Branded by Fire

by Singh, Nalini

His vision glazed over at the mention of the other men. “They’re here to make a claim on you.”

  “No one can make a claim on me that I don’t allow. And if you don’t know that by now, there’s no point in this conversation.”

  He heard something in that statement, a cool finality that told him he could lose her right this moment. Pulling on every ounce of self-control he had, he reined in the wolf and said, “Let me escort you back home. I’ll leave straight after.”

  “No.” A flat refusal, but her eyes were full of fire. “I’ll get myself home, and if necessary, I’ll kick Eduardo and Joaquin’s butts.”

  Riley felt the wolf buck at the reins at the mention of those names but he held on to his humanity. “They won’t catch you. You move like lightning and this is your territory.”

  “Good answer.” But she stayed out of reach. “Are you going to leave for the den?”

  He wanted to stalk those two unknown leopards, make sure they knew he’d marked her, taken her. But that, he realized, would end any and all chance he had with the woman he wanted more than his next breath. Biting back a growl, he shifted into wolf form and stared at her.

  She came down on her haunches and touched him at last, an intrinsically female stroke through his fur. “Go.”

  Fighting the violent natural urges of man and wolf both, he did as she asked.

  Mercy knew exactly how much it had cost Riley to do what he’d done. Yet he had. For her. It shattered another barrier inside of her, made her wonder if perhaps they could do this, become lovers, without it destroying the working relationship between them—a relationship that was vital to the DarkRiver-SnowDancer alliance. They were sentinel and lieutenant, there was no getting away from that. Every one of their actions had the potential to rebound onto their packs.

  She felt her phone vibrate as she walked in through her back door, having evaded both Eduardo and Joaquin. The caller ID told her it was her grandmother. Realizing she better not answer it in her current mood, she had a quick meal, then stripped and walked into the shower. The bath would have to wait. She wanted sleep.

  But her rest was broken. She was worried about Nash . . . and, if she was honest, about her inability to stay away from Riley. She’d been truthful earlier when she’d told him she was touching him because he needed it. But that wasn’t the whole story.

  She’d needed it, too.

  Those dark eyes that were too often solemn, that beautiful, thick hair, that stubborn male body, it all drew her. Solid, Riley was solid. His abdomen was hard enough to bounce quarters off, his thighs firmly muscled. Bitably muscled. But he was in no way slow—though he was very good at pretending to be. As Eduardo and Joaquin had discovered, Riley could move wicked fast when he wanted to.

  He could also move with leisurely patience when inside a woman.

  Her entire body sighed, wanting more, wanting him. And only him.

  But powerful though the attraction was, she could deal. She was a woman at home with her needs—and it wasn’t as if he didn’t want her back. No, it wasn’t the physical stuff that worried her. It was the other things that were beginning to be woven into the physical.

  Like the tenderness she’d felt today.

  She should’ve berated him for going all crazy because she’d gotten a little scratched up, but no, she’d stroked him instead. Because when she’d seen that glint of glass in his hair, her heart had skipped a beat. Irrational worry. But worry.

  And later, when she should’ve left him to fight it out with Eduardo and Joaquin, what had she done? She made sure he left without any bloodshed. Part of it she could blame on a sentinel’s duties—he was a SnowDancer lieutenant, and if he was attacked by guests of DarkRiver, it would shake the foundations of the alliance. But the rest . . . in spite of her anger at his unearned possessiveness, she hadn’t wanted him hurt. Of course, she thought, kicking off the covers, in the mood he’d been in, he’d probably have made mincemeat of the other two.

  She had to . . . Sleep finally crept over her in a stealthy wave, her dreams hot and dark.

  Riley ran himself to exhaustion, but he dreamed, too. They weren’t good dreams.

  He was late. Always too late. Willow’s broken body lay in a shallow grave, and he couldn’t even pick her up, couldn’t even hold her close.

  Her eyes snapped open but they weren’t her eyes. Only one person had such unique eyes—and that’s when he saw it was Brenna in that grave, being buried alive. Her hands reached for him, but he was locked in place, unable to move as his sister screamed.

