by Aliya DalRae
Instead she shoved a pillow between her legs to ease the aching and pulled the little blanket up over her head. A small part of her hoped that she would fall asleep again, and that the dream would return. If Dream Harrier made her come in her sleep, well, she couldn’t be held responsible for that.
Chapter Eighteen
H arrier marched straight from the bedroom to the tiny bathroom, stripped down to his nothins and crammed himself into the even tinier shower. A thin trickle of cold water dribbled through his hair, seeking its way to his shoulders, down his back and chest.
And it did not one damn thing to ease the throbbing in his groin. He leaned against the shower wall and stared down at the offending erection waving itself around like a Fourth of July flag. He tried to aim the water jets at all that boy howdy, but the lack of water pressure made this cold shower a waste of time.
The scent of Kythryn’s arousal still filled his olfactory senses, making things down there kick it up a notch. He rubbed his nose, trying to wash away the perfume of her; scrubbed his eyes to erase the memory of her back arching as she pushed herself against her hand; dug his fingers in his ears to quiet the echoes of her sensual cries.
None of it worked.
The more he tried not to think about her, the harder he became. With a groan, he wrapped his fingers around his cock and squeezed. For whatever reason, he felt if he were to give himself the attention he needed, he would in some way be disrespecting the little cat on the other side of that wall.
What would she think of him were she to know he was in here contemplating wanking off, with her every essence being the trigger? Would she hate him? Would he hate himself?
Fate took things out of his hands, so to speak, when her scent reached out to him again, and he slammed his palms against the cracked tile walls with a muttered, “Fuck.” The aroma seeped beneath the space under the door, through the walls themselves, and wrapped around him as though it were her hand grasping his cock and not merely that sweet fragrance.
With a frustrated growl, Harrier grabbed himself again and stroked. Once, twice—that was all she wrote. The orgasm coursed through him, out of him, with a power so intense it sent him to the shower floor.
As his cock kicked in his palm, he shuddered, and not only with the aftershocks of the most potent release he’d experienced in centuries.
He shook with fear. As much as he wanted to deny it, this was more than a mere physical reaction to a female. That little cat was creeping into his very soul.
And it terrified the shit out of him.
Chapter Nineteen
M artin strode through the center of town scanning the shadows and dark alleys for ferals. His mind, however, was somewhere else entirely.
He was still trying to wrap his head around what had happened earlier that morning. After the first beer, Merlin offered him a second. With a little liquid courage under his belt, Martin accepted it and the strangest thing happened. Merlin ceased to be this larger than life entity who had the entire barracks speculating about his past, and morphed into something…more.
Somewhere between Yuengling number three and four, the Warrior began to relax as well, and they’d had a conversation. Not about work, and not about anything important. They discussed sports—Martin was a basketball fan, Merlin preferred MMA—and books. Merlin liked the classics, whereas Martin was lucky to get through the funny papers. They had absolutely nothing in common, but instead of being awkward, they’d found humor in it, laughing at their differences. Of course, that could have been the lager, but it had been…fun. Something he couldn’t truly say he’d experienced since joining the Legion last year.
A shadow moved in the alley next to the dry cleaners. Martin ducked to the side then peeked down the dead-end drive. Once he got a look at the culprit, he stepped into the light and called out.
“Frank, how are you tonight?” Frank had been extremely helpful in locating Ulrich Fuhrmann back in February when the Sorcerer had decided to pick up where his old man had left off. Martin had altered the homeless man’s memories to recognize him as a friend and someone with whom he would readily supply information regarding any strangeness going on in town. It was a symbiotic relationship: Martin had the best eyes and ears in Fallen Cross, and Frank got to eat more often than he would have otherwise.
Frank stepped out into the mouth of the alley, pushing all his worldly belongings in a shopping cart he’d nicked from the grocery store at the edge of town. His hair was long, grey, and hadn’t seen shampoo in, well, probably ever. A scruffy beard had taken up residence on his scrawny jaw. He grinned when he saw who was calling to him, exposing a picket fence of yellow teeth with quite a few boards missing. “How’s it going there, Marty?”
Martin hated the nickname, but some things you tolerated for the greater good. “Doing well,” he said. “And you?”
“Oh, I can’t complain. There was a fella the other day bought me a hamburger from Mable’s. Bacon and everything. Banner day, if you ask me.”
Martin smiled. That had been him, but he’d done it anonymously via a human he’d compelled. He liked the old guy, and tried to make sure he got a decent meal whenever he saw him out and about. However, he didn’t want him to think he was a charity case. Frank had standards, you know.
“Anything going on I should know about?” Martin asked.
Frank scratched his chin as he thought. “Come to think of it, there has been some strangeness here lately. Nobody disappearing like last time, but a lot of peculiar looking fellas running around. They got orange eyes, which would be weird enough if ya saw it on one guy, but theys been lots of ‘em.”
Martin stiffened. The local ferals were pretty good about keeping themselves hidden. If Frank was noticing them, they weren’t from around here. The old man was still talking, so Martin tuned back in.
“I figured ‘em for a cult of some kind what makes their members wear funky whatchamacallits—contact lenses. Didn’t have such things when I was coming up, but nowadays you never know what the kids’ll get into.”
