Edge of Danger

Which means that you’ve gone stark barking mad! You don’t feed from the enemy, you idiot. And that guy sure as hell wasn’t your buddy.

Frustrated that she had so little control over the violent, visceral cravings of her Merrick, Saige ground her teeth and focused instead on keeping her body moving as quickly as possible, her speed so much greater than a human’s, despite the fact that her awakening had only recently begun. She still looked the same…still sounded the same, but inside…inside she was becoming something so much more than what she’d been. Her senses were sharper, the vivid, breathtaking details of the surrounding jungle swarming her mind with a brilliant, chaotic flood of information. Colors exploded with electrifying focus, her hearing so precise she could detect the nocturnal animals scurrying for shelter in the underbrush.

Certain that she could sense the stranger closing in behind her, Saige pumped her legs with greater force, ignoring the sharp burn of pain in her muscles as she shoved at the thick, damp leaves that crowded in on her. The small, silver compass that she wore around her neck thumped repeatedly against her pounding heart, beneath her sweat-damp shirt, and for a moment she wished that it was the cross, which could supposedly be used as a source of protection for anyone who wore it.

Wincing as the jungle flora scratched against her arms and legs, Saige figured a little protection would have come in handy right about then, but the cross was already gone. After finally uncovering the second Marker’s resting place that very morning in the stifling, humid depths of the rain forest, Saige had secretly sent the cross to Colorado in the care of a fellow colleague named Jamison Haley, then purposefully remained behind as a decoy. It’d been a risky move, but she was banking on the expectation that if they were out there watching her, the last thing in the world the Casus would expect her to do, after discovering one of the Markers, was separate herself from the powerful talisman.

Which apparently wasn’t the smartest move, now was it?

Obviously not. She might have managed to throw them off Jamison’s trail, but at the expense of throwing herself into what looked to be one heck of a fire.

“But it’s not like you had any choice,” she muttered to herself, casting a quick glance over her shoulder before narrowing her gaze back on the darkening forest. Untold dangers lurked in its shadowed depths, her Merrick blood altering her vision, allowing her to see far better than her human eyes had ever done—and yet, she still couldn’t say what lay ahead in the coming flood of night. She only knew it was there….

Enemies are coming who will take me from you.

When she’d laid hands upon the mysterious weapon, those were the words its voice had whispered through her mind, eerie and ancient and soft, so unlike the “voices” or “images” she usually picked up. But then her strange little talent for reading physical objects was most often a lark…a fluke. Only in her work did it tend to give her something meaningful. An object unearthed from hundreds of years ago, if not more, revealing its secrets to her as Saige first touched her fingers to its surface.

It was when it came to everyday life that the excitement faded. She would pick up a ketchup bottle in a restaurant and find herself privy to the internal thoughts of the last person who’d held it. Did I turn the iron off? Are these calories going straight to my thighs? Should I have the ice cream for dessert…or the apple pie? Hardly earth-shattering revelations, and she’d gotten good at shuffling the mundane facts in and out of her mind, like a revolving door, giving them little notice. Only when touching something from the past did she pay attention—focus and search for more.

Like when she’d found the first elaborately carved cross—or Dark Marker, as Saige had learned they were called—in Italy last year, and it had told her of its power: that it was one of the ancient weapons meant to destroy her enemies, as well as a source of protection. Saige had been awed by its warmth against her skin, by the beauty of its intricate design, and she’d vowed to search for the others with the use of the maps she’d found wrapped in an oilcloth, buried beside it. Worried that her discovery of the Marker was a portent of things to come, she’d wanted her mother to have the cross’s protection, and so she’d left the talisman with Elaina Buchanan while on a trip home to South Carolina. Now that her mother was gone, Saige only hoped the right decision had been made in passing the Marker on to her eldest brother, Ian. Her mother had written a letter asking that the cross be left in Ian’s possession, and Saige had found it impossible to ignore Elaina’s last wish. Knowing how much Ian had always despised any talk of the Merrick, all she could do was pray that the first Marker wasn’t lost…or thrown out, because there was no doubt they were going to need it. Especially now that she knew there were others who wanted the powerful, mysterious weapons.

