Edge of Desire

by Rhyannon Byrd

  “You’ll never kill Westmore’s men with bullets or steel.”

  Turning, he watched as a man emerged from the shadows. Thick, rain-wet hair the color of coal was plastered to the stranger’s skull, his ice-blue eyes piercingly bright through the thick fog that had prevented Kellan from being able to scent him. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Someone who’s trying to help,” the stranger rasped, “if you’re willing to listen.”

  Staring into the man’s pale gaze, Kellan slowly smiled. “And since when are the Casus interested in helping the Watchmen?”

  Arching one midnight brow, the man said, “Compared to the dangerous game you’re playing, shifter, putting your trust in me is the smartest thing you’ll do tonight.”

  Kellan assumed that by “dangerous game” the man was referring to his unit’s fight against the Casus, and was about to tell him exactly what he could do with his offer, when a chorus of howls cut through the silent night…drying up the smart-ass comment on his tongue. The stranger gave him a sharp smile, saying, “I’d shed that human skin of yours if you want to live, Watchman. Otherwise, you won’t last two seconds against the Casus. I think there are at least three of them headed your way.”

  “Wait!” he shouted as the man turned and started to walk away. “Why the hell did you help me?”

  “I’m not what you think I am,” the stranger said over his broad shoulder, before disappearing into the fog.

  Looking back toward the street, Kellan could feel the evil drawing closer and knew his only chance was to fight, which meant that the jackass was right. He was going to have to shift. He hesitated for a split second, hating the idea of shredding his clothes, but it couldn’t be helped. Grimacing at the loss of a five-hundred-dollar leather jacket, he allowed the change to flow over him as he ran toward the coming howls, his body instantly expanding, musculature and bone altering their shapes as he transformed into the deadly, terrifying shape of his beast.

  And then Kellan answered the bone-chilling howls with one of his own.

  HE WAS SO ANGRYhis blood was boiling.

  Riley had heard the expression often enough in life, but he couldn’t see the truth in it. Not at that particular moment in time, because there wasn’t anything hot about the fury swelling through him, thickening in his veins, in every cell of his body. It was too desolate and bleak for heat. An arctic, icy tundra. Barren and cold and brutal.

  He couldn’t believe what that bastard had done to her. Couldn’t believe what Hope had suffered. But most of all, he couldn’t believe that he hadn’t been there to protect her. That he’d turned his back on her, thinking it would keep her safe, and she’d ended up suffering anyway.

  Snarling, Riley turned and punched the stone face of the fireplace that covered one side of the cabin, cursing at the crushing blow of pain that radiated up his wrist, into his arm. Looking down, he scowled at the bruised, bloodied mess he’d made of his hand.

  “Smooth move, asshole.” He gave a weary shake of his head, disgusted with himself for acting like such a prick. Smashing his hand to pieces wasn’t going to solve anything, and it sure as hell hadn’t made him feel any better.

  Footsteps sounded on the porch, and he turned his head at the sound of Kellan coming through the door. The bedraggled Watchman took one look at his bloody hand and quirked his right eyebrow. “Whoa. What happened to you?”

  Eyeing Kellan’s blood-streaked, nearly naked body, the tattered remnants of what looked like the Watchman’s leather jacket wrapped around his waist, Riley muttered, “I think I could ask you the same thing.”

  “You first,” Kellan snorted, heading for the duffel bag he’d left sitting on the end of his bed.

  “Hope. She…” He blew out a rough breath, then forced the words out past the knot of emotion in his throat. “She told me what happened with her ex. Bastard threw her through a window in a jealous rage. She was pregnant at the time. Lost the baby.”

  “Son of a bitch,” Kellan rasped, grabbing a towel from the end of his bed and using it to wipe the smears of blood from his legs, before pulling on a pair of jeans. “The prick should still be rotting away in prison.”

  Riley grunted his agreement, then said, “What happened to your clothes?”

