His throat slammed shut, his new partner’s nipples forgotten immediately. “Where is she?”
Yolanda’s full lips curled into a slow smile. “I will tell you on one condition.”
Anger shot through Peter and, before he could stop himself, he grabbed her smoothly curved biceps and glared into her face. Rex hissed at the abrupt move and sank his claws in deeper, but Peter ignored him. “What did she say?”
For a split second, Peter thought the muscles under his palms shifted, even though she remained utterly motionless. Her deep blue eyes never wavered from his and her lips stretched wider. “Touchy, are we?”
Peter clenched his jaw. “I don’t have time for games, Detective. What did my sister say?”
Yolanda studied him, the heady yet somehow delicate scent of her perfume invading his breath. With slow deliberation, she closed the miniscule distance between them, the tips of her breasts brushing his chest in a soft nudge. “She said ‘come save me’. Seconds before an Irishman hung up the phone.”
Peter’s pulse hammered.
Yolanda raised her eyebrows. “Well? Are you going to get rid of the crawling handbag, or is it coming along?”
* * * *
Gripping her seatbelt in a death-grip, Regan stared in caustic horror at the man currently driving like a madman through the congested streets leading out of Sydney’s CBD. “So, we’re adding Grand Theft Auto to your list of criminal offences, are we?”
Declan flashed her a quick grin, grey eyes glinting with something close to mischief. “Hey, I’m not stealing. I’m borrowing.”
“I think the mechanic back at the gas station would beg to differ. Especially after the whole lengthening canines and growling like a savage beast thing you did when he said you couldn’t take his car. I think you scared the poor bloke witless. Do you always turn on the ‘animal’ to get what you want?”
The corner of Declan’s mouth curled into a disturbing grin. “Not until you came along, love.”
Regan glared at him, pressing her butt harder into the passenger seat of the mechanic’s old but finely tuned pick-up, trying to keep stable as Declan flung the car through the maze of lanes leading to Sydney Harbor Bridge. Menace radiated from him in waves, sending a chill up her spine and making her nipples pinch into hard, little points under her tattered shirt. “You know, there are posted speed limits,” she said, closing her fingers tighter around her seat belt.
Declan’s thigh flexed as he pushed his foot harder to the accelerator. “There’s also a sadistic bastard on our tail, something you seem to keep forgetting.”
Regan suppressed her own growl. Declan’s insistence Nathan Epoc was a mad-scientist werewolf was beginning to get tired. She cast him a sideward glance, taking in his brooding profile, his strong nose, and high, chiseled cheekbones. Her pussy gave a tiny flutter of appreciation and she groaned silently. Damnit, I’ve fallen in lust with a nut-job. “Okay, hero,” she said, trying to ignore the traitorous tension in her sex. “What’s your plan? Are we going to aimlessly drive around Sydney all day or are you actually headed somewhere?” She raised another eyebrow at him. “Do you even know where you’re going?”
“I’m getting you as far away from Epoc and his mongrel pack as I can.”
“Oh, good. And here I was thinking you were going to do something stupid, like leave Sydney.”
Declan’s jaw bunched. “You still don’t believe me, do you?” He slipped the mechanic’s pickup into a break in traffic the size of a kid’s tricycle. “You think either I’m delusional or you’re still asleep.” He flicked an enigmatic look her way. “Even after what happened back in the hotel room.”
A blush hotter than the sun flooded Regan’s face and she turned away from him, watching instead the rapidly approaching pylons of the Harbor Bridge. She let out a soft sigh and dragged a trembling hand through her hair. “I don’t know what to think,” she answered truthfully, gripping her seatbelt tight. “I wake this morning to find a wolf who’s really a man on my sofa. He tells me I’m in danger, knocks me unconscious and takes me to some hotel who knows where, giving me a cockamamie story about a werewolf-slash-scientist with a demented Dracula complex, and even though I should be petrified or madder than hell, every time I look at him all I can think about is sex.” Her face flushed again at the unexpected admission but she continued, even with the heat on her cheeks. “Every time he touches me I almost orgasm, despite the utterly surreal fact he has a tendency to grow long teeth and claws and growl like a wild beast if he doesn’t get his way.”
