Touch of Surrender

by Rhyannon Byrd

  She wore another pair of hip-hugging jeans with her boots, but her sweater this time was a soft gray that nearly matched her eyes. The thick curtain of her dark hair was straight, falling like silk over the feminine curve of her shoulders, the bangs making her look too young…too innocent. She didn’t wear any makeup except for a berry-colored gloss on her full mouth, but then she didn’t need any.

  The cake, as Kellan would have said, was already mouthwatering. It didn’t need any icing.

  Morgan murmured a quiet greeting and took the seat across from him. “Any news this morning?” she asked, reaching for her linen napkin. There was a nervous edge to her movements, though he could tell she was trying hard to hide it.

  “I had a call from Seth. He’s leaving England and heading back to the States.”

  Seth McConnell was a former Lieutenant Colonel in the Collective Army, and as such, he should have been their enemy. Fate, however, had other plans, and in an ironic twist, Seth was now fighting alongside the Watchmen and the Merrick in their war against the Casus. The disillusioned officer had broken ranks with the Collective when he had learned that his commanding officers had made a deal with the Casus and their allies, causing him to question the very beliefs that the Army had been founded on. Although the others in Kierland’s unit had been fully prepared to despise the man who had once hunted those like them, Seth, who looked more like a California surfer than a soldier, had turned out to be a hard man to hate, his smile too easy and warm…and his regret for his past mistakes too genuine.

  The last time Kierland had seen him, the shadows under Seth’s dark green eyes had been proof that the guy was running as ragged as the rest of them. Before coming to Harrow House for a brief visit, the former Collective officer had been doing his best to find Westmore these past weeks, as well as to uncover whatever information he could about the whereabouts of Chloe Harcourt. But so far, Ross Westmore had done an excellent job of covering his tracks and Seth, along with the soldiers who’d remained loyal to him from his Collective unit, hadn’t been able to get their hands on any useful information. Until now.

  “Why is he going back?” she asked.

  Kierland kept his voice low as he explained. “Seems his men have scored a bit of a coup. Finally got their hands on one of the high-ranking Collective officers who’s been working with Westmore and the Casus.”

  She lifted her brows. “And the officer talked?”

  Kierland nodded. “Seth’s not sure how much this guy knows, but he thinks he might be able to get more out of him. From what the officer’s said so far, it seems he was never all that keen on working with the monsters.” He took a sip of his coffee, and tried like hell to ignore how good she smelled as he went on. “I guess the guy’s already told them there’s a rumor spreading that the Generals are having second thoughts about the deal they made with Westmore. Some of the soldiers are even threatening to revolt, since they don’t like the way things are going down.”

  “Has he told Seth’s men where Westmore’s compound is?” she asked. “Or anything about Chloe?”

  “If the guy knows, he hasn’t shared anything.” He leaned forward and braced his crossed arms on the table. “But like I said, Seth is hoping he can get some more out of him when he gets there.”

  After the waitress came and took their breakfast orders, Morgan turned her head, staring out the café’s front window. “I can’t believe we’re actually sitting here, having breakfast together.” Her voice was tight, strained. “It’s so surreal.”

  “If you’re ready to run, Morgan, then go ahead. It’s probably the smartest thing you could do. Just try to give me the loc—”

  “You’re not going to talk me out of going,” she muttered, cutting him off. “So you might as well give up, Kierland.”

  They sat there in heavy silence for a few minutes—her staring out the window, Kierland staring at her—until the waitress came back with Morgan’s coffee and then their food. As he ate his omelet, Kierland found himself torn between frustration over the fact that she either wouldn’t, or couldn’t, give him Kellan’s location…and the unwanted reaction of his beast. The bastard was all but howling with satisfaction, eager for this chance to spend time with her, thinking that Kierland’s willpower would eventually crumble and he’d finally give the animal what it wanted. Which was a taste of this one exasperating, complicated, thoroughly delectable woman.

  “About last night,” he murmured, just to see how she would react. And he wasn’t disappointed.

