Windburn (Nightwing# 2) (12 page)

I shook my head, holding a hand out. “I’m fine. Really.”

He waited to see I could manage on my own. I slipped into my car and jetted to Nightwing Industries, not realizing till I’d parked that I was trembling. Torin…was it really him? He was rough and persistent, but some kind of cult freak and possible murderer? I couldn’t believe it. It had to be a mistake.

The parking lot was near empty. Only the workaholics still lurked somewhere in the building. The elevator dinged on the 77th floor. Willow and I shared her office space. The staff was long gone, the offices dark, leaving only the corridor lights on, reflecting lone pools on the gray marble flooring. My heels echoed down the empty hall. A prickle of unease shivered down my spine. A square, white sheet of paper stood out on the center of Belka’s immaculate desk.
Proofs on Willow’s desk. –B

I stepped into Willow’s office and flipped on the lights. Sheer blue curtains billowed on the terrace entrance. The balcony door was open. The silhouette of a man and wings moved. I squealed.

Fallon stepped through, tucking his gray wings softly to his back. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to frighten you.”

I pressed my hand to my chest. “Well, hell! You did.”

“Sorry.” An apologetic smile. His hair, usually pulled back in a tail, fell in silvery waves to his shoulders.

I’d never seen his hair down. I frowned. “It’s okay. I’m just jumpy.” I stomped over to the desk. My heel snapped, and I stumbled, grabbing the desk before I fell. “Shit.”

I bent my leg and pulled off the broken heel. I must’ve cracked it in my encounter with Torin.

“Get what you need here.” Fallon chuckled, then cleared his throat before crossing the office in long strides like a man on a mission. “I’ll be right back.”

What the hell? That was weird. I chucked off both heels, sighed, and picked up the envelope of proofs. Taking a quick peek, I smiled, my mood lightening a tad. They were beyond awesome. James had come through again. I spread a few out on the desk. Fallon stepped back into the room, ice tinkling in two glasses of amber liquid.

“Here. I think you need this.”

“Fallon, where the hell have you been stashing alcohol in the office? Isn’t that against Nightwing protocol?”

He passed me a glass, clinking his against mine. “Some rules were meant to be broken.”

I laughed and took a deep swig. “Brevette? Great taste, Fallon.”

“I think so.” Gray eyes narrowed with a close-mouthed smile.

I knocked back another gulp. “Damn, I needed that.” I set down the glass and slid the photo proofs back in the envelope. One slipped from my hand, falling onto the chair. Wait. There was a box on the seat. I pulled the chair out and froze.

My heart hammered. My breathing quickened. A large rectangular box in black, shiny paper with a crimson ribbon. In an instant, I’d ripped off the wrapping and opened the box. I lifted red tissue paper with trembling fingers to reveal the folds of a translucent, cream-colored gown. Underneath was a white card with red-inked letters that read
For us
.

I dropped the box and fell against the wall behind me, white spots spinning in my peripheral vision. Fear gripped me tight, but it wasn’t fear that dulled my senses, making my head spin and my body sluggish. I stared at the glass of Brevette.

Brevette.

During this whole time, Fallon had not said a word. With lithe grace, he leaned forward and lifted the gown’s straps with his two index fingers. The fabric slithered out of the box, stretching to the floor like a snake. I knew somehow that it would be a perfect fit on my body. I edged along the wall away from him, the perimeter of my vision dimming.

“Fallon …” I shook my head. “Not you.” My voice sounded distant.

“This will look so beautiful on you, my love.”

I tried to remain upright and conscious, looking for a weapon. There was none. Wait. There was. I fell to the floor and crawled, my sight blurring, black spots closing in from the sides.

A throaty chuckle above me. “Where are you going, Sorcha? We have plans, you and I.”

I kept crawling. Hands gripped me, pulling me off the floor, but not before I grabbed one of my heels. Dizzy, my body rolled over in his arms. I swung the heel. He caught my wrist in an iron grasp. I cried out, dropping my weapon. My limbs were languid, like sloshing through frozen water. I could do nothing when his hand fisted in my hair and yanked back. A sharp pain.

His face leered close to mine, mouth tight and severe. “Be good, my love. I’m already upset with you.” His entire body reeked of malice. His arms squeezed me tight. “Though you let him fuck you like a whore, I’ll still make you my bride.”

