Taming the Fire (18 page)

Gabriel. Like the archangel. Oz always did have a sick sense of humor.

But somehow, here with Gabriel, the ache didn't feel so hopeless. “Are you coming in, Gabriel?”

Gabriel's forehead remained against his. “Fuck.”

“Yes,” Dev murmured.

“I thought you didn't want me here.”

“There's a lot I
do
want right now, and all of it requires you being here.” Dev put his mouth back on Gabriel's.

This is for one night, Oz. And only for you
.

Why the little voice in the back of his head told him he was a liar was something he wasn't prepared to ponder.

C
OLD
. S
CARED
. P
ISSED
. Gabe had been all those things and more as he waited outside the cranky asshole's house last night for fifteen minutes until another official black ACRO Humvee pulled up
.

He'd shoved his bag into the backseat and climbed into the front
.

“What the hell were you thinking, coming to Devlin's house?” the man demanded
.

“I was dropped there. I didn't know he was God fucking Almighty and never to be disturbed. I don't know shit about this place.”

“You'd better get up to speed fast.”

Gabe stared out the window into the dark, could almost hear the clank of the cell door closing and another man giving him the same advice
—better get up to speed fast, son. Won't live long in here if you don't.

He'd been about to go back to jail when two men intervened
,
grabbed him—kidnapped him from the police, actually, and told him he was special
.

“You'd be surprised how many of your kind we find in jail,” one of them commented
.

“My kind?” he asked
.

The men had glanced at each other. “Don't worry—they'll explain everything to you soon enough.”

Tonight, Gabe was a little less lonely and still scared, but it was a different kind of fear. Sure, Gabe knew he was strong, but Devlin O'Malley was much stronger than he was in so many ways—Gabe had felt it last night when he'd stood on the man's front porch for the first time. Dev's presence had been like a punch in the gut, and Gabe had been unable to erase his boss's face from his dreams.

Now he was in Dev's arms—Dev needed him. He could tell by the rough way the man handled him, like he was trying to lose himself in the sex.

Gabe wasn't about to object, not even when Dev dragged him inside and pushed him roughly to the first couch they stumbled across. Facedown, he let Dev strip his shirt over his head and yank his pants down around his ankles until that panicked feeling of being held down began to overtake him. Especially when Dev called him
Oz
, muttered it against the back of his neck as he lay helpless on the couch.

He rolled, easily pushing Dev off him. “I can't—not like this.”

Dev sat back on his heels on the end of the couch, staring at him as if he were crazy. Which Gabe probably was, refusing this man—refusing his boss anything—but he would never be able to let himself relax like that again during sex.

He stared at Devlin—the man's eyes were intense and he was as aroused as Gabe himself was. “I just… need to take it slow.”

Well aware that he sounded like a fucking,
fucking
idiot, he attempted to pull Dev's body down onto his. Dev resisted until Gabe put more strength behind it.

He kissed Dev, but the man didn't respond at first. After another attempt, Dev finally did—a long, hard, breathless kiss that he took over from Gabe.

When he pulled away, he told Gabe, “Turn over.”

“No.”

“I'm in charge—we're doing things the way I want them.”

“You're in charge of me when we're working. Not here,” Gabe shot back.

“You have so much to learn, Gabriel.” Dev was off him swiftly, tugging at his clothes to right them, running his hands through his hair. “Get up and get out.”

The moment Ulrika was out of Trance's sight, she broke into a sprint down the hall and hit the loo at a run. The beast was clawing at the inside of her skin, furious at Trance's suggestive, dominating talk. But the woman she was had damn near climbed up on the table and offered herself to him.

This was never going to work. The idea that she could protect him from Itor was ludicrous. And even if she
could
protect him from them, she couldn't protect him from herself.

Right now, the biggest threat couldn't even be identified. She could rip him to bits, or Itor could break in and take them both.

She touched her collar, which had stopped tingling, but it still felt like a two-ton weight around her neck. She'd sensed Itor's presence for most of the drive, and only now did she realize that if they were somehow tracking her, she was putting Trance in danger from them as well. She wasn't protecting him; she was making him a target.

Swallowing sickly, she closed the door behind her and braced her fists on the sink, needing a moment to compose herself. A look in the mirror told her more than she wanted to know about her physical state. Her hair was a wild tangle, her makeup so smudged she looked like a raccoon and the hollows in her pale cheeks gave her the appearance of a half-starved street urchin.

Only her eyes sparked with energy and life, but that was the wolf in her. It wasn't comfortable in this house it didn't know, wasn't comfortable with Trance at all. It wanted to run.

And, if Ulrika was honest with herself, she did too.

Staying with Trance would be a death sentence. For him.

“I'm so sorry I got you into this,” she whispered. He was the first person she'd learned to like in years. The first since Masanao, and even that hadn't been a true friendship. He'd been nice to her, and in a world where everyone else had been vicious or cold or simply apathetic to her circumstances, he'd been a godsend.

But ultimately, he'd paid for his kindness, and she couldn't risk that, or worse, for Trance.

It took her about two seconds to shove open the window over the toilet and slip through it. As she hit the ground, an alarm blared.

