Savage Bond (The Fallen)

by Anne Marsh

  She didn't stand a chance.

  Chapter Two

  Oh, God. She didn't stand a chance. The chute deployed with a hard snap, a short, brutal jolt that shoved Ria's feet upward into her spine and her jaw. Worse, when her head jerked backwards, she could see the rogues circling the wounded chopper like a pack of vultures. Minutes latter, the shockwave of the chopper going down tore through her.

  Maybe they jumped, too. Maybe, they're coming down right behind me. She forced her eyes open against the sting of angry tears, made her numb fingers curl around the toggles. She couldn't think about the pilot. Or Jane Reece. She had less than two thousand feet to grieve and then she needed to focus on surviving. If the pilot and Lieutenant Reece were going to trade their lives for her pictures, she got those pictures out. No matter what.

  She looked up before she could stop herself.

  The sky immediately overhead was empty.

  Maybe, her companions had had time to jump, too. They'd need five hundred feet minimum to make a landing. Still, she couldn't help looking back as the ground rushed up to meet her. The sky above remained stubbornly empty except for the ever-expanding smear of black smoke.

  Okay. She stretched her fingers on the chute's toggles. She'd take the empty sky as a heads-up to focus on her future—which was going to be real short if she didn't keep her hands on the toggles and steer through the canopy. Still, memories of Jane Reece's face kept sneaking through her head, the resigned look on the other woman's face as she got Ria out the door and to safety.

  No one deserved to die like that.

  Night was coming fast, hiding a multitude of sins. Still, the sky was light enough to see the oily black smoke of the downed chopper punching up from the ground, a here-I-am beacon she couldn't afford. To the west, rogues still circled in the sky. Those large, bestial wings chewed up the air, stroking up and down as they hunted her. They were coming for her. Soon. She knew it, bone deep.

  She was prey.

  She hit the ground every bit as hard as she could, tucking and rolling. For a moment, the world turned upside down, jolting, as she plowed into the half-frozen ground. You can do this. She didn't have a choice. Slapping the pockets of her jumpsuit, she came up with the utility knife and sliced the chute's lines. No human had mapped the Preserves, unless you counted century-old Soviet work that was little more than a blank outline overlaid on vast, empty space. Everyone knew where the borders were—but no one knew quite what to expect inside them. Too bad she was more color-inside-the-lines than intrepid explorer. What she wanted here was a GPS unit. Hell, she'd take an old-fashioned compass.

  She needed an exit route. Fast.

  She also needed a back up detail, stat, but somehow she knew even a full MVD riot battalion wouldn't be enough to protect her from the rogue Fallen hunting her. That had been an organized strike. The recon chopper had been deliberately attacked, forced down, and the rogue incoming had to have seen her chute out. Maybe, Reece's fire had deterred them or maybe they'd just been too busy taking down the chopper to pursue immediately, but Ria was a sitting duck on the ground. She didn't have the military training to hide from her pursuers, so no shit they could let her land then pick her off at their convenience.

  Cover and conceal.

  Pinpoint the hostiles.

  Phrases from the training manual she'd never expected to need flashed through her head. Color her cynical, but she wasn't expecting the locals to be in a friendly mood. The Fallen hadn't locked their brethren up for being boy scouts.

  She broke away from the chute, fighting back panic. Two minutes. She'd give herself two minutes on the ground to organize, because she had to do this logically and because she didn't want to die. There was a survival kit in her pack, so chalk one up in the plus column. She had the 9 MM service pistol all MVD operatives carried, but a limited amount of ammo.

  She needed a plan.

  And she needed to get moving.

  Signaling a rescue chopper was unlikely, especially beneath the tree cover, so her best option was to hike out. They'd been maybe fifteen miles from border when they went down.

  MVD would send a rescue chopper.

  Wouldn't they?

  "No doubting," she muttered to herself and got going.

  Twenty minutes into her hike, she knew she had someone on her trail. No way her team had dropped in a rescue party that fast, which meant her company had come from inside the Preserves. And she wasn't counting on any friendlies here.

