“Lorian! There’s a Morgon following me, I don’t know who he is, never seen him before, but he’s definitely following me.”
I cut a hard right, glancing up through my windshield. Still there. “Damn it! I can’t lose him.”
“What does he look like?”
“He’s huge. He’s got blue wings and dark hair. That’s all I could see before he disappeared, but I know he’s flying somewhere above my car.”
“Where are you?”
“Seven blocks from Nightwing Industries.”
“Turn into the park. Meet me at the siren fountain. I’ll be there by the time you arrive.”
Click.
I zoomed around the next corner, cutting off a pissed-off lunch-hour corporate.
Two more blocks and I zipped through the park gates. I drove nonstop to the first lot, jolting to a halt at the curb. Lorian stood directly in the shade of trees surrounding a circular area with benches, watching me.
Damn, he was fast.
I jumped out, clicked the locks, and crossed the pavement, my breath coming out in white puffs with the drop in weather. Behind him stood the fountain where three nude, sylph-like sirens craned ivory necks and arms toward the heavens as they rode a white marble wave. Their mouths agape in song, their voluptuous forms arching upward, delicate arms outstretched, they welcomed some unseen love beyond their reach. Water filtered out of the wave, splashing down into a pool beneath them. Lorian’s stern features fixed on me, but his arms opened wide as I came close.
“Thank, God. I was freaking out.” I breathed a sigh of relief into his chest, his arms wrapping around me.
A sharp snap and whoosh of wind behind us. I jumped and looked over my shoulder. There he was. The giant Morgon with midnight-blue wings standing a few feet away. I gasped, twisting myself out of Lorian’s arms, and stepped behind him, clutching his leather jacket and peeking over his arm. The stranger was scary as hell. Ebony hair fell across one side of his face, bronzed skin covered muscular arms, bare even in this freezing weather, and a formidable body standing taller than any Morgon I’d ever seen. An angry red scar ran from his left temple across his cheekbone, stopping below his lip. No Morgon healing marked this wound with a shimmering pattern. His wings remained half-open, poised for flight.
His gaze flicked to me then back to Lorian. “She made me.” A deep voice. Not surprising.
“Where? The photo shoot?” asked Lorian.
“Yeah. Figured she ought to know now.”
Wait. What? Befuddled, I glanced from one to the other, then stepped around to look up at Lorian. “You know him?”
Lorian cleared his throat to speak. I waved a hand in the air as everything fell into place. “Nevermind. Don’t bother. You had me followed from the moment I showed you that card and the bottle of Brevette.”
Not a question. He nodded. No offer of apology. Not that I expected one.
I observed the stranger more closely. He wasn’t bulky, just outrageously tall with lean, hard muscle, like he did something physical every day. And something about the stiffness of his jaw and the look in his eyes reminded me of…the man standing beside me.
I turned to Lorian who tried to hide a smirk on his face. “Sorcha, this is Kol Moonring. My best friend.”
My mouth dropped open in shock. I didn’t know Lorian had a friend, much less a best one. I dared not approach the guy, but knew if I looked on the back of his neck, I’d find a sharp-edged tattoo with the letters MG. Kol’s eyes were dark sapphire with a light-blue ring right around the pupil. Odd eyes. Intense. Totally matched the rest of him.
“You two were in the Morgon Guard together, right?”
Lorian wrapped one hand around my hip. “Yes. Kol is Captain of the Morgon Guard.”
“Captain? Must not be much of a job if he has time to chase his BFF’s girlfriend around town.”
Lorian grinned. “Girlfriend?”
Oops. I blushed. His hand squeezed tighter on my hip.
Kol raised an eyebrow with a threatening look, speaking to Lorian, not me. “I see what you mean.”
Lorian chuckled. “I told you.”
“Excuse me. Are you speaking in code or something? What the hell are you talking about?”
“Nothing. Just admiring your…spirit.” Kol’s mouth quirked into a semi-smile, morphing him from frightening to almost friendly. Almost.
“Fine.” I huffed, crossing my arms. “So, since you’ve been following me, have you seen anything out of the norm? Anyone?”
