Primal Instincts

by Susan Sizemore

  “What’s Strahan mean?”

  “‘Minstrel.’”

  He paused, as if waiting for her to tease him.

  “I’m a Reynard, named after vermin,” she reminded him. “Go on.”

  “The Tribes name themselves after mythological monsters—Manticores and Grendels and Hydras and such.”

  She wondered what Tribe he’d been born into but didn’t ask. She’d mocked him quite enough about his Tribe origins and wasn’t going to bring up a subject she hadn’t apologized for yet.

  “Tribe boys revel in thinking of themselves as rough, tough, evil demons. So, of course they think of other vampires as weak and wimpy—angels to their demons. And angels have no dicks, right?”

  “So you wanted to show them that angels have dicks.”

  “And fangs, and fighting skills. I wanted a name that I could make Tribe Primes fear.”

  “Hence, Dark Angels.”

  He nodded. “Besides, there was this television show with an incredibly hot heroine called—”

  “You named your Crew after Jessica Biel?”

  “Alba. Don’t tell anybody, okay?”

  “Oh, I won’t,” she promised solemnly.

  He went on. “Finding recruits for the Angels turned out not to be the hard part. Finding battles to fight hasn’t been the hard part. It’s been finding out who’s behind the war that’s been driving me crazy since the beginning.”

  Okay, this makes no sense. “Our people in this city are under attack. You’ve been put in charge of the counterattack. Isn’t this what your group is all about?”

  “Yes. We’re the best defense our kind has against this sort of attack. The problem is, the enemy knows that too. We have to be here right now. Meanwhile, something else is going on I haven’t found out about yet.”

  “You believe these attacks, designed to out if not destroy the Los Angeles immortals, are a simple diversion?” Francesca asked in astonishment.

  Strahan nodded.

  “Good for you. You understand intrigue almost as well as a Matri. And you are also the most paranoid person I have ever met.”

  “I take that as a compliment.”

  A hard jerk of the steering wheel took them onto an exit ramp. Francesca peered at passing scenery through the heavy rain.

  “Are we headed for the clinic?” she asked.

  “The Shagal Citadel first,” he answered. “I have a feeling.”

  Francesca grinned rather than question his emotional turmoil. “Good. Maybe I can find something decent to wear there.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  “What’s this feeling about?” Francesca asked as they rushed up the wet stairs to the Citadel door.

  Strahan’s arm was around her shoulder, tucking her head protectively under his open jacket. Yesterday she would have refused this bit of gallantry; today she just went with it and tried not to acknowledge that she liked it.

  The mighty have not fallen yet, she promised herself. I’m relaxing and going with the flow.

  Except that she wasn’t the least bit relaxed being this close to Tobias Strahan. At least it took only a few seconds for them to reach the mansion’s door.

  Her surprised gasp wasn’t at seeing a naked man open the door but at the fact that the Citadel door wasn’t opened by a Prime of the Shagal Clan.

  Strahan took her reaction the wrong way. “Cover your shame, Ed.”

  Ed looked confused. “I don’t have thumbs when I’m wolf shifted, boss, and I had to answer the door.”

  Ed had silver gray hair and a young face. He also had absolutely nothing to be ashamed of. Francesca hid her smile at the realization Strahan was having a jealous reaction to another male’s presence. She felt him go still and tense beside her as he realized it too. Strahan demanded absolute control of himself, and around her he wasn’t achieving it. She understood his dilemma and decided to help him out—because the Dark Angels and the nasty situation really needed his complete focus more than she did.

  That didn’t stop the instinctive pang at losing the attention of her bonding partner as she ducked out from under his arm and into the house.

  Strahan stepped in and stood behind her, not quite touching but oh-so-close. She caught the heat of his body, the scent of rain in his hair.

  “Found anything yet?” he asked Ed.

  “I just got here a few minutes before you,” the werewolf answered. “Traffic’s a mess. This city stinks,” he added. “I hate it when we get into urban warfare shit.”

