress stood before her table. At her side was a severe-looking businessman, a hint of silver in his short-cropped dark hair. He carried an expensive leather briefcase and wore a gray suit with a crisp red tie. The blonde was gorgeous. She carried a large designer purse on her arm and was staring at Sienna’s footwear.

Rather, her legs.

“Such fabulous shoes,” she gushed. “They display your legs nicely. You have great legs.”

“Samantha’s a connoisseur of fine footwear,” the man said. He gave her a small smile. “I apologize for taking up your time.”

The woman simpered, and squeezed Sienna’s hand. “Have a lovely day, darling!”

As they walked off, Sienna glanced down at her palm. In it was a card key in a white envelope that had instructions printed across it.

Her contacts. In disguise, most likely.

As her heart raced with trepidation, she put the card in her purse. This was worse than she’d been told if they couldn’t even meet in the open. Maybe she should back off. It wasn’t too late.

And then what? Go home in defeat? Live alone for the rest of her life, wondering what the black hole in her mind hid?

Finding the Orb meant more than acceptance back into her Fae colony. It meant recovering her lost memories. Everything in her early childhood was a panicked blur. Flashes of a forest, quiet waters and the terror of being shoved into a dark hollow, screams of terror raging around her, a hot crimson igniting the night sky … The snarls of a wolf, teeth bared as it tore into throats, blood splashing and flowing like water … then darkness.

A distant memory tugged, too deeply buried to surface. Every time she tried searching for her past, she met with a closed door. Who was she? Which side ruled her?

Fae or Draicon?

Draicon, no way in hell.

Sienna paid her bill, leaving a generous tip. As instructed, she took the elevator down, then lingered in the lobby for ten minutes, made certain no one was following her, then went upstairs.

The room had a connecting door. She opened it and entered a lavish suite.

The woman named Samantha was inside, sweeping the walls with a device that resembled the metal wand employed by airport security staff. She finished and turned with a cheerful grin. “Nothing. Clean. Not even a bedbug.”

Mischief danced in her brown eyes. “Need to check you, Miss McClare. A total pat-down. Don’t worry, I’m a professional when it comes to frisking women.”

She didn’t like the idea of this woman checking her over. It made her nervous. “Why the search? And the covert activity?”

“Can’t take any chances,” Samantha said.

“I can assure you, I’m not hiding anything.” Sienna clasped her hands, willed a smile. If this woman searched her, she’d get too nervous. Drop the glamour. The glamour fed her confidence, enabled her to look cool and professional.

Samantha gave her body an admiring glance. “Ah, not quite. There is definitely something about you.”

“Any excuse to flirt, huh, Shay?”

That deep, drawling voice, smooth as the burn of whiskey sliding down a parched throat. Sienna’s heart went still as Leather Jacket Draicon ambled with lethal grace through the connecting door, joined by the same dark-haired man who’d accompanied Samantha in the lobby bar.

The Draicon halted and stared. Ice glittered in his sharp blue gaze as he closed the door.

“You? Hell on wheels, this has to be a damn joke. Who are you?” he snapped.

The dark-haired man gestured to the Draicon. “Sienna McClare, meet Lieutenant Matthew Parker, U.S. Navy SEAL. Matt, Sienna’s Seelie Sidhe Fae from the Los Lobos colony.”

Lieutenant Parker looked stunned. “She’s a Draicon.”

“I’m not.”

“Prove it, sweetheart.” His voice was low and dangerous. “Because if you’re one, and not the Fae we’re expecting, you’re in a heap of trouble.”

All three looked at her. Sienna forced down her nervousness. She released the glamour to show her natural form. Pale, nearly translucent skin replaced the slightly darker tint. Her eyes became larger and more slanted. She pushed back her hair to display her pointed ears.

“There. Satisfied? I’m Fae, not a Draicon werewolf. Now, can I ask, what’s going on and who you are?”

The dark-haired man gave a slight smile. “Lieutenant Commander Dale Curtis, commanding officer of SEAL Team 21. Sorry for the precautions, Miss McClare. It’s necessary for security reasons. Lieutenant Parker will be partnering with you on this mission….”

“I’m sorry. I can’t work with this man.”

“Sit down, Miss McClare.”

The order was said in a soft tone, but steel threaded through the commander’s voice. Sienna sat, clenching her hands, refusing to look at the Draicon.

“Let’s get one thing straight before we start,” Lieutenant Commander Curtis said as he joined her. “This arrangement goes against my guts. I wanted my team alone on this. It’s too risky. The Fae are insular. Your aunt didn’t even want to meet. We had to work out details in a damn telephone conference. Unfortunately, she had a point. And a weapon I can’t do anything about. She can control the weather.”

Now a grim smile played on his mouth. “Unless I’d like a permanent hailstorm in Little Creek, we have to work together. You know the Orb, and your ability to glamour is powerful. I agreed to this, but no Fae is going to dictate the SEAL I chose. I don’t care if my house gets pelted by hail for the next thirty days. You’re with Matt. He’s a damned fine tracker. He could find an ice cube in a snowstorm.”

Sienna’s cheeks burned. She gestured to the blonde, who looked amused at the tension.

“I’d rather work with a woman,” she told him. “What about her? I don’t need a navy SEAL.”

Lieutenant Parker laughed. “Shay?”

Stunned, she watched Samantha’s body and face shimmer, and change shape. Full, lush lips became firm, the round cheekbones concave …

Replacing Samantha was a man dressed in black jeans and a cutoff black T-shirt. A shock of sandy-brown hair spilled down to his collar. Boyish mischief danced in his hazel eyes as he took a seat opposite her.

“Chief Petty Officer Sam Shaymore at your service, Miss McClare.”

Sienna gave him a warm smile. Finally, someone she could relate to. “You’re a Fae.”

Lieutenant Parker took a chair, swung it around and straddled it. “Shay’s a Phantom. A Mage who can shift into any kind of life-form.”

“Just one of my talents.” Shaymore opened a palm. A current of electricity sizzled there. He closed his fist, and the energy vanished.

Unease raced through her as she studied Shaymore, leaning back in his chair and folding his heavily muscled arms. Mage. They were much higher on the food chain than Seelie Sidhe. Some were endowed with powers that could cut a Fae in half before she could chant a spell.

She slid her chair out from the table and glanced at Lieutenant Commander Curtis. “Are all of you … paranorms?”

Curtis flicked a hand and she found herself sliding back toward the table, as if an invisible, courtly hand had pushed her chair in. “Primary Mage.”

Sweet mercy, a Draicon, and two Mages. Three powerful men who made her magick look puny and small. They studied her like an insect pinned on a board. Sienna resisted the urge to bolt. She lifted her chin and forced herself to calm.

“Primary Mages can do advanced telekinesis, throw energy bolts and shift into animal form. Just to let you know.” Contempt etched Lieutenant Parker’s face. “Or didn’t they teach you that in forest school?”

“Lieutenant Parker, are you going to have a problem working with Miss McClare?” Curtis’s tone was even, but held an edge of command.

“No, sir.”

Words seemed forced, his jaw taut. Chief Petty Officer Shaymore looked amused. “I can work with her. Be a real pleasure and I can be friendlier than old sour wolf here.”

“Screw you, Shay.”

“Up yours, Dakota.”

Parker gave a mocking grin. “Go grow a set. Steel ones.”

“Nothing wrong with mine. That’s what all the ladies say.”

They were a team, males who shut her out. Sienna gave them a cool look. “All the ladies?” she asked politely. “Or just the ones you disguise yourself as?”

The men turned and stared. A deep laugh rumbled from Lieutenant Parker’s throat.

The rich sound was as enticing as warm chocolate on a cold night. Sienna guarded herself against it. This man was a Draicon wolf.

Parker checked his laugh. “You mind changing back? Those ears are distracting, Mr. Spock.”

Sienna fought the urge to glamour into a poodle. What was his problem? She assumed her human form and pointedly ignored him.

“I don’t care what history you both share. Whatever it was, it ends now. I need both of you sharp, alert and working together as a team.” Curtis leaned forward. “This goes beyond any personal differences. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” Parker said as Sienna nodded. When everyone sat at the table, Curtis began.

“We’re meeting here because ST21’s compound may be compromised….”

“ST21?” she asked.

