Touch of Surrender

by Rhyannon Byrd

  As they left the town center behind them, Kierland couldn’t stop thinking about the incident in the arcade, turning the event over in his mind like a puzzle that he needed to solve. He couldn’t help wondering if the reason Morgan was looking forward to the “freedom and space” awaiting her in Australia was because she couldn’t handle being surrounded by people. The bodyguards had almost managed to get the better of her in the packed club the night before, which should have never happened. And she’d recoiled from the people pressing against her in the arcade. He couldn’t remember her ever suffering from claustrophobia during her time at the academy, but he supposed she might have just done a good job of covering it. Still, the back of his neck prickled with an uneasy sensation, and he knew that wasn’t the answer. Neither was too much caffeine.

  But if those weren’t the answers, then what was?

  Glancing up at the rearview mirror, a flicker in the distance caught his attention, and he tensed as he spied a sleek silver sedan behind them coming at a dangerous speed. “Shit.”

  Morgan had been sorting through some things in her backpack, but she looked up at the rough expletive. “What’s wrong?”

  Sliding the Spider into a higher gear, Kierland floored the gas pedal, but the burst of speed wasn’t enough. “We’re being chased,” he forced out through his gritted teeth, knowing they weren’t going to be able to outrun their pursuers.

  “What? Are you serious?” she gasped, twisting around in her seat to look out the back window. The silver sedan was still gaining on them, which meant that it must have been equipped with a hell of an engine.

  Damn it, he should have been prepared for this. If Kierland had noticed that they were being followed sooner, they might have had a chance to ditch whoever was in that bloody car. But he’d been so focused on Morgan, he’d stopped paying attention to what was happening around them—and now it was too late.

  “Hold on,” he growled, realizing the sedan was about to ram them. The jarring impact came just as they were taking a curve in the road, knocking them into a spin. Kierland fought for control of the car, and managed to turn the wheels so that the vehicle took the brunt of the next hit on the driver’s side. Still spinning, the Spider slammed sideways into two massive pine trees, and both air bags deployed from the force of the impact. Using one of the knives he carried to deflate his air bag, Kierland turned and swiftly did the same to Morgan’s. Her face was turned to the side, away from him, her body motionless in the seat, but he couldn’t see any blood or obvious injuries. Breathing in hard, ragged gusts, he found her pulse at the side of her throat, which was strong and steady, and prayed that she’d only been knocked out. He wanted to take her into his arms and check her from head to toe to assure himself that she was okay, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

  No, from the looks of things, as he glanced out the passenger side window, they were still right in the thick of it.

  The silver sedan had stopped in the middle of the road, its front bender crumpled from where it’d rammed into the side of the Spider. Four men were climbing out of the car, each of them tall and muscular, with thick shoulders and dark sunglasses. Since a tangle of broken branches and limbs blocked his side of the car, Kierland opened Morgan’s door and climbed over her body as carefully as possible.

  Positioning himself in front of Morgan, Kierland had to fight his natural instinct to shift into “were” form as the bastards approached. They were out in broad daylight on a public road, which meant that turning animal for the coming battle was out of the question. Left with no other option, since he didn’t have a gun on him, he pulled out a second knife, glad he’d spent the first part of the last month training with Noah.

  Although Noah Winston had Casus blood running through his veins, it was too diluted to have any impact on his physiology—other than his ice blue eyes—and as a result, the human didn’t possess any supernatural fighting abilities. No claws or fangs or preternatural strength. To compensate, Noah had trained long and hard with his knives, and his skill was impressive. So impressive that Kierland had asked for some pointers while he’d been stuck at Harrow House during the past month.

  Thanks to Noah, Kierland had been practicing with the blades until they felt like an extension of his hands, almost as natural as his claws, and as he palmed the hilts, he didn’t care that he was outnumbered by the men coming toward him. He’d do whatever it took to take the bastards down and get Morgan out of there.

  As the group drew closer, decked out in black T-shirts and jeans, he squinted against the bright glare of sunlight shining into his eyes, and tried to figure out what they were. They smelled human, but in human form, the Casus always did. The same could be said for the Kraven. And since they were wearing dark sunglasses, making it impossible to see the color of their eyes, they could have been Casus, Collective soldiers, or some of the Kraven who were working for Westmore. There wasn’t going to be any way to tell until the fight started and he had a chance to determine their strength and skill.

  “Lycan,” the one nearest to him sneered, a long blade gripped in his meaty fist, and Kierland stepped forward, an instant away from slashing out, when the grinding screech of brakes filled the air. The next sixty seconds passed by in a blur as he watched a small commuter bus swerve to miss the sedan that’d been left in the middle of the road. The driver lost control, the bus tilting on two wheels as it sped straight toward them. His attackers scattered, but Kierland didn’t pay attention to where they went, turning instead to reach into the car and rip at Morgan’s seat belt.

