Touch of Surrender

by Rhyannon Byrd

  With her exceptional hearing, and their close proximity, Morgan knew she would be able to hear every word of the conversation. She briefly considered getting out her iPod to give him some privacy, then decided against it. If he was going to argue with any of his friends because they hadn’t warned him that she was coming to Prague, she wanted to hear it.

  The line rang three times, and then a deep drawl said, “Shrader.”

  Leaning her head back and closing her eyes, Morgan listened as the hunk beside her said, “Aiden, it’s Kierland. We’ve had some trouble.” The rumble of his voice sent a shiver of awareness skittering through her system, and the corner of her mouth twitched with a wry grin. The bloody world could be falling apart around them, and her body would still react to the sexy timbre of his voice.

  “I was just getting ready to call and tell you the same thing.” The tiger-shifter’s normally easygoing drawl was unmistakably strained, and she opened her eyes, her breath held as she waited, dreading what the Watchman would say.

  Kierland sat forward in his seat, one elbow braced on his knee, his voice thick with worry as he asked what had happened.

  “Noah got attacked down in the village,” Aiden explained. “Quinn and Riley ran down with Saige to get him. They only just got back a few minutes ago.”

  A rough curse, and then Kierland asked how bad the human’s injuries were.

  “They’re working on him now, but it looks like he’s going to be okay,” Aiden assured him. “They’ve had to stitch up a few cuts, but that’s about it. Looks like he was one lucky son of a bitch, because one of the wounds barely missed an artery.”

  “Has he been able to give you any details?” Kierland asked, the muscles in his broad shoulders bulging with tension beneath the soft cashmere of his sweater. “Who was it that attacked him?”

  “Two men. He thinks one was Casus, the other probably Kraven. They caught him coming out the side door of one of the pubs. Wanted to know how to get past our security here at the house. Sounds like they still want Jamie,” the shifter muttered, his fury evident in the hard, harsh words.

  After murdering Jamie’s mother, the Casus had discovered that the curse that plagued the Mallory witches actually increased the sadistic pleasures of their killers. Westmore and the Casus had already managed to kidnap Chloe Harcourt, but that wasn’t enough for the heinous monsters, and they’d launched a desperate hunt to get their hands on little Jamie, as well. Working together, Morgan and the others had thwarted their attempts, but that obviously hadn’t dampened the monsters’ determination to capture the child.

  Kierland cursed again in response, and Aiden said, “My thoughts exactly. But I’m already running a diagnostic on all the security systems that Kell installed. Those bastards aren’t coming anywhere close to her.”

  “What the hell was Noah doing alone in the village?”

  Aiden snorted. “What do you think he was doing?”

  “Christ,” Kierland growled. “Next time he feels the need to go out and get laid, tell him to take some damn backup.”

  “So what was your news?” Aiden asked, changing the subject. “How’s Morgan? You two kill each other yet?”

  A tired sigh, and then Kierland explained about the crash. “I want everyone there on high alert,” he added, after assuring Aiden that they were both all right. “No one leaves the house.”

  “You know we can’t do that,” Aiden argued. “There are Markers to find and the race is on.”

  “And a lot of good it’s going to do us if we’re all dead,” he ground out, and from her position beside him, Morgan watched the pulse of a muscle ticking in his hard jaw.

  Husky laughter rumbled over the connection, and Aiden drawled, “You actually worried about me and Quinn?”

  There was a pause while Kierland pinched the bridge of his nose, and then he lounged back in his seat again, before asking, “How’s Olivia?”

  You could hear the smile in the Watchman’s voice as Aiden said, “Keeping me on my toes.”

  “She’s good for you, Ade.”

  Another wry snort. “Too good for me, you mean.”

  “Nah. You deserve a woman like her.”

  “And what about you?”

  Though Morgan had turned her head away a little, she could feel Kierland’s gaze settling against the side of her face as he spoke in a rich, wry rumble. “I think I’ve got my hands full as it is.”

  “You still playing that same old game?”

