Bethany's Rite (8 page)

“What? What’s wrong?” He scanned the small room. More blue
and white tile, but no threat that he could see. Unless there was a homicidal
midget hiding under the sink. She turned a horrified gaze toward him. When he
reached for her, she flinched away.

“You didn’t use a condom. That’s what!”

Tension rolled off his shoulders and he let out a loud
breath. “Shit, woman. Next time you scream, it better damn well be because
you’re hurt or in trouble.” He turned to leave.

“Don’t you walk out on me. You could have gotten me
pregnant. Oh my God. I could be pregnant right now!” Bethany was shrieking by
the end of her rant.

That she found the possibility of carrying his child so
appalling really ticked him off. Sure, it might be too soon to pick out
names—he had planned on finishing the Matching Ritual and getting her back to
Ilyria first—but never had a woman so blatantly despised the idea of having his
baby. Hell, there were dozens of women who would stand in a freezing rain for a
week to be given the chance.

Slowly, he backed her up against the tile wall. “If getting
pregnant is such a concern of yours, why aren’t you on birth control? And not
once between your moans and your screams did you bother mentioning a condom.
And believe me, I was listening very closely.”

Bethany’s cheeks flamed. She shifted her eyes from his and
he watched anger, guilt and panic flood her expression. Damn it all to hell. He
had a Predator on their trail, his entire team waiting for their arrival and
had just fucked this woman to within an inch of her life. But instead of
packing, leaving or fucking again, she was standing there looking like she
wanted to cry, right after she found a sharp, serrated object to ram through
his gut.

If this was what finding your mate did to a man, no wonder
women said men were crazy. They made them that way.

He gritted his teeth and stifled the urge to growl. Instead,
he took her face in his hands and held her still while he smacked a hard kiss
on her lips. “You have nothing to worry about. An Ilyrian male can’t impregnate
a woman until she’s taken him as her mate.”

She looked at him, doubt clear in her eyes. “We didn’t just
mate in there?”

The growl he had been repressing escaped. “No. When an
Ilyrian woman takes a mate, there’s more to it than fucking.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, babydoll. I’m sure. Now will you please get in that
shower?” He leaned down and gave her another quick kiss. Wrapping his large
hands around her waist, he lifted her over the edge of the tub and placed her
in the middle of the pelting water. He immediately withdrew his hands before he
followed through with the urge to slick them down her hips and join her in the
shower. “Don’t worry. We will get to the mating part. Soon. When you’ve settled
down some.” He whipped the shower curtain closed. “You’re down to four and a
half minutes.”

By the time she was done in the bathroom, he had found a
duffel bag in the bottom of her closet and stuffed enough clothes in it to last
her several days.

“What are you doing with my stuff?” she asked.

He zipped the bag closed. ”I told you. We’re
leaving.”

“And I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” Her stubborn
statement was reiterated in her posture—chin lifted, fists propped on her hips
and feet braced apart. The corners of Wyc’s mouth tugged upward. It
was hard to look intimidating when one was only dressed in a skimpy little
towel, but Bethany was giving it her best effort.

He advanced toward her until he was within an inch of
touching her, forcing her head to tilt back to keep eye contact. He
glanced down at the top of her towel. Her defiant posture had her breasts
nearly popping out of their restraint. He hooked a finger in the terrycloth
at her cleavage and tugged. The towel opened and slid down until it was
stopped at her waist by the hands still on her hips.

“I suggest you put some clothes on, otherwise I’ll be
hauling your pretty ass buck naked to Colorado.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t move. “I won’t be
threatened into doing something.”

“Would it make a difference if I said please?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so.” With his hands under her arms, he
picked her up and moved her out of the way. Before he set her down, he
kissed her left nipple. When she gasped and dropped the towel to take a
swing at him, he let go of her and ducked into the bathroom, closing the door
behind him.

He waited. Nothing but silence. He yanked the door open
to find Bethany leaning over the unzipped bag, pulling clothes out. Many
were already strewn around the room. Caught, she looked up at him, anger
snapping out of her eyes.