“SEAL Team 21,” Curtis explained, snapping open his briefcase and pulling out a file. He handed a sheaf of papers to Parker, along with credit cards and a thick wad of cash. “Your cover to find the Orb is a couple traveling the country and looking for antiques. Miss McClare will be posing as your wife.”

“Sister,” the lieutenant said roughly.

“Fine. I’m placing you on official leave, Matt, to cover your absence. Can’t take chances.”

Sienna held up a hand. “Can you please explain what’s going on?”

Silence hung in the air. No one looked at her. She sensed no one wanted to tell her, or work with her. They were a team and she wasn’t one of them.

Just as the Fae had, they were shutting her out.

“I don’t like this. We don’t need to work with a Fae. I can find the Orb on my own.” Parker gave her a pointed look. “I don’t trust the Fae. It was a Fae bullet that—”

He cut off his words, staring at the wall.

Oh-kay. Wonderful. She’d made enemies just by flashing her ears. Sienna swept them all with a level look. “Are any of you, or anyone in ST21, an expert in Old Sidhe? Can you decipher Fae runes?”

Not waiting for an answer, she continued. “Scribbled on the Orb are ancient Fae runes. The runes reveal the Orb’s magick and will only react to someone of Fae blood, or someone who’s absorbed a power burst from the Orb. Since no one’s touched the Orb in years, except for the Draicon who stole it, you’re stuck with me or another Fae of your choice. Unless you want to check out every crystal ball from here to California.”

“No Draicon stole the Orb,” Parker said, glaring at her.

Curtis’s expression became stony. “I agreed to have you on this assignment, Miss McClare, against my will. Lieutenant Parker’s identity has been exposed. His life is in danger. No one must know Matt is a Draicon. No paranorms, no humans, not even the POTUS.”

At her confused expression, he added, “President of the United States. Is that clear, Miss McClare?”

She nodded, feeling sweat bead on her forehead.

“You know how powerful the Orb is,” Curtis continued.

“It serves as an amplifier to enhance a person’s natural power, both dark and light, which is why it’s dangerous,” she interrupted. “And it reveals the truth about whatever one desires. For example, if you want to know the true identity of a Fae you suspect is using glamour, you consult the Orb.”

Curtis glanced at Matt, emotion shadowing his gaze. “The person who stole the Orb used it to sell intel about Lieutenant Parker and his teammate. They were ambushed by pyrokinetic demons. The demons burned Lieutenant Parker’s partner and nearly killed Matt.”

Sienna choked back a horrified gasp. The Orb was being used for evil? She had hoped it was merely lost. Now the stakes were much bigger. Pity filled her as she looked at Lieutenant Parker, his expression tight with pain and grief.

“How do you know the Orb is to blame?”

“We have sources. And we have a leak, which is why we’re meeting in secret.” Curtis turned to the lieutenant. “Shay’s providing backup on this op. He’ll brief you.”

Once again, they’d shut her out, as if closing a door. Shaymore opened the briefcase that had been cloaked as a large Coach purse, and pulled out a fat envelope.

Bile rose in her throat as she studied the photographs he displayed on the table. They were horrifying in their simple, stark details. Bodies, unrecognizable and charred, lay scattered on the sands. Their hands curled into claws, stretching out to the sky.

“One of our paranorm assets discovered they’d torched an entire village after attacking you, Dakota. A community of friendlies.”

Sienna swallowed past her gorge. “Why?” she whispered.

Parker leaned across the table, his gaze searing hers. “Because that’s what they do, Miss McClare. These demons feed off fire and terror. It infuses them with energy and power.”

Sienna had a nagging suspicion she’d seen this kind of nasty work before. But she couldn’t place it.

“They’ve been kept in check before because the bolt holes barring entry into our dimension were secured. About two months ago, a group of Darksider rogue Fae opened a bolt hole in an abandoned building in Nevada scheduled for demolition. Using explosives they’d stolen from Libya, they managed to free four pyrokinetic demons before our people sealed the breach. The pyro demons then torched a nearby apartment building, killing twenty-six people.”

She felt sick to her stomach. Her own kind had helped do this?

Shaymore dug out a photograph from the purse. “This is a pyrokinetic demon.”

Sienna stared at the mottled gray skin, the angry red slash of a mouth, the tapered, long fingers ending in sharp talons. “How could they move among the humans if they look like this?”

“Glamour.” Shaymore rubbed his eyes, as if weary. “The Darksider Fae gave the demons their ability to glamour in return for a higher position in the netherworld. The glamour only holds for a few minutes—”

“Long enough,” Parker cut in. “But if they get the Orb, they’ll be able to hold it longer.”

The possibilities were horrifying. Bile, hot and acid, rose in her throat.

The Draicon looked tight and deadly as a honed blade. “A Darksider Fae bought intel about me and my buddy from the slime who stole the Orb. Then he glamoured himself as our C.O. and ordered us on a mission. The demons waited until the marines in our convoy passed. The jarheads weren’t the target. We were. The Fae set us up.”

A low growl rumbled from his throat. “Because of that, my best friend died in agony. If I find the Fae who did this, they won’t need a demon to get to hell. I’ll send them there myself.”

His rage was luminous, raising the room temperature and warming her cheeks. Every instinct urged her to get up, get out and away from this dangerous Draicon. Sienna’s eyes widened as he dragged his fingertips across the wood table, scoring it with claws that suddenly emerged.

“Whoa, L.T.,” Shaymore said. “I don’t have the money to cover damages for this room.”

“Easy, Dakota,” the lieutenant commander murmured. “The Fae who impersonated the major general was caught. He’s been taken care of. We’ve established new security measures around all key personnel.”

Sympathy filled her. She knew how it felt to be helpless and enraged. Sienna watched the Draicon rein in his control. Sweat popped out on his forehead, but his claws retreated.

“This mission is crucial, Miss McClare,” Curtis told her. “If the pyro demons get the Orb, they’ll discover the identity of every member of the Phoenix Force, and our associated powers. And use it to kill my men, who are the last defense against them.”

“Not going to happen,” Parker grated out. “I’ll do whatever it takes. I’m not going to let innocent civilians be torched like my buddy was.”

A horrific image came to mind. Streets lined with bodies, burned and twisted. Mothers, fathers, children. Not a tiny village on the edge of a desert, but a city filled with living people. Turned to a charred wasteland where the silent screams of the victims still floated in the air …

Nausea rolled in her stomach. She could no longer hold it at bay.

“Will you please excuse me?”

Somehow she made it down the hallway, into the bathroom, running the water to cover the sounds of her retching. It was worse than she’d been led to believe. With shaking hands, she twisted the tap, splashing water on her face. She took several deep breaths, dried off.

Voices raised in anger. In the corridor she paused outside the living room, out of eyesight.

“You can’t even mention his name.” Parker sounded anguished.

“You know the rules, Dakota. He’s gone.”

“Damn it, I know the rules. He was my buddy. He fought bravely for his country. We can’t even speak of him. Everyone who knew him had their memories of him as a SEAL erased.” Parker hissed out a breath. “Adam deserves better. He deserves to be remembered.”

“And he will.”

She peeked around the corner. Curtis emerged from the kitchen, clutching three amber bottles. He handed one to each man. They raised the bottles, clinked.

“To Adam,” Curtis said.

“To Wildcat,” echoed Shaymore. “A damn fine warrior.”

“To Chief Petty Officer Adam Barstow, the bravest soldier I’ve ever known. The best buddy I ever had. May the spirits guide you to the Other Side as you live on forever in our memories.”

The men drank. Parker tipped his back and took a long pull, his throat muscles working. He wiped his mouth with the back of one hand, set down the drink. Glass cracked beneath the pressure of his squeezed fist.

“Matt,” the lieutenant commander said gently.

“It should have been me. I sensed there was something off….”

He twisted and turned, his nostrils flaring. “Spying on us?”

Sienna walked into the room, her heart pounding. Anger and grief etched Parker’s face. She knew all about grief, how it ate you up inside. And to not even be permitted to remember a lost one …

“His name was Chief Petty Officer Adam Barstow.” A statement, not a question.

“You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

Fear skidded along her spine as she saw Parker’s cold expression. This Draicon wasn’t only a deadly wolf who ripped prey apart, but a trained navy SEAL as dangerous as the weapons he wielded. More than six feet of muscle and deadly force regarded her with cold blue eyes. She eyed the pistol holstered to his hip.