  She ran like she had demons from hell chasing her ass—which was actually a possibility—riding the adrenaline rush as she pushed back the panic and the fear. Foot up. Foot down. She watched her path because the ground wasn't level and she couldn't afford to fall now. Each breath she took was a rough, hoarse saw of sound. She figured she'd either pass out or have to stop to puke because right now nausea and exhaustion were winning this battle. On the other hand, maybe she'd make the distance. It was possible. Marathoners did it, right?

  Her flight suit was thick and water-resistant, but, since she hadn't planned to go up at all, all she had on underneath was a lacy bra and panty set and a borrowed t-shirt. Her sneakers had been soaked through since her first step on the ground. At least she was on the ground, she reminded herself. That was a good thing. She shuddered and that was all it took to buy the farm. Her feet went out from underneath her as she slipped on the rain-slick ground.

  "Damn it," she muttered, hitting the ground hard.

  "Language," a harsh voice growled from the shadows behind her.

  Fear stole her breath. She scooted backwards on her hands and backside. The retreat wasn't elegant and she didn't care. A primitive flight response shrieked through her. Go, go, go. Whoever—whatever—was in the shadows was going to hurt her. She hated the little whimper she couldn't quite bite back. She didn't want to be scared, but she never got better. A familiar face popped into her head, head shaking as he watched the mess she was making of this job. Daddy had been right. She'd never be strong enough or good enough to handle this job.

  "Go away," she choked out, because she was all about wishful thinking, wasn't she? She'd hoped she could handle a simple fly-over but now here she was, stranded on the ground, with no real idea of what to do next or how to handle the shit that was headed her way. The male in the shadows moved and she fought the urge to curl up in a ball and just wait for whatever hurt he wanted to hand out.

  A hand came towards her. Large and too strong, that hand ended in capable, blunt fingers. The skin was golden-brown, cut up badly with small scars and paler marks. He'd scraped a wrist coming after her and the blood from that torn skin marked the back of his hand. That was the hand of a fighter and a male who used those hands ruthlessly. His hands weren't pretty, so she certainly didn't want to see the rest of him.

  "Ria Morgan," the voice continued and the rest of the man slid out of the shadows and came for her. Too big and large. Too fast. No way he was human. She got up on her hands and knees, finding her feet. She didn't care which direction she went. As long as that direction was away, she was good with the choice. He knew who she was. Tears she couldn't stop leaked from her eyes.

  "No," she said. He knew who she was and she knew he wasn't human. Which meant he'd come here looking for her and no way she wanted to know what he wanted from her. She got upright and tried to run.

  He got an arm around her waist and she was hauled up against a large, hard, hot body, her legs kicking uselessly. That heat was a shock. "What kind of trouble have you found for yourself, Ria?"

  "Let me go." As threats went, it was a weak one. His harsh laugh told her he knew that, too.

  "Finders keepers, isn't that what you humans say? I've found you, Ria Morgan. Now, I'm keeping you."

  "No," she protested automatically. Legs trembling, recognition hit her. That big, dark shadow had spelled trouble from the first. Vkhin. Lieutenant and right-hand of the leader of the Fallen. His harsh face was all hard lines and planes, those dark eyes staring relentlessly out of hi
s face at her, a predator watching his prey. Watching her.

  She knew him. Oh, God, she knew him. She'd spent weeks tracking his movements around M City. Watching him go about his day-in-day-out, taking care of business for the Fallen. He'd killed ruthlessly, but his targets had been other paranormals and MVD didn't interfere with those kinds of internal politics. He was an enforcer and the paranormals who broke his rules died hard and quick, the memories making her stomach heave. He was examining her with those cold, black eyes of his and she hoped to God she wasn't on his to do list for today.

  But he hadn't let go of her and she wasn't stupid.

  "You have something of ours, something I want and you're going to give it to me." The wave of sexual heat washing over her was wrong. She shouldn't have been aroused by his reluctant touch. Most of the Fallen had sex with their human groupies, some kind of sexual bonding and emotional vampirism. Those women hadn't looked like they minded. At all. She couldn't imagine doing the acts they'd done with those hard-bodied, empty-eyed males.

