by Vivi Andrews
She shoved at the covers that tangled around her, fighting free of the blankets until she could reach for Adrian, gently gripping his shoulders—and watching carefully for flailing hands and elbows that might give her another black eye. “Adrian.”
Cold sweat glistened on his brow, clammy and horrible to see. She hated hearing the nightmares, hated the idea of him reliving those months when he had been helpless, and she had been helpless to save him. “Adrian, wake up.”
She was braced for him to lash out, but he woke with sudden stillness, his eyes flying open. “You.”
In that instant, she knew the bright, fierce terror that he might actually hurt her. He may not have woken up at all, eyes open but still seeing the nightmare. “Adrian?”
He launched out of the bed, his lean, rangy body halfway across the room before she had any awareness that he’d moved, shifter-fast. He was back—just as fast—and pushing at her sleeves, turning her wrists this way and that, then dropping them, and across the room again, at the window, the door, the stove, moving so fast she could hardly track him—like a bird trapped in a house.
“Adrian? Can I do anything—?”
“You don’t have any tattoos.”
Rachel frowned, not following, but willing to talk about whatever he needed to. “No. My mother thought they were vulgar. I never really saw the appeal of getting one and it certainly wasn’t worth courting her disapproval.”
He nodded, more to himself than to her. “They weren’t your hands.”
“Whoever’s hands they were, it was just a dream—”
“No.” He pivoted, then spun again, and suddenly he was in front of her, crouched beside the futon. His yellow gaze was fierce, burning with a desperate intensity. “I need you to answer a question and I need the absolute truth.”
“Of course.”
“Swear it.”
“I swear.”
“On your father’s soul.”
“On everything I love,” she swore. “Adrian, what’s this about?”
“Did you take part in my torture when I was in captivity? Did you direct it?”
Her breath whooshed out. “Of course not. God, no. I would never.”
“It was your voice.” He straightened, shaking his head as if to shake the puzzle pieces into something that made sense. “I heard your voice. It haunted me. How did they—recordings?”
Realization shuddered through Rachel with painful force. She should have known, should have suspected, but she’d thought Adrian was just confused by the drugs he’d been given, mixing dreams and realities. She hadn’t suspected they would use her to hurt him. Her voice…
“Madison,” she said. “There’s a woman who works for the Organization. She believes in their cause whole heartedly and wouldn’t flinch at hurting you—and she has an amazing ability to mimic voices. I’ve heard her do it. But her name was never attached to your file— Oh God. Of course they gave me a dummy file.”
Adrian stood stock still in the middle of the room, his hands loose at his sides, eyes wide and breath quick. “It wasn’t you they were calling by another name. You weren’t there. You really weren’t there.”
“I tried to protect you,” she vowed. “I’m so sorry, Adrian. I know I didn’t—”
His lips cut off the rest of what she would have said. His long fingers framed her face, holding her steady as he kissed her, long and sweet and aching with all the pain they’d put one another through.
“You’re mine,” he whispered when he finally lifted his head and let her come up for air.
“Yes,” she breathed.
Clothing fell away as if it had never existed. There could be no obstacles between them tonight. No more misconceptions, no more apologies. Tonight there was only need, pure and untainted by everything that had come before. He fitted himself to her and she sobbed at the sweet perfection of it, gazing up into eyes that no longer held anything human until pleasure blinded her to everything else. Adrian shouted, for once not silent, talons scraping the futon frame before he collapsed over her, his breath puffing against the sensitive side of her neck and sending delicious aftershocks shuddering down her spine.
“We need a bigger bed,” she whispered, and felt him smile against her skin.
“Agreed,” he mumbled, and she felt something unlock, something that had been afraid to hope this might mean forever. Furniture was permanent. It meant something. She threaded her fingers through his at her shoulder, careful of his talons. “Your eyes shifted again,” she murmured.
He hummed something vaguely affirmative, then his body jerked, going stiff. She tightened her arms around his shoulders, fear spiking at the thought that he was pulling away again, but when he lifted his head, there was awe-struck wonder in his hawk-gold gaze. And tears. “Rachel,” he whispered.
With a rush of air—almost silent, like her ears popping—feathers exploded above her, wings erupting from his back in an arch of golds and browns. He was off her like a shot, rushing toward the door, still naked, massive angel-sized wings tucked tight to his back. He threw the door open and flung himself off the porch. Another pop of air and a hawk arrowed through the air where her Adrian had been, wings beating firm and strong, lifting the lithe body into the trees.
Rachel clutched the blankets to her chest and stared after her lover, her heart racing at the sight of him leaping into flight—even as part of her crumpled at the realization that she could never ask him to be with someone who couldn’t pass on that gorgeous legacy.
He had forgiven her, she had felt the difference in his arms, but he could still never be hers.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Adrian reveled in the lightness, the soaring expansive freedom of wind pressing against the inner curves of his wings, lifting him above the trees. He felt the last leaded weights of fear and doubt releasing from his heart—the fear that he would never have this again, never again feel the wild exhilaration of flight.
