Wicked Ride Page 30
She gasped, her eyes widening.
He smiled and pressed his lips against hers. “I love you, Alexandra.”
She kissed him back, her lips trembling. “I love you more.”
He grinned.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and he lifted his head to see his men, some bloody and bruised, all stiffening. The fight was definitely over. Yuri, Masterson, and a slew of their soldiers littered the ground in death.
“Take anybody nonhuman and all evidence of Apollo and go. Now.”
Daire nodded and quickly set people to work.
Within minutes, only Kell and Alexandra remained along with Masterson’s body, three dead human soldiers, and an unconscious Parker Monzelle. The police burst in, and Kell assisted her to her feet.
“I guess you’re undercover for an international police force?” she whispered.
He nodded, hands up. “Aye. As are Garrett and Logan, considering the king wants them to remain here and on the job.”
Hopefully, the Seattle PD would let him get his cover story out before trying to kill him once recognizing Masterson’s body near the door.
His woman, his mate, his warrior walked toward her people, already issuing orders.
God, he loved her.
Lex settled her mom and sister in the guest room in the penthouse then kicked off her boots in the spacious bedroom, her body aching, her mind fuzzing. Thank goodness her mother had escaped before anybody created fire to throw. “They’re still in shock. God, I’m tired.”
“Aye.” Kell moved in behind her, all warm and delicious male. “I haven’t been grilled by the garda like that for some time.”
She turned and smiled. “So long as we stick to the story, which is mostly true, we’re fine.” They’d left out the parts about witches, vampires, and demons. “The brass wasn’t happy your fellow soldiers didn’t stick around to give reports.”
Kell rubbed a bruise near his eye. “They had bodies to dispose of.”
Lex grinned. “I like your story of keeping their covers secret better.”
“Me too.” He frowned and settled his hands at the small of her back, tugging her into safety. “I’m sorry about Masterson.”
She frowned, hurt aching down her. “Bundt might not recover. He’s devastated.” As she would have been if Bernie had turned out to be a low-life drug dealer. “It was hard to explain how somebody hit Masterson hard enough to punch through his throat.” She’d claimed she’d been shot by that time and believed the soldier responsible, who’d already left, had some sort of weapon.
Kell dropped a kiss on the top of her head. “Demons fight for the kill, always. Logan was just doing his job.”
“I’m not mad at Logan.” She leaned back, knowing Kell would keep her upright.
“Good.” His eyes glowed that odd green around his iris. “Your chief agreed to keep my cover for me, so hopefully I can continue at Fire. We need to know who the guy above Yuri is and why he wants Daire so badly.”
Warmth glided through her. “SWAT raided the port and closed down Yuri’s connection.”
“That’s good, but that’s only the beginning,” Kell mused.
True. “I guess you’re staying in town, huh?”
His upper lip curved. “I’m staying wherever you are.”
She caught her breath but didn’t dare to hope. “I’m damaged.”
“We’re all damaged.” He brushed a piece of hair from her face, tension of a different sort suggested in his touch.
She shook her head. “My own father shot me.” Her voice cracked on the end, and she cleared it. At least she’d put the bastard behind bars again. He wouldn’t get out this time. “I don’t trust well.”
“You’ll learn.” Kell leaned down and brushed her lips with his. “I’ll keep you safe, Alexandra.” Slowly, he drew her shirt off.
“I trust you.” Her words went deeper than love. “Completely.”
He stiffened and then gathered her closer. “I love you, little warrior.”
She laughed. “I’m keeping my job as a cop, you badass enforcer.”
He grinned. “I’m aware, and so long as you keep to the deal of you fighting humans and me fighting immortals, we’re good.”
“I don’t remember actually agreeing to that deal,” she murmured, sliding up on her tiptoes to nip his whiskered chin.
“Well then.” His voice deepened. “Let’s negotiate, shall we?” Bunching his shoulders, he lifted her and then tossed her onto the bed.
She rolled and came up laughing. No matter what happened, she could trust that they’d be together. When he’d been hurt, she’d had a vision of her life without him, and it was cold and empty. He brought warmth to her, and she wanted to keep him. “I love you, Dunne.”
He grinned and stalked toward her, all male animal. “I love you more, Alexandra.” Then he was on her. “Let’s negotiate now.”
Don’t miss the start of a pulse-pounding new post-apocalyptic series by Rebecca Zanetti, The Scorpius Syndrome, available in print and e-book next February!
Despair hungered in the darkness, not lingering, not languishing . . . but waiting to bite. No longer the little brother of rage, despair had taken over the night, ever present, an actor instead of an afterthought.
Lynne picked her way along the deserted twelve-lane interstate, allowing the weak light from the moon to guide her. An unnatural silence hung heavy over the empty land. A few rusted carcasses of cars lined the sides, otherwise, the once vibrant 405 was dead . . . yet she trod carefully.
Her months of hiding had taught her stealth. Prey needed stealth, as did the hunter.
She was both.
The tennis shoes she’d stolen from an abandoned thrift store protected her feet from the cracked asphalt. A click echoed in the darkness.
About time.
She’d made it closer to Los Angeles . . . well, what used to be Los Angeles . . . than she’d hoped.
A strobe light hit her full on, rendering sight useless. She closed her eyes. They’d either kill her or not. Either way, no need to go blind. “I want to see Mercury.”
Silence. Then several more clicks. Guns of some type.
She forced strength into her voice. “You don’t want to kill me without taking me to Mercury first.” Jax Mercury, to be exact. If he really existed. If not, she was screwed anyway.
