Touch of Surrender

by Rhyannon Byrd

  His laugh was low and ugly. “Like hell he did.”

  “Kellan said that if he found the lead to follow, he knew you’d want a way to find him, but that it would be nearly impossible. So I made the connection.”

  “Yeah,” he rumbled, rubbing his hand over the grim shape of his mouth. “It was all just for my peace of mind.”

  “Well, for Chloe, as well,” she reminded him. “From what Kell’s learned about the compound, the only way to get her out alive is going to be from the inside. Security’s said to be too tight to sneak in, which is why he’s going to allow himself to get caught by Westmore’s men. Once we’re close enough, I’ll be able to pinpoint where he’s being kept, but we’re not meant to take any action. At least not until he’s expecting it. Kell figures it’s going to take him nearly a week before he gets close enough to be captured, and we’re meant to give him no more than a week on the inside, which would mean his time limit runs out two weeks from yesterday. If he hasn’t gotten Chloe out by then, we’re to call in the others and launch an attack.”

  “And save his ass.”

  “Actually, Kell was very clear about the objective. It’s doubtful we could breach their defenses, but if we do, we’re to get the witch out first, even if it means leaving him behind.”

  He didn’t say anything more as they turned down Third Avenue, the luxury hotel where he was staying just a block down the road. Morgan had been there earlier that night, when she’d picked up Kierland’s scent and followed it to the nightclub. Strange how the event seemed like ages ago, rather than a mere handful of hours.

  Pulling the car into a parking space in the hotel’s underground garage, Kierland cut the engine and shifted in his seat, facing her. “Tell me where he is, Morgan.”

  “I’m not trying to be a bitch or to manipulate you, Kier. But I can’t just tell you the location. It doesn’t work like that, and you know it. My best guess is somewhere in Scandinavia, probably northern Norway, since that’s where he was heading out from, but that’s all I can give you until we get closer. So you have to take me with you. If you don’t, you might never find him. It’ll be all but impossible to track him by scent in that climate.”

  He climbed out of the car, pacing back and forth in the row of empty parking spaces, then turned and slammed his fist into the brick wall. The violent blow split his knuckles open, the warm scent of his blood filling her head as she got out of the car. Morgan wasn’t afraid of him. For all his jealousy and his anger, she knew he would never harm her. Kierland would rather gnaw off his own arm before hurting a woman.

  No, she wasn’t afraid. But she knew better than to offer him comfort.

  He braced his hands on his hips, his head hanging forward, and took slow, deep breaths. Then he tilted his face up and locked his glowing green eyes with hers. “I’m going to kill him for this,” he rasped, his lips barely moving as he formed the quiet, guttural words.

  “I knew you weren’t going to like it, but you’re—”

  “I hate it,” he snarled, cutting her off. “I bloody hate it, Morgan.”

  “Well, you can hate it all you want,” she told him, straightening her spine, refusing to look away from his angry, hate-filled stare. “But until we find Kell, you’re just going to have to live with it.”

  AN HOUR LATER, THOSE WORDS were still ringing through Kierland’s skull as he sat on the edge of the bed in his hotel room. He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his parted knees, while his nerves itched for a cigarette so badly he could taste it. Locking his jaw, he listened to the roar of his pulse thrashing inside his head…and stared at the closed door.

  Not just any door. No, this one led to the room where Morgan Cantrell would be sleeping that night.

  “Christ,” he groaned, as he fell back onto the bed. A sharp curse slipped from his lips when he wondered for the millionth time why he’d ever given up cigarettes to begin with. At the moment, he needed the burn of smoke in his lungs so badly it was a physical ache. Needed the acrid taste in his mouth to destroy the lingering remnants of that bloody kiss. Needed to get his hands on more of Morgan’s soft, smooth skin….

  Shit, he thought, snarling so loudly that the savage animal sound echoed through the spacious room.

  He couldn’t believe what he was going to do. That he was actually going to take her with him. Blood-tracking or not, he had to have lost his freaking mind. His heart hadn’t stopped beating like a jackhammer since he’d set eyes on her in the club, and it was still taking all his willpower not to go hard with lust.