The lieutenant’s jaw tightened. “His name isn’t to be mentioned outside his team.”

She kept her voice low and gentle. “Are you going to shoot me? At least grant me the courtesy of saying his name. He was a man who died for his country. Everyone deserves to be remembered after they die. What makes him so different that his name is top secret?”

“Because it is,” Parker said, but she caught the flash of deep grief shadowing his face.

Both the lieutenant commander and Shaymore stood. “Thank you, Miss McClare, for your condolences.” Curtis gave Parker a meaningful look. “Matt, I’ll leave this to your discretion. Knock on the door when you’re finished.”

The connecting door closed behind the men. Do what? Kiss her? Or kill her? Wild thoughts surged through her. Sienna studied Matthew Parker’s full, firm mouth, set now in a grim line. “What’s going on?”

The lieutenant ran a hand through his thick, dark hair. “I’m going to wipe your memory of what you overheard. It’s easier if there’s no one else in the room.”

Her jaw unhinged. “What? Why?”

Grief shadowed his expression. “It’s a condition of being a SEAL on ST21. If we die, any memories of us as SEALs are erased. Our families are allowed to remember us, but there’s no recollection of us being SEALs. You weren’t supposed to know about Adam.”

As he reached into his pocket and withdrew what looked like a cell phone, panic surged.

“You can’t!”

Sienna’s stomach pitched and rolled. Pushing back from his chair, Parker approached her, power shimmering in the air. His broad shoulders blocked out the overhead light. She tensed and held out a hand.

“You’re not going to let me remember anything about your unit after we’re done?” She tried to keep her voice from trembling.

“It’s all right. It won’t hurt. The NeuroBlaster targets specific memory centers. You won’t feel a thing.” Parker’s voice was low and soothing.

Deep inside, a door was locked and she’d tried pushing it open for a long, long time. Sienna suspected it was a long-buried memory.

“Please don’t do this,” she whispered.

“I must.”

But it could wipe out the memory she desperately longed to surface. Sienna shrank back as he approached. Magick shimmered around him, pushing at the air. He looked regretful as he pressed buttons on the NeuroBlaster.

“If you’re going to erase my memories when this is over, why now erase the memory of the SEAL who died? When knowing what the demons did to him may help us pinpoint who stole the Orb? I need all the information I can get. This doesn’t concern only him, Lieutenant. You’re gambling with the lives of countless innocent civilians.”

It was a long shot, but she had to gamble. Sienna clasped her hands together. Parker lowered his hand.

He seemed to struggle with a decision. Finally he pocketed the device. “I’m not letting you out of my sight, though. Get it? That’s the condition. We stick together.”

She released a quivering breath. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me. After this is over, I must take your memories. Deal?”

She’d deal with after much later. For now, she had a respite. Her mouth wobbled in a tremulous smile. “Deal.”

She held out her hand in a formal gesture of thanks. Parker took it, his palm swallowing hers. A shiver raced through her as he stroked her hand with a thumb. Current sizzled between them, a flare of something deep and significant. The scent of pine forest, leather and pure male invaded her senses. He was overwhelming from a distance, but this close … her hand trembled in his.

Retreating back into formality, she pulled her hand away. He frowned, his gaze whipping around the room.

“I smell something … dark.” Parker’s nostrils flared. He pounded on the wall and the men came into the room.

“Shay, did you do a full scan of the suite for bugs?” Parker demanded.

“Clean.” The Mage rapped his knuckles on the table.

“You didn’t scan her.”

All three men stared at her. Her blood pressure dropped. Sienna couldn’t move. Parker took the cylindrical scanner and swept it over her body. It gave a sharp, tinny beep and lit up red as it hovered over her shirt collar.

“Hellfire,” Shaymore muttered.

Something was crawling on her neck on furry, tiny legs.

“Stay absolutely still,” Parker said softly, setting down the wand.

“Hitchhiker demon worm. Careful,” the lieutenant commander warned.

She wanted to bolt, but forced herself to stay still. Sienna reached up to pluck it off.

“Don’t.” Parker crept toward her, his gaze intent on the creature. “Your move will trigger its defenses.”

“Get it off me,” she whispered.

“Easy now. Close your eyes and mouth. It accesses your body through your orifices.”

She felt it approach her cheek, linger near her mouth, then move downward over her neck. Sweat broke out on her forehead. Her heart pounded like thunder in the silent room.

Then suddenly the crawling sensation was gone. Something pressed against her chest like two hands doing compressions.

Sienna looked down. Latched to her blouse was a worm the size of her palm. It opened its mouth to reveal rows of pointed teeth. Yellow foam dripped from the yawning jaws.

Matt tackled her hard, toppling her to the floor. The move threw the creature off her body. He seized the worm, which released a high-pitched squeal. A hard yank and the SEAL twisted off its head. Gray goo splattered.

Breathing hard, more scared than she wanted to admit, she sat up. He squatted beside her, patting her down, his brow furrowed. The lieutenant used the wand again and frowned.

“Need to do a physical check.” Then he gave an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry, but I have to make sure nothing else is on your clothing. May I?”

At her nod, he slid his hands over her body, gentle but thorough. Heat flushed her at the intimate examination. A lock of hair fell over his forehead and she felt a sudden compulsion to brush it back, feel the soft silk between her fingers.

The lieutenant ran his fingers lightly over her breasts, his jaw tight, his gaze impartial. A man with a touch like that would be amazing in bed…. Sienna put her hands to her burning cheeks.

“You okay?”

She gave a breathless laugh. “Fine. Considering a worm almost ate into my Donna Karan suit. My only good suit.”

A small smile touched his mouth, erasing his weary look, and it made him appear younger and more approachable.

“Did you have any contact with anyone today, other than us? Anything unusual? Demon hitcher worms are transmitted through touch.”

“This is New York. I probably bumped into hundreds of people.”

“Must have been recent. They can’t survive more than a few hours, which is why they’re rarely used by demons.” His expression tightened. “Blood. The subway, the suit who followed you. He cut you. You had blood on your collar.”

Sienna thought about it. “The man on the subway. He cut me with a knife. I changed shirts after I got to my hotel. How could he have infected me with the worm?”

“The worm was on the knife. They begin as microscopic organisms, hiding on hard surfaces and then blend with whatever clothing a victim wears so they can hide.” Matt touched her healed wound. “He wasn’t trying to molest you. He was planting the worm. You’ve been followed and targeted, and traced. You okay?”

The deep tone of his rough voice slid over her raging nerves, soothing them in an odd way. She didn’t trust Draicon wolves. Yet it was Lieutenant Parker whom she turned to now, laying her palm into his outstretched hand. He pulled her to his feet, his action decisive, his gaze alert.

Sexual awareness flared between them. For a long moment his gaze locked on to hers, the blueness of his eyes smoldering with heat. He looked at her not as an annoying Fae, but as a female. A very desirable female. Just as quickly, he released her hand. He turned with a menacing scowl toward the chief petty officer.

“What the hell were you thinking? No, wait, you weren’t. Because you’re always about trying to get into a female’s pants. You didn’t sweep her for bugs, and look what happened.”

Low and deep, his voice proved more dangerous than if he’d shouted. Shaymore’s expression went flat. He stiffened.

“I’m sorry, sir. I got distracted.”

Matt got in his face. “You’re a fine operator, Shay, but you let a pretty face get to you and you’re not only burning yourself, you’re burning us. Think next time.”

Lieutenant Commander Curtis looked concerned. “Are you all right, Miss McClare?”

She nodded. So formal, his concern was courteous, not the simmering emotion she’d sensed from Lieutenant Parker. Matthew. Matt. She said his name to herself silently.

Pairing with this sexy, lethal Draicon could prove dangerous. Those steely blue eyes promised heat, and could peel back all her defenses, leaving her bare and exposed.

Sienna shuddered. Yet she needed Lieutenant Parker’s help if she were to recover the Orb of Light.

Chapter 3

Sienna was serious, but spunky, Matt thought as reluctant admiration filled him for the Fae who rode silently beside him. Her gaze was focused on the smokestacks, traffic and lead-gray sky that blurred past them.