“Why would we do that?” A voice from the darkness, angry and near.
She opened her eyes, allowing light to narrow her pupils. “I’m Lynne Harmony.”
Gasps, low and male, echoed around her. They’d closed in silently, just as well trained as she’d heard. As she’d hoped.
“Bullshit,” a voice hissed from her left.
She tilted her head toward the voice, then slowly, so slowly they wouldn’t be spooked, she unbuttoned her shirt. No cat calls, no suggestive responses followed. Shrugging her shoulders, she dropped the cotton to the ground, facing the light.
She hadn’t worn a bra, but she doubted the echoing exhales of shock were from her size Bs. More likely, the shimmering blue outline of her heart caught their attention. Yeah, she was a freak. Typhoid Mary in the body of a woman who’d made a mistake. A big one. But she might be able to save the men surrounding her. “So. Jax Mercury. Now.”
One man stepped closer. Gang tattoos lined his face, inked tears showing his kills. He might have been thirty, he might have been sixty. Regardless, he was dangerous. Eyeing her chest, he quickly crossed himself. “Holy Mary, Mother of God.”
“Not even close.” Wearily, she reached down and grabbed her shirt, shrugging it back on. She figured the take me to your leader line would get her shot and didn’t say it. “Do you want to live or not?”
He met her gaze, hope and fear twisting his scarred upper lip. “Yes.”
It was the most sincere sound she’d heard in months. “We’re running out of time.” Time had deserted them long ago, but she needed to get a move on. “Please.” The sound shocked her, the civility of it, a word
she’d forgotten how to use. The slightest of hopes warmed that blue organ in her chest, reminding her of who she used to be. Who she’d lost.
Another figure stepped forward, big and silent. Deadly power vibrated in the shift of muscle as light illuminated him from behind, keeping his features shrouded. “I didn’t tell you to put your shirt back on.” No emotion, no hint of humanity echoed in the deep rumble.
The lack of emotion twittered anxiety through her abdomen. Without missing a beat, she secured each button, keeping the movements slow and sure. “I take it you’re Mercury.” Regardless of name, there was no doubt the guy was in charge.
“If I am?” Soft, his voice promised death.
The promise she’d make him keep. Someday. The breeze picked up, tumbling weeds across the deserted 405. She fought a shiver. Any weakness shown might get her killed. “You know who I am.”
“I know who you say you are.” His overwhelming form blocked out the light, reminding her of her smaller size. “Take off your shirt.”
Something about the way he said it gave her pause. Before, she hadn’t cared. But with him so close she could smell male, an awareness of her femininity brought fresh fear. Nevertheless, she unbuttoned her shirt.
Her hands trembled.
Straightening her spine, she squared her shoulders and left the shirt on, the worn material gaping in the front.
He waited.
She lifted her chin, trying to meet his eyes, although she couldn’t see them. The men around them remained silent, yet alertness carried on the breeze. How many guns were trained on her? She wanted to tell them it would only take one. While she’d been through hell, she’d never really learned to fight.
The wind whipped into action, lifting her long hair away from her face. Her arms tightened against her ribcage. Goose bumps rose along her skin.
Swearing softly, the man stepped in, long tapered fingers drawing her shirt apart. He shifted to the side, allowing light to blast her front. Neon blue glowed over her flesh.
“Jesus.” He pressed his palm against her breastbone—directly above her heart.
Shock tightened her muscles, her eyes widening, heart ripping into a gallop. Her nipples pebbled from the breeze. Warmth cascaded from his hand when he spread his fingers over the odd blue of her skin. When was the last time someone had touched her gently?
And gentle, he was.
The touch had her looking down at his damaged hand. Faded white scars slashed across his knuckles, above the veins, past his wrist. The bizarre glow from her heart filtered through his long fingers. Her entire chest was blue from within. The veins closest to her heart, which glowed neon blue, shone strong enough to be seen through her ribs and sternum.
He exhaled loudly, removing his touch.
An odd sense of loss filtered down her spine. Then surprise came as he quickly buttoned her shirt to the top.
He clasped her by the elbow. “Cut the light.” His voice didn’t rise, but instantly, the light extinguished. “I’m Mercury. What do you want?”
What a question. What she wanted, nobody could provide. Yet she struggled to find the right words. Night after night, traveling under darkness to reach him, she’d planned for this moment. But the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to breathe. To rest. To hide. “Help. I need your help.” The truth tumbled out too fast to stop.
He stiffened and then tightened his hold on her arm. “That, darlin’, you’re gonna have to earn.”
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author REBECCA ZANETTI has worked as an art curator, Senate aide, lawyer, college professor, and a hearing examiner—only to culminate it all in stories about alpha males and the women who claim them. She writes contemporary romances, dark paranormal romances, and romantic suspense novels.
Growing up amid the glorious backdrops and winter wonderlands of the Pacific Northwest has given Rebecca fantastic scenery and adventures to weave into her stories. She resides in the wild north with her husband, children, and extended family who inspire her every day—or at the very least give her plenty of characters to write about.
Please visit Rebecca at: www.rebeccazanetti.com/
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LYRICAL PRESS BOOKS are published by
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Copyright © 2015 Rebecca Zanetti
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First electronic edition: June 2015
ISBN: 978-1-6018-3413-3
First print edition: June 2015
ISBN-13: 978-1-60183-557-4
ISBN-10: 1-60183-557-4