She turned back to Declan, noting with a small sense of dry satisfaction his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. “Can you see my predicament?”
He didn’t answer. Not until the Sydney Harbor Bridge and the expanse of water it spanned was long behind them, the pick-up heading through the opulent northern suburbs at kamikaze speeds. “I don’t know what to do or say to convince you you’re in danger, Regan,” he said, voice low, accent thicker than ever. “Save drive to Epoc himself and there’s not a chance in hell I’m doing that.” His gaze flicked to her and Regan sucked in a swift breath at the turbulent desire she saw in his eyes’ stormy depths. “As for making you come…I’ve wanted to do that from the second I saw you in Epoc’s lab. Covered head to toe in black, risking your life to save a—”
An explosive crunch cut his words dead. As did the lurching jolt of the pick-up.
Regan grabbed the dash, heart thumping up into her throat, seatbelt biting into her neck. “What the hell?” The car jolted again and this time, she saw why.
A black van charged along the road beside them, crumpled nose almost level with theirs. Almost. It swerved, a violent and deliberate arc. There was a deafening bang, the sickening squeal of metal on metal filled the cab, and the mechanic’s pick-up shuddered.
“Fuck,” Declan growled.
Regan’s heart hammered, hot rage roaring through her veins. “They’re trying to run us off the road!”
The van crashed into them again and Declan let out a sharp snarl. Sweat popping out on his forehead, he spun the wheel to the right. “The fucker found us quicker than I thought.”
Another crunching collision jarred them, hard enough to make Regan’s skull smack the side window. Her teeth snapped shut on her bottom lip and the coppery ting of blood slicked her tongue. Head throbbing, she watched Declan fling the pick-up up a narrow side street. She held on for dear life as the now badly beaten automobile tilted so far to the left, its right tires lost contact with the road and the world abruptly skewed on its axis. “Who’s found us?” she demanded. “Who’s in that van?”
Tires screeching, the van followed. Gaining.
Declan’s jaw clenched and his knuckles grew whiter. “McCoy.”
Regan blinked. “Who the fuck is McCoy?”
Declan didn’t answer. Slamming his foot to the accelerator, he pushed the pick-up harder, its finely worked engine roaring to new life just as McCoy’s van rammed straight into the back of it.
The pick-up lurched forward violently, careening into a RV parked at the curb. More metal screamed, the hood concertinaed, the windshield shattered into a thousand pieces and, before Regan could scream, the pick-up spun into a sickeningly fast one-eighty, slammed into another parked car and jolted to a shuddering halt.
“Get out!”
Declan was growling at her before her head stopped spinning.
“Get out! Get out now!”
He turned in his seat, raised his knees up to his chest and struck out at Regan’s door with his heels. It flung open, the sharp ting of salt air biting immediately at her sinuses as summer flooded into the cab.
“Get out, Regan,” He ordered, ripping her seatbelt off and shoving her from the car. “We’ve got to run.”
Regan stumbled across the footpath, swiping at the small trickle of blood running down her temple. “Jesus. What…” Her head felt like it was about to erupt. “What…”
A demoniac, bestial growl assaulted her ears
and her stomach dropped. Oh, no.
“Regan!” Declan grabbed her arm. Stared hard into her eyes. “Run!”
He shoved her away and spun about.
Just as a man, roughly the size of a gorilla, threw himself against his body.
The pair rolled across the ground, crashed against the mechanic’s crumpled pick-up. A howl filled the air. Loud and piercing. Followed by a growl equally as loud.
People—curious about the noise and carnage—began to appear on the surrounding footpaths, more than one gasping and calling for someone to call the cops, but Regan couldn’t move, unable to drag her stare from the sight before her.
The brutish man forced Declan to the ground, driving punch after punch into his chest, face and ribs. “Thought you’d get away from us, you dumb-fuck, Irish shit.”
Declan struck back. “You been rolling in your own filth again, McCoy?”
McCoy bared vicious canines, a chilling snarl cutting the air. He grabbed at Declan’s throat, his long, thick fingers sinking into the corded column.