Her long, dark hair spilled over slender shoulders. They’d burned her clothing and Matt had bought her new clothes, just in case they missed any stray hitchhiker worms.

But the crisp new jeans hugged her body and the mulberry sweater was too tight. He tried to keep his focus on the road, but hell, he was male. Couldn’t resist a peek at those long legs. She stood around five foot seven, petite for a Seelie Fae, with generous female curves. As formal and brisk as his examination had been, it had been torture. A man could cup her breasts in his palms, feel her soft and silky body beneath him, those long legs tangling with his as he …

Swearing under his breath, he concentrated on the highway. His C.O. had fully briefed him on Sienna McClare while the Fae showered and changed. He knew everything, from her shoe size to her job as a clerk in a convenience store to recent purchases she’d made of classical music CDs. Everything except why she’d been living alone outside her Fae colony, when the Fae were traditionally forest dwellers and social creatures. That had been a gap in her file.

He’d told Sienna as much as he could about their destination. Thanks to intel from their vampire buddy and his extensive network of spies, they’d gotten a bead on a witch in northern New Jersey. She’d asked local covens for protection spells against pyro demons because she’d used info from the Orb to “set up a Draicon werewolf and a jaguar overseas.” Now she was running scared.

Be afraid, he thought grimly, remembering how Adam died. Because if you helped kill my buddy, I don’t know if I can control myself.

For the first time he realized he might. Maybe that was why his C.O. sicced the pretty Fae on him. Curt knew Matt would hold it together around a female. Always had in the past.

There’s a first time for everything.

“Can I drive?”

“Not on this freeway.”

Sienna blew a breath on the window and rubbed her index finger over it. “What are the plans once we reach the witch’s house?”

“I’ll question her. You hang back, keep an eye out.”

“Question her? You won’t hurt her, shift and scare her? Show a little fang and terrorize her into talking?”

“Why would I do that?”

“I’m sure you’ve done it before. That’s what Draicon do best.”

Matt gritted his teeth. She was pretty, but infuriatingly stubborn. “Sweetheart, someone sold you a bad bill of goods about my people. We may have a bad rep among some paranorms …”

“But underneath you’re all sweetness and good? Nice doggies who like car rides and sticking your heads out the windows to catch the wind? I heard you were all snarl and growl.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel as he resisted the impulse to do exactly as she’d suggested.

“I’m a U.S. Navy SEAL. My team and mission come first. Just as your Fae colony comes first for you.”

Silence draped the air for a moment. “I have no colony anymore. No family.”

Words spoken so quietly, he wouldn’t have heard them if not for being Draicon. Matt changed lanes and sped up. Odd, how they had that in common. His family had been close, hell, his own brother-in-law supported him joining the teams. It was Étienne who suggested Matt’s abilities would come in useful for the newly formed Phoenix Force.

But in the ten years he’d been a SEAL, his family had become more distant. They’d started nagging about quitting, settling down into pack life, finding a mate and starting a family. The bonds he shared with his teammates were thick and strong as steel cable. He couldn’t leave the teams. Not with dark forces becoming more clever, and endangering more and more civilians.

His team was his pack now. With a small pang, Matt realized he forgot how to be fully Draicon. He wouldn’t know a real relationship if it kissed him. He was a ladies’ man, but one-night stands were the norm. Relationship, hell, he couldn’t commit. Not when he got called out on an hour’s notice, or worse, never came back at all.

Like Adam.

Matt remembered Tatiana’s sobs. He couldn’t do that to a mate. He didn’t want one, didn’t want to fall into the trap of settling down and falling in love. Because falling in love meant giving up what mattered most to him, being a SEAL.

“Can we start over?” Her voice was soft, a rub of velvet against his frayed nerves. “If we’re going to work together, we should try to get along. I’m sorry for the dog references.”

“And I’ll try not to make any Mr. Spock jokes.”

Sienna gave a small, sweet laugh, the sound stirring his jaded self. “Are all your assignments like this?”

“No. We either go in as a pair—” he swallowed hard, thinking of Adam “—or as a team. I’m used to covert action, get in, get out and get gone. This is a little different for me. For one, I’ve never worked with a female before, let alone a Seelie Sidhe who can glamour as a Draicon.”

Not that I’d trust one. Never.

“My glamour isn’t limited to Draicon. It just happens to be the form easiest to me.”

“Why?”

She shrugged, pushed at a lock of hair, showing her pointed ears.

“Those have to go. They’re too obvious. Glamour yourself into a Draicon. We’re getting closer to our target.”

Sienna shot him an annoyed look. “Aye, aye, captain.”

“It’s lieutenant.”

She made a sound and then muttered, “Fine. You want Draicon?”

Matt nearly lost control of the car as she shifted. A gray-and-white timber wolf sat on the seat. She grinned, showing sharp canines.

Startled, he jerked the wheel to the left, turning into the other lane. A driver he cut off blew the horn. Matt straightened out the car and glared at Sienna.

Sienna the wolf put a large paw on the window button, rolling it down. She stuck her head out the window, tongue lolling.

She had a sense of humor, after all. He slowed down, and as he thumbed the window up, she jerked her head inside.

“I’d let you drive, but I don’t think your paws would touch the pedals.”

With a low whine, she shifted into her human form. “You’ll really let me drive?”

“Naw.” He considered. “You probably drive like an old lady.”

Magick shimmered in the air again. This time, she took the form of a NASCAR driver.

Matt laughed. Sienna resumed the form of a Draicon female, an impish smile on her mouth. Her very red, very wet mouth. A kissable mouth.

Concentrate. “Back on the subway, tell me, what were you doing on Canal Street?”

“I was following a lead in Chinatown.” She pushed at the long fall of her silky hair. “I’ve been working on my own, disguised as a Draicon, trying to find the Orb. A Draicon in Brooklyn told me a shop owner was selling something like that in Chinatown.”

“Did you find anything out?”

She shook her head with a small sigh. “It was a dead end. The shop had closed and the owner passed away. He was probably yanking on my chain.”

“Or worse. Intending to wrap that chain around your neck.” He aimed her a stern look. “No more going solo.”

When she opened her mouth, a line furrowing between her brows as if to protest, Matt added, “Or I’ll take those memories I left intact.”

Her mouth closed.

Minutes later, they drove down a narrow lane flanked by oak and maple trees. Matt turned into a street lined with two-story elegant homes, each house boasting about half an acre of property. Sienna blinked.

“Guess spell casting is a lucrative business these days.”

He didn’t reply. His gaze was focused on the patrol car blocking the street. Yellow crime scene tape was strung across the lawn of a brick home. Dread churned in his stomach.

“That’s her house?” But even as their gazes met, he sensed she knew.

Making a U-turn, he drove out of the neighborhood, down the lane and turned down an adjacent street. Matt parked and shut off the engine.

“I’m going inside to check things out. You stay here.”

“You said I was supposed to stick by your side. And how do you plan to get in? Shift into your wolf shape? That might raise a few brows. Or get someone to call animal control. I’ll go with you and glamour us so we blend in with the background. The cops will never know you’re here.”

He gritted his teeth. Didn’t like it. He needed his team, not this sassy, pretty Fae who didn’t even know what a pyro demon could do to bare flesh.

They were stuck together. And she was a Fae who could glamour.

“Fine. But follow my orders,” he grated out.

They cut through a well-manicured lawn, Sienna keeping up the cloak of glamour to hide their presence. Uniformed police and detectives in worn jackets milled in the driveway. A maple tree, resplendent in fall crimson, stood guard next to a pole where an American flag fluttered in the slight breeze. With its black shutters, crisp brick and trimmed bushes, the house looked no different from its upscale neighbors’.

Except for the blood splatters on the green grass.

The magick shimmered for a minute as Sienna gasped. Matt shook his head. “Don’t fall apart on me now.”

She shot him a cool look. “I don’t fall apart.”

“Good girl. Keep up the glamour or they’ll see us.”

As they neared the house, Matt led her to the deserted side of the house, sheltered by a tall hedge.

“I’m going inside. Stay here.”

“Let me help. I can glean some information while you’re inside.”

Matt clasped her shoulders, feeling delicate bones and soft skin. She was courageous and tough, as he’d seen on the subway, but this was different. Eyes green as a forest gazed at him. The same sharp, sexual energy jumped between them like an electrical wire. He became fully aware of her slight stature, how broad and big he was compared to her. Beneath the tight sweater, her breasts were full and lush. A man could cup them in his palms, stroking his thumbs slowly over the nipples until she became flushed and aroused. Draw her close until the jagged need became consuming.

