Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (23 page)

She closed her eyes, feeling as if her blush would
burn its way through his sweater, and she knew he could feel the heat. “Please
don’t make me talk about this,” she said in a muffled voice. “I can’t explain,
because I don’t understand it myself.”

Ashe seemed to ponder that for a moment, before
saying, “So then there wasn’t an undying declaration of love, I take it.”

Bitterness flavored her low laugh, and it was a moment
before she was able to swallow past the knot in her throat, somehow managing to
state, “He wants to screw me out of his system.”

He tipped her chin up and smiled down into her face,
his eyes glittering with a strange blend of wicked humor and a shadowed kind of
sadness. “Well, I could have told him that’s not possible.”

Morgan rolled her eyes. “You know you don’t want me
like that anymore.”

Snorting, he said, “You know so much, do you?”

“Despite the heat burning in your skin right now,” she
murmured, placing her hand against the side of his warm throat, “you know I
leave you cold, Ashe.”

“It didn’t have to be that way.” His voice was low,
careful…as if he was taking extra care with his words, but then he always did
take care with her. Taking her hand from his throat, he held it in his and ran
his thumb across her knuckles, his voice a dark, velvety rumble as he said, “I
still believe that if you’d been able to give me your heart, I’d have started
the burning.”

The “burning” for Deschanel males began when they met
the one woman who was meant to be theirs for all eternity. Although they could
take or borrow “heat” for a time from their non-Deschanel lovers, only their
life-mates could initiate the permanent change within their bodies that would
banish the cold forever.

Softly, she argued, “I don’t believe it would have
worked that way, Ashe. Someday you’ll meet a woman who sets you on fire, and
then you’ll understand the difference.”

His lips twitched, a wry smile touching the corners of
his mouth. “You don’t know everything, Miss Smarty Pants. If you looked at me
the way you look at the wolf, I’d probably go up in flames.”

Morgan was still shaking her head when he asked, “Was
he gentle with you?”

“What kind of question is that?” she spluttered, her
face burning as she pushed away from his chest.

“Sounded straightforward to me,” he rumbled, his grin
turning wicked. “Now let’s hear you give a straightforward answer.”

A heart-pounding silence, and then she finally choked
out a response. “Gentle is definitely not a word I would use to describe the
experience,” she told him, keeping her gaze focused on the strong shape of his
chin, too uncomfortable to look him in the eye.

“Good.”

Raising her brows, Morgan couldn’t help but give an
amazed laugh as she lifted her gaze to his. “And this from the vamp who treated
me like something that might break every time he touched me.”

Rolling one muscular shoulder, Ashe stated, “That was
what you needed back then.” He rubbed his thumb against the corner of her
mouth, then teasingly brushed his fist against her chin. “But you’re different
now. Stronger.”

“Not that strong,” she groaned, any pleasure she’d
felt in his words fading as she thought about what’d happened at the club. “I
was a total wreck tonight, Ashe. And I seem to be freaking out on a regular
basis now, even when I’m fighting, which has never happened before. The past
few days have been so embarrassing.”

“It’s probably just the stress that you’re under,” he
told her, his deep voice warm with concern. “And you know damn well that it’s
not something for you to be ashamed of. Christ, what you went through was a
nightmare, Morgan. It’s a miracle that you even survived.”

With her stomach in knots, she argued, “I’ve been
under stress before, and it’s never been like this.”

“Yeah, but these past few months have been rough.
You’ve been worried about the war, and now you’re worried about Kellan. Though
I guess it could also have something to do with the wolf,” he suggested.

Her eyes went wide. “What would Kierland have to do
with it?”

A slow grin crossed Ashe’s mouth. “Think about it,
sweetheart. When you’re around Scott, you probably use so much of your
emotional energy fighting your feelings for him, you end up not having enough
strength left to hold off your panic, the way you’re usually able to do.”

Morgan started to respond, thinking he just might be
on to something, but her words got lost behind a long, exhausted yawn that caught
her by surprise. “Sorry,” she murmured, covering her mouth as she yawned again.
The comforting combination of the warm hotel room and Ashe’s strong embrace
were lulling her to sleep, her system crashing now that she felt safe and
secure.

The vampire’s deep voice was hypnotically soothing as
he pulled her against his chest. “Shh. Just try to get some rest, honey. We can
work this all out later. Right now you need some sleep.”

“You won’t leave?” she whispered, her eyes so heavy
she could barely keep them open, the emotional strain of the past few days
suddenly catching up to her.

Stroking her back, he told her, “I’m staying right
here.”

“You’ve always been too good to me,” she said
sleepily, cuddling against Ashe’s warm chest, his arms cradling her in a
strong, protective hold.

But it was the Lycan’s grim, gorgeous face that Morgan
saw when she closed her eyes.

The Wasteland

Tuesday evening

KIERLAND FIGURED IT WAS A TRUE measure of his madness
that Morgan looked mouthwatering even when wrapped up in layers of winter
clothing. Though most of the clan species could withstand the cold better than
humans, the three of them had still needed sweaters and jackets for their
journey through the severe climate of the Wasteland.

They’d begun their journey in the early hours of the
morning and had headed north by train, making excellent time into Norway.
Thanks to the humans who’d allowed him to take their blood the week before,
Granger was able to travel in the sunlight, since the Deschanel could
temporarily “assume” certain traits of those they fed from. Kierland didn’t
understand exactly how it worked, but apparently some species, like humans,
could give the vampires the ability to walk in the sunlight for up to a week.
And seeing as how it would never become lighter than a dusky twilight in the
Wasteland this time of year, Granger’s aversion to sunlight wouldn’t be a
problem once they were there.