  Francesca was caught by a sudden craving to mate. She was a nanosecond away from turning around and kissing Strahan before she caught herself. She wanted to grab him and hold on tight. She’d known Strahan for a couple of days and she went hot around him, cold with dread at the notion of not being around him. Here she stood, a puddling column of quivering lust, when the Prime had work to do.

  “Damn!” she muttered, and stomped out of the foyer, leaving the Prime and werewolf to their business.

  She had to stop and rub her shivering arms once she was out of sight of Tobias Strahan—sight, scent, touch, aura. Francesca fought the urge to be immersed in all of them. She so needed to get her attention on something besides bonding reactions.

  I’m going to have a baby, she reminded herself. My way, she added as images of Tobias Strahan flooded her mind and body.

  She wanted to get her mind on anything else, but her quiet surroundings didn’t help. The Shagal Citadel was a huge house and she shouldn’t have been surprised not to see anyone as she passed through it toward her guest room, but the place had a deserted feel to it. Not that she didn’t pick up telepathic sparks of people in the place, it was just—

  Oh, of course, this was a sanctuary for Shagal females and the Matri and her daughter weren’t there. Odd how that one small difference totally changed the psychic feel of the house. She doubted her own reaction was the same as Strahan’s feeling. Maybe she should have stayed with him to find out firsthand what his intuition was all about.

  Catching a glimpse of herself reflected in a shiny copper sculpture as she passed it convinced Francesca that her own mission was more important than whatever danger lurked for the Dark Angels in the place.

  “I have got to get out of this outfit!”

  She let out a delighted laugh when she entered her room and discovered it was just as she’d left it—had it been only a day ago?

  The UCLA sweatshirt was pulled over her head and dropped on the floor before she swung open the walk-in closet door. Almost every item on the hangers was black, but Francesca chose a dark purple cowl-neck cashmere sweater. She buried her face in the soft material for a moment, then let it slide sensuously over her bare skin. She gave a delicious sigh once she was properly wrapped in luxury once more. The sweater was enough for now. Her sister-in-law’s borrowed jeans hugged her bottom and thighs quite attractively and would be practical in case she got to have some sort of Dark Angel adventure at some point.

  “It could happen,” she told her reflection as she checked her look in the full-length mirror on the closet door.

  A few minutes in the bathroom and her hair and makeup were arranged to her satisfaction. She came back into the bedroom feeling much more like herself—Flare Reynard, armored against the world.

  She heard footsteps and animal paws padding down the tiled hallway as she came back into the bedroom and glanced curiously toward the slightly open door. Her heart rate picked up and longing tugged at her soul.

  Francesca gritted her teeth and turned her back to the door.

  Nope. She wasn’t going anywhere. It was none of her business. She wasn’t going to inquire, even if she did recognize Strahan out there.

  She spotted a black leather messenger bag she’d packed a couple of days ago lying on a table. It was ready to go, and she thought it might be a good idea to take it along to keep her feeling civilized on her wanderings in the City of Angels.

  She jumped when the door banged open and turned to defend herself with f
angs and claws extended as the silver beast rushed into the room. Instinct told her to rip out the werewolf’s throat. It leapt. She sprang forward to meet it.

  Only to be dragged to the floor by a big body that moved too fast for even her to see. She went down hard, pinned beneath a heavy weight. She caught a glimpse of gray and a soft brush of fur on the top of her head as the beast jumped over her and her attacker.

  She fought and sank her fangs into hard muscle, stopping only when the taste of hot blood sent desire flashing through her.

  “Don’t stop now,” Strahan said in response to her biting. He gave a growl of pleasure deep in his throat.

  Francesca went very still, forcing down both the fury and the arousal. She’d tasted him! Never mind that she’d given in to the instinct to protect herself—she had tasted Tobias Strahan’s blood. Maybe no more than a drop, but—

  She didn’t realize her fangs were still in his flesh until he eased away from her.