Regan’s blood turned to ice. “Declan!”
McCoy’s head shot up, burning red-gold eyes fixing on her. “She’s a sexy piece of ass, O’Connell. I’m going to enjoy fucking her.”
A growl ripped from Declan’s throat. He whipped his knees up to his chest and rammed his feet into McCoy’s gut, launching him into the air.
The snarling man flew high. And transformed—mid-arc—into a huge, charcoal-grey wolf.
The street erupted. Squeals and cries of shock rent the air, followed by the sound of feet pounding the pavement as the terrified onlookers fled.
Regan staggered backward, heart pounding beneath her breast, eyes fixed on the slathering wolf staring at her.
“Regan!” Declan roared. “Run!”
She shot him a frantic look. In time to see his body shimmer as he transformed into the massive wolf she’d first seen caged in Epoc’s lab.
Regan. Run.
The words sounded in her head—but whether in her voice or Declan’s she couldn’t tell. It didn’t matter. The snarl bursting from McCoy’s muzzle set her feet in motion. She turned and sprinted away from the two wolves. But not before seeing the frightening grey wolf—Declan—leap at the even bigger wolf preparing to pounce on her.
She tore down the deserted street, the sound of fighting wolves almost drowning out the screech of the ubiquitous cicadas and the squeal of an approaching siren. Her feet stumbled at the ominous wail and a picture of Declan shot dead by cops filled her head. Bloody Hell. Declan. What am I doing?
Run!
The bellow filled her head. Desperate. Furious.
Heart pounding, mouth dry, she took off again, vaulting a low corner fence, heading deeper into suburbia. Lush, opulent, ridiculously expensive suburbia.
With the growls, snarls and howls of Declan and McCoy in her ears.
* * * *
The low branches of an ancient Morton Bay fig hid her. She stood, palms pressed to her bent knees, sucking in breath after breath in an attempt to ease her frantic pulse. Peering through the foliage-dense branches brushing her cheeks and shoulders, Regan watched the path.
She heard nothing but the screech of cicadas.
What if Declan was dead? What would she do?
A sharp shard of ice stabbed at her thumping heart at the thought and she shook her head. No. He couldn’t be. Not after all this. Not after dragging her into this craziness. He wouldn’t dare.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, staring down the path she’d sprinted up not fifteen minutes ago, willing him to be there. Wolf or man, she didn’t care, as long as he was there.
A hot, summer gust brought with it a distant siren, the wail a long way off but still making Regan’s chest clench. C’mon, Declan. C’mon. Don’t leave me like this…
The fervent order made Regan blink and she snorted with wry amusement. Only a short while ago she was trying to get away from him. Now…
A faint rustle down the street made her tense and she shrank closer to the fig’s colossal trunk, making herself as invisible as possible. A woman jogged by, decked out in designer sportswear with thin, white cords dangling from her ears to the slim MP3 player on her arm. Regan let out a silent sigh, slumping against the rough trunk pressing her ass. What should she do? Go looking for him? Keep running? Call Peter?
Peter. Damnit, he’d be tearing the city apart by now.
And she’d missed lunch with Rick. Who knew what he’d be—
A prickling sensation rippled up her spine and she felt eyes on her. Stiffening, Regan straightened from the trunk and saw the wolf. Staring at her through the concealing branches of the fig tree.
Mottled shadows played over the animal’s coat. Made it impossible to know just which wolf had found her. Throat tight, mouth dry, Regan studied it. She couldn’t run. Not if it was Declan coming to her. But what if it’s McCoy? Her pulse leapt into erratic life and she squeezed her fists tight. Ready to fight. Hoping she didn’t need to. “Declan?”
Wicked, blood-smeared teeth flashed at her, and a soft growl rumbled low in the animal’s chest.
“Declan?”
The wolf’s haunches bunched, its muzzle creased. Regan sucked in a short breath, lifting her fists. Adrenaline surged through her. And then she gasped in relief as a slight tremble shook the animal’s body and Declan stood before her. Naked once more, covered in cuts and bruises, the wound on his side weeping fresh blood again.
