by Abby James
“This is the second time I’ve returned to Miss Tule earlier than I was meant to.”
“You’re making a habit of going out on dates with one of the three?” Hopefully the tinge of jealousy was not enough to creep into his voice.
Her brow crinkled. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You said this was the second time a date has been cut short.”
She snorted a laugh. “Hardly dates. After training with Ryker, we went up to see Sargon’s fight, but Ryker went all weird on me and raced me back to Miss Tule’s before the fight began. And now Chett. He flipped out there. He badly injured two men.”
Picard stared at her while he internalized what she said. “Just flipped, you think?” He paced to his locker, his brain churning through a few questions he’d been pondering.
“Yeah, it was freaky. Both times.”
He pulled his clothes from inside and turned to face her. “You don’t remember anything that happened before either flipped that could’ve triggered their reaction? Even something subtle that might seem like nothing?”
He studied her face so caught the small flush of pink on her cheeks as her green eyes widened a fraction, expressive as they were. At any other time, he would’ve found her embarrassment endearing, but given his question, her reaction stoked his interest.
“I can’t think of anything out of the ordinary.”
Having spent so much time learning to read people’s body language, he couldn’t mistake her lie. Malachi’s emotions rode on her face, so detecting it took no great skill. Within seconds, he’d fitted the puzzle piece with the broader picture. Something intimate had happened on both occasions—Ryker and Chett were as hypnotized with her as he was. It was easy to see in Chett given the way he’d stormed out of here, demanding she be kept safe. Two of them. Both having tried something with Malachi, a kiss perhaps. His gut tightened when he fell on the word kiss. But it couldn’t have been much, not in public places such as the Arena and the ring fight.
Not wanting to risk something happening to her—nor Chett’s rage—while she waited in the hall for him to dress, he slipped his jeans over his boxers, threw his shirt on and shouldered his holster that carried his blade. Over that went his jacket. “Let’s get out of here before Mal comes looking for me.”
“Do you mind missing the fight?”
He admired the way she kept quiet about the weapon he’d just slipped on.
“Nah, I’ve done my dues here. I’m where I want to be now. I only returned for Sargon.”
“Are you spying for him?”
“Why would you say that?”
“Ryker said there is a rebel group causing trouble, wanting to disrupt things in Fortescue. This looks like a training ground for rebel fighters.”
Picard slung an arm around Malachi’s neck, snuggling her under his armpit. “You’re going to be trouble.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The smart ones always are.” He wanted to qualify his remark with other words like spunky or hot, but given the new angle he had on the tangle between the three and Malachi, it was best to tread with caution. Picard excelled in handling delicate situations, but this one caused him a few aches, given his finger twitched to caress the length of her arm as they walked. Never had he needed to erect barriers between his profession and his desires. His gut instincts told him this moment, more than any, was the crux in his success with Sargon and his closest friends.
Picard guided her the back way, hoping to avoid Mal. The owner of the club was going to be pissed beyond belief. Perhaps skipping out like this was ruining his chances of getting another fight. At least he wasn’t going to be in trouble with Sargon. Besides, it was likely Chett would smooth things over with Mal, maybe even line his pocket with the takings he would lose tonight once everyone realized his fight had been canceled. The bouncers would no doubt earn their keep taking care of the angry crowd.
Out in the dusk, Picard steered Malachi down a side alley to where he’d left his motorbike.
Malachi slowed. “What is that?”
“You’re telling me you’ve never seen a motorbike before?”
“Is that what you call it?”
“You’ve lived in the dark, baby.”
After three years, he still needed to kick himself as a reminder it was his. The first man he’d ever admired, Rune, his first boss and head of one of the local gangs—now dismembered after a brutal clash in the ring, which, this time, had spread into the streets—owned one. A beauty like this had been on his wish lists since he was sixteen and he’d remained glued to the seat for months after he’d bought it. Giving Malachi her first experience on a motorbike pulled him back to when he’d first slung his leg over the seat.
“Hold on, little lady, and feel the thrill of a lifetime.”
He lowered the metal footrests at the back and steadied it for her. She clambered on, hands on his shoulders for balance.
“You might want to hold a little tighter.”
She placed her hands on his waist.
“Perhaps a little tighter.”
“I feel steady enough as I am.”
“As you wish.”
The engine roared to life, then settled into idle with a heavy throb. Picard gave enough throttle to shoot them forward, but not enough to dislodge her from the back. Malachi shrieked and wrapped her arms around his waist as she pressed herself close to his back. He smiled to himself as he maneuvered the bike out of the alley and into the traffic. Ignoring Chett’s instructions to return her to Miss Tule’s, he wove the bike along the boulevard and up the gentle incline that led to an ancient fort at the top of the ridgeline, which ran like a spine around the city down to the ocean. This was definitely not what Chett had in mind when he’d dumped Malachi in Picard’s arms, but what the hell, they need only stay a short while. Besides, he had no idea when he would see her again and he felt greedy for more of the time he had.
Time had reduced most of the fort to rubble, and the lush greenery claimed what was left, making the steps to the lookout at the top treacherous in the wet. One lone lamppost stood at the entrance to what would have been giant doors but were now long gone.