Trying to ignore her delicious scent, he roped in the tight control that enabled him to endure hours of physical pain during Hell Week. He focused on the mission. She was female, and his primal instincts were to keep her safe. No matter how many would-be human molesters she could take out with her knee.

“No. It’s too risky. This wasn’t my choice, but I agreed to this assignment. I had my doubts about working with you.”

“Because I’m a civilian?” Those mossy green eyes regarded him with frank amusement. “No prob.”

Suddenly Matt faced a tall, gangly G.I. in a mesh-covered helmet, vintage cammies and worn army boots. There was a distinct smile on the G.I.’s face as he stood straight and tall and then hefted a squeaky-clean rifle.

“Hey, there, Lieutenant Dan. Is this better?” she drawled.

Saying nothing, he gave her a pointed look. She sighed and resumed her normal form. “That wasn’t good enough for you?”

“If you’re going to conjure Tom Hanks, then Saving Private Ryan would have proved a better argument,” he said mildly.

Her pert nose wrinkled. “I don’t like war movies.”

“My point exactly.”

Sienna made an irritated sound. “What is it, Lieutenant? You don’t like females? Or civilians? Or your tighty whities are a little too tight?”

More sass. He folded his arms, waited for her to get it. He had endless patience. Once, he’d disguised himself as a wolf and spent three nights lying in a hollow log in an attempt to catch a rogue shape-shifter. Sienna tilted her head, the long fall of her mink-brown hair spilling to one side. The move gave her an exotic, sexy look. “Oh, wait. Maybe it’s because I’m Fae.”

“Score. That’s not changing. Neither is the civilian or—” he gave her legs an appreciative glance “—the female part. And you have no experience in covert ops. So I’m calling the shots.”

“Bit of a control freak, aren’t we?”

Checking his sidearm, he ignored that comment. If he were more of a control freak, maybe Adam wouldn’t have died.

“Wait.” She caught his hand. Matt stared at the slender fingers covering his. The intoxicating scent of warm female made his senses whirl. Too long since he’d felt a woman’s soft touch. Too long since he’d had a woman in his bed.

“When you go inside, I’ll stay outside, pretend to be a curious bystander, see what I can overhear.”

“No.”

Sienna dropped his hand and sighed. “Listen, we don’t like each other, but we have to work together. With all these police around, who would hurt me?”

He fought the urge to send her back to the car. His Draicon senses screamed danger. But she was right.

“You sense anything off, you come and get me. Deal?”

She knuckle-bumped him, green eyes huge in her solemn face. “Deal.”

“FYI, I don’t wear tighty whities.”

“Oh, you’re a boxer wolf? What do you wear?”

Matt dipped his head close to her shell-like ear. A few strands of silky hair lifted with his warm breath as he gently blew.

“Nothing,” he whispered.

The spice of her female scent sharpened. Matt grinned and touched her mouth, parted in a small O. “Stay alert.”

Cops lingered in the back, dusting the sliding door that led into the kitchen. Black fingerprint powder smeared the sparkling glass. He waited a moment to ensure Sienna’s glamour hiding him would hold, then slipped through the opened door.

Except for a few blood splatters on the floor that had been marked off, the kitchen was neat and clean, with polished oak cabinets, a shiny black granite countertop and dish towels with apple motifs hanging from the stainless-steel stove. Dark, malevolent magick shimmered in the air. The stench of sulfur and rotting flesh mingled with the coppery scent of blood. Matt clamped a hand over his mouth as he headed into the adjoining dining room.

A young woman sat at a long maple table, sobbing. “I didn’t do it. I swear, I loved my mother. It was El Diablo. El Diablo!”

The devil?

The front door opened. The police hustled the woman outside. Matt searched with all his senses. Nothing here, no warding spells, no candles, as if someone had erased evidence a witch lived here.

He started searching the bedrooms, opening drawers quietly, checking every corner. Upstairs in a small rose-colored bedroom, he ground to a halt, catching the scent of fear.

It rose over him in a wave, crashing into his senses and making his eyes water. Matt rubbed the heel of one palm into his chest, trying to ease the crushing weight.

Stronger by the closet. He opened the door and peered inside. A miasma of terror screamed into his mind.

Methodically, he searched the closet. Sorting through layers of clothing awash with the smell of mothballs and cedar, he lifted boxes and set them aside.

A hidden recess in the closet revealed a locked file box shielded with a pentagram. He pulled it out and broke the spell locking it with a simple incantation his C.O. had taught all the team.

He combed through the files, his gorge rising as he scanned them. Then he found a business ledger. His instincts were right. No Draicon had stolen the Orb.

Yet another reason not to trust any Fae. He pocketed the ledger and replaced the files.

As he went into the room, he caught sight of himself in the dressing table mirror. His form shimmered.

The glamour was fading. Fast.

He had to sneak out. Racing over options, he started for the bedroom door and heard pounding footsteps. Matt withdrew his Sig Sauer 9 mm pistol, cupping it with one hand. Sienna burst into the room and ground to a halt, staring at the gun’s barrel.

He sheathed the weapon as she gulped down a breath, eyes huge in her face. “We’ve got to leave, right now. I was talking with one of the cops when one of them suddenly … It was horrible. His form, it just … I don’t know …”

“Wobbled?”

She nodded. “Like when you throw a stone in water.”

He glanced at the window. “Where?”

“Downstairs. But I think he knew I could see through him. He may be another Fae. Or something else. The daughter, they were leading her out, she was screaming that a demon tortured her mother for information, and went too far, then set the daughter up to make it look like—”

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You did good. Where’s the rest of the police?”

“They’re all outside, since they’re done wrapping up the crime scene.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

The stench of sulfur grew stronger. Matt herded Sienna out of the room, grinding to a halt. He slid an arm around her waist and yanked her against him, away from the specter blocking the way at the hallway’s end.

The specter shimmered, losing the glamour of a police uniform.

They were screwed.

“Draicon. You have something I need,” the demon hissed. Then it smiled and held up a hand, tipped with long, gray talons.

Flames burned at the tip of each finger. Matt’s throat went drier than sand.

No way out past the pyrokinetic demon.

He and Sienna were going to fry.

Pulling his sidearm free, Matt screwed on the long barreled silencer, knowing gunfire would bring the cops running. He fired at the creature, hoping to slow it. But as the bullets whizzed at the demon, flames burst from its fingers.

The steel and silver-tinged bullets melted in midair. Sienna gasped. Damn it, the new ammo was specially designed to withstand the demons’ defenses. No dice.

They needed CO2. “You don’t happen to have a fire extinguisher handy in your bag of Fae tricks?” Matt unscrewed the silencer, and pocketed it with his service pistol. He pulled Sienna behind him.

“There’s a bathroom behind us. Let’s go, we need water, have to have water.”

“Water doesn’t kill them. Only puts out the fire and you need a lot of it. CO2 smothers their oxygen, keeps them from breathing.”

The ragged sound of her panting filled his ears. Panic radiated from her as Sienna stared at the demon. He could feel her pulse pounding, smell her fear. Knew the demon scented it, as well. They dined on terror.

“He’s going to burn us. We have to get out of here.”

“Stay calm,” he urged, backing her away from the demon.

Flames burst out of the demon’s fingers in a hiss, scorching the walls. A framed photo of the witch and her daughter began to burn. Then the demon turned and sprayed fire down the stairs, cutting off their exit.

Sienna whimpered, turning pale as milk. Matt gripped her hand. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You need to stay calm and don’t panic. We’ll get out of this.”

Smoke began filling the hallway. She coughed, and laughed. “We will? Okay, super lupus, guess it’s time for a weenie roast. Except I doubt you like having your weenie roasted.”

Putting up a brave front. Knew all about that. Had done it a time or two. His admiration kicked up a notch.

“Depends on who’s doing the roasting. Definitely not him.”

Matt turned, searching the hallway. At the end sat a cherrywood bookcase with leather-bound volumes. No good, but the covering …

The Indian weave table runner.

“Create a distraction. Talk to it. Feed its ego. Demons love having their ego stroked.”