After hearing the second Marker’s chilling words of warning, Saige had known she had to do everything she could to protect it. With the rest of the international research team having headed back to their various home countries the week before, she and Jamison, an archaeologist from London, had been the last remaining members to stay behind, continuing on with her private search. Over the course of the past year and a half, Saige had come to know Jamison well, and he was one of the few of her colleagues she actually considered a friend. Young and studious, the freckle-faced Brit wasn’t exactly a warrior, but what he lacked in brute strength he more than made up for with brains, and Saige trusted him implicitly—which was why she’d entrusted him with her precious find. She would meet up with him on Tuesday afternoon in Denver, and then once reunited with the cross, her plan was to track down her brother Riley and force him to take the Marker whether he wanted it or not, knowing he could protect it better than she ever could.

It would have been nice to think that Riley, a county sheriff in the Rocky Mountains, would invite her to stay with him, so that they could go through this nightmare together, but Saige had no illusions. She knew her brothers had loved her in their own way, but her and Elaina’s obsession with the Merrick had driven a painful wedge between them, a rift that had only widened as they’d grown older. She hadn’t talked to Ian in years, and even though she still saw Riley from time to time, their relationship continued to suffer. They hadn’t spoken since Elaina’s funeral, nearly six months ago, but the wounds from their argument were still fresh in her mind, seeping and raw. He’d called her obsession with the Merrick a ridiculous waste of her life, criticizing the dangers she kept subjecting herself to, traipsing all over the world in search of answers to a past that they had sure as hell better hope never touched their lives. Though Saige knew there was a part of him that believed the stories they’d been raised on, Riley was hardly willing to accept the truth about their bloodline with an open heart. He believed, but he wasn’t happy about it, harboring a bitterness that Saige had never shared…nor completely understood. A bitterness that had made his last words to her the most painful of all, as well as ones she wouldn’t ever forget…or forgive.

And above all, he’d made it clear that she was in this alone.

Which you should be damn used to by now.

Saige scowled at the silently sighed words, refusing to waste time feeling sorry for herself, no matter how scared she was. And there was no denying her fear, the sickly emotion coating her skin in a slick, clammy film. After spending her entire adult life in preparation for this moment, now that the time of the awakening had finally begun, terror consumed her. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into a safe pair of arms and seek comfort…solace. If not from her family, then from someone who at least cared about her. Who would wrap her in his arms and hold her tight, sheltering her in his strong, possessive embrace, even if only for a few stolen hours of peace.

Dream on, Saige—because in case you didn’t notice, this isn’t a fairy tale.

Other than her mother, the closest she’d ever come to having anyone take an interest in what happened to her was the Watchmen, but even they’d abandoned her now. There’d been a moment back at the bar when she’d thought there was a chance the gorgeous stranger was another of the mysterious “watchers,” like the man who’d disappeared earlier that week, but it was a benchmark of their organization that they always kept their distance, never getting as close as he had. Saige figured she should know, considering she and her brothers had been under surveillance for years, if not their entire lives, by the shape-shifters whose job it was to watch over the ancient bloodlines. The suddenly absent Watchman had simply been the latest in a long line of men and women whose responsibility it had been to keep an eye on her, waiting for the day when she was no longer human.

Saige had always done her best to ignore them. After all, they never interfered in her life. They were just there, like the birthmark on her hip, constant and predictable. And in a strange way…oddly comforting.

But there’d been something alarmingly different about the breathtaking stranger back at the bar. Instead of easing her mind, he’d completely overwhelmed her senses. When she’d touched his empty beer bottle, the vision that had roared through her brain had been shocking in its force, completely stunning her. Saige normally didn’t read objects that strongly. Nor did she pick up on such powerful, visceral emotions, and she’d panicked…running straight into the comforting arms of the jungle. A place where she’d always felt at home, despite its inherent dangers. The forest wasn’t an enemy, and it wasn’t simply a place. It was her companion and she trusted it, knew what to expect from it, unlike people.

