Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (10 page)

He shot her a wry look, another one of those crooked
grins kicking up the corner of his mouth. “Or worried we’re gonna kill each
other before we find my impulsive brother.”

She gave a soft laugh. “Haven’t killed each other
yet.”

“Don’t be too hasty,” he drawled. “The morning’s still
young.”

“Hmm. I’m starting to feel like you’re going to off me
when I’m not looking,” she drawled back, arching a brow. “Should I be worried?”

A slow, lean wolf’s smile hovered at the edge of his
mouth, his green eyes glittering with humor. But then the humor gradually
faded, and she could see the tension as it crept back into him, hardening the
sensual shape of his mouth. Beneath the soft black cashmere of his sweater,
powerful lines of muscle coiled across his broad shoulders and in his ripped
arms.

Morgan took another drink of the hot coffee, stared
down into her cup for a moment, then forced her gaze up to his. She wanted to
be staring him right in the eye when she asked her next question. “Exactly why
do you hate me so much, Kier?”

His expression became guarded, and there was an
underlying thread of caution in his deep voice as he said, “That’s a hell of a
thing to ask a man over breakfast, Morgan.”

“I’ve been wanting to ask you for ten years,” she told
him, curling both hands around the warmth of her cup. “Might as well get it
over with, seeing as how we’re going to be spending so much time together.”

He muttered something under his breath and looked
away, staring out the café’s front window, and pushed one long-fingered hand
through his hair. The overhead lights caught the crimson tints threaded through
the deeper, richer auburn strands as he raked the thick mass away from his
face, the blend of colors as mesmerizing as the glittering depths of a jewel.

When he finally spoke, the words came in a gritty,
halting rhythm. “I don’t…hate you.”

A husky burst of laughter fell quietly from her lips.
“Tell me to go to hell, Kier, but please, don’t lie to me. I can’t stand a man
who tells lies.”

Casting her a sideways glance, he arched one of those
dark, arrogant brows. “What about a woman who tells lies?”

Pushing her coffee away, she leaned back in her chair.
“Depends on her reasons.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a double standard?” he asked
dryly.

She rolled one shoulder, saying, “I’m just being
honest. And you’re avoiding the question.”

He shook his head a little, the corner of his mouth
twitching with something a bit too grim to be humor. “I’m not lying. You pissed
me off, but I…I’ve never hated you, Morgan. I think…” He took a deep breath and
paused, staring at her so intently that her pulse quickened, then slowly
continued, “I’ve wanted to hate you for a long time now. But I can’t seem to do
it.”

A frisson of something dangerous and warm skittered
through her system, and she snuffled another soft laugh under her breath to
cover her unease. “Well, if you don’t hate me, you’ve spent a decade doing a
damn good impression of it.”

“It’s difficult to explain,” he said in a low voice,
rubbing his hand against his hard jaw, his eyes burning a bright, turbulent
green. “I was messed up after Nicole was killed. And then to see you with Ashe,
who I couldn’t stand… I couldn’t believe that you’d done it. That you’d let the
Consortium use you like a piece of meat just to get cooperation from a guy like
him. You were worth so much more than that.”

For a moment, all Morgan could do was stare back at
him, unable to believe what he’d said. And then the familiar burn of
frustration and bruised, wounded pride began to rise within her like a great,
swelling wave. She didn’t know what she’d expected to hear, but that wasn’t it.
She’d known he believed the worst about her relationship with Ashe, but she
hadn’t realized that it continued to form the basis for his contempt.

“So that’s your answer? All this ugliness and rude
insinuation because of what happened with Ashe?” She took a deep, shuddering
breath, and then went on, the words ripping out of her with quiet, rushing
force. “I don’t know what I was thinking to actually hope that there might be
some relevant accusations you could hurl at me. I mean, that’s it? You’ve
treated me like dirt because you’re still pissed at me for something that had
nothing to do with you? Because you believe I sold myself short? You were my
instructor, Kierland. Not my goddamn father. Who I chose to go to bed with was
never any of your bloody business!”