  Until the dirt covered her face, filled in her mouth, stilled her hands.

  Riley jerked upright with a scream of anguish stuck in his throat. His first instinct was to check that Brenna was okay, but it was two thirty in the morning. And there was no way he wanted her aware of the demons that continued to haunt him, night after endless night.

  Shoving back the sweat-damp hair on his forehead, he got up, knowing he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep. Instead, he took a shower and dressed.

  It didn’t take long.

  There were so many night hours left to go.

  When he began to head down to the garage, he told himself to stop, but his feet kept moving forward. Grabbing the four-wheel drive closest to the exit, he drove through the pitch black of night in the Sierra and onto DarkRiver land. Normally he loved the night, the beauty and the peace of it. But tonight, the darkness haunted him, reverberating with a thousand echoes of nightmare.

  Fighting those insidious whispers, he kept his focus strictly on his destination. And then he’d arrived. Mercy’s vehicle was there in its spot. Something in him relaxed. Parking next to it, he exited into a world cloaked in the opaque hush of a moonless night. It was instinct to go to her cabin and sit on the steps. His wolf was still agitated, but here, he could think. Blowing out a breath, he decided to simply wait for dawn. For Mercy.

  That was when the door opened. “Riley?”

  Of course she’d known he was there—she was a sentinel. And in some part of his soul, he’d counted on that. “Don’t ask me any questions tonight, Mercy.” He didn’t look at her, feeling vulnerable in a way that panicked his wolf.

  “All right.” Soft footsteps. “But would you like to come inside?”

  Wary of her agreement, but needing . . . something, he walked in. She took his hand, her golden eyes luminous in the dark. “Come on, wolf.”

  He let her lead him to the bedroom.

  “Boots off,” she said, and crawled beneath the blanket.

  Sitting on a chair near the vanity, he took off his footwear and just watched her, not sure he could do this. She’d given her word so she’d ask no questions, but she’d know, she’d see too deep, to things he kept hidden because they shamed him so utterly.

  “No questions,” she said again after an endless moment, and lifted up the edge of the blanket.

  Man and wolf both hungered for the simple beauty of her touch. He had no power, no will, to resist. Standing, he crossed the carpet to slide into bed beside her, fully dressed. And when her arms came around him, when her fingers stroked into his hair, he buried his face in the curve of her neck and let the unexpected tenderness heal the wounds of the night.

  Sometime before dawn, he slept.

  Mercy woke to the knowledge that she was wrapped around Riley like ivy, her face against his chest, her legs tangled with his, her hands under the T-shirt he was wearing beneath a khaki shirt. The blanket had been kicked off but she was toasty warm, he generated such luscious heat. Her cat purred, wanting to stay like this all day.

  So when the phone rang, she had a hard time extricating herself so she could grab it before he did. She succeeded only because the wolf was half-asleep.

  “We had contact from the kidnapper,” Lucas said. “He wants a meet.”

  She snapped upright. “It’s mine.”

  “It’s yours,” Lucas agreed and gave her the details. “I’ll call Hawke, have some wolves meet you there.”

&
nbsp; She decided not to mention she had one wolf right in front of her. Closing the phone, she ran her fingers over his stubbled jaw. “Time to move, Kincaid.”

  No words, but his muscles grew painfully rigid under her hands.

  He only relaxed half an hour later, when she continued to keep her promise to ask no questions. She didn’t have to. She knew what haunted this powerful, proud male, though he’d never spoken of it, never even acknowledged it. And yet when the demons had become too bad, he’d come to her.

  It changed things, but that was something they didn’t have the time to discuss. Not while Nash remained a hostage.

  The kidnapper was waiting for them in the shadowy depths of a half-demolished building on the outskirts of San Francisco. Early morning light whispered over the site, but somehow failed to soften the harsh lines of plascrete and metal.

  Everything about the place set Mercy’s hackles to rising.