People were unpredictable, but nature always folowed its course. Yes, it could be merciless and unforgiving, but it could also be generous in spirit, sharing its beauty…its splendor, asking for nothing in return but respect. Saige had always felt at peace in its embrace, but tonight, she drew no comfort from her lush surroundings. The shadows were closing in on her, panic tripping her feet, thickening in her lungs, burning in her muscles. Scents that had once been clean and fresh now slithered against her skin, sinking into her pores, wet and dank and meaty. Her sanctuary was being transformed, stolen from her, replaced by terror and fear, and she wanted to get her hands on the one responsible and make him pay.

Which would be a heck of a lot easier to do if you’d taken what your body wants…and found someone to feed from. And the cross would have helped, as well.

Hating that she’d become such a bloody whiner, Saige gritted her teeth and ran faster, pushing her body to its limit, when a stark, demonic howl suddenly broke through the night, directly ahead of her. She stumbled, almost falling, but turned to her right and kept running, painfully aware of the shock jolting through her system. She went hot…then cold, her eyes wide as she struggled to wrap her mind around it. Though she’d been a believer for so long, it was still a brutal assault on her system to find that she’d actually been right.

Oh God, she thought, followed swiftly by a choked, breathless outburst of “Shit!” and “Hell!” and “Not now, damn it!”

Struggling to keep hold of her backpack, Saige managed to lean down and grab hold of the small knife that she carried in the top of her right boot, clutching it within her damp grasp. The terrifying, sickening howl came a second time, right in her direct path again, and a sharp, choking sound of panic broke from her throat. Not knowing what to do, she cut left this time, feeling as if she were being herded…hunted…stalked. Which she was.

Think, damn it. Think!

Her Merrick grew more restless, seething within her body, eager to break free and confront the coming threat—but until she nourished that savage, primitive part of her soul, the ancient creature would be unable to fully break its way out of her, no matter how much danger she found herself in.

Which means that you are so freaking screwed, she thought, just seconds before the dark-haired stranger called out her name, his deep, resonating shouts coming from just behind her, full of guttural fury and concern.

“Saige! Goddamn it, stop running. The Casus is closing in. You’re going to get your crazy little ass killed!”

Not if I can help it, I’m not.

She panted, her chest heaving as she cut to her right for a second time, completely clueless as to where she was going. Was she running in circles? Running right toward it? Another scraping howl came from ahead of her again, as if the monster was playing with her—taunting her—and she struggled against a strange, instinctive urge to suddenly turn around and run back toward that rough, compelling voice still shouting for her to stop. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard, even when cut with the savage edge of rage, fitting the mouthwatering male to perfection.

Don’t get dotty now, woman. You don’t know him. And don’t forget what made you run in the first place. He was thinking about having sex with you, not saving your life.

Right, right. She wasn’t thinking clearly. God, she wasn’t thinking at all, operating on nothing but pure adrenaline and fear at this point.

The man was gaining on her, getting closer, and she could have sworn she could draw in his intoxicating scent. The bar had been too smoky for her to pick him out right away, until the power of his stare had touched her like a physical caress. Still, it wasn’t until she’d stood beside him that she’d gotten the full effect of that rich, woodsy, masculine smell—so different from the vile odor that filled the jungle ahead of her, coming from the Casus.

She slowed, her face damp with the salty sting of tears, and had no idea in which direction she should turn. Some soldier she was.

Suddenly, the stranger roared with fury, and in the next moment, the creature Saige had spent a lifetime envisioning burst out of the thick foliage, about thirty feet in front of her. She stumbled, screaming, eyes glued to the sight of its massive, grotesque body and beastly mouth of fangs, the muzzled shape curling in a cruel, sadistic smile as it zeroed in on her. Its grayish skin stretched tight over heavy, bulking muscles, body hunched from the ridges that marked its curved spine. A faint clacking noise came from its hands, where it clinked its razor-sharp claws together, the deepening shades of twilight casting a silvery glow on their sinister length.

“Merrick,” it growled, and the smile spread in an expression of pure, unadulterated evil.