The place was wired with alarms?
Shit!

Adrenaline and fear sent her scampering across the expansive yard to the fence, which she scaled effortlessly. A childhood spent climbing trees and mountains paid off, big-time.

On the other side, she hesitated long enough to scent the marine air and get her bearings. Instinct told her to head for the country, to a forest, and right now instinct and the knife tucked into her boot were all she had in her defensive arsenal.

She tore through yards and between houses, kept off the streets and sidewalks as well as she could. Using her heightened sense of smell as a guide, she headed for clean air that didn't reek of humans. As she ran, her wolf spirit sang, loving the freedom, loving the run. It still wanted out, to run as an animal and not a human, but this was better than nothing.

Ulrika's terror climbed every time she saw a human, but soon, maybe an hour later, she finally found herself traipsing into rugged country terrain. She leaped over a stone fence and headed for the opposite edge of a meadow filled with sheep. The wolf quivered, wanting to hunt, but now wasn't the time. She needed to reach the forest just beyond the rocky outcrop ahead.

She gave herself a moment to rest, sinking down on the damp ground and bracing her back against a tree. Her legs were rubbery and her lungs burned after nonstop running. Exhaustion set in; she hadn't slept at all during the five-hour overnight drive to Plymouth, and now the early-morning gloom was sitting heavily on her. She needed a nap, but she'd have to make do with a few minutes of rest.

Closing her eyes, she wondered what Trance was doing. No doubt, he was searching the city streets, probably expecting her to head for crowded areas where she could blend in. Or maybe he thought she'd head to the water, where she could stow away aboard a moored boat.

The bleating of a lamb startled her, had her leaping to her feet, confused, blinking, realizing she'd fallen asleep.

And standing in front of her, looking extremely pissed off, was Trance. “We tried it your way,” he said, in a deep, sharp voice that cracked through her like a spanking on bare skin, “and now we're doing it mine.”

She swallowed dryly and backed up a step. “How… how did you find me?”

He moved forward with her. “I was a cop. I'm a good tracker.”

“Stay away,” she whispered.

“That's not going to happen.”

“I'm doing this for you. You're in danger.” She whipped the knife out of her boot and held it in front of her. “From me as much as from the agency.”

He cocked an eyebrow, his gaze flickering to the blade and then dismissing it completely as a threat. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way, but the end result will be the same. You're coming back with me.”

“Damn you, Trance.” She put the blade to her jugular, because, yes, she was willing to slit her own throat if it meant not getting captured. Or if it meant keeping him safe. “Don't you get it? I thought I could protect you, but if they're tracking me, I'm only putting you in danger. You're better off on your own.”

Apprehension flickered in his dark gaze. “Take it easy. Hurting yourself isn't going to help anything.”

Tears stung her eyes. She was tired, so tired of running and fighting and being so desperate that death was starting to look good. “It'll keep me out of their hands. You don't understand how far I'll go to never be caged again.”

“I do understand, Rik. I've arranged a flight out of here. We'll get out of Britain and away from the guy at the club. We can go anywhere you want. We just need to get back to the house until the plane gets here.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “How could you have done that?”

“My friend who owns the house has a jet. He owes me a favor for some creative tax help.”

“I don't know…”

Trance's offer sounded good. A way out. Right now she had nothing but the clothes on her back, was in the same situation she'd been in three months ago when she'd fled from her handler and the powerful telekineticist who had nearly killed her after she attacked the TAG agent. She didn't relish the thought of scrounging for food again, living like a vagrant and always worrying about hurting humans.

Trance made the decision for her. He struck like a snake, uncoiling in a lethal blur and disarming her with a flick of his wrist. He caged her against him, her back to his chest. His voice in her ear was a low growl. “We're in this together now. You can't do this on your own, and it's about time you trusted someone. That someone is me. You're coming back with me, and I'll take care of you. This isn't negotiable.”

She began to tremble, a combination of fear, the beast's fury and her own desire to let him take control. “I don't… I don't know if I can give you what you want.”

“You can, and you will.” He spun her around, gripped her shoulders, and captured her gaze with his. His pupils dilated and then contracted to pinpoints, and she felt a strange calm fall over her. “I released you from those chains back at your place. If I'd wanted to, I could have hurt you. Badly. But I didn't, did I?”

“No,” she rasped. And by letting her go, he had to know he'd laid the foundation for her to grow close to him. To trust him. And now he was demanding even more. He had every right; his life was in danger, and to save themselves, they'd have to trust each other.

She'd betrayed his trust by running, and he needed to build it back again.

He dipped his head and kissed her, hard and fast, leaving no doubt about what he wanted. He wanted her trust and her body, and he intended to have both.

T
HE RIDE
to Plymouth had been… interesting, mainly consisting of a high-speed chase of what seemed like nobody. But Ryan held on to some sort of remote control and barked out directions to her, and Meg had driven like the wind, liking the feeling of not knowing where she was going.

She could still feel his mouth on hers, his tongue stroking her… the kiss held so much promise that her body still tingled, hours later.

He hadn't asked her any more questions but she did have more answers. Several more, actually, but she held those in reserve for a time her life might need saving from the man sitting next to her.