Hunted (Dark Protectors) Page 7

  “Good point.” Moira shuffled around two chairs piled high with thick, leather-bound books, her boots clipping across the ancient wooden floor.

  He could see her as a scholar. Perhaps later she’d put on glasses and tie her hair up in a bun. A sexy librarian, waiting to be kidnapped—which he pretty much had decided to do. Time to get his mate out of Ireland.

  He ran a rough hand through his hair. “The Coven Nine is in trouble.” Unsettled, scared, and reacting instead of steering their people.

  “I know.” Her tone held a note of resigned inevitability. “I’ll need to join sooner than I’d planned.”

  Probably true. Good thing she could do so remotely. Away from whoever was attacking her people. She’d need training against werewolves, although he had no intention of allowing her on the front line. Still, learning defense was a must in their worlds.

  “So what other abilities do you possess?” If the woman could turn his spleen into glue, he’d appreciate knowing about it.

  She sighed. “I deal in quantum physics, Conn. If something has molecules or waves, I can alter the material state.” A frown marred her pretty face as she faced him squarely.

  Brave little witch.

  “But when altering, I can only choose a state like solid, gas, or liquid. I can’t take a destroyed heart and reshape the organ into a working heart. Just into some sort of solid, which wouldn’t help at all.”

  “Too bad.”

  “Yes.” Her tooth bit into the flesh of her bottom lip, making his fangs ache for a taste. “The process is much easier on humans, of course. You’re probably rather safe.” The glint in her eye didn’t reassure him. “Besides. You vamps have plenty of abilities and weapons you don’t go around advertising.”

  She hadn’t quite answered his question.

  “I asked what else you could do.” The hair on the back of his neck rose, yanking him from the issue at hand. “Wait a minute.” He grabbed her biceps and shoved her behind him.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she gasped.

  An ominous silence filled the corridor outside. He sniffed the air. Nothing. The silence lay heavy, like a wool blanket on a summer day. Something waited in the hallway. His gun instantly cooled his hand. “Get down.”

  Glass shattered. Plastic skipped across the floor. Conn whirled, grabbing Moira and tucking her face into his chest, pinning her against the bookshelf. Light flashed, bright and deadly. His ears rang. More glass shattered and boots landed hard and loud on the wooden floor.

  “Damn it.” Conn bent Moira at the waist and shoved her underneath the desk, pivoting and leaping forward to take the first body to the ground. Anger ripped through his system. The flash grenade blurred his vision, but his knife slashed true. Kurjan blood sprayed across his face, burning like embers. Strong arms grabbed him, throwing him into the bookshelf. The door splintered open. Three more Kurjans swept inside.

  They wore all black, with many red medals across their chests. High ranking. An elite squad. The one in the lead leveled a large green gun between Conn’s eyes. Bright purple eyes glowed in the monster’s stark white face. These guys deserved to live only in darkness. “Kayrs. It’s five against one. Give us the witch and you won’t die today.”

  Green fire flashed from beneath the desk, the laser bullets turning to lead as they ripped into the leader’s face. He crashed to the floor.

  Moira jumped to her feet. “Five against two, asshole.” She dropped into a slide, knocking the next guy on his ass. Instantly, her knife slashed into its neck, decapitating the monster.

  Talk about impressive. Conn jumped for the two Kurjans still standing, ripping the arm off one as his fangs dropped low. The soldier bellowed in pain, silencing as Conn struck into his jugular, taking away part of his neck. A knife cut into Conn’s gut, and he grunted, keeping one eye on Moira as he turned his attention on the Kurjan who’d stabbed him. A side kick to the groin and a punch to the monster’s face later, he whipped his knife against the enemy’s neck. The Kurjan’s head rolled to the ground.

  Moira battled with the remaining Kurjan, who had size and strength on her. But Conn’s mate owned speed and agility. She ducked, slashing with her knife, drawing first blood. The Kurjan landed a lucky punch, connecting with her cheekbone and sending her sprawling.

  Conn saw red.