  Morgan’s face turned bright red, her cheekbones darkening with color, and Kierland found himself wanting to drag his mouth along that warm, smooth skin, just so he could taste the heat of her blood blooming beneath its surface.

  “Not. A. Word.” Keeping her gaze locked on her plate, she forced out each word with slow, careful precision, as if she was afraid he wouldn’t get the point.

  Kierland pushed his empty plate aside and braced his arms on the table again. Quietly, he asked, “So we’re just going to pretend that nothing happened in that bathroom?”

  Her nostrils flared. “You bet your ass we are.”

  He didn’t know why her refusal made him so angry, but it did. “Damn it, Morgan. That’s not going to solve any—”

  “I don’t care if it solves anything or not,” she snapped, gripping her fork so tightly he was surprised it didn’t snap in two. “Please, just leave it.”

  The waitress returned at that moment to refill Kierland’s coffee cup, and he was forced to sit there, seething with frustration, while Morgan chatted with the woman about the hotel and the city. Then, the instant the waitress had walked away again, she asked, “Are we still dropping by Gideon’s apartment this morning?”

  “Yeah,” he replied, deciding to let her get away with the evasion. For the moment. “That’s the plan.”

  She took her last bite of scrambled egg and picked up her coffee. “Have you tried calling him?”

  He nodded as he leaned back in his chair. “His phone is switched off. Knowing the vamp, he’s probably sprawled in bed somewhere with a horde of women. We might very well have to track him down, but his apartment will be the best place to start.”

  Her phone started to buzz, and she pulled it from her pocket, glancing at the screen. “Anything important?” he asked.

  Without looking at him, she said, “It’s a text from Olivia.”

  Kierland found himself sitting there with his gaze locked on her face as she read the message, thinking about how easily the group back in England had embraced her. She’d become good friends with all of the women, and the men loved her, as well. “Everything okay?” he pressed.

  She glanced up at him with a lopsided smile. “That’s exactly what Liv wants to know.”

  “Have you told them anything about where Kellan is?” he asked, as she started to type in a response on her keypad.

  She shook her head, still typing. “All they know is that he’s in Norway.”

  “Good. Don’t tell them anything more.”

  Her fingers stilled, and surprise showed in her gray eyes as she lifted her gaze, locking it with his. “You’re not going to tell them where we’re going?”

  “Not until I know what’s going on. I’m not going to risk the whole unit following after us if they get worried because we haven’t checked in with them.” Before he’d finished the last word, his own phone began buzzing in his pocket.

  “Is it Gideon?” she asked.

  Kierland shook his head as he glanced at the screen. “It’s Quinn,” he told her, answering the call. Keeping his voice low, he said, “I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to call me, you son of a bitch.”

  Quinn’s deep voice rumbled over the line. “Don’t be that way, man. You know why I did it.”

  “I know I’m going to kick your ass the next time I see you.”

  “You can’t kick your best friend’s ass,” Quinn offered in an easy drawl, and Kierland would have bet money that the shifter was smiling. “I�
�m sure there’s some kind of law against that.”

  “Then trust me when I say it’s a law that’s gonna get broken,” he shot back, while Morgan stared into the depths of her coffee cup with a slight grin tucked into the corner of her mouth, listening to every word. “Was there a reason you called? Or did you just want to bug me?”

  Quinn sighed. “I just heard from Seth. He told me you said something about heading into the Wasteland.”

  Rubbing his hand over his eyes, Kierland choked back a graveled curse. “Nothing’s positive at this point. What about it?”

  He could feel Morgan watching him as he listened to Quinn say, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for the two of you to go alone.”

  “We won’t be alone. We’ll have a guide.”

  A surprised pause, and then Quinn asked, “What kind of guide?”

  “Can’t get into it now,” he said in a hard voice. “I’ll explain later.”

  “Well, I still think one of us should come over.”

  “And I think you should all damn well stay where it’s safe,” he snapped. “There’s nothing out here that Morgan and I can’t handle.”