Terror clawed at Saige’s throat, and she could read in its pale blue eyes its anticipation as it lurched toward her at an awkward, loping run. She flinched, knowing she was going to die, the knife held tight in her fist. She was prepared to go down fighting, when a great swooping rush of air brushed against her back.

In the next instant, the night went black.

One second she was standing her ground, facing certain death…then Saige Buchanan was flying.

CHAPTER THREE

DESPITE THE FURIOUS, keening howls of the Casus, Saige could hear the stranger’s graveled voice snarling a visceral string of curses near her ear. She twisted and kicked, struggling to break free…to see what was happening, but he’d thrown something soft and damp over her head, pitching her into an infuriating darkness. She couldn’t even punch or scratch at him, her arms pinned tight in a hard, unbreakable hold, the backpack smashed uncomfortably against her chest.

“Fuck,” he grunted, clutching her tighter, while his body burned like a fever against her back. Another sinister, bellowing scrape of sound came from below, just seconds before something cruelly sharp, like a claw, grazed her left calf. Saige flinched from the searing pain, a soblike noise tearing from her throat as the knife slipped out of her stunned grasp, falling to the ground below.

She hated not being able to see, the terrified landscape of her mind providing one vivid, grossly detailed scenario after another. Was the monster leaping for her again, its gruesome jaws gaping? Reaching out for her with extended claws? And how exactly was she…flying? What in God’s name was happening to her?

She wanted to demand an explanation from the beautiful stranger who had his strong, muscular arms banded about her torso, holding her tight, but couldn’t stop screaming long enough to form the words. For long minutes, he carried her through the sweltering twilight, over the dense jungle that she could scent just beneath them, until her screams finally died, her sickening fear slowly replaced by a mounting fury.

“Put me down!” she seethed, the enraged sound muffled beneath the cloth. “Goddamn it! Put me down or you’re going to be sorry!”

“And let you become its next meal?” he growled, his own anger giving his words a biting, guttural edge. “I don’t think so.”

He was obviously pissed that she’d run from him—and the fact that she’d tried to brain him with that bottle probably hadn’t helped.

Refusing to feel guilty for what she’d done, she continued to rant at him, though it was another five minutes before he finally lowered their elevation, the flapping rush of what sounded strangely like powerful wings becoming softer as they whopped against the forest’s upper canopy. An embarrassing, completely girly squeal of sound jerked out of her when his hold began to ease, though he didn’t completely release her until her feet touched the ground. Her forward momentum made her stumble for a few steps, so that by the time she managed to drop her backpack, peel what looked to be his shirt off her head and get turned around, she caught only a glimpse of massive ink-black wings from the corner of her eye. In the next instant, they disappeared behind him, the movement so smooth, it was as if he’d absorbed them into his body.

Gasping at the stunning sight, Saige stumbled back a step, then another, while he stalked toward her, his powerful muscles coiling and flexing beneath the bronzed sheen of his skin. His mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line, his dark, angry eyes burning like a midnight stretch of star-studded sky, pulling her in, making it impossible to look away. She was trapped, held in place by the sheer power of his presence, and Saige knew she’d have been terrified by the smoldering force of his fury, if she weren’t so bloody angry herself.

“What are you?” she demanded, holding her ground as he came a step closer. She’d deliberately put the emphasis on what instead of who, his species a heck of a lot more important to her than his name.

Instead of answering, he stopped a few yards away and crossed his strong arms over what was assuredly the most mouthwatering chest Saige had ever seen, either in the flesh or on the silver screen. Solid, powerful slabs of muscle were packed beneath smooth, burnished skin that gleamed like satin, begging for the touch of a woman’s hands. For the soft, sensual press of her lips, inviting her to lose herself in his warm, masculine flavor. She didn’t need any proof to know it would be dangerously tempting. Didn’t need to taste him to tell he would be perfect and spiced and wildly addictive. It was there in that earthy, evocative scent, reinforcing the unsettling fact that she was hungry—starving—for something that she instinctively knew this man, this stranger, could give her. Something that the awakening creature within her wanted…badly.