  Her eyes scanned the black plastic that floated where the windows should’ve been, giving the building even more of a sinister cast. Neither side of her liked the place, but it mattered little. She went in first . . . after a furious argument with a Riley who was back to his usual infuriating self.

  “Human males underestimate females,” she said, “even more than stupid changeling men.”

  “He could have a gun.”

  “I’m wearing a bulletproof vest.” She touched the lightweight fabric. “You go in, you’re so mad you might tear off his face before he tells us anything,”

  Riley’s hand closed over her upper arm, dark eyes ringed with amber. “He deserves to have his face torn off.”

  “That won’t tell us where Nash is, will it?” She gritted her teeth. “We haven’t scented him anywhere near this building. If you kill this guy, we’re back to square one.”

  “I don’t like you going in there alone.”

  “There’re ten of you out here! You’ll only be a couple of seconds behind me. How is that going in alone?” She was nose to nose with him by now.

  Someone cleared their throat.

  Riley’s growl scared them off. “Don’t pull any shit because you want to show off.”

  “Wait a second.” She looked down then back up. “Nope, I haven’t grown a cock in the last few minutes. I have no need to prove whose is bigger.”

  He leaned forward and bit her lip. Hard enough to sting. She’d have kneed him, but she needed his mangy wolf ass covering hers. “Happy now?” she muttered, wondering if anyone hadn’t seen that blatant display of ownership. She and Riley were going to have a long talk after this was over.

  “No. I won’t be happy until I have you over my lap.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Try it and we’ll see who still has his balls.”

  Two minutes later, she walked into the dim room in one corner of the building, the windows half covered by old curtains rather than the ubiquitous black plastic. Some light crept in, but it was dull, as if the room swallowed all energy—the kidnapper had clearly chosen the location for that very reason. His skin shimmered with darkness, and he used the shadows to turn himself into an uncertain silhouette. But she was a cat, her vision acute. She saw his height, the way he held himself, and knew this man could draw blood with a single sharp move.

  “I’m armed but I have no intention of attacking,” were his first words.

  Mercy kept her hands in sight, too. “Excuse me if I don’t take your word on it.” His English was flawless, she thought, his accent too clean.

  “Touché.” That word fell far more naturally from his lips. “My name is Bowen.” A flash of perfect white teeth. “Bo’s what folks call me most of the time.”

  “Careless of you to lose your identity bracelet.”

  “The lynx was stronger than we thought.” Another smile. “Can I have it back?”

  Charming, she thought. And he used his charm like a weapon. “We’re not here to be friends. Where’s Nash and what do you want in exchange for him?”

  CHAPTER 15

  “He’s safe.” Bowen said, no hint of sweat or panic in him.

  Mercy wasn’t fooled. People could learn to regulate their breathing and bodily reactions if they practiced hard enough. “I’d like to see him.”

  “After we talk.” No charm now.

  “So talk. Explain why you traumatized a young girl and stole her brother.”

  Bowen blew out a breath, his hands fisting. “It was meant to be a straight grab, no harm, no foul. The little one . . . we didn’t realize she was outside until it was too late.”

  “What do you want?” she asked again.

  “To talk with the DarkRiver and SnowDancer alphas. There are things you need to know about the Human Alliance.”

  “And you want to tell us out of the goodness of your heart?”

  “I have a price on my head as of the night of Nash’s kidnapping,” he said, tone blunt. “So do the rest of my men and women. We’re a crack team, but there are only ten of us. We need to ally ourselves to someone stronger or we’ll be dead in a matter of days.”

  Mercy raised an eyebrow. “I can tell you now, your chances aren’t high.” Maybe it wasn’t what a human negotiator would’ve said, but if Bowen knew anything about changelings, he’d know a less hostile response for a lie. Even now, she could feel the tidal wave of enmity from the men and women at her back. Cat or wolf, it didn’t matter—they all wanted to tear Bowen into a million small pieces.

  “Yeah, well, it’s better than no chance.” Bowen shrugged, shoulders moving with a fighter’s grace under a battered leather-synth jacket.

