Rhyannon Byrd - Primal Instinct 05 (12 page)

As they left the town center behind them, Kierland
couldn’t stop thinking about the incident in the arcade, turning the event over
in his mind like a puzzle that he needed to solve. He couldn’t help wondering
if the reason Morgan was looking forward to the “freedom and space” awaiting
her in Australia was because she couldn’t handle being surrounded by people.
The bodyguards had almost managed to get the better of her in the packed club
the night before, which should have never happened. And she’d recoiled from the
people pressing against her in the arcade. He couldn’t remember her ever
suffering from claustrophobia during her time at the academy, but he supposed
she might have just done a good job of covering it. Still, the back of his neck
prickled with an uneasy sensation, and he knew that wasn’t the answer. Neither
was too much caffeine.

But if those weren’t the answers, then what was?

Glancing up at the rearview mirror, a flicker in the
distance caught his attention, and he tensed as he spied a sleek silver sedan
behind them coming at a dangerous speed. “Shit.”

Morgan had been sorting through some things in her
backpack, but she looked up at the rough expletive. “What’s wrong?”

Sliding the Spider into a higher gear, Kierland
floored the gas pedal, but the burst of speed wasn’t enough. “We’re being
chased,” he forced out through his gritted teeth, knowing they weren’t going to
be able to outrun their pursuers.

“What? Are you serious?” she gasped, twisting around
in her seat to look out the back window. The silver sedan was still gaining on
them, which meant that it must have been equipped with a hell of an engine.

Damn it, he should have been prepared for this. If
Kierland had noticed that they were being followed sooner, they might have had
a chance to ditch whoever was in that bloody car. But he’d been so focused on
Morgan, he’d stopped paying attention to what was happening around them—and now
it was too late.

“Hold on,” he growled, realizing the sedan was about
to ram them. The jarring impact came just as they were taking a curve in the
road, knocking them into a spin. Kierland fought for control of the car, and
managed to turn the wheels so that the vehicle took the brunt of the next hit
on the driver’s side. Still spinning, the Spider slammed sideways into two
massive pine trees, and both air bags deployed from the force of the impact.
Using one of the knives he carried to deflate his air bag, Kierland turned and
swiftly did the same to Morgan’s. Her face was turned to the side, away from
him, her body motionless in the seat, but he couldn’t see any blood or obvious
injuries. Breathing in hard, ragged gusts, he found her pulse at the side of
her throat, which was strong and steady, and prayed that she’d only been
knocked out. He wanted to take her into his arms and check her from head to toe
to assure himself that she was okay, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

No, from the looks of things, as he glanced out the
passenger side window, they were still right in the thick of it.

The silver sedan had stopped in the middle of the
road, its front bender crumpled from where it’d rammed into the side of the
Spider. Four men were climbing out of the car, each of them tall and muscular,
with thick shoulders and dark sunglasses. Since a tangle of broken branches and
limbs blocked his side of the car, Kierland opened Morgan’s door and climbed
over her body as carefully as possible.

Positioning himself in front of Morgan, Kierland had
to fight his natural instinct to shift into “were” form as the bastards
approached. They were out in broad daylight on a public road, which meant that
turning animal for the coming battle was out of the question. Left with no
other option, since he didn’t have a gun on him, he pulled out a second knife,
glad he’d spent the first part of the last month training with Noah.

Although Noah Winston had Casus blood running through
his veins, it was too diluted to have any impact on his physiology—other than
his ice blue eyes—and as a result, the human didn’t possess any supernatural
fighting abilities. No claws or fangs or preternatural strength. To compensate,
Noah had trained long and hard with his knives, and his skill was impressive.
So impressive that Kierland had asked for some pointers while he’d been stuck
at Harrow House during the past month.

Thanks to Noah, Kierland had been practicing with the
blades until they felt like an extension of his hands, almost as natural as his
claws, and as he palmed the hilts, he didn’t care that he was outnumbered by
the men coming toward him. He’d do whatever it took to take the bastards down
and get Morgan out of there.

As the group drew closer, decked out in black T-shirts
and jeans, he squinted against the bright glare of sunlight shining into his
eyes, and tried to figure out what they were. They smelled human, but in human
form, the Casus always did. The same could be said for the Kraven. And since
they were wearing dark sunglasses, making it impossible to see the color of
their eyes, they could have been Casus, Collective soldiers, or some of the
Kraven who were working for Westmore. There wasn’t going to be any way to tell
until the fight started and he had a chance to determine their strength and
skill.

“Lycan,” the one nearest to him sneered, a long blade
gripped in his meaty fist, and Kierland stepped forward, an instant away from
slashing out, when the grinding screech of brakes filled the air. The next
sixty seconds passed by in a blur as he watched a small commuter bus swerve to
miss the sedan that’d been left in the middle of the road. The driver lost
control, the bus tilting on two wheels as it sped straight toward them. His
attackers scattered, but Kierland didn’t pay attention to where they went,
turning instead to reach into the car and rip at Morgan’s seat belt.

He cursed, aware of the bus bearing down on the
Spider, his heart pumping so loudly it sounded like thunder roaring in his
ears. Continuing to snarl a guttural string of curses under his breath, he
managed to get Morgan’s limp body into his arms and jumped onto the car’s hood,
leaping into the trees just as the bus slammed into the passenger side of the
Spider. The force of the impact hurled them into the woods, and Kierland
twisted his body, sheltering Morgan from the branches and hard ground as they
came to a bone-jarring stop against a tangle of roots and undergrowth. For
several seconds afterward, the air continued to echo with the deafening sounds
of metal crunching into metal, followed by frantic shouts from the passengers
on the bus.