Having never before traveled into the Wasteland,
Kierland had been unsure how it would work, but Granger had known of the
easiest, southernmost entry point, which had saved them hours of travel time.
Protected by spells that made the region invisible to humans, the Wasteland was
a vast, bitterly cold prison that “shared” physical space with the Scandinavian
forests surrounding it. Kellan could have probably spouted a more elaborate,
technical explanation, using words like “dimension” and “time/space continuum,”
but then that was Kell for you. His brother always had been too clever for his
own good, and Kierland could only pray that Kell’s keen intellect would be
enough to keep him alive in the coming days.

And when he finally got his hands on him, Kierland was
going to plant a kiss on the idiot…and then kick his ass for scaring the
ever-loving hell out of him. Then, when his brother had picked himself up off
the ground, he was going to kick his ass all over again for putting him in this
untenable situation, where he was stuck with Granger and Morgan. His resentment
towards the vamp grew with each step they took, while his hunger for the female
Watchman seethed beneath his skin, turning him inside out.

Once they’d entered the Wasteland, Morgan had set the
direction they would travel, following the “pull” of Kellan’s blood that would
eventually lead them to him. After hiking for five solid hours—Granger’s
knowledge of the dangerous lands keeping them in so-called neutral territory
that had yet to be claimed by any exiled families—they’d finally stopped to
make camp in a small snow-dusted glade, all of their tempers on edge,
exhaustion already taking its toll. It was cold, dark and windy, flurries of
snow whipping down from the slate-gray sky, the rugged terrain a combination of
steep hills and thick forest, making it impossible to use any kind of
mechanical transportation, such as snowmobiles. But even if the land had been
clear and flat, the spells that made the use of cell phones impossible within
the Wasteland had a similar effect on engines. As a result, they’d been forced
to travel on foot, their equipment limited to what they could carry on their
backs.

Though he and Granger had been doing their best to
ignore each other, the Deschanel turned away from the small fire he’d just
started in the center of the glade, leaving Morgan kneeling beside the
crackling flames, and headed toward the place where Kierland stood. When the
vamp came to a stop no more than a few feet away from the massive, towering
pine tree that Kierland was leaning against, he met the Lycan’s belligerent
glare and muttered, “I got a weird feeling we were being followed a while back,
but haven’t been able to pick up anything specific. You?”

“I’ve had a similar feeling,” he admitted, while part
of him objectively observed, slack jawed, the fact that he was talking to Ashe
Granger in a semi-casual manner. But he didn’t want to waste time fighting with
the bastard when they were in such hostile territory, the danger increasing
with each step that they took into the vast wilderness. “You think we’re just
projecting?” he asked. “Looking for trouble because we haven’t found any yet?”

A wry smile touched the vamp’s mouth, and he laughed
as he ran a hand over his short hair. “Could be. God knows this place has
always given me the creeps,” he murmured, casting a rueful look across their
bleak surroundings, before locking his gaze with Kierland’s again. “But I was
wondering if you think it might be those Death-Walkers you’ve got coming after
you? Gideon told me about them the last time we talked.”

Kierland shook his head. “Unless they’ve managed to
mask their scent, we’d know, because they smell like something that’s been left
to rot in the heat. Even out here, where the snow and the constant winds make
tracking near impossible, we’d be able to tell if they were close. But, I’m not
sure if they even have the balls to follow us too deeply into the Wasteland.”

The vamp gave another gritty laugh. “Pretty sad when a
bunch of rotting psychopaths have more sense than we do, huh?”

“Lately, it feels like everyone and everything has
more sense than I do,” he muttered dryly, surprised to find himself momentarily
bantering with the guy.

“I know the feeling.” Granger worried two fingers
against his shadowed jaw, then gave a firm nod. “I’m going to run a perimeter
and make sure there’s nothing too close, just to be safe. Even without the
possibility of Death-Walkers, Casus, Kraven and Collective soldiers coming
after us, we’ve still got to be on the lookout for the vamps who live in this
shit hole. With the way we Deschanel can mask our scent, they could be right on
top of us before we even know they’re there. And from what I’ve seen of them,
the vampires imprisoned here are more trouble than we need at the moment.”

The vamp made his way back to the fire and spoke
briefly to Morgan, then headed into the thick forest, leaving them alone.
Kierland remained against the tree, just watching her, while wishing he’d
remembered to pick up some cigarettes before they’d set off. God only knew that
he needed one, his system so jacked up it was a wonder he could stand still.

She had a tired, kind of tense expression on her face
as she stared into the flickering flames, her mind obviously a million miles
away, leaving him free to stare, soaking in the fine-grained beauty of her
profile. As he stood there, fighting to hold himself away from her, he couldn’t
help remembering the phone call he’d had with Quinn when he’d left her room
last night.

Left her room, and headed down to the bar by
himself…leaving her in the arms of another man.

After choosing one of the booths in the far corner of
the dark, wood-paneled bar, Kierland had just lifted his Scotch to his lips
when his phone rang. A half-minute later, after he’d explained where he was and
what had happened, he’d downed the contents of the highball and muttered, “What
is this? The conference call from hell?”

Quinn and Aiden had given dark laughs at the other end
of the line, then continued to accuse him of being a stubborn bastard, one who
always refused to practice what he preached. Though he wanted to argue, badly,
he couldn’t. Kierland knew his friends were right. He had no problem dishing
out advice to the men who were like family to him, but hell if he ever applied
that advice to his own circumstances.

The conversation had continued with claims that he was
being a “hypocritical jackass” and a few sharp, guttural warnings that he was
going to lose her, for good, if he wasn’t careful. Of course, Kierland’s bitter
response was that he couldn’t lose something that had never been his to begin
with. Then he’d added, for good measure, the fact that he had no desire to
saddle himself with a woman like Morgan Cantrell for the rest of his friggin’
life, to which his friends had responded with another round of biting
accusations.