  Or so she'd told herself. She didn't want that. She didn't want him.

  But she'd watched. Over and over. And he'd never touched a woman, never bent that dark head of his to another woman's throat and pressed his kisses against her skin. And she'd wondered why. Why was he different from the rest of them?

  "Ria." He crooned her name, the word a dark promise against her ear. She stopped fighting because there was no point. He was bigger, stronger—and some part of her felt safe when he held her. She knew he didn't want to hold her, not like a lover would. This was simply the easiest way for him to pin her.

  He knew her name. The thrill of fear that rushed through her made her stomach and knees go weak. The prickly awareness was painfully close to sexual arousal, the nerve endings in her body coming to screaming awareness.

  "You need my help, sweetheart."

  "Let me go," she said, "and I'll consider it."

  To her surprise, he let her go, but kept that loose grasp on her wrist, turning her to face him when she moved away. As if she could somehow get enough space between them for a head start.

  "This is your idea of helping?"

  He let go. "Don't run," he warned.

  "Or?" she asked bitterly. She wrapped a hand around her wrist, stroking her thumb over the veins where her pulse beat betrayingly. God, she was tired of being afraid all the time. Tired of fearing fear itself.

  "I can chase you again." His dark growl of a voice was rough. Honest. "Maybe you'd like that."

  His hand returned, wrapping around her wrist, his thumb replacing hers, stroking over her pulse point. That unexpected touch was strangely calming, anchoring her. What he was doing, that simple little connection, shouldn't have felt so good. She should have been able to do this for herself. By herself.

  "Are you hurt?" he asked, but he didn't let go.

  Instead, he eyed her, clearly giving her the once over for injuries. That slow, methodical search had her blood heating.

  She shook her head. "I'm fine." Maybe.

  "Good," he growled, "because my number one priority here is getting your ass back over the wall, not kissing boo-boos."

  "No," she said coolly. Her pulse was slowing back down, her heartbeat no longer pounding painfully in her ears. He didn't let go of her wrist, just tugged her that little bit closer. She needed more than eighteen inches between her and six and a half feet of pure temptation. "I landed just fine."

  He nodded. "That makes the evac easier."

  She stared at him curiously. "You're really here to get me out?" He didn't look like standard search-and-rescue. But she liked the idea, liked the fantasy of tossing all her problems onto those broad shoulders and holding on while he did the heavy lifting.

  That was just fantasy, though. Reality was, she'd stood on her own two feet before. She'd do it again this time.

  And even as she told herself to just step away, she was stepping closer. He was smoke and mirrors, an illusive promise of safety. He wasn't the real deal. Couldn't possibly save her from the nightmares tearing up the Preserves.

  Because, at heart, he was one of them.

  His next words just proved it.

  "I'm getting you out of here," he said, "just as soon as you hand over the vidstick."

  Well, that just sucked. She tugged her wrist and he gave it back to her, his fingers sliding against hers as he backed it up a step.

  "What vidstick?" she asked, playing for time. She knew damned well what he meant, but admitting that truth seemed unwise. Single female alone in a deserted place with a supernaturally powerful male? Yeah. Classic recipe for disaster.

  "Ria." He sighed her name like the sweetest of threats. "You went up in that chopper. You're a photographer. You took pictures and opened a line to MVD headquarters. Of course you have hard copies."

  Fear ate at her. If he knew what she had, he'd know precisely how to take it from her as well. She'd seen his work on the vid her drones had captured. He had millennia of experience and no conscience.

  He'd kill her in a heartbeat.

  Her heartbeat, because he didn't have a heart, didn't have a soul. All this talk of cutting a deal was just that—talk. He didn't have to bargain with her because he already held all the chips. Fear threatened to choke her again.

  He inhaled, his nostrils flaring as if he truly were a beast scenting the air. What did he smell? She wondered. What did he know that she didn't?

