The thump of boots on stairs came through mind-speak.
The sound lit Wick up, making his muscles tighten and tension creep across his shoulders. He wanted to yell “hurry!” at his buddy. Wick stayed silent instead. Sloan would do his level best. But computers weren’t as reliable as mind-speak. The message might not get through or be picked up in time. The entire Nightfury pack had just been forced into a holding pattern. Nothing left to do now but pray Gage and Haider made it out in one piece.
Chair springs squeaked as Nian shifted in his seat, bringing him closer to the computer screen. Forearms stacked on the desktop, he leaned in, picking up details, assessing the situation as he stared at Bastian. Holy Christ and a baseball bat. He’d expected fierce from the Nightfury commander. What he saw topped it. The male was more than warrior strong. Kick-ass with a healthy dose of dangerous, his vibe screamed “don’t mess with me,” and with Bastian’s green gaze pointed in his direction, Nian believed it. Every rumor. Every story. Every word whispered in dark corners about the male and his tactics.
Lucky for him he sat half a world away. Safe enough. Out of range with an entire ocean between them. At least, Nian hoped so. Bastian no doubt possessed a long reach and many allies on both sides of the Atlantic. Males willing to do his bidding without question or at a moment’s notice.
The thought wasn’t a pleasant one.
Good thing he wasn’t faint of heart. Or without power of his own.
Readjusting his position, Nian looked into the screen, out into an open room framed by large windows. Clustered behind Bastian’s chair, the Nightfuries backed their commander. Tall. Strong. Unwavering. Warriors driven to protect, every last one. Nian recognized the breed, but held the line, meeting each male’s gaze before returning his attention to Bastian. So far, so good. All systems were a go. Mission almost accomplished. Leading with the Gage and Haider angle had been a brilliant stroke of genius. The ploy had captured the Nightfury commander’s attention like nothing else could. Any fool could see Bastian cared about his comrades. His concern was palpable, fogging the air around him, coming through from over five thousand miles away. He wanted Gage and Haider safe. He wanted them secure. He wanted the pair home in Seattle.
Perfect in every way.
Ironic too. In his quest to bring Bastian down, Rodin—and his asinine scheme—had provided the one thing Nian needed above all else… an in with the Nightfury pack. Now he sat nose-to-screen with one of the most powerful males of his kind, minutes away from procuring the support he required to cut the leader of the Archguard off at the knees.
But only if he played his cards right.
Bastian wasn’t stupid. Then again, neither was he.
Gaze still narrowed on him, Bastian lifted his boots from the coffee table. Shifting in the leather club chair, he leaned forward, feet planted on the floor, elbows on his knees, fingers laced between the spread of his thighs. The move brought him closer to the camera. Nian swallowed, resisting the urge to lean back… get out of range before things went apocalyptic. A stupid reaction. Bastian couldn’t touch him. Not right now anyway.
“How did you come by the information, Nian?” Bastian asked, his voice soft. The melodic pitch pricked the nape of Nian’s neck, warning him without words. Something about the tone was off. Far too dangerous to ignore. “You in Rodin’s back pocket?”
Nian shook his head. “No, but I’ve worked hard to cultivate his trust. I’m there now. He’s begun to confide in me. Any information I have comes directly from the bastard. You can trust it.”
“Then tell me…” Same tone. Shivers rolled down Nian’s spine as the Nightfury commander nailed him with shimmering green eyes. “What’s the real reason behind the roundup? What’s Rodin’s true intention?”
Christ. Had he said smart earlier? Well, he’d meant brilliant. Bastian was astute in a way that made a male sit up and take notice. “He knows of Lothair’s death. Learned of it from someone in Seattle.”
“Fucking hell.” Standing behind his commander’s chair, a blond, pale-eyed warrior scowled at him. “Ivar. The asshole’s been chatting with Rodin.”
“I assume as much,” Nian said, dragging his focus from the blond warrior back to Bastian. “I can’t prove the connection yet, but I think Rodin is funding the Razorbacks. He’s running underground fight clubs and female slave auctions. Making a ton of money from both enterprises and—”
“How do you know?” A knowing light in his eyes, Bastian tilted his head and stared at him, the glare full of predatory intent. “You been visiting Rodin’s playground?”
Nian opened his mouth to answer.
Bastian cut him off. “Why don’t you tell me about the female?”
“What female?”
“The one you purchased last week at an auction.”
Surprise made him twitch. Recall made his throat go dry. Ah, Christ. Not good. He didn’t want anyone digging up that skeleton. It needed to stay buried, six feet under where it belonged. Otherwise, the truth of that night would get him killed. But even as Nian told himself to keep it under wraps, to remain impassive, calm, well able to deny the accusation, memory spun him in dangerous directions.
Grace von Ziger. The beautiful blond with big brown eyes and gorgeous energy. Not that most males noticed. His talent for illusion had unearthed her deception when she woke in his home. An HE female—rarest of the rare—Grace was a
Too bad that didn’t apply to him.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been unable to look away. Or allow another male to own her. Touch her. Possess and treat her like a sexual prize.
Lifting his hand from the leather blotter, he sat back and, reaching beneath the desk edge, fingered the driver’s license he’d wedged under the wooden lip. Lapier thought he’d thrown it away, erasing all trace of her, but he’d been unable to do it. He liked the laminated paper within easy reach. Often flipped it open to look at her picture. To imagine her safe in America, starting a new life with the seed money he’d provided. But as his fingertips ghosted over the crisp fold and he held Bastian’s gaze, Nian knew he should throw it away… burn it along with the file folder in his floor safe, the one that held all her personal information.
Keeping a piece of her, after all, was foolhardy, not to mention dangerous.
As dangerous as the warrior pack seated in Seattle.
“How long have you been spying on me?” he asked, feeling stupid for not realizing it sooner. Hell, Bastian no doubt had someone watching him right now.
“Long enough to know you bought a first-class ticket out of Prague. Question is… who was on the plane? Not you, so…” Bastian raised a brow. “The flight landed in New York. You want me to do some digging? Check passenger manifests? Track travel plans stateside? I can send a couple of warriors to—”
“Stay away from her,” he growled, rage lighting his fuse.
“She mean that much to you?”
Nian stayed silent, a warning in his eyes. He understood Bastian’s intent… received the message loud and clear. The bastard wanted him to know he wasn’t invulnerable, that anyone could be gotten to with the right amount of leverage. And Bastian—clever tactician that he was—knew how to crank the hell out of it. But if the Nightfury warriors went anywhere near Grace, Nian would show no mercy. He’d use every ounce of power he possessed to level the Nightfury pack. Alliance be damned. She deserved a fresh start, and he hadn’t saved her life—and risked his own in the doing—to turn around and thrust her back into danger.
“All right,” Bastian murmured, watching him closely. “But the offer stands. We don’t hurt females, Nian. If she gets into trouble… needs help… let me know. My pack is closer, able to reach her faster.”
Nian should’ve appreciated the offer. It pissed him off instead. If Grace got into trouble, he’d jump the pond to ensure her safety. No one else would be involved, and the Nightfury commander would be the last to know.
Done with the bullshit, Nian challenged the warrior threatening him. “You done screwing around? Can we get back on point now?”
A slow smile spread across Bastian’s face. The amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As long as we understand each other.”
“No doubt of that,” Nian said, anger mixing with respect. Bold bastard. Whatever else his claim to fame,