  “They got shredded when I had to shift,” Kellan explained with a wince, but Riley couldn’t tell if it was from what he’d been through, or the fact that he’d had to destroy his designer duds. “So I guess Seth was right. Not only are the Casus in town, but it looks as though we’ve already got some of Westmore’s guys here as well, probably hoping to cover up any messes their psychotic buddies leave around. I had a run-in with one of them, and it wasn’t pretty.”

  “Who won?” he asked, watching as Kellan used the towel to wipe away the streaks of blood that covered his torso.

  “I’m still in one piece, so I think the point goes to me. But I gotta tell ya, we were right about those bastards not being human. I took his throat out with my blade, and the next thing I know he’s gone.”

  “No shit?”

  “It gets weirder,” Kellan warned him, sitting down beside his bag. “I don’t think he was trying to kill me, so much as injure me, which begs the question of just what they were planning on doing with me. And he probably would have gotten in a good shot, too, if I hadn’t been warned he was there.”

  Leaning against the stone fireplace, Riley said, “Warned by who?”

  “No idea,” Kellan muttered. “It just seems to be one of those nights where things don’t make any sense. I thought the guy must be Casus, since he had that whole freaky ice-blue eye thing going on, but he gave me another warning that a group of Casus were coming. I had to shift just to fight my way out of there.”

  “Are you sure the man wasn’t Gregory?”

  Kellan nodded, having heard the same description that Riley had of Gregory from Saige and Quinn. “This guy’s hair was short and as black as yours.”

  “Then who in God’s name is he?” Riley muttered, growing increasingly uneasy at the thought of another unknown element being added to the equation. “And why did he help you?”

  “Who knows,” Kellan said with a groan, rolling his head over his shoulders. “And you know what else I’m wondering? Why, if we have all these Casus running around, haven’t there been more killings? I went up against three of them tonight, and Gregory would make four.”

  Pushing away from the wall, Riley paced his way across the floor. “Either Westmore and the Collective are doing a good job of covering up for them right now, Gregory’s kill up in Wellsford aside, or they’re not feeding like before. Maybe they’ve even been warned. If the ones planning this war have any brains, they’ll know how dangerous it is for the Casus to keep killing at the rate Malcolm did. It’ll draw too much attention.”

  Pulling on a pair of socks, Kellan said, “Do you really think it was Gregory who killed the girl?”

  Still pacing, Riley struggled to hold on to his seething frustration. “Considering that her fingers were bitten off,” he grunted, scraping one hand over the bristled surface of his jaw, “I’d say it was Gregory’s way of letting us know he’s here. But it still makes me wonder where the others are and what they’re doing while waiting for me to find the Marker and reach full power. What the hell are they up to?” he snarled, cutting his hand through the air, the same way he’d done in the forest. And like before, his power was accidentally unleashed, sending the nearest lamp crashing into the wall.

  Kellan whistled softly under his breath. “Whoa. Remind me not to piss you off,” he offered in a low, choked voice, obviously trying not to laugh.

  “It isn’t funny,” Riley snapped, shoving his hands into his pockets as he glared at the grinning Watchman. “And just so you know, I don’t think you should keep going into town on your own.”

  Kellan tugged a sweatshirt over his head and scowled. “What the hell?”

  “It’s too dangerous,” he grunted, knowing that Kellan’s ego wasn’t going to like wha
t he had to say. “You got lucky tonight, but who knows what will happen next time. If they went for you once, they’ll go for you again.”

  “I’d like to see them try,” the younger man snarled, sounding thoroughly insulted as he pulled on a pair of trainers.

  Shifting his gaze to the broken pieces of the lamp that had fallen to the floor, Riley blew out a rough breath. “This isn’t the time to let your ego get the better of you, Kell.”

  “Screw this shit,” Kellan muttered, shoving to his feet and heading straight for the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Riley barked.

  Kellan made a rude sound in the back of his throat. “Don’t worry, Dad,” he sneered, glaring over his shoulder. “I’m just going to take a look around the property. Make sure there’s no one lingering around.”

  Riley was about to tell him to stop acting like a jackass, but the instant Kellan opened the door, they heard shouting coming from up at Hope and Millie’s house. Sharing a look of alarm, they bolted outside and sprinted down the snaking forest path, reaching the back garden in only a handful of seconds. Riley could see Hope standing at the bay window, with Millie by her side, Hal having obviously headed home already.