Martin nodded. “Any idea where they’re coming from? Where they hang out?”
Frank thought for a minute then shook his head. “Sorry, Marty, I don’t think I know. They just come out and cause a ruckus, scaring the folks what hang out at Good Times as they go to their cars. Fact is, there ain’t much activity after dark any more. I think folks is cottoning on to this gang and the smart ones is getting home early. Don’t bode well for me o’ course. I used to do a fair business from them folks after they’d been boozing a while. Now they go home way before they got a chance to get drunk and generous.”
“I see your point,” Martin said. “Well, if you see them again, pay attention. Anything they say or do could be important. I’ll check back with you tomorrow for an update.”
“Roger that, Marty!” Frank snapped his heels together and offered Martin a crooked salute. “If they do anything wonky, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
Martin tucked a twenty-dollar bill in Frank’s shirt pocket, then carried on with his patrol. If the ferals were scaring the humans, and doing it behind the backs of Martin’s team, then it was time to up their patrols.
Typically, ferals thumbed their noses at Primeval law, but were smart enough not to flaunt their rebellion in the Legion’s face. And they sure as hell didn’t parade themselves around in front of the humans. Whoever this new brood was, they were of a different ilk. Fuhrmann or no Fuhrmann, this was about way more than one cat Shifter. Something big was in the works, no doubt about it.
Chapter Twenty
N ox pulled the Escalade he was driving into the lot behind Buzz’s Tavern and parked. The vehicle was only one of the perks of having a high-ranking Legion officer as a brother. It wasn’t always ice cream and ponies, but this part didn’t suck.
Mouse had agreed to meet him here, but the feral had sounded twitchy. Twitchier than normal, anyway, which made Nox nervous. He’d like to say he trusted the guy, but when you were dealing with
a feral, you couldn’t be sure. Not even if it was a male you’d considered a friend for decades.
Being feral was like an addiction, only there was no rehab for this drug. As far as Nox knew, no Vampire had ever come back from it. Drinking dead blood was a life sentence, and frankly, Nox had never seen the appeal. Mouse hadn’t either, but Mouse was weak. Not that it mattered. Having cocaine repeatedly injected into your arm against your will didn’t make you any less addicted.
Twenty minutes passed before he heard a tapping on the car’s passenger side. Nox had a gun trained at the window in a split second, but lowered it when a dirty blond head dodged away.
“Mouse,” Nox whispered, and the male popped his head back up. “Get in.”
Mouse jumped into the vehicle, but he slid down in the seat the moment the door slammed shut, his head practically where his butt should have been. “Drive,” he said, and screwed his eyes shut.
Nox started the engine, and headed out of the lot. “Where are we going?”
“Anywhere but here,” Mouse whispered. “Just go.”
Nox turned right out of the lot, headed away from Fallen Cross. “It’s safe,” he said after a couple of minutes, but it was a full five before Mouse eased himself upright in the seat and buckled up.
“Can’t be too careful,” Mouse said, then turned to Nox. He was smiling from ear to ear, his rotten-pumpkin eyes beaming as he began to relax. “I’m so glad you called. I thought the Legion had got hold of you and we’d never see you again.”
Nox chuckled. “I suppose they did nab me in a sense,” he said. “But higher powers have decided that my crimes were not of my own doing, and I’ve been given a full pardon.”
“They let you off for killing those girls?”
“In a sense. Mouse, Helmut Fuhrmann was evil. I never should have allowed him to drag me, and the rest of you, into his games. I should have left well enough alone. Then we’d all be safe.”
A cloud shifted across Mouse’s eyes and he turned his gaze out the window.
“Mouse? What’s going on? You didn’t say much on the phone.”
“I couldn’t, now could I? Not with everyone around.” Mouse turned back to Nox and grabbed his arm. “You’ve gotta help me, Nox. Maxx has lost it. He’s dragged us all out of Chicago to go on some kind of vendetta. He keeps talking about ferals taking control and Vampires being top of the food chain.”
“So, Maxx what? Suddenly decided he wants to rule the world?”
“No,” Mouse said. “He was his regular asshole self until that Sorcerer turned up. Some relation to the one you dragged us off with. It’s the same kind of crap we were doing for that one. Surveillance and the occasional abduction. Not that we’ve had any success with the last. For some reason this Fuhrmann has a hard on for a cat Shifter. Wants her dead. Least that’s what Maxx has said. I tried to warn him, Nox. I tried to tell him these Sorcerers were bad news, but he won’t listen. He’s obsessed.”
As Mouse trailed off, Nox considered what he’d said. It sounded like Fuhrmann had some sort of master plan to take out the Legion, but there was no way he and a few ferals would be any match for the Warriors and Soldiers at the Compound in Fallen Cross. Sheer numbers would be a problem, as the Soldiers totaled in the hundreds. It would be impossible for Maxx to match those odds.
Then there was the training. The Legion prided itself on its elite fighters, ruthlessly proficient in every combat technique known to man or Vampire, and then some. If Fuhrmann had Maxx convinced that he could go up against them and win, he was either brain-fucking him, or Maxx had truly lost his marbles.