  “What game is that?” Kierland asked.

  “The one where you refuse to practice what you preach,” his friend shot back, making Morgan wonder just what the shifter was getting at.

  “I’m hanging up now,” Kierland said dryly. “But keep me updated on Noah. And get the word out to the other compounds. They need to know what’s going on.”

  Aiden said that he would, then told the Lycan to watch his back before he ended the call. “Did you catch all that?” Kierland rasped, not looking at her as he hitched his hip up and slipped the phone back into his jeans pocket.

  For a split second, Morgan thought of denying it, but then realized it was pointless. He knew how exceptional her hearing was—knew how easy it would have been for her to hear Aiden’s voice. “I got most of it,” she told him, crossing her legs. They talked for a minute about Noah as well as how aggravated Quinn and the others were that they had to keep postponing their weddings, and then she said, “You know, in all the commotion, I forgot to tell you about Ian’s latest dream.”

  Like his brother and sister, the eldest Buchanan sibling possessed a unique gift that had proven useful during his Merrick awakening. While Saige could “hear” physical objects and Riley could control them with his mind, Ian had the ability to experience moments of precognition in his dreams.

  “He had another one?” Kierland asked, his gaze focused on her face with a searing intensity that would have scrambled her wits if Morgan hadn’t had the sense to look away.

  She nodded in response, saying, “It happened the night before last, so I only just heard about it yesterday. Quinn asked me to tell you, but with all the madness, it slipped my mind.”

  From the corner of her eye, she could see him scrub his hands down his face, then scrape them both back through his hair. “What the hell did he see?”

  “He saw us all standing together at a gate, trying to get through, but we didn’t have the key.”

  “A gate?”

  Morgan waited while news of the train’s departure was announced over the speakers, then said, “We thought it might be the gate to Meridian.”

  “What did it look like in the dream?”

  “Massive. Thick. Some kind of black, gleaming metal, with markings all over it that reminded him of the symbols etched into the Dark Markers. Which got me thinking during my flight to Prague. One of the things that Saige said, just before I left Harrow House yesterday, was that the crosses are the ‘key to everything.’ I could be way off base here,” she said, pulling one leg beneath her as she turned in her seat to face him, “but the more I think about it, the more I think that Saige might be more right than she realizes. Ever since we learned that Westmore’s desperate to get his hands on the Markers, we’ve been trying to come up with a reason why. One of our guesses is that he wants them to somehow bring about the flood, busting all of the Casus out at once, right? So what if they really are the key? Or keys? What if that’s why he wants them?”

  “You mean the keys that will unlock the gate?” His voice was rough with surprise.

  Morgan nodded, and he asked, “Have you said anything to the others?”

  “No.” She gave a soft laugh and shook her head. “To be honest, I didn’t want to sound like an idiot.”

  “No, it’s good,” he told her, sounding as if he actually meant it. “When we get back, we need to sit down with everyone and talk it out with them. I think you’ve got a hell of an idea, Morgan.”

  A slow smile curled her mouth, a strange flutter of warmth in her b
elly as their gazes held, and in the next instant, something changed. The air between their bodies became charged…heavy with expectation. Time became slow. Thick. They both shifted in their seats, their movements uneasy…restless, as if it’d suddenly occurred to them that they were sitting together, having a conversation…and actually getting along.

  They had another fifteen minutes until the train was scheduled to pull out of the station, and when the refreshments cart went by, Kierland bought them both a soft drink and candy bar. But the caffeine from the sodas didn’t keep them from crashing after the adrenaline high they’d been riding since the accident. By the time the train finally got on its way, Morgan was exhausted, but too nervous to sleep. Instead, she curled up in her seat, resting her face on her folded hands…and kept watch over the wolf.