  “Like hell there isn’t,” Quinn argued. “We still don’t even know what those Death-Walkers are capable of.”

  Quinn was right, but it wasn’t going to change his mind. If he was going to be stuck dealing with Morgan, Kierland didn’t want one of the others there, watching them constantly. He’d had more than enough of that in the past month back at Harrow House. “We’ve gotta get going,” he grunted, “but I’ll be in touch.”

  “Damn it, Kierland. Don’t hang—”

  AS KIERLAND DISCONNECTED THE call and slipped the phone back in his pocket, Morgan studied his expression, trying to gauge his mood. “Looks like our friends are worried about us,” she murmured, taking a sip of her coffee.

  He shot her a wry look, another one of those crooked grins kicking up the corner of his mouth. “Or worried we’re gonna kill each other before we find my impulsive brother.”

  She gave a soft laugh. “Haven’t killed each other yet.”

  “Don’t be too hasty,” he drawled. “The morning’s still young.”

  “Hmm. I’m starting to feel like you’re going to off me when I’m not looking,” she drawled back, arching a brow. “Should I be worried?”

  A slow, lean wolf’s smile hovered at the edge of his mouth, his green eyes glittering with humor. But then the humor gradually faded, and she could see the tension as it crept back into him, hardening the sensual shape of his mouth. Beneath the soft black cashmere of his sweater, powerful lines of muscle coiled across his broad shoulders and in his ripped arms.

  Morgan took another drink of the hot coffee, stared down into her cup for a moment, then forced her gaze up to his. She wanted to be staring him right in the eye when she asked her next question. “Exactly why do you hate me so much, Kier?”

  His expression became guarded, and there was an underlying thread of caution in his deep voice as he said, “That’s a hell of a thing to ask a man over breakfast, Morgan.”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you for ten years,” she told him, curling both hands around the warmth of her cup. “Might as well get it over with, seeing as how we’re going to be spending so much time together.”

  He muttered something under his breath and looked away, staring out the café’s front window, and pushed one long-fingered hand through his hair. The overhead lights caught the crimson tints threaded through the deeper, richer auburn strands as he raked the thick mass away from his face, the blend of colors as mesmerizing as the glittering depths of a jewel.

  When he finally spoke, the words came in a gritty, halting rhythm. “I don’t…hate you.”

  A husky burst of laughter fell quietly from her lips. “Tell me to go to hell, Kier, but please, don’t lie to me. I can’t stand a man who tells lies.”

  Casting her a sideways glance, he arched one of those dark, arrogant brows. “What about a woman who tells lies?”

  Pushing her coffee away, she leaned back in her chair. “Depends on her reasons.”

  “Isn’t that a bit of a double standard?” he asked dryly.

  She rolled one shoulder, saying, “I’m just being honest. And you’re avoiding the question.”

  He shook his head a little, the corner of his mouth twitching with something a bit too grim to be humor. “I’m not lying. You pissed me off, but I…I’ve never hated you, Morgan. I think…” He took a deep breath and paused, staring at her so intently that her pulse quickened, then slowly continued, “I’ve wanted to hate you for a long time now. But I can’t seem to do it.”

  A frisson of something dangerous and warm skittered through her system, and she snuffled another soft laugh under her breath to cover her unease. “Well, if you don’t hate me, you’ve spent a decade doing a damn good impression of it.”

  “It’s difficult to explain,” he said in a low voice, rubbing his hand against his hard jaw, his eyes burning a bright, turbulent green. “I was messed up after Nicole was killed. And then to see you with Ashe, who I couldn’t stand… I couldn’t believe that you’d done it. That you’d let the Consortium use you like a piece of meat just to get cooperation from a guy like him. You were worth so much more than that.”

  For a moment, all Morgan could do was stare back at him, unable to believe what he’d said. And then the familiar burn of frustration and bruised, wounded pride began to rise within her like a great, swelling wave. She didn’t know what she’d expected to hear, but that wasn’t it. She’d known he believed the worst about her relationship with Ashe, but she hadn’t realized that it continued to form the basis for his contempt.