“As long as you don’t ask me to stroke anything else,” she muttered.

“If something happens to me, get into that back bedroom and escape out the window. Drive as fast as you can to a place where you feel safe, and call that number on the card you got earlier.”

She coughed, nodded. “Nothing’s going to happen to you,” she whispered.

Sienna faced the demon as Matt backed up to the bookcase. “Hey, Officer Hot Stuff. That was some glamour you pulled. Never guessed you were a demon. Fooled the cops, too.”

Matt removed the runner, folded it behind his back. The demon smirked. “You’re a pretty one. You’ll look even nicer when I melt your face.” Sienna blanched.

“Enough. You found the witch’s ledger, Draicon? Give it to me and the girl lives. Perhaps.”

“These?” Matt pulled the book from his back jeans pocket. He ripped out a few pages, tossed them into the flames licking the walls. “Go get them.”

Screaming, the demon dove for the papers burning out of control. Matt pushed her to the side and whispered, “Get ready. On my word, conjure a fire extinguisher in my hands and run into the east side back bedroom.”

The demon raised its hands toward Matt, its slit of a mouth yawning open, showing daggerlike teeth. Timing was everything. If Sienna dropped the illusion, his ass would be cooked.

“Now.”

Sienna invoked the image of a fire extinguisher. “Take this, hot stuff,” she yelled, pointing the apparition at him.

Screaming, the demon drew back, its hands dropping. As it looked behind for a way out, Matt tackled it in a full body slam. He jammed an arm at the demon’s throat and stuffed the blanket into its flat nostrils and oval mouth, cutting off its oxygen supply. The demon’s body heat burned through the arm of his leather jacket, cooking his skin. The metal of his sidearm began to warm like a skillet over an open flame. An eerie scream choked out of the pyro demon. The heat intensified, but Matt continued to smother the cloth, now singeing beneath the flames creeping out of its mouth.

The pyro demon tried to draw in a breath, found only woven cloth. It gasped and its reddish-yellow eyes fluttered.

Unconscious for now.

He gave a hard twist, breaking the creature’s neck. Permanently cutting off all oxygen.

Smoke clogged his lungs, heat painfully burning through his leather jacket. Wincing at the pain of his burned hands, Matt crawled the length of the smoky hallway to the back bedroom. He tried to draw air into his lungs, and coughed. Then someone yanked him into the room.

He kicked the door shut with a booted foot, buying them time. Sienna was already yanking off the bedspread, stuffing it beneath the door to block the smoke.

A distant screech of sirens sounded. By the time the fire department arrived, it would be too late. And how the hell would they explain anything?

Two stories down, but they could make it. Smoke curled into the room from the door frame. Coughing, Sienna clamped a hand over her mouth.

Matt ran to the window. Ignoring the pain in his burned hands, he jerked it upward. The wood frame splintered beneath the force.

“I’ve heard Fae can fly. Now’s a good time to find out. Me first. I’ll cushion you, but if I don’t, hit the ground in a roll, Sienna.”

He jumped, aiming for a thick bayberry shrub. Branches scraped his face, but the bush protected his bones from breaking. He rolled out, held out his arms.

“Jump.”

Sienna fell, rather than jumped. He caught her, wincing as her weight made contact with his burns. Matt set her down, whistling through his teeth, the agony in his arm graying his vision. Swaying, his eyes watering and lungs burning with smoke, he fought to remain on his feet. Sienna’s soot-covered face looked anxiously at him.

“Better get that NASCAR illusion ready, sweetheart. Because this time, I think I will let you drive.”

Chapter 4

The white house with the bright red shutters was quaint and small and in a quiet neighborhood near downtown Forrest Plains. Perfect place to hide and recover.

Heart pounding like a war drum, Sienna found the key beneath a statue of a grinning gnome. As she replaced the gnome, it politely lifted its hat. She blinked.

“The owner has an odd sense of humor,” Matt rasped.

He was shaking badly now. Sienna slid an arm around his waist, helping him inside. She locked the door behind them.

The living room had a large, faded olive sofa, and two green recliners. A basket of dried wildflowers sat in the hearth of a stone fireplace. Silver-framed photos adorned the cream walls. It looked like an average, middle-class house.

The only difference was a painting hanging over the fireplace. A large, gray wolf, head held aloft and proud, standing in a forest.

Her stomach pitched and rolled. Great. Portrait of ole grandpa. A wolf.

“It smells like a den in here,” she muttered.

“Belongs to a buddy. Draicon. He took his family to visit relatives. Told me I could use it any occasion I wanted. The occasion calls for it.”

Instinct warred within her, her Fae side shrieking in fear at the wolf scent, her Draicon side welcoming the cozy and welcoming house. She told her Fae side to shut up and deal. They needed a place to lie low. And he was badly hurt. Worry raced through her.

Matt limped over to the sofa, coughing violently. Sienna ran into the kitchen, pulled open an oak cabinet. She filled a glass with water and brought it to him. He gulped it down, then wheezed.

“Thanks. It’s not a beer, but it’ll do.” He winked at her.

“You need a hospital, Lieutenant Parker.”

“Unless you can conjure up the illusion of a medic, no chance in hell. Too dangerous. I’ll heal. Give me a few minutes. I’m a fast healer.” He leaned back and closed his eyes. Long, dark lashes feathered his sooty cheeks.

The anger she’d harbored against all Draicon melted a little. He was wolf, but courageous and steady. Not like the Draicon who’d abused her mother.

Sienna sat beside him. “Let’s get the jacket off. Then I’ll see about conjuring up a steak. You’re low on energy, and from what I know about your kind, protein will suffice.”

He opened one eye. “That or sex.” Matt gave a rueful glance downward. “Though I doubt that part of me will cooperate right now.”

Heat flooded her cheeks. She helped him sit up, and gently tugged the jacket off his uninjured arm. Sienna sucked in a breath. “I can cut it off you.”

“Just do it.”

A harsh whistling noise hissed through his teeth as she pulled the other arm free. Sienna winced at the red burn on his muscular forearm and his burned palms and fingers. He surveyed the injuries and shrugged. “Not too bad. Considering that pyro demons can melt steel and reduce bones to ash.”

Fire strong enough to burn bone. They’d be dead, if not for Matt’s quick thinking.

“Thank you for saving me,” she said quietly.

He looked at her steadily with those deep blue eyes. “No problem. Your glamour helped us out of a tight spot. You’re not bad for a Fae.”

As she bristled, he added with a teasing smile, “And you’re much prettier than the ones I’ve run up against.”

The whiteness of his teeth contrasted with his dirty face. Sienna felt a tug of unwanted attraction. He was a cool operator, and the sheer sexiness of that smile melted her.

She found a medical kit in the main bathroom and washed his injuries, treating them with a cooling cream. His jaw turned to stone as he endured her ministrations. It had to hurt, but he was stoic.

Hard muscles of his arm quivered beneath her fingers as she spread on the cream. Mingling with the stench of ash and soot was the delicious scent of his cologne, and something richer and purely male.

Her Draicon half reacted, making her soft and aching. Sienna bit her lip. Fae, she was Fae. Not Draicon.

When she’d bandaged the wounds, he turned. “Thanks.”

Tension hovered in the air as he gazed at her, his expression steady and warm.

Sienna stared at his jaw, the bristle shadowing his lean cheeks. So different from her, so very male.

So very Draicon.

A small, but persistent connection flared between them. He rested a bandaged hand over hers. She shivered, imagining him undressing her, those big hands gliding over her body, coaxing and teasing….

Sienna gently pulled free and went over to the fireplace hearth, curious about this wolf and his chosen profession. “So, you’re a soldier. It must give you a big advantage over the others, to be a wolf with strength and healing abilities. Was it easier for you to become a navy SEAL?”

“I went through the same training, except every paranorm who strives to become a SEAL has extra tests to pass after we become SEALs. Makes the playing field even with humans who complete BUD/S, Basic Underwater Demolition/SEALs. Most civilians think SEALs are all firepower and muscles.” Matt gave a crooked grin. “They don’t realize half the battle is up here.”

As he tapped his forehead, she gave him a puzzled look. “Your mind?”

“Physical strength is important, but mental strength is equally important in defeating the bad guys.”

“So how would you learn to defeat a paranormal bad guy? It’s not the same as defeating a terrorist.”