  No shock there. I’m always like that around Morgan.

  His lip curled at the thought, disgust flavoring each shuddering breath that he pulled into his tight lungs. Kierland despised his body’s weakness, wondering how there could be such a disconnect between his brain and his cock. His damn body parts were all working on the same team, so why the hell couldn’t they agree on this one simple thing?

  Morgan Cantrell was bad news. Always had been, and she always would be.

  They’d arrived back at the hotel an hour ago, picked up the luggage that Morgan had left at the front desk and gotten her a room of her own for the night. A room that was right next door to his. Then they’d parted ways to clean up, agreeing to meet again in his room within the hour—which meant that she would be walking through the doorway that connected their individual rooms any second now. And then the real battle would begin as they continued to bitch each other out, same as they always did, their wills clashing like two opposing forces of nature.

  His relationship with Morgan had always been a nightmare in the making. The teacher falling for his pupil, though only a handful of years had separated their ages when she’d come to complete her final stage of training at the academy in England. But in terms of experience, they’d been light years apart. Kierland had seen her as the shy, innocent eighteen-year-old he’d had no business lusting after, and he’d been…well, a far cry from innocent.

  He’d known he had no business getting involved with her. So he hadn’t. And it’d still led to disaster.

  But it wasn’t the past that worried him now. No, what worried him was the future. All those new opportunities for disaster. The possibility that his brother could well be on the way to his death. Not to mention the news that another Dark Marker had fallen into the hands of Westmore and the Casus. And last of all…the chilling fact that spending any amount of time with Morgan Cantrell was dangerous, perhaps even deadly.

  No matter what kind of spin you tried to put on it, Kierland knew the facts. He’d made mistakes because of this woman. Unforgivable mistakes that had resulted in tragedy, that had cost lives and he was still dealing with the consequences ten years later. If he wasn’t careful, he could too easily see himself heading down that same path again, and he knew damn well where it would lead. Someplace he wasn’t willing to go. Not now…not ever.

  It should have helped that he now knew her for what she was. That the truth had finally shattered the illusions he’d built up around her into a million fractured pieces, but lust wasn’t always a logical thing. It didn’t reason or listen to advice. It just wanted, hungered…craved.

  But that didn’t mean that he had to give in to it.

  Rap…rap…rap.

  The soft knocking pulled him out of the dark, tangled web of his thoughts, and he rolled up into a sitting position. Clearing his throat, he called out, “It’s unlocked.”

  The door opened, and then she was walking into the room, shutting the door behind her. She leaned against it with her hands behind her, freshly scrubbed and wearing a light gray T-shirt with a picture of some modern rock band on the front and loose black sweatpants. She’d showered, but not even the lingering perfume of her shampoo and soap could disguise the sensual scent of her body. It had always reminded Kierland of a rain-drenched jungle in the spring, deliciously warm and provocative.

  Taking a deep breath, he finally said, “If you’re right about Kellan being somewhere in northern Norway, we could
have a problem.”

  Her soft gray gaze stopped its casual perusal of the luxurious room decorated in dark wood and pale creams, and settled on his face. “We do have a problem.”

  He flicked her a shuttered look from beneath his lashes. “So then you think he’s in the Wasteland.”

  The graveled words were delivered as a statement, rather than a question, though Kierland wished to God that she was wrong. The Deschanel Wasteland was where exiled “nests” or family units of vampires were forced to live, once the Consortium passed judgment against them. Most vampires resided in “nesting grounds,” which were located throughout Scandinavia and Eastern Europe. The grounds were ancient, sprawling castlelike communities where extended families lived for security, the lands protected by spells that kept them hidden from the outside world. But the exiled Deschanel families were forced into the Wasteland—a cold, desolate, dangerous region that had been created by powerful magic—where it was every man, or vampire, for himself.