Picard pulled his bike up under the lamp. “You best get off first.”
Given how small she was, the bike moved little as she dismounted. “This doesn’t look much like Miss Tule’s.”
“Slight detour.”
“To…”
He climbed off and spread his arms wide. “History and wonder.”
The city sprawled below like a cluster of stars. The sight never failed to arrest him. He turned to Malachi and watched the awe wind back the years on her face. She reminded him of a child discovering something amazing for the first time.
“This is beautiful.”
“Thought you might like it.”
“It also looks suspiciously like a place for a date.” She didn’t look his way, but he saw the twitch of her cheek as she fought with a smile.
He patted his chest. “I’m an honorable man, in many ways. Nothing will happen up here that you don’t initiate.”
Jesus, he shouldn’t have said that. But he meant every word. He just hoped—no, he didn’t…actually, yes, he did—she would warm up to him some more once they got talking and make the first move. The magic of the scenery should help nurture any sensual feelings.
Malachi turned to him, then bit her bottom lip before smiling. The smile inched across her mouth, warm and soothing, then spread to her eyes. He stepped away and rested his back against the lamppost, placing distance between her and his sudden yearning to kiss her.
He watched her gaze at the scenery, roaming his eyes over her body while she was distracted. The gentle light did wonders to her already attractive features. His mind ran to luscious thoughts of her body flush along his, naked, his hands exploring her silken skin, his mouth trailing close behind. It all got too much. Picard jerked away from the lamppost and strode around for a while, pacing off his arousal.
“I feel guilty most of the time because the longer I stay here, the more I like it.”
That’s what he needed, talk. It was a good distractor. He came alongside her, taking in the frangipani and vanilla that dominated her scent.
“It’s not your fault you’re in Fortescue, so you shouldn’t feel guilty. You know this was where you were born, right?”
Her eyes narrowed at him. “Why is it everyone seems to know my history?”
“Not everyone, only those most interested in you.”
Her lips twitched as she dropped her eyes to the ground.
“Sorry, that’s me trying to be cute.”
“I’m not sure Chett had this in mind when he left me with you.”
“Of course he didn’t, but I’m one to bend the rules. He’s more worried about your safety. And I can assure you that’s at the forefront of my mind.”
She turned to face him and folded her arms across her chest. “With all your digging around into my past, did you happen to find out who my grandparents are?”
“I only know about Rayce’s family, since they were high born. And I’m sorry to say both of them have died. But I know nothing of your maternal grandparents. Sorry, I was only interested in you. But it shouldn’t be hard to learn.”
“Do you think you could help me? I want to know more about myself than the surface facts.”
“Of course.”
“Since you know my history, I think it’s only fair you give me some of yours.”
“You’ll be asleep before I’ve finished. I was dumped as a baby and brought up by a group of bitter spinsters who were in the baby farming business.”
He’d shocked her.
“Picard, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I appreciate what the old bats did for me. Life was tough. The bigger kids enforced the pecking order with ruthless efficiency, so I learned how to take care of myself from a very young age. If not for my upbringing, I’d be a boot maker by now or something worse.”
“And now you’ve reached your dreams.”
“Not quite. I have a few more hurdles before I’m right where I want to be, but I’m well on the path to reaching them.”
“And where will that lead you?”
“I want to expand that tight threesome that is Sargon, Ryker and Chett and make it a foursome.”
“Lofty goal. What is ring fighting?”
“A way for gangs to establish their dominance and crush their enemies without too much violence spilling onto the streets. Much like the Arena, gang leaders are chosen and opponents destroyed in the ring.”
“You must be good.”
“I hold my own.”
Hot sparks warmed his insides with each step she took toward him. She rested her palm against his cheek. “I know the pain of loss. Or though I don’t remember losing my dad, the memory is there buried deep. It’s the reason I’ve fought so hard against the harvest. Leaving my family is like another loss. It makes me feel like my world is falling apart.”
He was hypnotized by her touch, her proximity.
“You deserve your dreams,” she said.
“I’m willing to hold your world together for you.”
She raised up on tiptoes and gently pressed her lips to his. His hunger severed his restraint. Picard found her waist, yanked her against him and kissed her hard, filling her with his greed to taste her. With one moaned breath, she collapsed against him and opened her mouth to welcome him in. His body tremored as his mind raced ahead to thoughts of stripping her naked. She meshed along his front, pushing hard into his ridge. A growl escaped into her mouth as he used one hand to press her further against him where it mattered.
She yielded, warm and soft against him, expanding his appetite with her own. Jesus, he’d never expected her to spark like a rocket. Her response hardened him to pain. God, he wanted his tongue on and in her body followed—
The squawk of a night bird and its sudden flight from its nesting place in the trees pricked the hairs on Picard’s neck. He wrenched his mouth from Malachi’s with a silent moan and scoured the trees, but because he was standing under the lamppost, the trees were nothing more than looming shadows.
“Are you all right?” Confusion laced her voice.
