Fury of a Highland Dragon (9 page)

A door creaked open behind Wallaig.

A tall, dark haired man stepped over the threshold. Nearly colorless, his pale violet eyes moved over her before he raised a brow. “Has she been seen?”

“She has, Cyprus.” The corners of his mouth tipped up, Wallaig patted her shoulder and turned toward the new comer. “I like her. She’s got a brilliant mind, set opinions too. Courage enough to deal with the likes of Tydrin and all his bullshite, for certain.”

Tydrin muttered something obscene.

Cyprus grinned. “Good news.”

She scowled at Wallaig. “You do realize I’m standing right here?”

“Told you,” Wallaig said, amusement in his tone. “A strong female. A true HE.”

An HE?
Another term she didn’t recognize.

Ivy opened her mouth to ask for an explanation. Tydrin tucked her under his arm, waylaying her question, prompting naughty thoughts and needy tingles. “Ivy, my older brother, Cyprus—commander of our pack.”

“Nice to meet you.” Awesome. A polite reply. She was getting the hang of it, climbing out of social ineptitude into the world of the well-mannered.

“Welcome, lass.” With a nod, Cyprus tipped his head toward the door behind him. “Now, if you’re all done here, ’tis time to eat.”

Wallaig perked up. “Is Rannock cooking?”

“Aye.”

“Thank God.” Eagerness winged across Tydrin’s face.

Ivy raised a brow. “Rannock?”

“Another member of our pack,” Tydrin said. “Wicked good in the kitchen. Of all of us, he prepares the best meals.”

“How many of you are there?”

“Seven total, little one.” Turning on his heel, Wallaig beat feet toward the kitchen. And holy crap. For a blind guy, he moved fast, without a hint of hesitation. “Levin and Kruger are flying in from the mountain lair. You’ll meet them later. And Vyroth is—”

“Who the hell knows,” Cyprus said, looking pissed off as he trailed behind his friend.

Taking her hand, Tydrin followed his brother. “Still no word?”

Cyprus shook his head.

A worried light entered Tydrin’s eyes.

Ivy watched the exchange. Interesting. A secret along with a missing member of their pack. A state of affairs that clearly bothered both men. She made a mental note to ask Tydrin about it later. Who knew? She might be able to help. Give her a computer and everyone became traceable. Just a few key strokes away. Fair game on the world wide web. Vyroth included. Most people never thought about covering their cyber tracks. Or if they did, never well enough to fool her. A fact she was counting on the second Tydrin provided the equipment she needed to hunt and track Worth. Ivy swallowed a snarl. The treasonous dickwad. Her former boss wouldn’t stand a chance when she picked up his trail and sent him straight to hell.

T
he fast click of computer keys broke through the quiet. The flash of text, black on white, flashed across large triple screens standing side by side on the marble topped table. Veins of gold spread across the black surface, drawing crooked lines on expressive stone. Ivy didn’t notice. Seated at the antique desk, butt planted in the ergonomic chair, she tapped the down arrow, scrolled through each page, hunting for the last piece in her puzzle.

The tidbit was here…somewhere.

All she needed to do was find it.

Eyes glued to the center screen, she indulged in a sip of coffee. The rich hazelnut flavor rolled over her tongue. Ivy hummed in approval. Just the way she liked it. Java Joe at its finest, delivered by Tydrin just minutes ago in the biggest mug she’d even seen. Her mouth curved around the ceramic rim. She took another sip. God love the man. He was all kinds of wonderful. Awesomeness squared. Nah. Up that number, please. Make it to the power of three.

And no wonder.

After three weeks with him, she still couldn’t quantify his thoughtfulness. Ivy sighed as happiness filtered through her. Twenty-one days with Tydrin would never be enough. She’d known the truth of it the first day. Now she wanted more and needed everything—his heart, his home, a new life with a pack of Dragonkind guys who liked to keep her guessing. Ivy pressed the down key, working her way through more documents. Tydrin, she understood. The other guys? Not so much. At least, not yet. Give her time and she’d tag them all. Have all their numbers. Be able to read each one but well…she paused, finger hovering over the keyboard…so far that hadn’t happened. The internal workings of each warrior still eluded her.

Which was weird.

She might not be great in social situations, but she knew how to read people. Finding out what made her targets tick was an essential part of her job. Understanding individual quirks, after all, lead to easier hacks. The more she knew about a person, the easier it became to guess passwords and infiltrate emails. With so much practice getting into other people’s heads, she should be able to figure out Tydrin’s friends. Lickety spilt fast—she frowned—right?

Pursing her lips, Ivy nodded. Sure. Absolutely. No question about it.