And I’ve apparently lost my freaking mind, she thought, wondering how she could be caught up in such an urgent, violent clutch of lust when she’d only just escaped death by a wing and a prayer. Literally.

“Do you belong to the Collective?”

The dark slash of his brows lifted. “How many shifters do you know in the Collective Army?”

So he was a smart-ass even when he was pissed off. Great. “Then who the hell are you?”

“Name’s Michael Quinn,” he replied in that deep, husky voice that was the perfect complement to those devastating looks. There was even a bit of twang to the words, hinting at a long-forgotten accent. He took his time looking her up and down, and with a wry drawl rounding out the edges of his speech, he said, “I’d ask if you’re Saige Buchanan, but I think that’s fairly obvious.”

He must have read her intention to turn and run again, because his eyes narrowed as he quietly added, “I caught you once, lady. Don’t think I won’t be able to do it again.”

“Are you kidnapping me, then?”

“I’m just stating a simple fact,” he rasped, his tone saying that he definitely thought she was crazy. “If I tell you not to run, then you had damn well better stay where you are.”

“And just where do you get off telling me what to do?” she objected through her clenched teeth, mustering what was left of her bravado, hoping it didn’t land her in more trouble than she could handle. And considering she’d managed to drop her only weapon, it didn’t look as if she could handle much at the moment. At least not from him. He had a racehorse-lean physique that was nothing but sleek, solid muscles and beautiful lines—the perfect personification of a dangerous predator. No doubt the man was built for power and speed, as well as other things she had no business thinking about, considering she didn’t know him from Adam. And she was alone with him in the jungle.

“One would think you’d be a bit more grateful, considering I saved your life,” he pointed out in one of those cool, utterly male voices of reason that always made her want to stamp her foot in a childish display of temper. Thankfully she squelched the ridiculous impulse and straightened her spine instead, determined to stand her ground. With her shoulders pulled back, Saige lifted her chin and wished for the thousandth time that she’d grown a few more inches at some point in her life. She’d always hated arguing with someone who towered over her, and she suddenly had a vision of herself facing him down while strapped into a pair of four-inch stilettos, then nearly snorted at the absurdity of it. Not exactly jungle-wear, but at least she could have used the heel as a weapon.

Through the thick weight of his lashes, he watched the chaotic shift of emotions flash across her face, her thoughts scattering like so much confetti being tossed in a violent breeze. She shifted uncomfortably, her skin too sensitive, her breath short, and could have sworn there was a soft, hazy spark of humor easing the sharp edges of that piercing gaze, which just pissed her off even more. Here she was shaking in her boots and the arrogant jerk thought it was funny.

Before she could think better of it, she opened her mouth and gave voice to the snide retort perched on the tip of her tongue. “Let’s get one thing straight here, birdbrain. You may have been handy back there, but I did not ask for your help.”

He’d started to move closer, but halted midstep, his dark, onyx-colored eyes narrowed to menacing slits. “Did you honestly just call me birdbrain?”

Saige lifted her chin a notch higher at his outraged tone, almost giving herself a crick in the neck. “You’re damn right I did,” she muttered, figuring she had no choice now but to brazen out her loss of sanity.

He shook his head, clearly at a loss as to what to make of her. “I’m starting to think you’d rather I’d left you back there to become its next plaything. Is that it, Saige?” His tone was more graveled now, his jaw hard as he stalked closer. “Or do you not know what Casus do to women before they kill them?”

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle, chilled despite the stifling heat of the evening. Now that the terror of that blind flight was over, her mind spun with dizzying speed, centering on one undeniable fact. After all the worrying…and wondering, she now knew, without any doubt whatsoever, that the Casus were real—that they were the ones after her. A bloody monster who could rip her apart with its bare hands as if she were nothing more than a troublesome insect, and in that moment, Saige finally realized that there’d been a silent, frightened part of her that’d been wishing…hoping…that maybe, just maybe the legend was wrong. After all her planning and research and the crazy things she’d done to make sure she protected the Dark Markers, she’d been hoping it wasn’t real—the monsters and murder and mayhem. And now that she knew the truth, there was no going back. Ever.