Silver eyes shimmered to grey and his lips curled into a dark grin. “I’m going to need to find some new clothes.”
Chapter 5
The heavy oak doors swung open, revealing an entry foyer more magnificent and lavish than any Regan had seen. Declan’s grey eyes flashed silver, an unreadable expression flicking across his face before he waved his arm wide. “Your castle awaits, my fair abductee.”
Regan took a step in to the foyer, the gleaming white marble floor stretching before her, the cool, dim silence beyond beckoning. She hesitated, ready for the Klaxon squeal of a security system.
“I’ve disengaged it.”
She gave Declan a quick look, doing her best to keep her eyes on his. It was difficult, knowing, as she did, how completely naked he was. “How do you know how to break into a house?”
He raised a straight, black eyebrow. “I’m not always a wolf, Regan. My ‘day’ job required I knew how to get in—and out—of locked premises.”
“What is your day job, exactly?”
“Journalist.”
“And journalists break into mansions often, do they?”
He gave her one of those wolfish grins she was already getting to know well. “I’m from Ireland, love. Remember? I didn’t write articles on what to wear to Bondi Beach.”
A frown pulled at Regan’s forehead. “Didn’t? What do you mean, ‘didn’t’?”
Declan ignored the question. “I’ve hidden our tracks. McCoy won’t be able to find us here.” He moved past her, striding deeper into the silent mansion.
A shiver raced up Regan’s spine and she closed her eyes. Immediately an image of Declan’s tight, naked ass filled her head and her stomach fluttered, a delicious, little dance worming its way down to the damp junction of her thighs. “I’m losing my mind,” she mumbled.
Declan chuckled. “No you’re not.”
She opened her eyes, ready to give him a piece of her mind.
But the foyer stood empty before her.
Pulling in a slow, steadying breath, Regan moved into the house. So, abduction, car theft and now breaking and entering. Not the day you had planned, is it?
She looked around herself. She should find a phone. Let Peter know she was okay.
Are you okay? Are you?
A tremble began in her stomach, a soft, rapid spasm like a million butterflies beating their wings in blind panic. God. She’d just witnessed two—damn it—two werewolves fighting. How did one’s brain deal with that? Especially when she now stood in someone else’s
home with one of them. She frowned, rubbing her palms up and down her suddenly cold arms. And why wasn’t she trying to get away?
Well?
She didn’t have an answer, only the weird trembling sensation in her gut well on its way to consuming her whole body. Hugging herself, she walked across the expansive foyer, looking for somewhere to sit. Her legs felt wobbly. Twin, marble columns caught her eye and, shaking, she walked toward them, staring in stunned amazement at what lay beyond them, a room so large it could only be described as an exorbitant ballroom.
“Bit over the top, isn’t it?”
She jumped, spinning about to glare at Declan who, at some stage, had silently joined her between the columns. “Don’t do that.”
He dropped her a wink, walking backward into the extravagant room, bare feet silent on the white marble floor. “Care to dance?”
Regan’s heart leapt up into her throat and she swallowed. It seemed he’d found himself something to wear.
Black, silk boxers hung low on his hips, leaving his lean but finely muscled, upper body bare, drawing her eyes to its untamed perfection. She pulled in a steadying breath, the tremble in her stomach gaining in strength. Unable not to, she gazed at him, at his smooth, defined shoulders, chiseled chest, sculpted stomach…”Shit, Declan. Your wound.” She ran to him, heart leaping into her throat. She touched the flesh around the bleeding gash in his side, feeling sick. The skin was ragged, torn open again by his battle with McCoy, an angry laceration burning with obvious infection. Fine, grey hairs matted in blood circled the wound, as if the injury had trapped the animal part of Declan, preventing his complete transformation. “I need to clean this, sterilize it before it—”
His hands closed around hers, soft yet commanding. “It’s fine.”
She looked up at him. Stared into his eyes. Her heart clenched. So did her pussy. “What if the owners come home?”
“They won’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I can smell it.” A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Plus I checked their answering machine. They’re in New York. Not expected back for another week.”
Savage Retribution Page 7