With a low groan, Kierland shook his head, thinking it
all seemed so surreal, the strange sequence of events that had left him lying
on a cold forest floor, surrounded by the smells of hot rubber and hydraulic
fumes, cradling an unconscious Morgan against his chest. His heart didn’t beat
during the long seconds it took him to roll to his side and lay her down as
gently as he could, fear having shocked his body into a hard, deathly
stillness. Then her head turned toward him, one hand lifting to her temple as
she gave a soft groan, and he took a deep, shuddering breath, the wave of relief
so sharp it actually hurt.

Her eyelids fluttered, and she slowly opened her eyes,
blinking up at him as Kierland knelt over her. “What happened?” she croaked.

“The car was hit.” Taking care not to hurt her, he
reached up and pushed back her hair, finding the swollen knot at her hairline.
“You took quite a knock to the head. Probably hit it on the door frame.”

Trying to sit up, she said, “My bag. Did you get my
bag?”

“You don’t need it,” he told her, steadying her
shoulders. “Damn it, stop trying to get up. Just lie still for a second.”

She locked her gaze with his, a frown pulling at her
soft mouth. “I want my stuff, Kier. And the ‘sparkler’ that Gideon gave us is
in my backpack. You have to go back and get it.”

Sensing that she wasn’t going to give in, he muttered
under his breath about stubborn, hardheaded women as he moved to his feet, then
gave her a stern warning to stay where she was. Leaving her sitting on the
ground, Kierland moved through the tangle of broken branches until he reached the
pitiful remains of the Spider now wedged completely between the two massive
pine trees.

The bus leaned against the trees at an odd angle, and
Kierland could see the road through the long row of windows that ran along the
side of the vehicle. The scene out in the street resembled nothing but sheer
chaos. Passengers were still piling out of the bus, others wandering around the
tarmac, their voices raised as they exchanged their versions of the event. And
the silver sedan was already speeding away with its four occupants, the group
clearly deciding to bug out in the presence of so many witnesses.

Although the Spider resembled a twisted piece of
metal, Kierland was able to find Morgan’s small leather backpack wedged under
her crumpled seat. The passengers from the bus were too busy checking on each
other—none of whom had serious injuries, just some cuts and bruises—to take
notice of him digging inside what was left of the sports car. He grabbed their
bags from the back, having to force the mangled trunk open, and slipped the
shoulder straps over his head, then quickly made his way back to Morgan. He
found her sitting with her head propped against a thick tree trunk, eyes
closed, her complexion waxen, and without giving her a chance to protest,
Kierland leaned down and scooped her up in his arms, cradling her against his
chest.

“What are you doing?” she asked, resting her head on
his shoulder.

“Carrying you. And before you waste your breath
arguing about it, don’t. It won’t do any good.”

“Okay,” she agreed with a quiet sigh, and his jaw
clenched at her easy acquiescence. Not that he’d wanted her to argue, damn it.
But he knew the fact that she hadn’t put up a fight was testament to how much
pain she must be in.

As a pure-blooded Lycanthrope, Kierland wasn’t easy to
kill. The simplest, most foolproof way to end his life was to slash his stomach
open, spilling his insides. His body could easily handle most other injuries,
mending itself quickly, although gunshots and stab wounds could take him out of
commission for a while if they were severe enough.

But Morgan was different. Her family’s eclectic
bloodline made it difficult to be sure exactly which traits had been passed on
to her…and which hadn’t. During her physical examinations at the academy, the
medical officers had been able to ascertain that her healing powers were better
than human, though nowhere near as effective as most shape-shifters. They were,
however, completely clueless as to how she could be killed, which meant that
she had to be a damn sight more careful than her colleagues.

Kierland had been walking for about fifteen minutes,
heading deeper into the thick woods, before she stirred again. “Your car?” she
asked, still resting her head against his shoulder, her body light and relaxed
in his arms.

Ducking to avoid a branch, he said, “Totaled.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, breathing the soft word
against the side of his throat as she wriggled to get more comfortable, and
Kierland damn near stumbled over his own feet.

He coughed to clear his throat. “Don’t apologize. It
sure as hell wasn’t your fault.” He took a moment to tell her about the bus,
assuring her that none of the passengers had been hurt.

With her right arm pressed against his body, she
lifted her left hand and placed it on the center of his chest, as if she were
pressing her palm to his heartbeat. “But it was a beautiful car,” she murmured.

“Yeah, well, the car can be replaced.” The thick,
gruff words scraped against his throat as he forced them out, and it took all
of the Lycan’s concentration to keep his breathing even—to control his physical
response to having this provocative woman in his arms, her mouthwatering scent
filling his head. “I’m more worried about you.”

She took a quick breath, as if he’d surprised her with
the words, and then she asked, “Who were they? The men in the silver car? Or
should I say what were they?”

“Hard to say,” he muttered. “They were wearing dark
glasses, so I couldn’t see the color of their eyes. Could’ve been Collective,
Casus or even Kraven. Bastards all smell the same in human form. Or hell, it
could have been a mix of them all, since they’re working together now.”

Lifting her head a little, she glanced around at the
snow-misted trees. “And where exactly are we headed?”

“The train station’s about a half mile through these
woods, on the north side of the town. I think there’s a northwest line that’ll
take us to Hannover.”

“Good plan,” she murmured, resting her head on his
shoulder again. “It’ll save time and get us there faster than driving.” For a
few minutes there was nothing but the sounds of their breathing and the wintry
breeze blowing through the branches, and then she sighed, saying, “Can you say
something to take my mind off this headache?”

Looking down, Kierland found himself drowning in soft,
luminous gray. “Is it bad?” he asked, concern roughening his words.

She started to shake her head, then winced, the action
obviously making her headache worse. “Getting better, but I could use a
distraction to keep from thinking about it. Because the more I think about it,
the more it seems to hurt.”