Staring unseeing at the screen, she thought it through. A number of adjectives for the guys sprang to mind. Her eyes narrowed as her mind whirled, churning out facts, classifying data, ordering the sum total into a complete list. All right, here went nothing…

Characteristic number one of the pack mentality—hardcore warrior vibe with violent tendencies. Yup. Without a doubt. Put that at the top the list. Ivy nibbled on her lip as she pictured Tydrin in dragon form—and the crazy midnight flight he’d taken her on last night. At first, she’d been freaked out. Five minutes in, she’d been enthralled. Totally in love with dragon flight and her secure seat on Tydrin’s back. Add in the other warriors flying in fighting formation around him—wings spread wide, scales of different shades glinting in the moonlight, wind streaks spiraling off spiked tails—and the experience had gone from incredible to majestic.

And all that before dragon combat training began.

Ivy shook her head. Man oh man, talk about intense. Deadly too. The US military and their arsenal of heat seeking missiles couldn’t compete with Tydrin’s pack. Or the huge, crazy-ass fireballs the group let fly…you know…just for
fun
.

Totally bizarre. Super entertaining to watch from a very safe distance.

Leaning back in her chair, Ivy grinned at her tacky mug. Again. She wanted to go flying
again
. Tonight. Tomorrow night. Every night after that too. She loved soaring in open skies—the speed of dragon flight, the hot burn of adrenaline in her veins, the idea she was now a part of something specular, the newest member of a Dragonkind pack with a secret to keep and a family to protect. With a wary chuckle, she fired up numbers two, three and four on her list—watchful and overprotective with shades of completely exasperating.

She huffed.

Uh-huh. Absolutely. Those items deserved special mention. Stick a big fat asterisk beside each one. The constant babying—or spoiling, as each warrior preferred to call it—chaffed her independent nature. She couldn’t twitch without one of the guys noticing. Or go anywhere without an escort. The group had made that clear, laying down the law her first night inside the lair. Not a bad thing as far as precautions went. She agreed with the basic principle. At least, for now. With the FBI on her trail a certain amount of caution should be observed. But honestly, Tydrin needed to loosen the reins a bit. An hour—maybe two—every day would do the trick. Not long enough for him to worry, but enough time for her to get some sun on her face.

Ivy glanced at the grandfather clock tick-tick-tocking, keeping perfect time in the corner. Five oh five on the nose. Twenty minutes to sundown. Her gaze flicked around the cozy office she’d made her own. White painted paneling. Pretty turquoise wallpaper above the plate rail. Perfection wrapped up in one little room. And now, all hers. Even so—

Her attention swung to the door.

Maybe she should go out to the courtyard for a while. Sit by the creepy snake fountain. Soak up some rays. Relax a bit and return to hunting for proof of Worth’s guilt after supper. Temptation urged her to get up and go. The need to reclaim her life kept her seated. It wouldn’t be long now. Another hour. Two at most, and she’d find what she needed to nail her ex-boss. Foolish to hope so hard? Perhaps, but Ivy didn’t think so. With her specialized decryption software up and running and the trapdoors she’d dropped in the NSA firewall, she was close. So very close to catching the rat she could almost taste it.

Taking another sip of Joe, she set her mug down and continued to hunt. Classified documents flew past on screen. One caught her attention. Ivy paused the scroll-down. Reading rapid fire, she scanned each line. Fisting her hand, she thumped the top of her desk. Pencils sitting in a glass jar jumped, bumping across black marble. The clink cracked through the quiet as she growled in satisfaction. Finally. About frigging time. After weeks of searching—of playing hide and seek on the dark net while infiltrating INP Securities’ databases—she’d hit pay dirt and—

Eureka!

There it was. The final document. The last nail in Worth’s coffin.

“Got you, you bastard.” Ivy typed in a quick command. The light on her jump-drive flickered. Her super computer whined and...fantastic. File saved. Tears prickled the corners of her eyes. Shoving her keyboard away, she rolled her shoulders. Stiff muscles stretched, sending painful prickles down her spine. Discomfort threatened to ruin the mood. She ignored it and, ejecting the jump-drive, pulled it from the USB port. Her hand curled around the hard plastic. “I freaking
got
you.”

Her words bounced around her office.

Ivy sat stunned for a moment. Holy crap. How cool was that? She’d done it.
Really done it.
Gamed the system. Beat Worth at his own game. Unearthed the proof that would sink him and set her free.

Emotion clogged her throat. The desire to tell Tydrin popped her to her feet. Her tennis shoes squeaked against the hardwood floor. The chair rolled back, wheels squealing in protest as she headed toward the door. She needed to see him. Right now. Wanted to share the good news, celebrate her triumph and ask for a hug. Only his arms would do. No other man settled and soothed her the way he did, and as she picked up the pace, running toward the door, Ivy knew no one else ever would.

Wood paneling blurred in her periphery.

Sliding to a stop, she palmed the handle and yanked. Hinges opened with a quiet hiss. Feet doing double time, she roared over the threshold and into the common area. Stained glass flashed above her head as she scanned the room. Empty. Not a soul in sight. Crap. Not what she wanted to see at the moment. Maybe he was upstairs in the pub, working the bar, serving the latest round of human patrons.