  “I can’t be sure of the exact location until we’re closer,” Morgan told him. “But that was our best guess the last time we talked. It’s also why Kell was so determined that I link with him, since tracking him by scent would be virtually impossible in that region.”

  She sent a look toward the cell phone lying on the bed beside him, and shook her head. “You tried to call him, didn’t you?”

  Kierland let out a short, explosive breath. “I’m his brother and he’s in trouble. Of course I tried to call him.”

  Cocking her head a little to the side, she continued, “I doubt he would have taken your call, since he knows you would just try to talk him out of what he’s doing. But if he’s headed where we’re assuming, then his phone is probably already dead. Technology doesn’t work in the Wasteland. The spells used to keep the exiled nests inside its borders have a strange effect on most forms of modern technology, rendering them useless.”

  “I know that, damn it.” He took another deep breath, which was stupid, since it just filled his head with more of her mouthwatering scent. “I also know that two shifters can’t just go waltzing through the Deschanel Wasteland,” he muttered. “If we wander outside of the neutral zones, which will be damn easy to do, we’ll be ambushed within an hour.”

  “Actually, I’ve already put in a call to Ashe. As a Förmyndare, he’s well acquainted with the region. He’d be the best guide we could find. I’m just waiting to hear back from him.”

  Kierland was so stunned that a gruff bark of laughter rumbled up from his chest. He stared at the delicate, fine-grained beauty of her face, into the almost silver depths of her eyes, and hoped like hell that she wasn’t serious. “Is that some kind of joke?”

  Quietly, she said, “I know it’s not a solution you would have chosen, Kier, but Ashe is our best option.”

  From a purely unemotional standpoint, he could see the logic in what she was saying. Förmyndares were otherwise known as Deschanel Protectors, and it was often their duty to track down rogue vampires who tried to find refuge in the Wasteland. As such, Ashe would have firsthand knowledge of the dangerous no-man’s-land they were going to cross, just as she’d said.

  Unfortunately, emotion was very much a part of the situation.

  “Like hell,” he muttered, the raw force of his tone making her eyes go wide.

  Ashe Granger was the reason so much animosity continued to brew between him and this woman. Kierland hated that she trusted the arrogant vampire who had worked with them from time to time during her training at the academy. Always had. Always would. It wasn’t just that the girl Kierland had wanted had run off and fallen in love with the vamp, though he was honest enough with himself to admit that the sharp, explosive burn of jealousy had always been a key factor. But he and Ashe had never been on friendly terms even before Morgan had come between them, both of them too used to being in control and doing things their own way.

  Granger had been living near the academy when Kierland had been an instructor there, and had reluctantly agreed to help train the students to best defend themselves against rogue Deschanel. Then Ashe’s reluctance had fled when he’d met Morgan, and the true hatred between the two men had begun as the vampire made his interest in Morgan clear. Kierland could still remember how badly he’d wanted to dismember the vamp the first time he’d realized that Ashe was pursuing her. The destructive burn of jealousy had been so strong, it’d pushed him to make the first of what had proven to be an unforgivable series of mistakes that had simply fueled his hatred for Granger over the years, the passage of time doing nothing to lessen the way he felt.

  And he’d have been lying if he said there wasn’t a healthy dose of loathing directed at his own ass for the part he’d played, as well.

  “What’s wrong with Ashe?” she asked, the notch between her brows attesting to the fact that she truly understood nothing about men. “I mean, I know you two can’t stand each other, but this isn’t a social outing, Kierland. I would think you’d be willing to stomach having him along, if it means being able to give Kellan help if he needs it. And it’s not like we’re going to have a lot of other options here.”

  “You still sleeping with him?” he rasped, taken by surprise by his own question. He hadn’t meant to ask her that, damn it, but it was too late now to take back the graveled words.

  Morgan blinked at him, and he watched as surprise spread like a slow, thick syrup through her gaze. “Honestly, Kierland. I can’t see how my current relationship with Ashe Granger would be any concern of yours.”