Kol’s expression hardened. He shook his head. “No. Nothing.” His comm device went off in his pocket. He pulled it out, looked at the screen, and shoved it back in his black pants. “I’ve got to head back to Drakos. I’ll be in touch.” With a sharp nod, he whipped out his wings and shot up like a missile.
Lorian turned me in his arms, one hand spreading on the small of my back, pressing me close. I poked a finger in his chest. “So your friend is helping you watch out for the creeper.”
“Yes.”
I played with the button below the V of his shirt that revealed tan skin. “Okay. I guess I can’t be mad you were looking out for me.”
“No. You can’t.”
I punched his shoulder. He chuckled, pulling me tighter against him.
“Kol has unusual wings. I’ve never seen his color before.”
“He’s from a small clan. They all live in Drakos and another Morgon-only province farther north.”
“But his name. Moonring. It’s not like other Morgons. It doesn’t really reflect the color of his wings.”
“No. It reflects his eyes.” He was right. “The ancestors recorded that the Moonring clan was actually born of the Nightwing clan.”
I frowned. “But how? I thought all descendants from one clan were born with the same wings as the father.”
He nodded. “Except for the Moonring clan. Remember when I told you it was a Nightwing who formed the first Obsidian Games?”
“Mm-hm.” My fingers tangled in the hair at his nape.
“His name was Diokles Nightwing. His wife bore him seven sons. The last was born under a full, blue moon. There had been a clan gathering in a forest near Mount Obsidian, Singing Wind Wood.”
“Wait. There’s a place called Singing Wind Wood?” I arched an eyebrow.
“Yes, smart-mouth. Some say there’s magic there.”
“Hmph.”
“Anyway, a gathering of clans was held prior to the Games, a sort of festival rite. Diokles’s wife went into labor and gave birth in the forest under the moon. The son she bore had dark blue wings and blue eyes with the exception of a pale ring around the pupil.”
“That’s…that’s sort of like a fairytale or something.”
Lorian smiled and nipped at my bottom lip. “Some believe that’s all it is. A made-up fairytale to explain away a bastard child with blue wings born from another Morgon man out of wedlock.”
“But you don’t believe that. Do you?”
His eyes captured mine. “No. Because mates don’t cheat. That would be like cutting out your own heart.”
I broke eye contact. Time to change subjects. “Yeah. Well, either way, your friend is kind of scary, but totally hot.”
In two seconds, I was in his arms and dangling over the edge of the fountain. I squealed.
“Put me down! Lorian!” Throaty laughter bubbled out.
“Say that again and you’ll be all wet.”
I gave him my sexy smile. “Seems that happens to me a lot when you’re around.”
His eyes blazed. He dipped his head and pressed a hard kiss to my mouth, not stopping till I moaned softly.
“Come home for lunch.”
“Lorian, it’s not even eleven. I’m not hungry.”
“I am.” Another kiss. Devouring, hot, melting me to my toes.
“If you insist.”
“I do.”
His lips brushed a warm caress against the hollow of my neck. His grip tightened. We rocketed up into the sk
y, high above the towering buildings and cityscape.
My heart soared even higher.
Chapter 10
“Fallon, this is unbelievable.” I pivoted in place, taking in the beauty of Spire Maiden.
The quiet architect beamed next to me, pointing out features. “We decided on two elevators parallel to one another. We kept your idea of making them glass, so the humans using them can get a better view.”
I stepped farther onto the dance floor, pointing up. “And, look, Willow. The chandelier we selected is perfect.”
A two-ton chandelier, gilded in gold with glass tear-drop crystals, hung high above us, suspended by gold chains beneath an angular dome. The interior of the club didn’t have the direct vertical lines of most Morgon buildings. A gradual narrowing of the ceiling to a sky-dome softened the vast height, tricking the senses. While the exterior bore the sharp lines and battlements of a massive castle, the interior reeked of opulence and sensuality. Even the wall sconces cast a warm, golden glow during the early afternoon. The bars weren’t stocked yet and furniture was still being delivered and put in place, but I could already see our club would outshine them all.