“Same basic techniques. Study the enemy. Get to know him as intimately as you know yourself. What drives him?” Matt’s gaze went distant. “Although in our case, we can’t see the enemy until it’s too late. If we had, maybe Adam …”

He fell silent. Sienna felt a tug of sympathy. Not wanting to grieve him further, she changed the subject. “Back at the hotel, Chief Petty Officer Shaymore called you Dakota.”

“All the guys on my team have nicknames. I like John Wayne movies. Even the worst one of his, Dakota, so they slapped that on me.”

His teammates shared close bonds. Sienna wistfully longed for the same. Her few Fae friends had been distant and aloof, not playful and friendly. “I’ve never had a nickname.”

“Maybe I should give you one.” He cocked his head, considered. “Pixie. You’re small and feisty like one.”

“I am not,” she protested.

“But you are cute.”

“Oh.” A furious blush chased across her face.

“Very cute.” His grin faded, replaced by an intent look. All alone here, with this big Draicon wolf, the chemistry between them hot and intense.

Sienna drew in a deep breath, willing her arousal to lessen. “What did you find at the witch’s house?”

Matt’s expression became guarded. “Spells for warding off pyro demons. And bank receipts, a business ledger and a Craigslist ad. Evidence.”

As she sucked in a breath, he added, “Don’t worry. I let them burn on purpose. All the info’s up here.”

He tapped his head again. “The ad was cryptic, selling secrets revealed by a crystal ball. The witch recorded the transaction in the ledger, making a note of the seller’s name and place of business for future reference. She paid two hundred thousand dollars for the intel about myself and Adam from the Orb’s holder. She sold it to a Darksider Fae for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, a nice little profit for herself. Only she didn’t realize who the real client was until it was too late, when the pyro demons decided to cut out the middleman.”

Cold dread crept up her spine at the SEAL’s hard expression. “Who was the seller?”

Eyes the color of an icy ocean swept over her. “His name is Tim McMahon. He’s Fae. Seelie Sidhe.”

Words sank into her like steel claws, shredding her insides. “It can’t be … The thief was a Draicon.”

“No, Sienna. He’s Fae. One of your own.” His words sent a chill through her. “From your own colony, Los Lobos.”

He stretched out on the sofa and fell fast asleep. Never had Sienna seen anyone crash that fast. He’d muttered something about taking a combat nap and bam!

Sienna brought in their bags, showered and changed into fresh jeans, a cable-knit turquoise sweater and sneakers. Her suede boots were ruined. She sighed and set them aside. A month’s pay from the little convenience shop where she’d worked and they were good only for the garbage can.

The kitchen was bare of food. Her stomach rumbled. Sienna rubbed her arms. She was low on energy herself. Unlike Draicon, Fae didn’t need beef. They could survive on sprouts and berries. They were creatures of the forest, protectors of innocents.

Betrayers and dealers of dangerous secrets to pyrokinetic demons.

Her palms gripped the granite countertop. Tim. She knew him. He was quiet, introspective and hovered on the fringes of the society. He’d left the colony the same time the Orb went missing. Why hadn’t Chloe suspected him? It made no sense.

Because Chloe wouldn’t dare suspect one of her own pure-blooded Fae would commit such treason, Sienna realized. Instead, she blamed a Draicon who’d been seen in wolf form near the sacred ground.

All her beliefs and convictions about her people crashed like a house of cards smashed by an uncaring hand. Emotion rose in her throat. Not Draicon but Fae had been the real enemy all along.

She had to regain herself. Everything in her world was collapsing. Sienna lifted her head and stared at her watery reflection in the microwave.

“I am Seelie Sidhe of the Los Lobos colony, guardians of the Orb of Light. I am pure and honorable, a protector of nature and innocents. I will never defy the land, nor bring shame to my people. I embrace all living things good and natural, and walk with honor.”

But the pledge sounded hollow to her ears. Walk with honor? Tim had not. One of her own kind!

Exhausted, confused, she needed to eat, regain her composure. Which was she?

Draicon or Fae?

Was either species truly honorable?

Lieutenant Matthew Parker certainly was. His actions dictated it. Tim may have recited the oath along with every other colony member, but it had been a lie.

Matt lived the oath of honor with every step he took.

And yet he was Draicon, like the man who’d fathered her, and then killed her mother.

Could she ever trust a Draicon?

Sounds of the shower began. Matt was so quiet, she hadn’t heard him wake up. An image, unbidden and erotic, filled her mind. He was soaping himself, running the bar along those smooth, taut muscles, water beading off his sun-darkened skin. His head flung back, eyes closed, growling with pleasure as she fell to her knees, removed the soap from his hands and began lathering him much lower …

No longer cold, Sienna gulped down a breath.

As a distraction, she paced the kitchen. It was pretty, homey and welcoming. Layered through the air was a scent of love and deep affection that pulled at her in deep yearning. It was the type of cozy house she’d always envisioned for herself.

“Hey.”

Dressed in jeans and barefoot, he stood in the doorway, hair slicked back, droplets beading the thick waves. The bandages were gone from his now-healed wounds. A long-sleeved flannel shirt hung open, showing a muscled abdomen strong enough to break bricks. Dark hair feathered his chest, arrowing down his stomach and vanishing into the waistband of the jeans.

Arousal filled her as she thought about following that line much lower. Her body loosened with want and yearning. Sienna felt warm and open.

His pupils darkened as he swept his gaze over her. Matt’s nostrils flared. He’d scented her desire.

She licked her lips. “There’s no meat here. Um, I mean, nothing here to eat … and I’m hungry.”

“Me, too,” he said, his voice hoarse as he stared at her wet mouth.

He pushed back at his damp hair. “Let me get dressed, and we’ll go out for a quick bite. I saw a sandwich shop around the corner.”

When they reached the restaurant, she ordered a hamburger with cheese and an order of fries. Matt paid for their purchases and brought them over to a quiet table by the window, facing the door.

He always had his back to the wall, facing whoever walked inside. Tension tightened his body, but not from the hot encounter with the pyro demon.

Nope, this tension was purely sexual from something equally smoking hot. He watched with avid hunger as Sienna poured ketchup over a fry and delicately licked it off with her small, pink tongue. Thinking about what delights that tongue could deliver.

Desire heated his blood until all he could think about was how much he wanted this woman in his bed. How much he wanted to bury himself deep inside her, driving into her until she clung to him and screamed, and all the animosity between them became animal passion.

Big mistake. He lowered his gaze and dove into his hamburger.

They had the dining area to themselves. Still, he kept a guarded eye on the street. Small houses dotted the lane, some with bicycles scattered over the driveways. It was a solid family area, known among his kind as a safe zone. Draicon lived here among humans.

His gaze shot back to Sienna, who was devouring her burger with zest.

“I thought Fae were vegans.”

She stifled a burp with her hand and gave an apologetic look. Damn, she was so cute, so charming.

So Fae.

Matt took another bite, grimly concentrating on his other, more appeasable hunger.

“I’m starved. I guess everything caught up to me.”

“I didn’t know Fae ate meat. I thought all they liked were sprouts. Except the ones who have an appetite for killing.”

Guilt shadowed her expression. She bent her head, studying the red basket containing her fries. “I doubt it.” Sienna glanced around. “We can talk openly here, right?”

Matt nodded.

“I want to know something.” Her fingers curled around the basket’s edge. “Tell me, how did Adam die?”

His stomach tightened. Out of all the questions he’d anticipated, it wasn’t this. As appealing as the hamburger had been, it turned to cardboard in his stomach.

“Please. I need to know.”

“Why?”

Direct, commanding, curt. She raised her chin. “Maybe that will help me understand why you hate my people.”

Fair enough. Though he doubted it would change anything. They were too opposite. Too different in their worlds.

Matt closed his eyes, seeing the sand swirl around him, feeling it sting his face. Smelling the heat and the arid air, the sharp tang of metal. He told the story, each word slicing open wounds that were still fresh. When he got to the part where Adam died, he struggled to speak.

“The pyrokinetic demons caught up with Adam outside. I heard him …”

Scream.

Moisture filled Sienna’s eyes. She slid a hand over the table, but Matt pulled back. He couldn’t let her touch him. Couldn’t break apart.