  Fury loosed the blood in his veins, allowing adrenaline to course faster. A roar escaped him, and he lunged forward, taking the Kurjan to the floor. The idea of anyone harming Moira, of anyone daring to strike out against his woman shattered the chains around the shackled beast inside him. Not only genetics separated vampires from humans. The additional chromosomal pairs comprised enhanced strength of an animalistic nature.

  Immortality came with a primitive price.

  A pounding clashed inside his skull. His bare hands dug into the bastard’s neck, his fingers digging so hard blood sprayed. The need to protect, the primal fury to defend his mate gave him strength beyond the possible.

  Purple eyes swirled to red and then black as the Kurjan struggled, fighting to live. With an animalistic bellow, Conn ripped the head off the body.

  Moira darted forward to clutch his arm. Her swollen cheekbone contrasted with her pale face. “Conn. We have to go. More are coming.”

  She began to dodge into the hall and he stopped her by the scruff of the neck, tugging her behind him. “Stay behind me, Moira.” He was first through the door—any door. Always.

  He fought the urge to take her hand and dodged into the hallway, swinging his gun one way and then the other. Silence. Light filtered in the broad windows, glinting off the polished oak floorboards. “Come on.”

  Keeping his back to the wall, he inched toward the exit, his senses on high alert. Nothing moved. If the Kurjans were near, he’d sense them. His mate followed, her breathing even, the gun steady in her grip. They’d have a discussion soon about her current employment, though her training impressed him. Unwanted pride filled his chest.

  The outside door remained shut tight. He paused, his senses searching the night. “When I open the door, run for the bikes. Behind me.” His body would conceal hers as they moved. “If I go down, keep moving.”

  She snorted. The woman actually snorted.

  He’d deal with her later. For now, they needed to run. His shoulder lowered and he twisted the knob, shoving open the heavy maple door and leading with his gun. Their bikes sat at the edge of the curb, sparkling under the full moon. Various vehicles lined the road and music spilled from a bar a block down. The witches hid their school in plain sight. “Run, now.”

  His torso swung back and forth as he ran down the steps, aiming his gun into the shadows. Nothing moved. A row of hedges lined the brick building. He didn’t sense anyone hiding behind them. Quick strides had him across the pillared entryway to the street. Moira threw her leg over her bike and twisted the ignition a second before he did, both forgoing helmets for speed.

  “Conn!” she yelled, leaping for him and tackling him to the ground just as a missile hit his motorcycle. Boom! The machine sailed into the air and crashed into the front window of a clock shop. Springs, clock faces, and shredded wood flew into the street.

  Heat blasted his face. Concrete ripped into his cheek. Cold fury shot the night into focus.

  In one fluid movement, he rolled over, lifted Moira, and jumped on the back of her Ducati. “Drive.” Folding his larger body around hers, he turned and fired his gun into the alley where the missile originated. He and the Kurjans were about to come to an understanding—as soon as he got his mate to safety. A bellow of pain echoed from the darkness.

  Moira kicked the bike loose, turning into the street and punching the power. Bullets pinged across the metal, the small windshield shattered. Conn returned fire. Pain exploded in his rib cage in a blast of five. Lights sped by, music filtering into the distance. Moira dodged into an alley, following it until ripping into traffic at the other end, swerving to avoid a taxi.

  A minivan tried to pu
ll into the street. Moira swept her hand out, stalling the vehicle in place. Impressive.

  The wind smashed into Conn’s face. He lowered his head closer to Moira’s neck. Even with the world rushing by, her scent of lilacs surrounded him. Filled him. “Go to the private airport.”

  She shook her head, curls slamming into his eyes. “Need to get my stuff,” she yelled.

  He tucked his gun in the back of his pants, reaching around to cover her hands on the bars. Lowering his mouth closer to her ear, he fought the urge to take a bite. “They’ll be waiting. Go to the airport or I’ll drive.” He did not believe in threats, so when he spoke, he told the truth. Always.

  She stiffened. Her head turned, the soft skin of her cheek brushing his mouth. “I smell blood.”