  “So that’s your answer? All this ugliness and rude insinuation because of what happened with Ashe?” She took a deep, shuddering breath, and then went on, the words ripping out of her with quiet, rushing force. “I don’t know what I was thinking to actually hope that there might be some relevant accusations you could hurl at me. I mean, that’s it? You’ve treated me like dirt because you’re still pissed at me for something that had nothing to do with you? Because you believe I sold myself short? You were my instructor, Kierland. Not my goddamn father. Who I chose to go to bed with was never any of your bloody business!”

  If she’d been hoping to get a reaction out of him, she shouldn’t have bothered. By the time she’d finished with her quiet tirade, he was wearing his emotionless mask again. The one that made Morgan want to do something outrageous, like slap him again.

  Sounding as if they were discussing nothing more interesting than the fashion trends in winter footwear, he explained, “You asked me a question, Morgan. And I gave you an answer. It’s not my fault if you don’t like it.”

  “Yeah, well, call me picky, but I was hoping for a better one.”

  Watching her closely, he asked, “What exactly were you hoping to hear?” and she shivered, hating how easily the deep, hypnotic timbre of his voice could cause chills to break out over her skin. “You want me to accuse you of following similar orders over the years? Don’t think I haven’t thought about it. But I’ve always hoped you were smart enough to have learned your lesson with the vamp.”

  “Just forget I ever brought it up,” she muttered, thankful that their waitress arrived with the check. “It was a bad idea.”

  There’s an understatement.

  God, she didn’t know what she’d been thinking, maneuvering him into a conversation that she really didn’t want to have, its purpose to find answers that she really didn’t want to hear. So the sexiest man on earth—the man she’d once thought was the most amazing person she’d ever known—still thought she was a whore. So what? It ticked her off, but it wouldn’t kill her.

  And Morgan knew it was her own fault for pressing the issue. It wasn’t as if the stubborn Lycan was suddenly going to see the light and change his beliefs, no matter how wrong they were. He’d think what he wanted, same as he always had, and if she had half a brain, she wouldn’
t waste time worrying about it. She knew the truth—knew that she did the same damn job as a Watchman that he did, with just as much pride and integrity. She had nothing to be ashamed of. And she sure as hell didn’t owe Kierland Scott an explanation.

  She didn’t owe him a damn thing.

  He paid the bill, and she was still irritated enough to let him without putting up an argument. As they walked down to the underground garage, where the Spider was parked, he got a text message from Gideon saying that the vampire had something for them at his apartment that they needed to pick up. There was also a short apology for the “catastrophe” they were going to find. But that was it. Neither of them knew what to make of the strange message, but they figured they’d learn what was going on soon enough.

  When she pulled her seat belt across her chest, Kierland asked her how the shoulder was doing, and Morgan told him that it was healed. But she didn’t look at him as she spoke, keeping her head turned toward the window, and he didn’t say anything more. They made the drive to Gideon Granger’s apartment in silence, the purr of the Spider’s engine the only sound other than the distant murmur of the city. Only a few beams of weak sunlight managed to battle their way through the dull, pewter-colored sky, a sense of heaviness in the air that made Morgan feel tired and cold and restless.

  As she would have expected, Gideon’s apartment spoke of wealth and prestige, located in a beautiful nineteenth-century town house that had been converted into spacious, high-priced flats. They took the elevator to the top floor and knocked on the wide set of dark wood doors, but there was no answer.

  “I guess he isn’t home,” she murmured. “Maybe we should—” a quiet creak echoed through the sleek, wood paneled hallway, and she glanced down to see that Kierland had forced open the door “—just let ourselves in,” she finished wryly.

  The Lycan gave her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. The lock was already broken.”

  “What do you mean ‘already broken’?”

  He pointed his finger toward the handle. “The lock’s been busted. Which means that somebody broke in before us.”