Jogging past a long couch, she skirted a quadruplet of armchairs. The murmur of male voices reached her. Her head snapped toward a pair of double doors. The timbre of Tydrin’s baritone drifted from the kitchen. Ivy’s mouth curved. Perfect. She should’ve expected it. Creatures of habit, the warriors always gathered around the island this time of day.

Feeling as though she’d burst if she didn’t tell Tydrin her news soon, she crossed the ocean of Persian rugs, planted her palms against wood, and pushed one of the swinging doors open. She paused to get the lay of the land. Her eyes went to work, providing a quick snapshot. Everyone home, all the guys present and accounted for.

Wide backs to her, Wallaig, Levin and Kruger sat on high stools at the kitchen island, elbows planted on the marble countertop, their gazes fixed on Cyprus. Standing in front of the six burner stove, Rannock angled his head, listening intently as he stirred something. And Cyprus and Tydrin? The brothers sat to one side, facing off across the glossy surface of a polished cherry wood table.

She opened her mouth to greet the pack.

The tension in the room registered.

She swallowed the hello on the tip of her tongue as the current of unease crackled like electricity, making the fine hairs on her nape stand on end. Not knowing what to do, Ivy stood still and ran her gaze over Tydrin. Intuition spiked. The connection she shared with him flared, tuned her into Tydrin’s emotional state. She turned the dial, increasing her ability to read him and…oh, God. Not good. Worried. Stressed. Upset about something. She frowned at his back. He was afraid for someone too. So tense she sensed the flex and claw of his concern, and in that moment she knew whatever bothered him had to do with her.

Dread coiled in the pit of her stomach.

Something was about to go wrong—very, very
wrong.

Focused on Tydrin, she stepped further into the room. The wooden door closed behind her with a soft whoosh and—

“There’s no easy way, brother.” Forearms folded on the tabletop, pale eyes fixed on his brother, Cyprus leaned in. “You need to tell Ivy now—tonight. The longer you leave it, the more difficult it will become.”

A chill raced down her spine. “Tell me what?”

With muttered curses, the warriors swung around to face her. The abrupt shift pushed chairs across the tiled floor. Wooden legs screeched against ceramic, making the trio at the island cringe.

“Bloody hell.” Shoving away from the table edge, Tydrin pushed to his feet. Head bowed, shoulders hunched, he lifted his chin to look at her. His fierce expression softened as he met her gaze. “Ivy-mine.”

“You can do this, Tydrin,” Cyprus said, soft tone full of encouragement. “Tell her.”

“What’s going on?” Curiosity collided with fear, closing her throat. Swallowing hard, Ivy drew a full breath. “Did I do something wrong?”

Blond hair glinting beneath halogens, Levin shook his head.

Turning on the stool, black-eyes narrowed, Kruger glowered at Tydrin.

“No chance in hell,” Rannock growled, and raising his huge hand, slammed a wooden spoon against the pot edge. The nasty clang echoed through the kitchen, banging off walnut cabinetry. “Bugger it, Tydrin. Pull your head out of your arse, will yah?”

Wallaig scowled. “Nay, little one, you dinnae do anything wrong.”

“Tydrin?” she asked, ignoring the trio at the island.

“I need to tell you something, Ivy,” Tydrin said, his unease so powerful Ivy shivered. The internal tremor shook her, raising instinct to new levels. Tydrin might not know it yet, but he needed her. His pain became hers, throbbing in her veins, curling around her rib cage, making her want to hug him hard and never let go. “I donnae know how tae…I cannae…”

As he trailed off, Ivy stepped toward him.

Tydrin backed away. Sidestepping, he used the chair as a barrier and, holding her gaze, shook his head. His actions spoke louder than words. He didn’t want her to approach. With an unspoken demand, he asked her to stay put, rejecting the comfort of her touch and—

A nasty suspicion took hold.

She sucked in a shaky breath. Whatever he wanted to say was bad. Worse than terrible. Most likely catastrophic given his expression. She read the warning in his eyes and felt the truth in her bones. Her hand tightened around the jump-drive. Plastic bit into her palm. She ignored the pain as another sort shot through her.

Agony pierced her breastbone, heading straight for her heart.

Ivy absorbed the blow, fighting to keep from doubling over. Ah, God. Someone please put her out of her misery. She wouldn’t survive the fallout. It didn’t matter that she’d known it was too good to last—that he’d eventually change his mind and ask her to go. The law of averages didn’t lie. Neither did social ineptitude, a distinctly unlovable quality and…heaven help her. She wasn’t ready. Didn’t want to let him go or leave the lair. Not yet. Or ever. But as sure as she stood staring at him, Ivy knew what he wanted to say.

It was over.

He was done.

The man she loved intended to call it quits. Three weeks with her had been enough. He didn’t desire her anymore. The realization struck with the force of a nuclear bomb, rocking her foundation. A tremor rumbled through her. Ivy reached for courage, struggling not to breakdown. But as her heart broke and tears pooled in her eyes, Ivy knew she wouldn’t make it. Devastation did that to a girl, destroying her willpower when she needed it most.