I groaned, trying to resist. My arms flailed, feeling detached, not my own. He pinned them in his hold. Bending closer, his lips pressed violently against mine. I tried to squirm away, turn my head. His grip in my hair tightened painfully. He bit down on my lip till a metallic taste trickled down my throat. He licked the bite with his tongue, emitting a sickening, soft moan. He drew back with crimson-stained lips. My pulse pounded, my body drifting further into oblivion. I was staring at the devil himself.

He grinned with ice in his eyes. “My blood bride.”

And then, the dark took me.

I floated in and out of consciousness. My face stung. Icy wind nipped at my cheeks, nose, and chin. I couldn’t move my arms and legs, bound tight in some wrapping…a blanket perhaps, soft and warm. My eyes fluttered open. Above me loomed a shadowy profile, jagged and cold—Fallon. His hair blew back, his face all sharp angles, the starry night above him. We were flying. The dark took me again.

* * * *

Still high above the ground, a gibbous moon shone pale and bright. So beautiful against the black sky. Peace washed over me, then I remembered the man who held me. A listless wave overpowered my senses. My eyes drifted closed.

* * * *

So sluggish, the jolt of landing jarred me, but I couldn’t see. He carried me inside. I sensed the dense closeness of solid walls and smelled a damp, musty odor. Darkness….

* * * *

I dreamed of Lorian, smiling down at me, removing my clothes in a slow, sensuous caress. His hands smoothed over my skin, but they were cold. I shivered. He said, “Don’t worry, love. I’ll warm you up.” But his voice had changed. He rubbed oil onto my skin, his fingers trailing from my throat over my shoulders, breasts, stomach, and hips, down my thighs, behind my knees and calves. The oil heated my skin. He’d never touched me like this, as if he didn’t know my body, didn’t know me. I frowned as he slipped a gown over my head, helping my arms into the straps, smoothing the fabric down my frame. When he held my head and neck, guiding me back down to the bed, my senses awakened, merging from dream to reality. Not Lorian.

Spine-chilling fear gripped me hard. My stomach lurched.

Opening my eyes to slits, I saw Fallon standing in the corner of the cavernous room in a red cloak, leaning over a thick book on a desk. There was a strange smell in the air, a familiar smell.
Allure.
He’d put it all over me.
Shit!
I tested my limbs, bending my knees, stretching my fingers and arms. The drug, whatever he’d put in the Brevette, was wearing off.

I heard the scuffle of boots outside my field of vision. I snapped my eyes shut. A strange voice in the room. “Vawn and his brother are on their way. The others are assembled and ready.”

“Good.” Fallon. “Bring this.” The book snapped shut. “Let me greet the others, and we’ll get started.”

“She is a luscious bride, Sire.”

My heart lurched. I felt their eyes on me. I remained still as stone.

“She is perfect.”

I feared Fallon would touch me the way his voice dripped with desire. But he didn’t. Boots moved to the door, their echoes dying away. I slowly opened my eyes. Yes. I was alone. I lurched to my feet, almost falling forward on my face. The drug weakened my limbs. My clothes were gone. He’d dressed me in that flimsy excuse for a gown I’d found in the gift box. And nothing else. Realizing I’d replaced Lorian with Fallon in that drug-induced dream earlier, I stifled a sob.

Lorian.

I needed to do something, needed to move.

The room was barren except for the pallet of bedding on the floor, the desk, and a torch in a sconce on the wall. On the desk lay a long wrapping of red velvet. I unfolded the cloth, finding a long, sharp dagger with a dragonhead handle. My heart skipped a beat. I knew what this was for.

We’ll see about that.

I grabbed the dagger and the torch and ran, veering right outside the chamber, leading away from murmuring voices in the near distance on the left. I was in an underground cave. The walls were black, shining like glass when the firelight of the torch flickered. I ran and ran and ran, never looking back. Stumbling out of one tunnel into an opening that forked into four different passages, I stopped, gasping for breath.

“Mount Obsidian,” I whispered, remembering Lorian’s words. He’d said there were hundreds of miles of tunnels.

Not knowing which way to go, I chose the one on the right and sprinted headlong into the dark, hoping this would lead me to freedom. I tripped and fell, tearing the sheer gown where my knee hit the cavern floor. I heard a shout somewhere behind me.

No.