“I need details, Mouse. I need to know what they have planned.”
Mouse’s lips quivered as he took a breath. “I don’t know much. Since we came back, Maxx has kept those of us who left with you at a distance, or worse.”
“Can you at least tell me where you’re staying?”
“We’re out at the aaagghhh!” Mouse grabbed his head as he screamed.
Damn Fuhrmann and his magic. “Don’t worry about it, Mouse. We’ll figure out another way.”
“You’ve gotta help me,” Mouse said again. “I don’t think I’m gonna survive this time.”
“It’s going to be okay,” Nox said, though he doubted his own words. “I’ll figure out another way.”
A single tear slid down Mouse’s gaunt face as he fought the pain. “Please, Nox. I just want to come home.”
Home, Nox thought. He’d always told his brood that home was wherever they were together. Then he’d abandoned them for a chance at a real home for himself.
Turns out, he’d been a horrible leader.
Chapter Twenty-One
K ythryn spent most of the day pacing. She’d tried real hard to go back to sleep, but she couldn’t turn her brain off. That was frustrating on so many levels, but that wasn’t her current issue. Or maybe it was.
Harrier had been annoyingly silent, acting like nothing had happened. She’d finally managed to screw up the courage to face him around noon, only to find him crashed on the sofa. Another Vampire was standing guard at the door, Nica she’d said her name was. She was the daywalker Harrier had mentioned.
Kythryn didn’t know why this bothered her so much. It wasn’t like Harrier would be able to keep a look out twenty-four seven. The guy had to sleep some time, and he was a Vampire, so that would obviously be during the day.
Still, you would think after watching a girl get her rocks off, or whatever the female equivalent was, a guy would have a little trouble sleeping. But not this Vampire. Nope, he just laid there on the couch with his big ass boots hanging off the end, his lips twitching in a goofy smile as he slept.
It wasn’t right.
And it wasn’t right that she felt like she should be quiet, not that there was much to do besides watch TV. Even that she’d kept on low so as not to disturb his beauty rest, and that pissed her off, too.
By the time he sat up and stretched, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, she’d managed to work up a whole lot of pissiness that she planned to aim right at him. The minute he made a comment about her nocturnal episode, she was going to let him have it.
But he never said a word.
Instead, he stood up and walked straight to the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he strolled out smelling like spicy shampoo and a little bit of heaven.
When he went to the kitchenette and started looking through the cabinets, she moved from the floor in the living room to the little dining table, sat on a hard chair and waited for him to speak.
“What are you hungry for?”
Did he seriously just ask her that? She wanted to scream, You! I’m hungry for you! But she refused to give him that kind of satisfaction. Especially now that it was clear he had no interest in her at all.
“I cooked last night. You figure it out.”
Harrier laughed and glanced at her over his shoulder. “I’ll see if I can come up with something equally appetizing.”
Kythryn swallowed. Maybe letting him cook wasn’t such a good idea. Already, her snarky attitude was coming back to bite her in the ass. Well, if he could eat that slop she’d made, she could sure as hell stomach anything he threw at her.
“I’ll be on the couch,” she said, mocking him from the night before. “You can holler when it’s ready.”
She took great pains to ignore him. She didn’t look when he followed up a string of swear words with running water—had he burned himself? And she ignored the sounds of multiple pots hitting the hardwood floor in a prolonged cymbal crash. She was curious as hell, being a cat and all, but she managed to maintain her indifference.
Forty-five minutes later, as she reached the end of her self-control, he called out to her.
“Here Kitty, Kitty,” he sang, and she rolled her eyes.
That should have pissed her off, too. It was the fact that it didn’t that really burned her ass.
She hated to admit it, but whatever he’d done smelled delicious. She pretended not to notice an
d, with a casual stretch, she rose to join him at the table.
The minute she turned around, she stopped dead in her tracks.
It wasn’t fancy. There was no tablecloth, no candles in the center with flickering flames. Nothing but silverware and napkins, but he’d set them up with military precision.
When she looked up, Harrier was standing there with two plates in his hands. He put one down at each place setting and headed for the fridge.
“Sit,” he called over his shoulder, and she sat.
She was still trying to understand what she was seeing. A hamburger the size of a small Frisbee took center stage on her plate. Served like you would see in a decent restaurant, the top bun sat to the side with all the cold stuff on it so the burger wouldn’t get chilled. There was also a baked potato, sliced open and oozing with butter, and an ear of corn with almost as much butter as the potato.
She glanced up as he stood beside her, a bottle of wine in hand.
“This was all I could find. I hope it’s okay.”
“It’s my favorite,” she whispered. Of course, it was. The Overlord would have been sure to stock the things she liked.
Harrier poured, then sat in the chair across from her. He didn’t dig in, simply watched her as she stared open mouthed at the little feast before her.
“Is there something wrong, Kitty? Would you prefer sour cream with your potato?”
“No,” she said. “Everything’s just…fine.”
He smiled. “Good then. Why don’t you go on and eat before it gets cold?”
Kythryn hesitated, then reached for her fork.
Chapter Twenty-Two