If she’d been hoping to get a reaction out of him, she
shouldn’t have bothered. By the time she’d finished with her quiet tirade, he
was wearing his emotionless mask again. The one that made Morgan want to do
something outrageous, like slap him again.

Sounding as if they were discussing nothing more
interesting than the fashion trends in winter footwear, he explained, “You
asked me a question, Morgan. And I gave you an answer. It’s not my fault if you
don’t like it.”

“Yeah, well, call me picky, but I was hoping for a
better one.”

Watching her closely, he asked, “What exactly were you
hoping to hear?” and she shivered, hating how easily the deep, hypnotic timbre
of his voice could cause chills to break out over her skin. “You want me to
accuse you of following similar orders over the years? Don’t think I haven’t
thought about it. But I’ve always hoped you were smart enough to have learned
your lesson with the vamp.”

“Just forget I ever brought it up,” she muttered,
thankful that their waitress arrived with the check. “It was a bad idea.”

There’s an understatement.

God, she didn’t know what she’d been thinking,
maneuvering him into a conversation that she really didn’t want to have, its
purpose to find answers that she really didn’t want to hear. So the sexiest man
on earth—the man she’d once thought was the most amazing person she’d ever
known—still thought she was a whore. So what? It ticked her off, but it
wouldn’t kill her.

And Morgan knew it was her own fault for pressing the
issue. It wasn’t as if the stubborn Lycan was suddenly going to see the light
and change his beliefs, no matter how wrong they were. He’d think what he
wanted, same as he always had, and if she had half a brain, she wouldn’t waste
time worrying about it. She knew the truth—knew that she did the same damn job
as a Watchman that he did, with just as much pride and integrity. She had
nothing to be ashamed of. And she sure as hell didn’t owe Kierland Scott an
explanation.

She didn’t owe him a damn thing.

He paid the bill, and she was still irritated enough
to let him without putting up an argument. As they walked down to the
underground garage, where the Spider was parked, he got a text message from
Gideon saying that the vampire had something for them at his apartment that
they needed to pick up. There was also a short apology for the “catastrophe” they
were going to find. But that was it. Neither of them knew what to make of the
strange message, but they figured they’d learn what was going on soon enough.

When she pulled her seat belt across her chest,
Kierland asked her how the shoulder was doing, and Morgan told him that it was
healed. But she didn’t look at him as she spoke, keeping her head turned toward
the window, and he didn’t say anything more. They made the drive to Gideon
Granger’s apartment in silence, the purr of the Spider’s engine the only sound
other than the distant murmur of the city. Only a few beams of weak sunlight
managed to battle their way through the dull, pewter-colored sky, a sense of
heaviness in the air that made Morgan feel tired and cold and restless.

As she would have expected, Gideon’s apartment spoke
of wealth and prestige, located in a beautiful nineteenth-century town house
that had been converted into spacious, high-priced flats. They took the
elevator to the top floor and knocked on the wide set of dark wood doors, but
there was no answer.

“I guess he isn’t home,” she murmured. “Maybe we
should—” a quiet creak echoed through the sleek, wood paneled hallway, and she
glanced down to see that Kierland had forced open the door “—just let ourselves
in,” she finished wryly.

The Lycan gave her a crooked smile. “Don’t worry. The
lock was already broken.”

“What do you mean ‘already broken’?”

He pointed his finger toward the handle. “The lock’s
been busted. Which means that somebody broke in before us.”

“And how do we know they’re not still here?” she
whispered, while he pushed open the door and walked into the apartment.

“Intuition?” he offered over his shoulder.

“Intuition my ass,” Morgan muttered, sniffing at the
air. There was only a faint trace of a rich, tantalizing scent that reminded
her of Ashe, so she figured it belonged to Gideon. Made sense, since it was his
apartment. But that was all she could pick up.