  He cursed, aware of the bus bearing down on the Spider, his heart pumping so loudly it sounded like thunder roaring in his ears. Continuing to snarl a guttural string of curses under his breath, he managed to get Morgan’s limp body into his arms and jumped onto the car’s hood, leaping into the trees just as the bus slammed into the passenger side of the Spider. The force of the impact hurled them into the woods, and Kierland twisted his body, sheltering Morgan from the branches and hard ground as they came to a bone-jarring stop against a tangle of roots and undergrowth. For several seconds afterward, the air continued to echo with the deafening sounds of metal crunching into metal, followed by frantic shouts from the passengers on the bus.

  With a low groan, Kierland shook his head, thinking it all seemed so surreal, the strange sequence of events that had left him lying on a cold forest floor, surrounded by the smells of hot rubber and hydraulic fumes, cradling an unconscious Morgan against his chest. His heart didn’t beat during the long seconds it took him to roll to his side and lay her down as gently as he could, fear having shocked his body into a hard, deathly stillness. Then her head turned toward him, one hand lifting to her temple as she gave a soft groan, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, the wave of relief so sharp it actually hurt.

  Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes, blinking up at him as Kierland knelt over her. “What happened?” she croaked.

  “The car was hit.” Taking care not to hurt her, he reached up and pushed back her hair, finding the swollen knot at her hairline. “You took quite a knock to the head. Probably hit it on the door frame.”

  Trying to sit up, she said, “My bag. Did you get my bag?”

  “You don’t need it,” he told her, steadying her shoulders. “Damn it, stop trying to get up. Just lie still for a second.”

  She locked her gaze with his, a frown pulling at her soft mouth. “I want my stuff, Kier. And the ‘sparkler’ that Gideon gave us is in my backpack. You have to go back and get it.”

  Sensing that she wasn’t going to give in, he muttered under his breath about stubborn, hardheaded women as he moved to his feet, then gave her a stern warning to stay where she was. Leaving her sitting on the ground, Kierland moved through the tangle of broken branches until he reached the pitiful remains of the Spider now wedged completely between the two massive pine trees.

  The bus leaned against the trees at an odd angle, and Kierland could see the road through the long r
ow of windows that ran along the side of the vehicle. The scene out in the street resembled nothing but sheer chaos. Passengers were still piling out of the bus, others wandering around the tarmac, their voices raised as they exchanged their versions of the event. And the silver sedan was already speeding away with its four occupants, the group clearly deciding to bug out in the presence of so many witnesses.

  Although the Spider resembled a twisted piece of metal, Kierland was able to find Morgan’s small leather backpack wedged under her crumpled seat. The passengers from the bus were too busy checking on each other—none of whom had serious injuries, just some cuts and bruises—to take notice of him digging inside what was left of the sports car. He grabbed their bags from the back, having to force the mangled trunk open, and slipped the shoulder straps over his head, then quickly made his way back to Morgan. He found her sitting with her head propped against a thick tree trunk, eyes closed, her complexion waxen, and without giving her a chance to protest, Kierland leaned down and scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his chest.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.

  “Carrying you. And before you waste your breath arguing about it, don’t. It won’t do any good.”

  “Okay,” she agreed with a quiet sigh, and his jaw clenched at her easy acquiescence. Not that he’d wanted her to argue, damn it. But he knew the fact that she hadn’t put up a fight was testament to how much pain she must be in.

  As a pure-blooded Lycanthrope, Kierland wasn’t easy to kill. The simplest, most foolproof way to end his life was to slash his stomach open, spilling his insides. His body could easily handle most other injuries, mending itself quickly, although gunshots and stab wounds could take him out of commission for a while if they were severe enough.

  But Morgan was different. Her family’s eclectic bloodline made it difficult to be sure exactly which traits had been passed on to her…and which hadn’t. During her physical examinations at the academy, the medical officers had been able to ascertain that her healing powers were better than human, though nowhere near as effective as most shape-shifters. They were, however, completely clueless as to how she could be killed, which meant that she had to be a damn sight more careful than her colleagues.

  Kierland had been walking for about fifteen minutes, heading deeper into the thick woods, before she stirred again. “Your car?” she asked, still resting her head against his shoulder, her body light and relaxed in his arms.

  Ducking to avoid a branch, he said, “Totaled.”

  “Sorry,” she whispered, breathing the soft word against the side of his throat as she wriggled to get more comfortable, and Kierland damn near stumbled over his own feet.

  He coughed to clear his throat. “Don’t apologize. It sure as hell wasn’t your fault.” He took a moment to tell her about the bus, assuring her that none of the passengers had been hurt.

  With her right arm pressed against his body, she lifted her left hand and placed it on the center of his chest, as if she were pressing her palm to his heartbeat. “But it was a beautiful car,” she murmured.

  “Yeah, well, the car can be replaced.” The thick, gruff words scraped against his throat as he forced them out, and it took all of the Lycan’s concentration to keep his breathing even—to control his physical response to having this provocative woman in his arms, her mouthwatering scent filling his head. “I’m more worried about you.”

  She took a quick breath, as if he’d surprised her with the words, and then she asked, “Who were they? The men in the silver car? Or should I say what were they?”