  He narrowed his eyes, moving to his feet as he paced to the far side of the room, where a well-stocked bar had been situated against the wall. He was pissed at himself for asking the stupid question, and even more pissed at her for not answering it. Without looking at her, he reached for the bottle of single-malt Scotch and said, “For all I know, he’ll be too busy screwing you to be any help. And I couldn’t promise that I won’t kill the son of a bitch if I see him.”

  Her breath made a short, irritated sound, and he could feel the force of her gaze burning curiously into his back, his neck prickling and hot as he twisted the cap from the bottle and poured. “If you’re going to be childish and refuse to work with Ashe,” she said after a moment, “then I’m assuming you have a better idea?”

  He turned and rolled his shoulder, anticipating her reaction. “Gideon,” he grunted in a low voice.

  Her eyes went wide with comical surprise. “Gideon Granger? Ashe’s brother?”

  “Yeah,” he muttered, tossing back a much-needed swallow of Scotch. “He has an apartment here in Prague, so we can pay him a visit in the morning.”

  With a thick note of incredulity in her voice, she stated, “I know you’ve made some kind of deal with Gideon, but I didn’t realize you trusted him enough to ask him for help with something like this.”

  Kierland understood her reaction, considering how he’d felt about vampires since one of his girlfriends had been killed by a rogue nest of the bastards. Nicole was a human who’d lived near the academy when Morgan was a student there, and Kierland had started dating her in order to keep himself away from Morgan. After Nicole was brutally attacked by the rogues, because of her association with Kierland, he’d been unable to stomach being near any of the Deschanel.

  Knowing all this, Kierland’s friends had been amazed that he’d made the deal with Gideon. But he hadn’t been able to say no when the Deschanel had approached him the month before. Gideon and Ashe had lost family during the recent massacres carried out by the Collective. They knew that Westmore was the one who had given the nesting ground locations to the human soldiers, and they wanted revenge. In exchange for handing over Westmore, if Kierland’s unit got their hands on him, Gideon had agreed to find out everything he could about the Death-Walkers—and he’d already delivered with the information about the salted holy water.

  “I still find it hard to believe,” she whispered. “I mean, that you actually made that deal with him. You’re not one to trust easi
ly, especially a stranger who happens to be a vamp.”

  “I didn’t have much choice, did I? And Gideon has kept his word, providing us valuable information.”

  “But you really think Gideon will agree to help us navigate the Wasteland?” she asked, her tone doubtful. “I’ve never met him, but the impression I have from Ashe is that he’s a man who enjoys his luxuries. I can’t see him trudging through those cold, dark forests out of the kindness of his heart.”

  “He’s helped before,” Kierland said, taking another long swallow of his drink. “And the odds are high that Chloe is being kept at Westmore’s compound. Considering how badly Gideon wants Westmore, I don’t think it’ll take much to convince him to help us out.”

  “If you’re feeling so magnanimous, then I feel compelled to point out that Ashe has helped, as well. If it weren’t for him, we might have never been able to destroy the vampires who killed Nicole. You know that as well as I do.” Her fondness for the arrogant Deschanel was obvious, making Kierland’s stomach turn. For years, he’d tried to understand what drew them together. Was it just sex? Or did Morgan honestly like the conceited son of a bitch? “He’s not the villain you make him out to be,” she added softly.

  “I don’t care if he’s a goddamn saint, Morgan. If this is going to work,” he ground out in a rough, hard-edged voice, his contempt twisting his expression, “then that bastard’s name is not going to be brought up again. Is that clear?”

  She arched one slender brow, the corner of her mouth twitching as she shook her head. “Are you truly operating under some kind of insane misconception that I actually take orders from you? Because I can assure you that I don’t.”

  “You damn well will,” he rasped, slamming his glass down on the bar.

  Still leaning against the door, she crossed her arms over her chest. “I know Kellan and the others often choose to follow your lead, because you’ve proven to them that you’re capable of making the hard decisions, as well as the right choices. I might respect that, Kierland, but until I see it for myself, I won’t consider you any more capable of leading this project than I am.”