“This must have been what he meant by that
‘catastrophe’ comment,” she called out, stepping over a sofa cushion. Though
the apartment had obviously been gorgeous at one point, it now reminded Morgan
of something that’d been caught in the middle of a stampede. Furniture was
overturned, covering the floor, along with upended drawers and shredded
upholstery. “Since Gideon mentioned it in the message, he must know about it.
Which means that he’s come and gone since the place was wrecked. What do you
think happened?”

“Either someone was looking for something,” Kierland
grunted, turning in a slow circle in the middle of the thrashed room, “or the
vamp has really pissed someone off.”

Morgan pushed her hands into her pockets and shrugged.
“From what I’ve heard about Gideon, there’s no telling. He’s considered the
‘wild one’ in the Granger family, and knowing what I do about Ashe, that’s some
distinction.”

Kierland raked his hair away from his forehead and
said, “Just look around and see what you can find.”

Walking into the kitchen, Morgan almost laughed when
she spotted the envelope stuck to the stainless steel surface of the fridge. It
was held in place by a magnet that read “Mind your fingers, I bite….”

“Hey, Kier. There’s an envelope in here marked
WOLFMAN. I’m thinking that means you.”

He came into the kitchen, opened the envelope and
gingerly pulled out a small glass vial. Inside was a shimmering, pearlescent
liquid, but there were no identifying labels to say what it was. With a deep
notch etched between his brows, he pulled out a piece of paper next and scanned
the handwritten lines of script.

“What’s it say?”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded
like “Bloody idiot,” then handed her the note so that she could read it for
herself.

Kierland,

Got your message and sorry I can’t be of assistance.
My advice is to ask Ashe. I can imagine how you’re reacting right about now,
which is why I left you this note instead of calling. Plus, I wanted you to
have the “sparkler.” Thought it might come in handy where you’re headed. If you
don’t know how to use it, Ashe can explain.

Don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’m following a
lead on the Death-Walkers. Could be something big, but I hope to hell it’s not
true. If it is, we’re going to have a problem. Like we need more of those, eh?

Haven’t been able to get in touch with Ashe for you,
but I’ll keep trying. Not sure where he is at the moment…. I’ll let you know
when I find him.

And don’t worry about locking up when you leave. Got
someone coming to fix the door this afternoon. I’d have waited for you, but
time is tight and I knew you were too much of a nosy bastard not to go ahead
and let yourself in. Can you hear me laughing?

Gideon

Morgan slid a curious look toward the vial that
Kierland still held in his hand. “Do you know what a ‘sparkler’ is?”

He closed his fingers around the object and shook his
head. “You?”

“Not a clue.” Propping her hip against the small
island that stood in the center of the kitchen’s granite floor, she braced
herself for the inevitable argument that was sure to come with her next words.
“So I guess this means we’re going with plan B, then.”

He snorted, crossed his arms over his wide chest,
propped his shoulder against the fridge, then snorted again. “I thought I
already told you that lame-ass joke isn’t funny.”

“You got any other bright ideas?” she asked, knowing
damn well that he didn’t. “Face it, Kier. Ashe is our best option.”

He made a thick, guttural sound in the back of his
throat, while a muscle began to tic below his left eye. “And how exactly are we
meant to find him?” he muttered, the scent of his fury rising, making her feel
as if his anger was a living thing there in the room with them. A deadly
predator, dark and impossibly dangerous. “Christ, Morgan. His own brother
doesn’t even know where he is, and he isn’t returning your calls.”

She took a deep breath, then quietly said, “Actually,
that won’t be a problem, because I can track Ashe, as well. Even more easily
than I can track Kell.”

FEELING AS IF HE WAS ABOUT TO burst the confines of
his skin, Kierland walked out of the kitchen and headed for the full-length
wall of windows that covered one entire side of the apartment, thankful that
Morgan couldn’t see his expression. He felt too raw, as if a layer of skin had
been peeled away, leaving nothing but blood and bones and this visceral,
destructive burn of fury clawing against his insides.