“Amazing, Fallon. Seriously.”
He gave me a warm smile, gray eyes shining.
“What about me?” boomed Ragnor from the main bar area where an electrician worked.
I laughed. “You too, Ragnor! Your crew is ridiculously fast.”
He grinned appreciatively.
“I need to get back to the office,” I said to Willow. “You’ve got things under control here without me, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, of course. I’ll stay a while. The VIP section furniture is being delivered within the hour.”
“Okay. Meet me at the office as soon as you can. I know it’s late, but Belka messaged me. James had the photo proofs delivered this afternoon. We need to get our selection to the printers first thing in the morning for the promo posters.”
“Of course. I won’t be long.”
“Awesome job again, Fallon.”
“Thank you, Sorcha.”
“And Ragnor,” yelled Ragnor.
I laughed over my shoulder, shouting, “And Ragnor!”
I tied my trench tighter as I walked to the parking lot, late afternoon slipping into twilight. The construction crew had already called it a day. Not much left for them to do but clean up. Slabs of cement and piping, leftover building supplies stacked on one side. I veered around the debris. Gallacius, who’d locked himself in his sculpture studio for the duration of the project, would be installing his artwork this week. I noted in my comm device to check with him tomorrow and slipped it back into my bag.
The sky pressed down, heavy and gray. Thick fat flakes began to fall, layering the ground quickly. It was the kind of snow that fell too fast, causing danger to those unprepared for its cold embrace. I wrapped my arms around myself and walked faster, chilled to the bone. Nearly to my car, a shadow enveloped me from behind. A man’s hands gripped my waist, spun me around, and pressed me to the wall, his wings blocking us in. I screamed. His hand clamped over my mouth.
“No need for that. I just want to talk.” Torin grinned down at me. “Since you’ve been so busy giving it to Nightwing, this seemed the only way to get your attention.”
I bit the shit out of his finger.
“Fuck!” He shook his injured hand, the other still gripping my shoulder. “Why’d you do that?”
“Let go of me!”
“I just want to—”
A gust of wind nearly blew us both to the ground. A snapping and cracking of bone. Torin yelled, falling to his knees, dragging me down with him. Kol towered over his shoulder with Torin’s wing bent nearly in half in one hand. His other hand wrapped Torin’s throat as he grated in a cold voice. “Let her go.”
Torin instantly released me. I stumbled to the side.
He could barely breathe through Kol’s choke-hold, but he managed, “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I was going to ask you the same question. Why are you attacking Sorcha Linden?”
“I wasn’t attacking her! I was trying to talk to her.”
A disgusted snort. “You Greyclaws. All a bunch of fucking pricks. Liars, too.” Kol twisted the damaged wing clutched in his hand. Torin cried out again. I thought I was going to vomit. “Someone wants a word with you.” He jerked Torin to his feet.
“What the hell happened?” Fallon stood at the edge of the lot, wide-eyed and pale. He must’ve come out and heard the commotion.
Kol eyed me, then Fallon. “I need you to escort her home.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I have to pick something up from the office first. I’m fine. I can make it there, then I’ll go home.”
Kol glared. “Escort her to Nightwing Industries, then immediately back to Lorian’s building.”
Fallon nodded. “Of course. Yes, I’ll be sure she gets there safely.”
Kol whipped out his wings, heaved the injured Torin over one shoulder like a child, and lifted off with remarkable speed.
“Do you need some help to your car?” asked Fallon, stepping forward.
I shook my head, holding a hand out. “I’m fine. Really.”
He waited to see I could manage on my own. I slipped into my car and jetted to Nightwing Industries, not realizing till I’d parked that I was trembling. Torin…was it really him? He was rough and persistent, but some kind of cult freak and possible murderer? I couldn’t believe it. It had to be a mistake.
The parking lot was near empty. Only the workaholics still lurked somewhere in the building. The elevator dinged on the 77th floor. Willow and I shared her office space. The staff was long gone, the offices dark, leaving only the corridor lights on, reflecting lone pools on the gray marble flooring. My heels echoed down the empty hall. A prickle of unease shivered down my spine. A square, white sheet of paper stood out on the center of Belka’s immaculate desk. Proofs on Willow’s desk. –B
I stepped into Willow’s office and flipped on the lights. Sheer blue curtains billowed on the terrace entrance. The balcony door was open. The silhouette of a man and wings moved. I squealed.