  "You don't like what you do." He was too perceptive. She hated the adrenaline rush. Hated looking over her shoulder to see what was coming. Maybe that was what made her so damn good at what she did, because she never let up. Never let her guard down. Not until she was tucked away behind a door and a lock and she could pull the covers up over her head if she wanted to because, even though she was a grown woman, she knew too well, damn it, that there were things that went bump in the night—and all of them, all of them, had come knocking on her door at one time or another. So fear didn't matter. Or, if it did, she'd pretend it didn't.

  "It doesn't matter what I like," she said. "I have a job to do, Vkhin." She sat down, hard, because her legs were done holding her up and she was done pretending none of this was happening.

  For a long moment, he just watched her. "You know who I am. You've been watching me, Ria. You know what I can do."

  "Yeah." There was no point in hiding from the truth. She knew exactly what he was capable of doing.

  He crouched down in front of her, blocking her view. Those massive shoulders of his shut out the sky and the smoke and all the unwelcome signs that her mission was a complete and total clusterfuck of a failure.

  "You don't need to be afraid right now."

  "You're telling me you're one of the good guys?" He couldn't possibly mean it. He was one of the Fallen.

  He shook his head. "Never make that mistake, baby. Anything, anyone you find here in the Preserves is bad to the core. You don't trust me."

  He didn't look bad. He looked big and hard and safe. Nothing was getting through him.

  He held out a hand to her. "You come with me, and I'll get you out of here. I'll get you back where you belong."

  "Just like that?" She stared at him suspiciously.

  "Of course not." His hard, sensual smile wasn't nice. "We both know there's a price tag for my services. You're going to have to pay for your exit ticket."

  His hand came up when she didn't take it, one finger tracing the curve of her cheek. Her jaw.

  She wanted to lean into that finger, that teasing promise of warmth, but he was Fallen and seduction was just another weapon in his arsenal. They both knew that. "I'm not in a paying frame of mind, Vkhin."

  The reality of him was overwhelming. Before, she'd always had the safety buffer of her camera lens between them. Now, here he was. Raw and real. Overwhelming.

  "That's too bad." His finger paused, rested against her skin. "You should ask me, Ria."

  "Ask you what?" Her lips were dry and sensitive, as if fear or the altitude o
r some alien desire had left them swollen and unfamiliar. He was watching her, though, as if he were daring her to use her tongue to moisten her skin. Around them, night fell like a dark dream. As the shadows grew, it was just her and this fallen angel, making sensual promises she didn't want. Did she?

  "Ask me what I want." His booted foot moved deliberately between hers, a heavy weight between her bent knees. "Maybe, you wouldn't mind paying, Ria," he whispered. His thumb stroked a coaxing circle against the skin of her throat.

  "I can't." Arousal hummed through her, making her body heated and slow. She wanted to touch him. Wanted to feel his skin against hers and that was so wrong.

  "I think you can." His head lowered towards her. God, would he kiss her? Could she let him? "I think you can do whatever you want."

  She couldn't believe that sensual, wicked promise. This wasn't about sex, she reminded herself. This was about her life. Her freedom. He'd come after her chopper, which meant the Fallen not only knew what MVD was up to—they had every intention of stopping it. They were on opposite sides.

  "I don't do bonds," she whispered.

  His head jerked back, but there was no mistaking the harsh look in his eyes. "That's just fine," he growled, "because neither do I. I'm not part of this deal we're making."

  Disappointment flooded her, making her wonder what was wrong with her. He was a Fallen angel and he wanted something from her, but what he didn't want was a bond.

  It wasn't as if rejection was something new.

  She shouldn't have felt hurt. Shouldn't have been imagining what it would be like to bond with this male.

  "You took photos," he repeated, standing up and moving back as if he couldn't wait to put some space between them. Which was fine. It really was. "And I'm offering you a trade. One exit ticket from this hell your ass is stuck in—in exchange for the pics you snapped.:

  "You won't leave me here," she said confidently.

  He smiled. A slow, mean smile. "Now, darling, what makes you think that?" She didn't trust him, but clearly he had to get her out because she'd already uploaded the photos. Didn't he?