  And standing in the back garden, screaming a nasty stream of insults at the women, was a tall, lanky man with sunshine-colored hair. Guessing who the stranger was—and knowing a fight was going to be inevitable—Riley tested his newfound power by putting a mental hold on the back door, wanting Hope and Millie to stay inside the safety of the house.

  Stepping up behind the man, Riley braced his feet in the damp lawn. “Let me guess,” he rasped. “Neal Capshaw?”

  The blonde spun around, his lip curling as he snarled, “And who the fuck are you?”

  Riley gave him a cold, menacing smile. “I’m the man who’s going to show you what happens to worthless pricks who beat up on women.”

  “She’s the worthless one!” Capshaw sputtered, his face blotchy and red from his rage.

  As Riley faced Capshaw, Hope started trying to open the back door, but he concentrated…reaching deep inside for the power to hold it closed as she struggled to wrench it open. The mother of all headaches started pounding through his skull, and as he felt a hot trickle of blood begin to stream from his nose, he gave up a silent prayer that he wasn’t about to give himself an aneurysm.

  “Kick his ass, Riley,” Kellan suddenly shouted from where he’d propped his shoulder against a nearby tree, obviously settling in to watch the show. “The asshole deserves it.”

  “Riley?” Capshaw sneered, his hazel eyes darkening as he took a step closer. “You’re Riley? Riley Buchanan?” The gleam of hatred in the man’s eyes deepened, and Riley waited, knowing that Capshaw was about throw his first punch. And while he didn’t relish the thought of violence, he couldn’t wait to pound his fist into the guy’s chiseled mug. He wanted to make the creep pay for everything that he’d done to Hope. For the pain he’d caused her…the terror. And for coming back into her life after all this time, trying to hurt her again.

  “Well, isn’t this my lucky day? You have any idea how many years I’ve spent wanting to take you apart? Because of you, I never had a chance with that bitch,” Capshaw shouted, pointing toward the house, where Hope was once again watching from the window, looking terrified and thoroughly pissed. “She was always hung up on you. It was goddamn pathetic!”

  “My history with Hope has nothing to do with you,” Riley grunted, even though he knew there was no sense in trying to reason with the man. He was obviously an asshole. One who thought the world revolved around him.

  “It has everything to do with me,” Capshaw screeched, jabbing his thumb toward his chest. “I’m the man she married.”

  “You’re the man who lost her,” Riley countered in a graveled slide of words. “And you’re not getting her back.”

  Capshaw’s face contorted with rage, a thick, guttural cry breaking from his chest as he finally made his move, hurling his rangy body straight at Riley. They hit the fog-shrouded ground hard, sliding across the soggy lawn, punches flying as they each connected with their targets. Cartilage crunched and blood sprayed, their savage, snarling grunts filling the air as Hope screamed for Riley to be careful from her place at the window. They rolled over the ground, struggling to make a clean grip as the skies unleashed a fresh deluge of rain. The hazy mist of sea-scented fog began to clear beneath the fury of the downpour, the mud only making it more difficult to maneuver as the grass gave way beneath their wrestling bodies.

  “Hope owes me!” Capshaw roared, after they’d broken apart and moved back to their feet.

  Riley made a thick sound of disgust as they circled one another. “Like hell she does.”

  “I didn’t deserve what they did to me. Locking me up with the same kind of scum that I used to put away. And all because of her. Did she tell you that I lost everything because of her? Because she was screwing around?” Without waiting for Riley’s answer, he sneered, “I lost it all because of that little bitch! My career. Respect. My freedom!”

  Shaking his head, Riley said, “You lost the life you had because you’re a worthless shit, Capshaw. One who was too stupid to appreciate what he had.”

  As he wiped his bleeding mouth with the back of his wrist, Capshaw’s chest shook with a low, sickening rumble of laughter as he said, “You wanna know what I appreciate, Buchanan? The fact that she finally got what she deserved. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Hell, I doubt that baby was even mine. It didn’t deserve to live.”