Fallon stepped through, tucking his gray wings softly to his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”
I pressed my hand to my chest. “Well, hell! You did.”
“Sorry.” An apologetic smile. His hair, usually pulled back in a tail, fell in silvery waves to his shoulders.
I’d never seen his hair down. I frowned. “It’s okay. I’m just jumpy.” I stomped over to the desk. My heel snapped, and I stumbled, grabbing the desk before I fell. “Shit.”
I bent my leg and pulled off the broken heel. I must’ve cracked it in my encounter with Torin.
“Get what you need here.” Fallon chuckled, then cleared his throat before crossing the office in long strides like a man on a mission. “I’ll be right back.”
What the hell? That was weird. I chucked off both heels, sighed, and picked up the envelope of proofs. Taking a quick peek, I smiled, my mood lightening a tad. They were beyond awesome. James had come through again. I spread a few out on the desk. Fallon stepped back into the room, ice tinkling in two glasses of amber liquid.
“Here. I think you need this.”
“Fallon, where the hell have you been stashing alcohol in the office? Isn’t that against Nightwing protocol?”
He passed me a glass, clinking his against mine. “Some rules were meant to be broken.”
I laughed and took a deep swig. “Brevette? Great taste, Fallon.”
“I think so.” Gray eyes narrowed with a close-mouthed smile.
I knocked back another gulp. “Damn, I needed that.” I set down the glass and slid the photo proofs back in the envelope. One slipped from my hand, falling onto the chair. Wait. There was a box on the seat. I pulled the chair out and froze.
My heart hammered. My breathing quickened. A large rectangular box in black, shiny paper with a crimson ribbon. In an instant, I’d r
ipped off the wrapping and opened the box. I lifted red tissue paper with trembling fingers to reveal the folds of a translucent, cream-colored gown. Underneath was a white card with red-inked letters that read For us.
I dropped the box and fell against the wall behind me, white spots spinning in my peripheral vision. Fear gripped me tight, but it wasn’t fear that dulled my senses, making my head spin and my body sluggish. I stared at the glass of Brevette.
Brevette.
During this whole time, Fallon had not said a word. With lithe grace, he leaned forward and lifted the gown’s straps with his two index fingers. The fabric slithered out of the box, stretching to the floor like a snake. I knew somehow that it would be a perfect fit on my body. I edged along the wall away from him, the perimeter of my vision dimming.
“Fallon …” I shook my head. “Not you.” My voice sounded distant.
“This will look so beautiful on you, my love.”
I tried to remain upright and conscious, looking for a weapon. There was none. Wait. There was. I fell to the floor and crawled, my sight blurring, black spots closing in from the sides.
A throaty chuckle above me. “Where are you going, Sorcha? We have plans, you and I.”
I kept crawling. Hands gripped me, pulling me off the floor, but not before I grabbed one of my heels. Dizzy, my body rolled over in his arms. I swung the heel. He caught my wrist in an iron grasp. I cried out, dropping my weapon. My limbs were languid, like sloshing through frozen water. I could do nothing when his hand fisted in my hair and yanked back. A sharp pain.
His face leered close to mine, mouth tight and severe. “Be good, my love. I’m already upset with you.” His entire body reeked of malice. His arms squeezed me tight. “Though you let him fuck you like a whore, I’ll still make you my bride.”
I groaned, trying to resist. My arms flailed, feeling detached, not my own. He pinned them in his hold. Bending closer, his lips pressed violently against mine. I tried to squirm away, turn my head. His grip in my hair tightened painfully. He bit down on my lip till a metallic taste trickled down my throat. He licked the bite with his tongue, emitting a sickening, soft moan. He drew back with crimson-stained lips. My pulse pounded, my body drifting further into oblivion. I was staring at the devil himself.
Windburn (Nightwing# 2) Page 9