“With or without clothes, I’m taking you with me when I
leave here. If you want to meet my family in your birthday suit, you just keep
unpacking that bag. I won’t be packing it again.”

He closed the door and started the shower. The rushing
water did little to drown out her barrage of epithets that greatly
maligned his character and birth. Her verbal assault was interrupted
only by heavy thuds that sounded like she was pelting the bathroom door with
her never-ending supply of paperback books.

He sighed and stepped into the shower. Was nothing
going to be easy with this woman? Ten minutes later, he was finished and
relieved that her temper tantrum had apparently ended.

Then she screamed. A high-pitched, fear-filled scream.

His heart clutched, and he followed her cry into the
kitchen. Backed against the little, two-person dinette table, Bethany was
twisting and scratching, trying to pull out of a Predator’s grip. A broken vase
and flowers lay scattered across the kitchen floor. As Wyc came through the
door, the Predator plunged a tiny syringe into her arm.

Wyc roared and immediately called up the beast within. The
room wavered before his eyes, like looking through rippling water. Animal
senses sharpened as the
kyltar
took over his body, focused on the
threat.

The Predator spun to face Wyc, and the tiny needle fell to
the floor. Shock washed over Bethany’s face as she turned from the Predator in
time to see Wyc’s transformation. She clutched her arm where she had been
pricked and crushed herself against the table.

Shapeshifted into a large, panther-like cat, Wyc lunged and
landed on top of the Predator. Bethany’s eyes stretched impossibly wide before
they fluttered closed. In the next instant, she sank beneath the table,
unconscious.

For a Predator, this one was small and young. He tried to
ward off the beast with flailing arms and legs. The battle was brief, but
bloody. Fear was the last emotion that crossed his face before a final swipe of
the
kyltar
’s claws shredded flesh and cartilage. The Predator fell to
the floor in a heap. The
kyltar
shook once, sending a spray of blood
from its pelt across the kitchen wall before withdrawing deep back inside Wyc.

The Predator was still as death, but Wyc wasn’t fooled. He
knew that if he left him as he was, he would soon recover from even his worst
injuries. The Sleht had spent decades biogenetically engineering retrieval
soldiers that regenerated nearly every body part quickly.

Now in human form again, Wyc waited for his heart to quit
beating at nearly twice its normal rate before bending over the Predator,
sinking his hand into its neck and closing off the air passage. Once the tube
fused to itself, the Predator would be truly dead and no longer a threat to
anyone.

Wyc pulled back one of the Sleht’s eyelids, checking for the
clear white eyeball signifying death. Once assured, he moved to see about
Bethany.

He checked her pulse and pupils. Her pulse had slowed and
her pupils were dilated. Shit. The bastard had injected her with their
traveling serum. Just to make sure, he picked up the discarded syringe and
brought it to his nose.

The distinctive odor of boiled cauliflower rose to meet him.
The first of a two-part drug designed specifically for use on Ilyrian Mystic
females of breeding age. It came from a plant that was thought to have been
eradicated centuries ago. Wyc grimaced to himself. Sort of like the Sleht
threat.

The name for the plant had been lost, and Wyc had never seen
it in any other form than the liquid one found in the hands of a Predator.
Among his soldiers, the drug was known as
Yes Master
. The first dosage
rendered the victim unconscious for twenty-four hours and then groggy and
lethargic for up to seventy-two hours after that. But its main purpose was to
interact with the second injection.

The second dosage made the woman completely malleable to
commands from the first voice she heard after being drugged. This effect lasted
for as long as the initial drug was in her system, normally upwards of three
weeks. A very important consideration for the Predators since they couldn’t
force anyone through a portal. In order to pass from this world to Ilyria, one
had to be awake and willing.

Now that Bethany had been given the first injection, he had
to make sure that no one had the chance to get close to her with the second.
There was an antidote to the first, but none to the second.

He checked his watch. He couldn’t administer the antidote
until the first seventy-two hours had passed. And the antidote was in the safe
house in Colorado, over a twelve-hour drive from this little Iowa town.