“You tried to help. You were amazingly brave in facing the demons. You did the best you could,” she said gently.

“It wasn’t enough.”

The image came back to him, searing pain from the burns, shoving down the oily panic clogging his throat as he lapsed into unconsciousness.

“When I regained consciousness, I didn’t dare radio back for help. The Darksider Fae could be imitating any one of the troops. Shay was on standby. Called him and made him give me the code of our squad. He came and fetched me, did a glamour so it looked like I was fine. Our C.O.—you met him, Lieutenant Commander Curtis—made sure I had private quarters to recover. Then he did a cleanse of everyone who’d come into contact with Adam. No one remembered him, or that he’d ever come to Afghanistan.”

“Oh, Matt,” she said softly. “That must have been horrible.”

Here was the one person he could talk to about Adam. Sienna, a stranger, who silently forged the connection he’d needed back on the subway. The safety clicked off his hard-won control. Words burst out of him like machine-gun fire.

“It was as if he’d never existed. He was my swim buddy. We went through BUD/S together—we were teammates, best friends. I was closer to him than my own family. I was there at his mating ceremony. And I couldn’t even be there at his damn funeral because I had to pretend I never knew him. Because no one is supposed to know about the Phoenix Force. So when we die, all memories die with us.”

A stray tear escaped, sliding down Sienna’s perfect cheek. Seeing her cry for Adam made him no longer feel alone in his grief, but also made him protective. Made him want to cup her face in his hands and kiss away her tears. He hated seeing her cry. Matt lifted a hand, then dropped it. Gods, he felt so damned confused lately.

“What about his body?”

“We made a promise in the team. No man gets left behind. Shay returned for Adam, but couldn’t find anything. The pyro demons had reduced him to ash, and his ashes had been taken by the wind. There was nothing left of him to return to Tatiana, his widow. Nothing.”

After wiping her eyes with a napkin, Sienna covered his hand with her own. “I’m sorry, Matt, for what the Darksider Fae did to you. To Adam.”

First-name basis. No more Lieutenant Parker. And she’d said Adam’s name again. He struggled against the urge to kiss her senseless in thanks and took a long pull of his water.

Backhanding his mouth, he shook his head. “I should have saved my buddy. We were tight. Always watched each other’s backs.”

She stroked his wrist, her thumb making little circles. Always calm and cool, his rare outburst was alarming. It was Sienna, her soft, sweet smile and genuine air of concern. She dug beneath his defenses, past the emotional berm he’d erected since Adam’s death.

“Too crowded in here,” he muttered, glancing around. “Let’s get back. I’ll arrange for transport, airline tickets.”

“To New Mexico?”

Matt nodded. “Home of your friend Tim. I’ll do some initial recon …”

As she gave him a questioning look, he sighed. “Reconnaissance. Scout out the shop and the lay of the land for a couple of days. And then move in. If the pyro demons know he has the Orb, those guys aren’t patient. I need to retrieve it before they do.”

Back at the house, Sienna watched Matt type on his laptop. Since returning, he’d been quiet and aloof. When he snapped the computer shut, she waved a hand.

“Hello? Remember me? The one who’s working with you?”

He gave her a long, cool look. “Not anymore. The stakes have changed. I know who has the Orb, and how to get it back. I’m sending you home.”

A quivering began in her belly. Sienna took a controlling breath. “Not so fast. I understand you’re angry at my people.”

Matt remained silent.

“But I didn’t steal the Orb. We’re a team in this, got it? Those were the terms. We both get the Orb and I show my people it’s safe once more.”

A bitter laugh escaped him. “Safe for how long? Your people did a helluva job guarding it. It’s because of them Adam’s dead.”

Sienna’s throat tightened. She felt his anger, his pain and frustration. But she had to convince him to let her stay. If he forced her return, he’d wipe her memories….

Her precious memories.

Worse, the name of her people would be forever smeared with disgrace. Now more than ever, it was crucial she finish this task and restore their honor.

Sienna took his palm and unfolded it, studying the rough calluses and strong fingers. “The Fae believe that when someone dies and their ashes are scattered to the four winds, it doesn’t mean that person is lost. He then becomes part of the earth and part of every living thing. That’s what became of Adam. He lives on in every breath of wind, in the laughter of every child.”

Silence draped the air. His shoulders relaxed, losing the tightly wound tension that knotted them. He lifted his face, his eyes very blue.

“All Fae are not evil,” she said gently. “Even the Unseelie, the Dark Fae, have their good side. The Darksider Fae are rogue, but they are few and live outside the boundaries and clan system of Fae. We Seelie Sidhe Fae are secluded and insular, but compassionate. We respect all living beings.”

His gaze sharpened. “A compassionate people. Then what put the chip on your shoulder about me, Sienna? About werewolves?”

Dropping his hand, she studied the tips of her faded sneakers. Fae preferred bare feet, touching the earth to maintain contact. She never had.

“Hey.” A firm hand cradled her chin, lifting it upward. His palm was warm and strong. “Tell me. What did we do to you?”

The gentleness of his touch made her toes curl inside the sneakers. Sienna took a deep breath for courage. Maybe if he knew, he’d cut her a break and let her stay.

“I’m not pure-blooded Sidhe. I’m only a half-breed. Half Fae and half Draicon.”

At his startled look, she yanked away and grated out the damned truth. “Mothered by a Fae from the Los Lobos colony, and fathered by a Draicon who raped her … and then killed her when his pack came back to try to claim me.”

Panic squeezed her heart as flashes of the past emerged, like a rapid slideshow. “Probably killed her when he raided the Fae colony to get me.”

“Sweet gods. How old were you?” His voice was gentle, contrasting with the hard edges of his expression.

“I think around five, maybe four. I don’t remember that much.”

“No wonder you dislike Draicon.”

Dislike was a lukewarm term. For years she’d hated them. It was a relief to finally talk about what happened. Among her people, it had been an ugly secret no one ever discussed. “It’s so much easier to hate than try to understand. It’s fueled me for so long that it’s hard to let go.”

“Hate does that to you. It feeds you power to seek justice.” Matt’s expression tightened. “You were just a little thing. I’d kill the bast … the Draicon who did that to your mother. Did she ever say who it was?”

“I don’t remember much. I’ve tried.” Hands curled tight, she watched her knuckles whiten. “Aunt Chloe rescued me during the attack. The Fae beat back the Draicon pack. I think … they killed my father. I don’t know! I want to know, but I can’t remember.” Misery knotted her throat. “I have snatches of dreams, of images. Chloe told me when the time was right, I’d learn the truth. About what, and who, I really am. But I know what I am. The daughter of a vicious killer.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “So what does that make me?”

Compassion flared in his gaze. “You’re Sienna McClare. What your parents were isn’t important. It’s what you make of yourself that counts.”

“That’s why the Orb is so important to me. If I find it and bring it back, my people will accept me back into their colony.”

At his incredulous look, she sighed. “They turned me out on my twenty-first birthday, because I’m a hybrid and don’t belong. I do belong, and once I prove my loyalty to their side, I will.”

“Is that what you truly want?” he asked quietly.

“More than anything. I need my people. They’re all I’ve ever known. With them I’ll feel …”

Connected.

“Wolves aren’t so bad, either,” he murmured. Matt stroked a thumb along her jawline. “Draicon. No Fae could pull off that effective a glamour with scent, as well. I knew there was something sweet about your scent.”

A half smile touched her mouth. “That’s my Fae half.”

His gaze locked on her lips. “So sweet,” he murmured.

He’d put his life before her own. Gotten burned, cushioned her fall, kept her safe. For so long, she’d functioned on her own, accustomed to fending for herself. Not one single Fae had risked his life for her.

She thought about how much she wanted to draw close. Feel that tensile strength holding her close, the slight abrasion of his day whiskers against her soft cheek.

As he leaned down to kiss her, Sienna closed her eyes.

She sighed on a breath as his mouth met hers. It was a sweet kiss, his lips warm and soft. He was gentle, his mouth reverent as if he held back, waiting for her. All the other kisses from the few Fae males had been cold, lacking in passion and tenderness. Sienna wanted more. When she parted her lips and licked his mouth, he deepened the kiss. He tasted like the most exquisite wine, of moonlit nights and dazzling starlight. The kiss melted her bones and spoke of sheer need, a painful longing finally met.

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