His hawk was back. Whatever dark recess of his soul where it had been hiding had been flooded with light and he was whole once more. Lighter than he’d ever been as the chill winter air buffeted his feathers. This was who he was. The cool, sharp predator high above the earth, filled with the clarity only flying had ever brought.
He wanted to push himself higher, faster, to stretch his long-neglected wings, but even the hawk half of his soul knew something important waited for him back at the cabin.
Rachel.
He tucked himself into a dive, flying like an arrow loosed from a bow down into the clearing. He called for the shift mid-flight, stumbling only slightly as his bare feet hit the ground with jarring momentum. He was out of practice, but the two halves of his soul still knew one another, still folded seamlessly into one being, each half stronger for the presence of the other.
Just as he was stronger for the presence of Rachel.
He’d always been alone before, had been good at being the solitary hunter, but Rachel had taught him how to trust the first time and taught him again these last weeks when he had fought so hard against forgiving her—when she hadn’t needed his forgiveness at all. She was his exception. The one who would risk herself to save him—even if it meant stabbing him full of sedatives and handing him over to the Organization. He would have died fighting rather than be captured, but Rachel had made sure he lived—protecting him even from himself. And then she had gotten him out.
And he’d treated her like shit.
The door to the cabin was still open. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been gone—the bird’s sense of time was so different from his—but Rachel was still awake, curled against the wall on the futon with a half dozen blankets twined around her to combat the chill coming through the open door.
Adrian entered and quickly shut the door, moving directly to the stove to stoke it higher. “I owe you an apology,” he said as soon as he felt the warmth of
the fire pushing against his skin.
A strange soberness shadowed her chocolate gaze. “No. We’re beyond even.”
“I should have believed you when you said you weren’t involved in my treatment in captivity.”
“I was the reason you were there.”
“If I hadn’t been there, I would have been dead.” He crossed to the futon, sitting facing her.
“You could have flown away. They never would have been able to track you.”
“And what would they have done to you, if you had warned me?”
“Put an explosive on my ankle and put me in a lab, no doubt.”
“But there would have been no hard drives. I never would have been able to find you.” He gently cupped her cheek. “We never would have gotten here.”
Her somber gaze couldn’t hold his, lowering to the mattress between them. “Maybe we weren’t supposed to.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have trusted you, but until I remembered that tattoo, I was so sure it was you who had taken pleasure in making my life hell. I didn’t know how to look beyond that.” He grimaced. “Hell, maybe everything does happen for a reason. If there hadn’t been a riot at the barn, I never would have seen that woman with the tattoo on her wrist in the cells, and that memory might never have been triggered.”
Rachel’s gaze bounced up from the mattress to lock on his, eyes widening. “What woman?”
Adrian shrugged. “Just one of the prisoners. An administrative assistant in the wrong place at the wrong time. She has this tattoo on her wrist—” He pointed to the spot on his own arm, but Rachel had gone unnaturally still.
“Madison Clarke was there the day you rescued me from the lab. I thought she was one of the ones killed. I believed she wouldn’t let herself be taken alive because I wanted her to be one of the dead—I don’t think I’ve ever wished that of anyone else. She has a tattoo on her wrist. Brown hair. About my height.”
“Blue eyes?”
Rachel nodded, gripping his hand. “She’s not some secretary. She’s dangerous. A human chameleon. She plays parts, manipulates people, and she believes in the Organization cause with a devotion that is truly terrifying. She’s the Board’s personal errand girl—torture, acquisitions, she does whatever they want of her. If she’s here, she’ll be gathering information, looking for cracks in our security, finding a way to escape—”
Adrian rose, pulling Rachel to her feet. “Get dressed.” He moved to grab his own clothes. “You can identify her?”
“Absolutely.” She didn’t hesitate, her long legs already disappearing inside a pair of jeans. “Oh Lord, the photos. She was always hiding her face.”
He finished dressing then helped her on with her jacket, making sure her tranq gun was loaded and strapped to her belt. He handed her a red knit cap and gloves—not the color he would have chosen, too much of a beacon in the forest, but Rachel loved the scarlet—and donned his own jacket and mottled brown hat.
He took her gloved hand and led the way quickly into the night, weaving through the forest, steadying her when she stumbled in the darkness. They skirted the edge of the main compound, moving more quickly along the wide, cultivated paths that abutted the livestock corrals, then slower again as they wound down a narrow, uneven trail into a small gulley on the eastern edge of the pride lands. At the base of the gully was the cabin—and it was teeming with activity.
Adrian’s hand tightened on Rachel’s. “Something’s wrong.”
There was too much movement for this hour of the night, too many members of the security team moving with brisk efficiency through the gully. Grace was there. He hadn’t even known she was back yet.
Adrian led Rachel toward the cabin, until Grace spotted them and broke away from the conversation she’d been having to intercept them, her face devoid of its characteristic insouciance, filled instead with the same cold, hard deadliness she’d had during the riot.
“She can’t be here now.” Grace pointed to Rachel, baring their way to the cabin.
“What happened?” Adrian asked.