  Nothing on earth could’ve prevented the soft kiss he whispered across her smooth skin, even while keeping one eye on the road. Lilacs filled his nose. “Nothing to worry about. ’Tis only a flesh wound.” He gave his best Monty Python impression, but the rough cough that followed may have ruined it. The slight shrug she gave relaxed his shoulders—for the moment. When they reached the plane, when they reached safety, boy were they going to talk.

  Chapter 8

  The private plane leveled off for the long flight to New York. Moira focused across the spacious aisle at Conn barking orders at the king through his phone. Apparently the unexpected attack by the Kurjans created a little anger in the soldier.

  She settled back into the sofa, the scent of new leather soothing her. Conn faced her from his own sofa, and a fully stocked bar stood next to a table set for poker. She needed a drink. Or five. The pilots were secluded behind their door, and she hoped they hadn’t visited the bar first. She didn’t mind flying. Much. But crashing. Well, that made her stomach ache.

  Conn clicked off with a growl, taking a moment to study her with those dangerous green eyes. “Are you sure you’re unharmed?”

  “I’m fine.” But she wasn’t. The quiet hum of the engines and darkness outside lent an intimacy to the interior she’d like to avoid. Conn’s scent of leather and gunpowder permeated the space, sending her pulse jogging and her thighs softening. An inevitable reaction to a vampire mate. “You were shot.”

  He nodded, ripping off his dark shirt to reveal bullet holes that were already closing. “The bullets fell out on the way.” Quick swipes with the shirt had the blood wiped off his cut abdomen.

  Moira inhaled deeply. How had she’d forgotten the breadth of his chest? The sheer muscle and strength in that smooth torso? She cleared her throat. “I figured.”

  His gaze remained on her as if waiting, patient and prepared, to pounce.

  They needed to talk, but the words escaped her. After some thought, she gave it a try. “Why did you yell at the king?”

  Metallic eyes flashed. “His scouts and informants are pathetic.” Conn ran a rough hand through thick hair. “We have a leak. No way it’s a coincidence you get attacked by Kurjans the day I show up in Ireland. They found you because of me.”

  Bollocks. Unease filtered within her already heating blood. “That’s probably not exactly true.” Only honed strength of will kept her from fidgeting.

  Conn lifted his head in the manner of a panther spotting prey. Though identical to hers, his couch seemed a lot smaller. “What do you mean?”

  “Ahhh.” She was a fighter. As a member of the enforcers, she fought fear every day. Not only fear, but enemy combatants with more experience and devastating weapons. Facing one lone vampire should not create this churning in her stomach. “This wasn’t their first attempt.” Her voice emerged much softer than she’d intended.

  Tension slammed through the enclosed space. “Excuse me?”

  His softness exceeded hers in a way that caught the breath in her throat. She forced her hands to remain calmly by her sides. Keeping her face placid, she faced down the vampire.

  Sprawled across the aisle, bare to the waist with no weapons, danger all but surrounded him. Came from him. An irony of fate. True predators blended with their surroundings. The high cheekbones and handsome face masked the most deadly warrior in history.

  One she was going to really piss off. “The Kurjans tried to take me on two previous occasions.” She waited for the explosion.

  None came.

  Conn didn’t move a muscle, just kept that glittering gaze on her. His lids half lowered. “Say that again.”

  Oh hell no. The words were hard enough to say the first time. She eyed the back of the plane. A full bathroom and bedroom waited at the rear. No safety there.

  “I’m a good fighter, Conn.” Damn it. She didn’t need to defend herself. His organs were safe as well. Her ability to melt organs so far only worked on humans, probably due to their less complex genetic makeup ... a fact he didn’t need to know.

  “What do you expect me to do with this information, Moira?” The innocuous words did nothing to mask the bite behind them.

  Shove it up his ass? “Not a damn thing.” Anger began to slide through her veins.

  He straightened up, leaning forward. “There’s the rub, Dailtín. How long have you known me?”

  The conversation was beginning to close her throat—too many land mines. “A century.” She looked for the trap. Conn wasn’t a man to talk. For as long as she’d known him, action had been his mantra.

  “How did you think I’d react to your joining the enforcers, taking a vow to give your life for them, coupled with hiding the Kurjan’s attack on you?” He cocked his head to the side in curiosity ... or for a better angle on her jugular. Probably the jugular.