  Kierland’s head had tilted toward her as he dozed, leaving her free to stare at his gorgeous face. She’d never realized how boyish he looked when tension wasn’t hardening those tough, bold features. And yet, it was definitely a man’s face. Strong jaw. Long nose that had seen its share of violence. But there was softness, as well. The full, sensual lips, slightly parted for his slow breaths. Long, burnished lashes that any woman would have loved to possess. For slowly passing minutes, Morgan studied the pattern of stubble darkening his jaw, the soft hair at his temples and the dark slash of his brows. She couldn’t get enough of the details, soaking them in, dazzled by them in a way that she’d never thought was possible.

  And he smelled so damn good. Logically, Morgan knew that scent didn’t have a flavor; only…she would have been willing to bet her life that Kierland’s did. She could taste his scent under her tongue, on her lips, filling her mouth, drugging and rich, reminding her of their kiss from the night before. In the interest of self-preservation, she’d been trying not to think about it—but it was like trying to convince her body that it didn’t need air.

  Then there was the way he’d carried her out of the crowded arcade. And the car crash. When she’d finally come to, his warm mouth had been pressed to her forehead, a low, husky whisper of words falling from his soft lips. Morgan had strained to hear them, but he’d gone silent the instant he’d realized she was awake. For just a fleeting moment, though, she’d felt herself transported back to that brief period of time when they’d been friends and he’d been the person in the world who’d made her feel the most safe. When she’d been so certain that he had cared for her and she’d believed the future would turn out so differently.

  Of course, Morgan could just as easily remember the day all that had changed, when he’d introduced her to his girlfriend. God, she could still recall the moment she’d first met Nicole with such crystal clarity, it was as if she was watching it happen in real time. The human had been the complete opposite of her, with pale blond hair and a petite little body that was all softness and curves. She’d beamed at Morgan, glowing with bliss as she’d confessed that she’d been chasing after Kierland for years…and had finally caught him just weeks before. As the happily spoken words had filled Morgan’s head, the pain in her chest had been so excruciating, she didn’t know how she’d stood there and smiled and exchanged pleasantries. But she had.

  And then she’d run. Straight into Ashe Granger’s arms.

  Though Morgan still didn’t understand how it’d happened, she’d somehow managed to catch the gorgeous Deschanel’s eye shortly after he’d agreed to help out at the academy. He’d been the devilish darkness to Kierland’s golden light, making her impossibly nervous, and yet, she and the vamp had become friends during her training. Ashe had made it clear that he wanted to be more, but up until the day she’d met Nicole, Morgan’s entire focus had been on the Lycan. And when she’d run to Ashe afterward, needing him to hold her and take away the wrenching pain, he hadn’t laughed at her or treated her like a conquest. In truth, he’d been unbelievably tender with her, which had been surprising, considering his sordid reputation for one-night stands.

  Morgan had never understood why Ashe had been so different with her, but he had. And she had no doubt that he’d been faithful to her during their brief affair. Despite his dark, devastating sexuality, it wasn’t that Ashe couldn’t commit to a woman—simply that he’d never wanted to.

  In fact, Morgan still believed that she might have even had a chance with the beautiful, charismatic vampire, if her life at that point hadn’t been filled with such turmoil. First there’d been her broken heart over Kierland, and then everything had slipped into madness when Nicole had been killed by the rogue nest of vampires Kierland and his trainees had been hunting. A few days after Nicole’s death, Kierland had found out about her relationship with Ashe…and the Lycan had drawn his own sordid, hateful conclusions.

  And after that, things had never been the same between them.

  Morgan was still lost in the wrenching memories, her eyes heavy, drifting in that languid state of half sleep, when Kierland’s low groan suddenly jerked her back to awareness.

  “Kierland?” she whispered, reaching for his face. At the touch of her fingertips against his bristled jaw, he groaned again, the low sound pulling at her heart. It made her uncomfortable, this soft burst of worry taking shape inside her at that purely masculine sound of distress. Foolish, and yet, Morgan couldn’t help but remember the unmistakable concern that had sharpened his rugged features as he’d carried her through the woods.