Rachel simultaneously protested, “I think I have information about one of the prisoners.”
“Several of the prisoners escaped,” Grace answered him, adjusting her stance so she could keep an eye on the guards back at the cabin, several of whom were frowning at Rachel.
“Madison,” she whispered.
“How?” Adrian demanded.
“From what we can tell, one of them got a hold of a dinner knife, stabbed the everloving shit out of one of the other prisoners, painted herself with blood and then claimed to be injured. When the guard opened the door to check on her, she stabbed him in the throat.”
“You only had one guard?”
“One at the door, one walking the perimeter. We’re short staff,” Grace snapped. “The kid at the door called in the problem before he went inside, but by the time his partner got back he was bleeding all the fuck over the place, so this bitch got a head start.”
“How long?” Adrian demanded.
“Thirty minutes, give or take. First priority was getting our injured man to the infirmary. At least three of the other prisoners took the chance to run and they all went in different directions. I sent out some trackers already and I’d be after them myself if I didn’t worry any guards I leave behind will kill the injured prisoners as soon as I leave.”
“I can help with the injuries,” Rachel offered.
Grace grimaced. “No offense, Doc, but I don’t think it’s wise for you to be anywhere near here until—hang on.” She brushed past them jogging to greet a pair of soldiers rushing up the path. “Xander, Kelly, thank you for coming. I need you to keep an eye on things out here while we track down our runaways.” She led them up to where Adrian and Rachel waited. “Doc, this asshole is Xander and the cowboy here is Kelly. I trust them to keep you safe if you want to patch up the prisoners. I’ll take the rest of this lot with me.” She jerked her chin toward the knot of guards watching them warily. “Adrian?”
The others were already in motion, getting ready to move out or taking up posts by the cabin door.
“I can cover more ground from the air.” He had a vested interest in capturing the bitch who had tortured him in captivity, but his hand was still wrapped around Rachel’s and he wasn’t sure he wanted to let go. He met Grace’s eyes. “Are you sure…?”
“Xander and Kelly are solid.”
Adrian nodded and turned to Rachel brushing a thumb over her frost-chilled cheek. “Stay safe.”
“Be careful,” she whispered back. “She’s dangerous.”
He smiled, and he knew it wasn’t pretty. “Not as dangerous as I am.”
Adrian joined the other shifters hurriedly shucking their clothes for the shift. The cats separated, lunging into the forest to chase scent-trails, and Adrian leapt into the air. It was instinct to reach for his hawk—instinct so long denied that he released a sharp half-human caw of triumph as talons burst through his fingernails and feathers rippled over his skin in a lightning wave. Wings exploded out of his shoulders and the sweet pain of the shift compressed his body into a sleekly lethal form. He rocketed into the air, wings beating the wind hard, taking a heartbeat to enjoy the pressure and lift. Free and on the hunt.
Rachel didn’t think she would ever tire of the sight of her lover transforming into a raptor. It was a moment powerful and pure in its beauty. But she didn’t have time to stand around gawking now.
She didn’t have any supplies beyond her own hands, but if she could help, it was her duty to do so. She approached the cabin, unsure what she was going to find inside. She didn’t know how the prisoners had been treated. But as she stepped through the door the one called Kelly held open for her, she saw they were in better shape than ninety-nine percent of the shifters they’d helped hold captive. Seven somewhat familiar faces looked back at her,
an eighth slack with unconsciousness.
Rachel didn’t speak and the seven ragged prisoners watched her silently as she moved first to the unconscious eighth. The massive pool of blood beneath her on the floor was damning, so Rachel wasn’t surprised when no pulse met her fingertips. She moved on to another woman—one struggling to apply pressure to a wound in her thigh.
“What happened?” Rachel asked as her scarf became a tourniquet. “Did Madison do this?”
The woman didn’t speak, simply staring back with wide eyes as Rachel improvised a bandage, ripping strips from the lining of her coat. She supposed she shouldn’t have been surprised by the silence. She wasn’t one of them anymore. Never really had been.
Focused on her work, she barely registered the muted thuds outside—until the door creaked open and a shadowy silhouette filled the door.
She finished binding the wound and looked up as Dominec stepped into the light, his scarred face twisting in a smile.
“Hello, Doc. Fancy meeting you here.”
Chapter Thirty
“Where are Xander and Kelly?” Rachel asked, fighting to keep her voice calm and steady as she looked into the face of the pride’s resident psychopath.
“I didn’t kill them,” Dominec protested, as if offended by the implication. “They’re just taking a little nap outside.” His lifted his hand away from his side, calling attention to the tranquilizer gun he held, twirling it like a gunslinger before shoving it into the pocket of the black duster he wore.
Rachel sidled away from the wounded prisoner and Dominec’s eyes tracked her. He kicked the door shut and strode to where she sat on the floor, brushing back the sides of his duster and crouching down with feline grace so they were just inches apart. She wanted to reach for her own tranq gun, but she was reasonably certain she wouldn’t be able to draw it before he mauled her. She’d seen how fast her hawk was with his shifter speed, knew Dominec to be even faster.