  As Capshaw’s words sank in, Riley acknowledged the fact that if he hadn’t left his gun back in the cabin, he’d have been tempted to shoot the bastard. As it was, he was angry enough to go for the man’s blood with his bare hands. Angry enough to tear him to pieces. Capshaw must have seen the rage in his eyes, because he tried to stumble back, but Riley was too fast. One second the creep was standing his ground, and in the next, Riley delivered a swift right hook that knocked the man clear off his feet. Capshaw came up snarling, and Riley hit him again, bone crunching as he slammed his fist into the guy’s nose, causing blood to spurt out over the asshole’s mouth and chin, dripping onto his muddy shirt. The bastard lunged for him, and they hit the mud again, sliding a good five feet before they came to a stop. Riley was distantly aware of Kellan urging him on as he pinned Capshaw beneath him…of Hope screaming at him from inside the house, banging on the window as Millie tried to pull her away, but it all faded into white noise as the anger of the man gave way to the visceral, bloodthirsty rage of the darkness within him.

  He could feel his Merrick blood rising, his fangs beginning to slip free of his gums, heavy and sharp in his mouth. Could feel the Merrick’s dark, predatory desire to rip out the bastard’s throat. The tips of the fingers he’d wrapped around Capshaw’s throat suddenly burned, and he grunted from the sharp slice of pain as deadly talons began to pierce through his skin. Punching against his insides, the Merrick struggled to slip free, but it was too weak to fully break its way out of him. Using every ounce of strength he possessed, Riley forced the beast into submission, knowing he couldn’t let it have what it wanted. Which was Capshaw’s blood. His life. And while he had no problem killing as a man, if it meant protecting those he cared about, he didn’t want to kill like a monster.

  For a split second he turned his face to the side, away from the temptation of Capshaw’s throat as a flash of lightning arced across the sky, and the Merrick finally retreated, allowing Riley to finish the asshole off. Quickly jerking Capshaw to his feet with his left hand clamped on the guy’s muddy shirt, Riley pulled back his fist, then smashed it into the bastard’s face, sending him sprawling headfirst into the mud. Capshaw went down hard…and stayed down.

  While Riley stood there, his chest heaving as he stared down at Capshaw’s body, Kellan came over and knelt down beside the creep, checking his pockets. Pulling out a motel key card, he read the name on the plastic. “Guess he’s staying over at the Pacific Po
int Motel. I saw it in town.” Hoisting Capshaw’s body over his shoulder, Kellan moved to his feet and said, “I’ll be a pal and get this piece of shit out of here. You going to be okay?”

  He nodded as he dug his battered knuckles into his pockets, then tossed Kellan his keys. The Watchman loaded a groaning Capshaw into the bed of the truck, then climbed into the cab, started the engine and drove away. Taking a deep breath, Riley finally released his mental hold on the back door, and a second later Hope stormed out of the house, her hair all but standing on end in her fury, her topaz-colored eyes glittering with rage as she marched toward him.

  Pushing his wet hair back from his face, Riley jerked his chin toward her right hand. “Put down the knife before you hurt yourself.”

  She glanced down at her hands with a look of shock, as if surprised to find herself holding the dangerous-looking weapon. Muttering under her breath, she went back and laid it on the porch banister, then turned and pointed one shaking finger toward the house, where Millie was standing in the open doorway, looking pale with strain. “Someone needs to fix that bloody door!”

  Sighing, Riley said, “There’s nothing wrong with the door, Hope.”

  “Like hell there isn’t,” she argued. “The damn thing wouldn’t open!”

  Before he’d even thought it through, he heard himself saying, “That’s because I was keeping it closed.”

  She gave a feminine snort, as though she thought he was making some kind of joke. “And exactly how were you doing that while you were busy kicking the shit out of Neal?”

  His mouth flattened to a hard, grim line as he held her stare, the lashing rain drenching them both down to the bone. Finally, he said, “Do you really want to know?”

  It wasn’t so much the words, but his tone that snagged her attention, and she trembled, her eyes going wide with recollection, as if she’d suddenly just remembered something important. Quietly, she said, “I do.”