He picked Bethany up and carried her to the couch. He was
furious that another Predator had tracked them down. Even more furious at
himself for not having grabbed her and left the moment he knew who she was.

She would have screamed and fought. But she’d have been
conscious to do it, goddamn it. Would have been fighting him and not another
Predator.

He shook his head to clear it. He could curse himself to the
moon and back later. Right now, he needed to get Bethany to safety. And he
could use some help.

He wasn’t excited about being alone and out in the open with
her in this vulnerable state, but most of his team was spread out, tracking
down leads on the other sisters. They weren’t scheduled to meet up at the house
for two days.

The fact that another Predator had shown up on Bethany’s
doorstep less than two hours after the first worried him. Never had Predators
worked together. He glanced back at the dead Sleht. Then again, since when did
they start sending green Predators into otherworld tracking situations? This
was the youngest and most inexperienced retriever he had come across. Could be
a rogue, but how the hell he found them so quickly made Wyc very nervous.

He went back into the bathroom and dug his cell phone out of
the pocket of his jeans. Punching in Rordyc’s number, he held it between his
ear and shoulder as he pulled on his clothes. It was still ringing when he went
in search of his shoes.

“Give me some good news, cuz.” Rordyc’s voice came across
the line with unusual exasperation for a man so laid-back he normally made yoga
instructors look tense.

“Tough day?” Wyc asked wryly.

“You have no idea.”

Wyc smiled at the disgust in his cousin’s voice and glanced
at the bloody mess that was one side of the Predator’s face. At least Bethany’s
kitchen floor was tile. Easy to clean.

“Have I ever told you how much I hate paperwork?” Rordyc
asked. Wyc ignored the question.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to answer your
phone.”

Rordyc cursed. “I was in the records room of the downtown
library when the damn thing went off. Had the librarian all over my ass because
of the noise.”

“First time I’ve ever heard you complain about having a
woman all over any part of your anatomy.”

“Not this one, dude. I’m pretty sure she was a man not too
long ago. So what’s up? And please tell me it doesn’t involve musty files and
scary librarians.”

“We might have a problem.”

Suddenly, all teasing in Rordyc’s voice disappeared. “Is
Bethany all right?”

After Wyc had spoken to Bethany last night in the bar’s
parking lot, he had followed her home to make sure she arrived safely and then
called his team. He let them know the first sister had been found and that she
was his mate, as expected from the paperwork they had on her. He hadn’t even
needed the confirmation of her matching Guardian tattoo. As soon as he had seen
her, he had known.

“She’ll be fine. We’ve had two Predator attacks and—”

“Two? Shit! What’d you do? Advertise in the local paper?”

“The attacks were less than two hours apart and Bethany got
a first dose of
Yes Master
. She’s out cold. I need to get her to
Colorado. Think you could take a couple days off from your librarian to ride
shotgun?”

After laughing at Rordyc’s response concerning what Wyc
could do with the librarian, he rattled off Bethany’s address. Less than
forty-five minutes later, Rordyc was banging on the door.

“Damn,” Wyc said as he pulled the door open, “break any
speed limits?”

“Only the posted ones.” Rordyc stepped into the apartment
and Wyc closed the door behind him.

For as long as he could remember, he and his cousin had been
mistaken for brothers. At night, when you couldn’t tell that Rordyc’s eyes were
dark brown and his were dark blue, they easily passed for each other—until
Rordyc opened his mouth. Inevitably, his cousin managed to come up with the one
smartass remark to land him neck-high in trouble with whomever he was speaking
to.

“Are you on your bike?” Wyc asked.

“Is there any other way to travel?”

Wyc shook his head. The only thing Rordyc liked better about
this world than Ilyria were the motorcycles. He rode them fast and reckless and
went through several in a year. Presently, he was on a Harley kick, and last Wyc
heard, he was still riding a custom West Coast Chopper.

“Guess we’ll be taking Bethany’s car. Kinda hard to
transport an unconscious woman on the back of a bike,” Rordyc said.