  “Actually, continuing this fun would be a bad idea.” He got up and pulled her to her feet. “What was all that trying to kill my sniffer about?”

  By this time she’d completely resumed her human shape and the heat that blazed through her to fuel her temper was all embarrassment rather than survival instinct. She glared at Strahan, but he was looking over her shoulder.

  “I thought it was attacking me,” she said. She remembered that it was named Ed. She turned her head. Ed was also in mortal form now, and he was looking at her leather bag. He might not have been in his werewolf form, but she could practically see his sensitive nostrils quivering. It was a wonder he wasn’t on point.

  “What the hell is going on here?” Francesca demanded.

  “Stinks to high heaven, boss,” Ed said.

  Strahan gave her a sideways glance, and she knew he was expecting some sort of Flare-like protest that her very expensive designer bag certainly didn’t stink.

  She said, “What sort of bomb did I bring into my hostess’s Citadel?”

  You’re no fun. Strahan’s pout filtered into her head.

  There was also a glow of pride mixed with the teasing. For her?

  That’s not what you thought a moment ago, she thought back.

  Ed looked at her. “Sorry I startled you, ma’am. Didn’t know anyone was in here. The C4 covered your scent.”

  “Sorry I tried to kill you,” she replied.

  She appreciated the play of muscles in Ed’s naked shoulders when he gave a dismissive shrug.

  “Stop distracting my sniffer.” Strahan moved between her and the werewolf.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Tobias’s head still reeled with the rush from Flare’s fangs piercing his skin. That she’d been in fighting mode made it even more arousing. What a brawl they could have had before she finally ended up beneath him! She hadn’t meant to arouse him, he couldn’t blame her for arousing him—but he wished she hadn’t gotten her teeth into him right here and now.

  That she’d reacted to defend herself pleased the hell out of him, even though there had been no threat. Primes spent so much time protecting vampire females it was easy to forget how dangerous they could be in their own right.

  It took all his concentration to recall that there was a threat. The bomb he’d had a feeling was planted in the citadel was in this room. She did need his protection from this threat.

  “Get out of here, Flare,” he told her.

  Of course she only moved a step closer to the case holding the explosive device. “That . . . thing is my responsibility. How did it get in here?”

  “You tell me.”

  He felt her thoughts whirling through possibilities before she said, “I had it with me at the clinic two days ago. I brought a change of clothes with me because I thought I might be staying overnight, but it didn’t work out that way. I left the bag in an examining room. Anyone could have put something in it.”

  “You didn’t look inside it?” Ed asked. “Did you place it in this spot? No one’s moved it?”

  “No,” she said, “And yes. And no.”

  “Then it’s likely set to go off when it’s opened. Right, boss?” Ed asked.

  “I thought you were the bomb expert, Ed,” Flare said.

  “I just sniff ‘em.” Ed jerked a thumb at Tobias. “He’s our demolition man.”

  Lady, I’m going to get him killed! Francesca’s heart pounded with sudden panic. She’d brought that thing into the house and put him in danger. Tobias Strahan was going to die . . .

  She moved between him and the bomb. “I’m not letting you get killed because of me.”

  “What are you talking about, woman?”

  She gestured toward the satchel. “Let’s get out of here. Evacuate the house. Let it go.”

  “Can’t do that,” he answered.

  His tone was laconic, his attitude and expression every inch that of the dutiful soldier. Goddess damn all soldiers! Damn their call to duty, their acceptance of danger as a way of life, when it’s just the opposite.

  “Why the hell do you people have to put yourselves in harm’s way? Do all soldiers have a death wish? Is that it?”

  She was crying. She wanted to beat against Strahan’s chest. She wanted to drag him away to safety the way she hadn’t been able to do with Patrick.

  “Let the damn house blow up. It’s just a house!”

  “That bomb was set to take at least one person with it. I can’t accept that. Besides, our brief is to keep mortals out of this fight. The bad guys want explosions, remember? They want to bring in the authorities and media.”