  “I didn’t give you a thought.” The lie nearly caught in her throat. The brand on her hip flared to life in a flash of pain. “You’re at war, Connlan. As the commander of all the Realm soldiers, you have enough responsibilities.” She spat the last word out.

  One dark eyebrow rose. “Is that what you are, Moira? A responsibility?” Threat existed in each syllable.

  She jumped up. The bedroom door probably held a lock. “Yes.”

  The plane rocked when he slid to his feet, blocking her path to the bedroom. “Then apparently I’ve ignored my responsibilities long enough.”

  He loomed over her. She had two choices—either knock him aside or take a step back—and only a split second to decide which one to make. The rational decision was step back and reason with him.

  Fuck reason.

  She pivoted, kicking him solidly in the shin while dodging forward and shooting her body into his gut in a move guaranteed to throw him over her shoulder.

  Except it didn’t.

  Strong hands gripped her arms and tossed her up in the air—two feet off the ground. Her head missed the top of the plane by a mere inch. She gave a startled yelp, the sound gargling in her throat when he caught her by the biceps, holding her aloft like a limp doll. She lost her breath.

  Fury. Pure anger blazed fire through his eyes and a deep crimson spread across his cheekbones. “Your freedom has ended, Brat.” He lowered her to her feet and his mouth crashed down on hers. A century ago he’d used persuasion and seduction. Today he took. Raw and demanding, his lips explored while his tongue commanded a kiss that tasted like sin and felt like ownership. Gone were the charming prince and the reasonable mate. In their place stood a predator finally unleashed, playing for keeps.

  Lights exploded behind her eyelids. Need ripped through her body in a force too painful to be called desire. Or even lust. No words could describe the craving that shot fire from every nerve ending. She whimpered, returning his kiss, tangling her tongue with his. A roaring set up in her ears, the brand on her hip scalding with demand. Too much, too much, too much. She lifted her hands and shoved against his chest. Heat filled her palms.

  With a soft cry, she wrenched her head away. “Wait.” Pain. So much need in her body. The only solution to the need held her.

  “Wait for what?” Anger still filled his gaze.

  Air. She needed air. Filling her lungs, she fought to steady
her breath. “Wait.” She held out a hand, panic battling with the craving he’d lit. “This is, I mean, this is ... ”

  He smiled. The wicked curve of his lips promised sin. “This is inevitable.”

  She swallowed loudly. “No. I mean, it’s been a century. You know. Since ... ” Since her first time. Her only time. The air whished through the vents, and she shivered.

  Nimble fingers caressed down her arms. Surprise lifted his eyebrows. “That night was the wildest of my entire life.” A too-knowing gaze wandered her face, studying what had to be blazing color. “Oh.”

  Yeah, oh. She took a tenuous step back.

  His eyes softened. Graceful as any panther, he sat down and lifted her to straddle his legs. “Sweetheart. It only hurts the first time.”

  True. The second, third and even fourth of that night had been incredible. “I know.” His legs warmed her inner thighs and she fought the urge to rub against him. “But, well, maybe we should spend time getting to know each other first, this time.” Her body howled in protest. Not by any stretch did she consider they’d never lie together again. She had too much need, too much curiosity to walk away without seeing if sex with Conn was as good as she remembered.

  “Ah.” His smile was lethal. “I have a photographic memory, Moira. I know every inch of you.” His palm traveled down her back to tap one finger at the top of her left buttock. Heat flushed along her skin. “For example, right here there’s a tiny mark in the shape of a waning moon.”

  “Yes, but ...” Focus. She needed to focus.

  He leaned in, wandering his lips over her neck. “And, if I nip right here”—his teeth rubbed against her skin—“you make the prettiest sound of need.” She groaned, her nipples peaking. She blinked. Once. Twice. A third time. God, she wanted him. Was it fate—the mating mark? Something whispered deep across her mind that it was Connlan. Even if he hadn’t marked her, she’d want him. She opened her mouth to say something, anything, and his lips closed over hers.