Engulfed by fear, adrenaline pumping through my veins, I clutched the dagger tighter in my hand and ran faster. Sweat trickling at my temples, my hair flew behind me as I ran. The gown clung to my body. Tears slid down my face, but I didn’t make a sound. Only the soft slap-slap of my bare feet on the stone floor echoed on the walls. Then I heard them. Heavy footsteps stomping down the tunnel, growing louder, closer. I dropped the torch and ran as fast as I could, unencumbered by its weight.

The floor dipped down suddenly. I stumbled and rolled into another opening, forking into three more tunnels. The flicker of firelight on obsidian walls came from the mouth of the tunnel behind me. Scrambling to my feet, I held my dagger aloft, pointing at whatever enemy stepped closer. I couldn’t outrun them, but I’d fight like hell. A second later, Fallon walked into view along with two of his minions, one carrying my torch.

He laughed.

Fucker.

“Now, love, did you truly believe you could escape? With our senses, we could hear and smell you a mile away. And look what you’ve done to yourself, getting your gown all dirty, scraping your knee.”

Insane. He was getting ready to kill me in some psychotic, ancient ceremony, but he was concerned about my scraped knee?

Orange flames from the torch revealed his bare body under the scarlet cloak, except for a black tunic from his waist to the top of his knees. It also revealed he had a hard-on. I pointed the dagger at his crotch. “I’ll cut it off before I let you have me.”

His smile sent a chill snaking up my spine. He continued to come closer. I edged back.

“I already have you, love.”

I butted into a wall. No, not a wall. Arms formed a vise around my chest.

“Good evening, Vawn.” Fallon glanced up at the man who bound me in his arms. “Pleased you could make it.”

“I’m glad I was late and could be of service, sire.” He squeezed me for emphasis, trying to make me drop the dagger, rubbing his hard body against mine.

Dangerous energy radiated within the small space. Malice mingled with dark desire, gleaming from the men encircling me. I was the sacrificial lamb, sure to be devoured by ravenous wolves. My mouth went dry, fear and self-preservation spurning me on. I snapped my head back, knocking my captor in the chin. He cursed, but kept me pinioned in his arms.

“It’s no use, Sorcha. Relax.”

Fallon passed the torch from one hand to the other, the light casting shadows on his pointed wings—each bearing a distinct claw on its crest. I’d known all along he was a Greyclaw, but only now did the sinking realization have any meaning. “You’re related to Torin.” My voice was hoarse and pitiful.

“We’re distant cousins. Very distant.”

“He set me up? This whole time, he was working under your orders?”

Fallon’s sharp features softened with a genuine smile. It was the creepiest shit I’d ever seen. “No. Torin isn’t capable of thinking for himself. I happened to mention to him you were most assuredly forced into a sexual relationship with the boss, which was the only reason you’d reject his advances. That kept him pursuing you blindly. It was quite simple to do. The boy’s ego is enormous.”

“You used him as a decoy.”

He tilted his head. “Of course.”

“But isn’t he your clan? Your family?”

“The Larkosians are my clan and my family.” A throaty, grave statement, his body and expression tightening.

“The Larkosians are a bunch of psychotic, murdering fanatics, worshipping a dead guy who never even deserved it!”

He gripped my jaw from underneath with one hand, forcing me to meet his gaze. I spit on him. He wiped the spittle off with the back of his other hand, eyes glinting with lust and malevolence, a frightening combination.

“Yes. You will be the perfect blood bride, love.”

“Stop calling me
love
, asshole! I’m not your love. Wait till Lorian finds you. You’re so dead. You don’t even know it.”

“Lorian? No. I don’t think so. You aren’t heartbound. He can’t find you. He’ll never find us.”

Heartbound. Could soulfire have linked us in such a way to allow him to follow? Did I doom myself by my own stubbornness? Why did I refuse him? Because my father ditched my mom? A sharp pain threatened to cleave me in two. I loved Lorian. My heart and soul cried out for him at that moment, while a monster leered before me.

I grunted in disgust. “Kol was right.”

“Really? About what?”

“You Greyclaws. You’re all a bunch of fucking pricks.”

He tightened his grip on my jaw and crushed hard lips against mine before jerking away, purposely scraping his teeth against my swollen lip with a wicked gleam in stormy eyes. “His scent is still on you, but that means nothing. You’re mine, and I’ll relish fucking you hard and splitting you open for Larkos.”

My eyes widened, heart pounding against my rib cage, unable to say a word.