  “Hard to say,” he muttered. “They were wearing dark glasses, so I couldn’t see the color of their eyes. Could’ve been Collective, Casus or even Kraven. Bastards all smell the same in human form. Or hell, it could have been a mix of them all, since they’re working together now.”

  Lifting her head a little, she glanced around at the snow-misted trees. “And where exactly are we headed?”

  “The train station’s about a half mile through these woods, on the north side of the town. I think there’s a northwest line that’ll take us to Hannover.”

  “Good plan,” she murmured, resting her head on his shoulder again. “It’ll save time and get us there faster than driving.” For a few minutes there was nothing but the sounds of their breathing and the wintry breeze blowing through the branches, and then she sighed, saying, “Can you say something to take my mind off this headache?”

  Looking down, Kierland found himself drowning in soft, luminous gray. “Is it bad?” he asked, concern roughening his words.

  She started to shake her head, then winced, the action obviously making her headache worse. “Getting better, but I could use a distraction to keep from thinking about it. Because the more I think about it, the more it seems to hurt.”

  His mouth curled with a slow smile as he thought of something guaranteed to take her mind off the pain. “Okay,” he said easily, looking ahead again. “I’ve been thinking about something you said last night, when you told me not to think about kissing you when I smelled like a couple of cheap hookers.”

  She tensed in his arms. “Sound advice from any woman, I would think. Your point?”

  “I’ve just been thinking about the fact that you didn’t say not to think about kissing you again. Just not to do it when I’ve been close to another woman.”

  She drew an unsteady breath. “That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she argued, the soft words quivering with emotion.

  “You were mad,” he pointed out, his tone light and conversational.

  “And?”

  He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s just that people are less likely to lie when they’re pissed about something. More often than not, they don’t take the time to filter their words when they’re angry.”

  “Kierland.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Shut up.”

  A low laugh slid lazily from his lips. “Hey. You asked me to say something.”

  “Yeah, well, I’ll know better next time,” she muttered. “And you can put me down now.”

  Teasingly, he asked, “Is it that bad, being in my arms? Are you worried I’ll drop you?”

  “I know those Lycan muscles of yours can easily handle my weight and the luggage, but it’s probably best not to carry me into the train station. We’ll draw too much attention.”

  “I’ll put you down when we reach the station. Until then, you’re staying right where you are.”

  “Have it your way then. But be warned. Your chivalry could turn out to be a dangerous move. I mean, I might actually start to like being this close to you, and then we’d really have a problem.” They were soft words, almost lost to the wintry breeze. But they brought a wave of heat to Kierland’s body that he couldn’t ignore.

  “Fine,” he grunted, giving in and lowering her legs until they touched the ground. “We’re almost there, anyway.”

  They walked side by side the rest of the way, and Kierland made sure to keep his gaze focused straight ahead, not wanting her to see the heat still smoldering in his eyes…or the hunger he was sure he couldn’t disguise.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “THAT WAS REALLY TOO CLOSE for comfort this time,” Morgan murmured, the second they slipped into their seats on the 3:05 train that would eventually make a stop in Hannover, before turning north for Hamburg. “If those guys in that sedan were Casus, just how many do you think have escaped?”

  “Too many,” Kierland rumbled, tipping his head back as he stretched out his long legs. He’d purchased first-class tickets, and so far they were the only passengers in the high-priced section, which meant they had the privacy to speak freely.

  After checking to make sure that the small glass vial Gideon had given them hadn’t been broken during the crash, Morgan set her leather backpack by her feet. As she settled into her seat, she bit back a low groan, not wanting Kierland to know how sore she was from the accident. Her headache was gradual
ly getting better, but she still felt like she’d been trampled by a horse. “They took some risks, attacking us in broad daylight like that.”

  “Our unit’s becoming a thorn in their side, especially now that we’re loaning out the Markers, giving the Merrick better access to them. They’ve probably decided that they have no choice but to try and take us out. Which means it’s only going to get more dangerous for us from here on out.” He slid her a shuttered look from the corner of his eye. “Or it could have just been you.”

  Morgan’s own eyes went wide. “What about me?”

  Rolling his shoulder in one of those utterly male gestures that looked great with all those mouthwatering muscles, he said, “After the fight we had against them back in England last month, they probably think we wouldn’t send out one of the females without a Marker on her for protection.”

  “Well, I wasn’t about to take Jamie’s from her,” she said, frowning at the mere thought of it. “And the others are all out on loan.”

  After the fierce campaign the Casus had mounted to get their hands on Jamie, it’d been decided that the little girl should keep a Marker on her at all times. And the loaning out of the other Markers that his unit had found so far had been Kierland’s doing. He’d tried to convince the Consortium to enable the crosses to be used by any awakening Merrick who needed them. But the Consortium was still dragging their feet on the issue of the Casus, and Kierland had finally lost his patience, organizing a system on his own.

  “Who are you calling?” she asked, watching as he pulled out his cell phone and began to punch in a number.

  Holding the phone to his ear, he said, “The main line at Harrow House. I’m not sure what kind of telephone reception we’ll have once we get going, and I need to warn everyone to be on guard.”