  “Long as you continue to hold Nash, no one will talk to you.” She made her tone as unyielding as his own. “Nonnego tiable.”

  High cheekbones cut sharply against skin the rich, exotic shade of the finest caramel. “He’s sitting in room 10 at the Happy Inn down the street.”

  “Unconscious?”

  “No.” Bowen actually looked shamefaced. “We told him we’d gone back and grabbed his little sister so he’d cooperate.”

  That explained why the Rats and trackers had struck out. Hiding an angry lynx was a far different cry from holding a cooperative one. “Nice.”

  For the first time, the mask of civility slipped. “Hurt feelings can be mended. Dead men won’t rise.”

  Mercy didn’t say anything. “We’ll wait while my people check out the inn.”

  So they did. In silence. Riley’s energy was a violent heat against her skin, but he held his position outside.

  Fifteen minutes later, there was a commotion at the front and then someone yelled out, “We have Nash!” A pause. “And he wants blood!”

  Mercy met Bowen’s eyes, not dropping her guard. “You going to make trouble?”

  “I gave you back your boy, didn’t I?”

  “True. So I could kill you right now.” She wasn’t as hostile as Riley, but she didn’t like those who preyed on the weak. Nash and Willow had been under DarkRiver’s care—they were hers as much as Tammy’s cubs were. “A claw slash to a few important spots and you’re out of our hair for good.”

  Time stood still.

  Many miles from the chill standoff in that abandoned building, a slender male drove his car into the San Gabriel Mountains. His face was covered with sweat, his hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel. There were no embedded roads this far up, no way to put his small, city-use car on automatic. Even if it had been possible, he wouldn’t have chosen it.

  He needed to focus, to concentrate.

  His eyes saw only gravel and rock, an endless twisting pathway.

  Take the gun hidden in the trunk of your car. Drive to the enclave of artists on the edge of the Mojave. Kill as many of them as you can before the ammunition runs out. Remember, save one bullet for yourself.

  The car shuddered as it fell into a pothole, rattling his brain, throwing those whispering thoughts into chaos. He managed to get it out but the tire was flat. Hitting the hover-drive, he continued on his way. He couldn’t stop. If h
e stopped, the gun would find its way into his hands. And men, women, and children would die.

  The compulsion crushed his mind, creating pinpricks of darkness behind his eyelids—veins were starting to shatter, to bleed inside his skull. He couldn’t go any farther. Twisting the wheel, he brought the car to a halt on the side of the rough mountain road. Then he got out—his gaze going immediately to the trunk. No. He willed himself to turn. That cliff, it was close enough. Holding his head in his hands, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other.

  All he had to do was get to the edge. He didn’t trust himself with the gun. But a fall would shatter his brain just as well.

  An hour after finding Nash, Mercy drove a still alive and uninjured Bowen out of the city, Indigo by her side. Bowen’s hands were cuffed, his eyes blindfolded. Dorian had come out and used his toys to search for—and remove—two tracking devices.

  Bowen wasn’t worried. “I’d have been stupid if I hadn’t had backup.”

  Assuming his team was following, Mercy took him out through a number of back roads, making any pursuit highly visible to the large SUV following her vehicle. By the time they circled around and pulled into a deserted section of the Golden Gate National Recreation Area on the other side of the bridge, Bowen was very much alone.

  He held up his wrists when they removed the blindfold and let him get out. “I think you guys can take me on even if I’m free.”

  Mercy shifted in front of Riley as he exited the SUV and walked over. “Don’t irritate us,” she said to Bowen. The Alliance man might be a tough son of a bitch, but Riley was a very experienced wolf in a cold rage.

  Jet-black eyes went from one to the other. “Something’s going on that I clearly don’t know about.”

  “The last time our people were abducted, one ended up dead and the other was tortured so badly most people thought she’d never recover,” she said, letting him glimpse the leopard’s need to hurt, to punish. “So your chances of convincing us of anything are about zero.”