  Leaning close, she brushed the dark, silky strands of auburn hair back from the damp heat of his brow, and said his name again. “Kierland…”

  KIERLAND WAS DREAMING, trapped in cloying, oppressive layers of sleep that were impossible to break, like an insect trying to fight free of a spider’s web. He knew it was a dream, and yet, he couldn’t pull himself back to consciousness. The nightmare was sucking him under, despite how hard he was fighting against its inexorable pull. Despite how badly he didn’t want to watch the scene playing out before him. It was too sharp, the setting as clear as it’d been all those years ago, when he’d been standing in his kitchen at home, witnessing the impossible happen.

  “Don’t leave me,” he’d whispered in a small voice, watching his mother’s life drain away.

  As his father had stood over her bleeding body, he’d said, “Never love, Kierland. It’ll rip even the toughest bastard to pieces.” Then his father had torn his bloody claws across his own gut, spilling his insides out over the floor. Kierland had stood there, his small body frozen in horror, while the pool of crimson around their crumpled bodies had spread like a stain, coming nearer…and nearer, inching toward his toes.

  “Kierland, damn it, wake up!” The harsh words were followed by a set of feminine hands gripping his shoulders and shaking him violently. His eyes snapped open, and instead of that blood-covered kitchen, he found Morgan leaning close, those soft gray eyes filled with stark concern.

  She lifted her cool, slender hand to stroke his cheek, her voice so soft and soothing as she said, “You were having a nightmare. That’s all. Just a bad dream.”

  His throat was tight, his breath jerking in panting gasps. He could still smell the coppery scent of the blood, but he ground his teeth, not wanting to think about the dream or his father or the past. He just wanted to keep staring at Morgan, breathing in lungfuls of her warm, mouthwatering scent. She made more of those soft little soothing sounds, like you would to a child, but instead of calming him, his heart thundered, pounding faster…harder, something primal and wild rising inside him, demanding release. Demanding the things it’d wanted for so long. It was like a tidal wave crashing through him. A violent force of nature that couldn’t be constrained or controlled.

  Kierland knew the instant she realized what was coming. She started to back away, but he reached up and curved his hands around her skull, pulling her mouth against his. His fingers were tangled in her silky hair, her lips tender and sweet as he licked his way inside with a rough, explicit kiss—and suddenly the most delicious scent he’d ever known was filling his head, churning a thick, guttural sou
nd from his chest. In that moment, the Lycan knew that he’d caught her by surprise and she’d forgotten to put up her shields. He could scent her desire rising from her warm skin, mesmerizing and lush, telling him how much she wanted him, and it damn near blew the top of his head off. He wasn’t thinking, was acting purely on instinct, and it felt good. Better than good.

  Damn it, it felt incredible.

  Keeping one hand on the back of her head, Kierland fed his ragged breaths into her mouth, while his other hand slid down the supple length of her spine, curving around her ass as he pulled her against him, her breasts crushed against the solid wall of his chest.

  She gasped his name, and he kissed her harder, ravaging her mouth, terrified she was going to tell him to stop. The Watchman was grateful for every ounce of his strength as he suddenly flipped their positions, pushing her deep into the corner of her seat, his body angled over hers, his hips wedged hard between her thighs. With one hand still cradling her head, he used his other hand to grip her hip as he thrust against her, and he’d never been so thankful for privacy in his entire life as he was in that moment, the rest of the car still blessedly empty of passengers.

  With a deep growl rumbling in his chest, he held her close as he ate at her mouth, feeding on the pleasure gasps that spilled from her lips, his cock so hard he could feel the imprint of his zipper biting into his rigid flesh.

  “Come for me,” he rasped, his voice ragged with lust and excitement as he pulled back enough to stare into her eyes. Rolling his hips, he ground the hard ridge of his cock against her clit, his chest heaving as he watched her face turn deliciously pink, becoming damp with heat. “I want to watch your eyes when you go over.”

  She sank her teeth into her bottom lip, shaking her head, fighting it. “I can’t,” she groaned, her eyes flashing like silver sparks of fire, wild with need.

  “You can.” His voice dropped, the guttural chords of the wolf bleeding through. “Damn it. I need this.”