It was just one disturbed bird, not something that should make his muscles coil, ready for action. His response was instinctual, and he’d learned to listen to those instantaneous alerts. They tended to be correct.
“I’m not sure.” He reluctantly let her go and stepped away, eyeing the trees, only now second-guessing his first reaction. But Picard had not got to where he was today by ignoring what his sixth sense told him. His body complained about the disruption, sending jabs to his pent-up lust now fast ebbing.
“We’d better get going.” Had he just said that?
The snap of a twig flared his internal alert again. It was just nightly sounds, but something wasn’t right, the ripple across his skin told him so despite there being no real reason to feel so tense.
“Get on the bike, Malachi.”
He turned and spun her around, prodding her toward the bike. Behind him, something crashed through the trees. He looked over his shoulder to see a huge black shape bounding toward them. What the hell? Marbleized, Picard wasted valuable escape seconds.
“Jesus, what’s that?” Malachi came up beside him, her presence enough to snap him back.
“Go.” He pushed her behind him.
Coming closer to the light, the creature took form. It looked like an oversized timber wolf, but its snout was thicker, longer. Even from here, Picard could see its bladed fangs protruding from its gums.
He’d seen a few timber wolves while he was tracking along the ridge, exploring the rubble of the ancient wall and forts that once spread across the ridgeline. They were mostly timid creatures that would never dare attack like this.
There was no way they would make the bike before the animal struck.
“Whatever you do, stay behind me,” he yelled as he pulled his blade from the holster and made ready for the attack.
Without breaking its stride, the wolf pounded toward him, then, at the last, bunched its haunches and leaped over the top of him. Could wolves really jump that high? Picard swiveled, following its trajectory. He yanked Malachi behind him as the wolf landed and pivoted. It snarled, dripping saliva from its gums, then bounded forward. Picard swung his blade, but the wolf was agile and quick, dodging the weapon by veering to the side at the last. Its black eyes watched the blade, then darted to Malachi, shielded behind him.
He lurched forward, aiming to gain its attention again, but the animal moved beyond the blade’s reach. Again its attention flicked from the blade to Malachi while it danced around his jabs and attacks. Prickles raced along his arm with the realization the animal was after Malachi. The animal seemed to be reading his moves, strategizing the best form of attack, like a human would. The hollow feel in his gut intensified. As always, his sixth sense was right; nothing about this was normal.
The animal snapped in frustration as it dodged him once again. He could throw his blade, aim for its chest, but with the way the thing moved, it was likely it would be able to dodge the blade. He would have to force it to act.
He rushed forward with the attention of distracting the wolf. Instead, the wolf jumped over his head. He’d half expected it to do that, given how desperate it seemed to want Malachi. He sprung, raising his blade, and struck the wolf along its belly. The creature howled in pain and collided with the ground. Again Picard snatched Malachi away, placing himself between the wolf and her.
The creature climbed to its feet, blood seeping to the ground, and charged toward him. It seemed wounding the wolf made him a greater threat. He readied himself, feeling the advantage was his. Seeming to lose its flare for fighting, the wolf collided with him, impaling itself on his blade, releasing a howl of pain, which reverberated through his ears.
Writhing on the end of his blade, its sharp claws gouged deep ruts along
his abdomen while it snarled and snapped in a mad frenzy, driven insane with agony. Picard was crushed beneath its weight. He couldn’t even raise his arm to protect his face, which was smeared in the wolf’s blood and also likely his own.
Over the animal’s voracious noise, he heard Malachi yelling. She was trying to attract its attention away from him. The animal lifted its head, as if suddenly remembering its original target. Picard felt its muscles bunch, ready to launch from him, so he drew his knife, still embedded in its body, down along its flank, cutting the animal’s middle open. A fresh wave of warmth gushed over him. In one last dying thrash of pain-filled rage, which it screeched to the night, the animal ducked its head and sunk its teeth into his shoulder, deep, penetrating to his bone. He growled the pain through clenched teeth as the animal collapsed on top of him.
Chapter 24
“Picard.” All I could see was blood. “Picard.”
His body was covered by the creature, with only his head visible. The fight had moved them farther from the lamplight, so I couldn’t see his face clearly. I crouched, running a hand down his cheek. “Picard, please.”
Through clenched teeth, he said, “It’s okay, I’m still breathing.”
I grabbed a hind leg and tried to dragged it off of him, but the animal was too large and didn’t budge.
“Jesus, what should I do?”
“Jeans pocket, grab my phone,” he panted in small breaths.
I had to stay calm. “Which side?”
“Right.”
Blood seeped over my arm as I slid my hand underneath its body, seeking out Picard’s jeans pocket. Picard inhaled the air through his teeth as if it hurt him to breath, short, shallow breaths that wouldn’t move his chest too far. I gritted my own teeth as I ran my hand down the wet, tacky feel of his jeans. The metallic smell of blood made me gag, but Picard was more important than worrying about whether I’d hurl my stomach.
My fingers jagged on his pocket, but it was difficult working them inside to retrieve his phone given the weight of the animal. I slid my other hand underneath as well, which had my chin almost on the ground. I closed my eyes as the stench of its hide rushed over me.