  “I know that, but—”

  “I’ve disarmed all sorts of explosives all over the world,” Strahan informed her. “I do know what I’m doing.”

  “I bet you enjoy it too. You get that old Prime rush right to your cock every time, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” He gave the faintest of shrugs. “I am what I am.”

  She was strung out with terror, which came out as vicious contempt. “Fine. But I’m not going to stand here and watch while you get off.”

  “Of course not. I already told you to get to safety.”

  “Here’s your kit, boss,” Ed said as he came into the room carrying a large metal case. A dented black helmet with a clear face shield dangled by its chin strap from his other hand.

  She hadn’t noticed the werewolf leave. She didn’t think Strahan had either, judging by the annoyed look he gave Ed for bringing in gear without being ordered. Control junkie.

  “Thanks,” Strahan said grudgingly. He flipped open the case, which Ed had set well back from the bomb bag, and began methodically unloading equipment and padded protective clothing. He didn’t look up again, just said, “Out now. Both of you.”

  For a moment Ed looked like he wanted to take her arm, but a toothy sneer from Francesca made him think better of the gallant gesture. He settled for walking beside her as they left the room.

  “He’ll be fine,” Ed reassured her after gently closing the bedroom door behind them. “He’s the best at what he does.”

  “So’s Wolverine,” she said. “And look at the horrible things that happen to him.”

  The poor werewolf stared at her in confusion. He didn’t have a clue what she meant. He must have thought she was talking about a werewolverine—were there such critters?—and not a Marvel superhero. Or possibly a Clan Wolverine Prime.

  Francesca patted his bare shoulder. “Never mind. We have our orders. Let’s get out of here.”

  She let Ed walk ahead of her but didn’t follow him very far. She knew she should stalk angrily out into the safety of the garden, but she couldn’t do it. Strahan didn’t want her around. She didn’t want to be around when he blew himself up. But how could she leave him when he was in danger?

  One man I loved has already died alone—

  She gave her head a hard shake and scrubbed blinding tears out of her eyes. And how the hell had that L word gotten into her head? Lust, yes, she couldn’t help that. But she wasn’
t falling in love with anybody.

  She knew damn well all this sentimental nonsense flooding her senses was simply the bonding process in action and that she ought to fight it. Where was her pride? Her strength?

  Turned to mush by a big beautiful bruiser with the heart of a father and the soul of a warrior. It tore out her own heart to know he was in danger.

  Strahan was in danger. She needed to be there.

  “Never mind daylight drugs,” she muttered. “What we need is something to keep our hormones in check.”

  No matter how much she tried, Francesca couldn’t find the will to do anything but be where he was. She walked back to her bedroom. Not that she went inside when she got there. You didn’t barge in on someone disarming a bomb. Or bang on the door and beg him to get out before he blew himself to pieces.

  Oh, no, all she could do was sit down with her eyes squeezed shut, her back pressed against the door, and her arms wrapped around her drawn-up knees. She prayed to the moon goddess for his hands to be steady and his luck to hold and hoped that if there was an explosion, it would all be over fast enough not to hurt. She prayed that they would be together.

  Because if they ended up dead, she was going to make Tobias Strahan’s afterlife anything but pleasant.

  Tobias was not nervous, but Flare sure as hell was, and knowing it wasn’t making his dangerous job any easier. She was also angry. What the hell did the woman have to be angry about? And what was she doing there, right outside the bedroom door? Her heart hammered in his ears; the blood racing through it called strongly enough to make his sheathed fangs pulse. His own heart wanted to keep pace with hers. Blocking her out of his awareness was impossible.

  He’d told Ed to get her out, and when it came to werewolf against vampire, didn’t the vampire always win? Okay, he couldn’t blame Ed if the female didn’t do as she said she would and get out.

  He was on his knees in front of the booby-trapped leather bag, dressed in protective gear, tools and chemicals laid out beside him. He kept his physical attention focused on the job. But his awareness of Flare was something on an entirely different level.