Edge of Oblivion

Julian, his big hand wrapped around Xander’s shoulder.

Mateo merely looked him up and down and shook his head. “You’re one tough fuck, you know that?”

“And you’re just as ugly as I remember,” Xander answered, grinning. “But I guess a jarhead isn’t supposed to be pretty, right?”

“Navy SEAL, asshole,” growled Julian from beside him. “Jarhead’s a marine. And we have better hair.”

“Yeah, well, you’re all cannon fodder as far as the military is concerned. But we know better what you really are, don’t we?” He winked, and the big male grinned at him, nodding, and slapped his shoulder.

“He’s a shitty driver is what he is,” Tomas said in an affectionate tone, looking sideways at Julian. “We would have gotten to you sooner at the hotel, but Driving Miss Daisy here took his sweet time leaving Monte Carlo.”

Julian scowled at him. “I made a seven-hour trip in under three, jerkoff. Top that!”

Tomas shrugged. “Would have been quicker if that bus of bikini models hadn’t been unloading in front of the Fairmont.” He smiled, the lines around his mirror eyes crinkling. “Thought you were going to have whiplash. Or a heart attack.”

“You drove here from Monaco?” Xander said, surprised. “What were you doing there?”

The three of them knew how to fly—and hijack—anything from a single-engine Cessna to a military fighter aircraft, so he’d assumed they’d come by plane. Fortunately they had been close enough to get to him quickly. If they’d been in Quebec or Manaus, his chances of survival might have been exactly zero.

Tomas and Mateo shared a dour look. “Ali Baba sent us to do recon on some big-shot casino owner named Stark,” Mateo said. “Seems he’s into this guy Stark for some serious cash and is looking for a way out of it. And if Stark has a little accident, so to speak, Ali Baba won’t have to pay at all.”

Xander’s jaw tightened. “He’s gambling again,” he said, and the three other assassins nodded.

Ali Baba was their nickname for Xander’s half brother, Alejandro, who ruled as Alpha of the Manaus colony. A preening, undisciplined, shifty-eyed male with an ego the size of a small country, Alejandro was also incredibly lucky. Hence the nickname. Though he had a knack for winning big at casinos—and occasionally losing big, which it seemed he had been recently—that wasn’t what had earned him the sarcastic moniker first coined by Tomas years ago. The Syndicate called him Ali Baba because he’d been crowned Alpha only by a lucky turn of fate that propelled him to a position of power he hadn’t earned and didn’t deserve. He wasn’t as Gifted as Xander, or half as strong or smart.

But he was the firstborn son of their father’s new wife. The new wife who hated Xander with an elemental ferocity and was ultimately responsible for having him shipped off to the Academy. The new wife who’d taken Xander’s mother’s place when she died. More correctly, when she was killed.

By his father.

Ancient history, that. But some scars never fade. Like the scars on his back where his father had whipped him whenever he was disobedient and then poured salt over the flayed skin just to hear him scream. So the mention of his half brother’s name brought his blood to a boil.

“The gambling will have to stop when the rest of the Alphas convene on Manaus,” Xander said, dark, thinking of the move all the colonies were preparing to make. Since it had been discovered the Expurgari knew the locations of all the colonies except Manaus, preparations had been in the works to combine all four colonies into one mega-colony. Logistics were proving to be a nightmare, but once Alejandro was surrounded by three other snarling Alphas, he wouldn’t stand a chance of getting away with his usual idiocy.

And hopefully he’d do something to piss one of them off and there would be a bloody—deadly —fight.

“Maybe,” said Julian. “But our friend Mr. Stark still might not wake up in the morning.”

“Speaking of morning, how long have I been out?” Xander asked, curious how long it had taken him to heal this time. He wasn’t fully operational, of course, but a human wouldn’t have survived the hit he’d taken, forget about being up and around.

Silence, sudden tension, and furtive looks passed back and forth. Mateo said, “Sixteen hours.

Exactly.”

Xander’s nervous system went on instant high alert. They’d been talking when he came in the room, three days minus sixteen hours, Mateo had said...did that have to do with Morgan—had she been hurt? Where was she? Something in his chest went cold.

His voice lowered an octave, he said, “What’s wrong?”

“How’s your sniffer, X?” said Mateo, watching him from hooded green eyes.

Xander was confused. And he hated to be confused. “What are you talking about?”

Mateo glanced at Tomas, who said with a lifted eyebrow, “Inhale, man.”

When he did, Morgan’s scent hit him like a wrecking ball. Fire and fever and a dark, searing need, laced with her normal perfume of exotic spices and warm skin and lush woman, all of it overlaid with the distinct, exquisite aroma of a female, aroused.

The Fever. She was deep in her Fever. And there was absolutely nothing more irresistible to an Ikati male than that.

He staggered back, wide-eyed. An erection sprang to rock-solid life in his pants.

“Yeah,” Tomas said sarcastically, by way of explanation. “So there’s that.”

He swallowed, his throat like a desert. “Where is she?” he croaked.

“Bartleby’s with her,” said Mateo with a glance upward. “In the gym—”

“The gym?” He was aghast at the thought of her sprawled over athletic mats, writhing in unfulfilled need. “Why in God’s name isn’t she in one of the bedrooms, comfortable—”

“One of the bedrooms next to you?” Julian interrupted with a pointed look at the front of his trousers. “You think you’d have slept the last sixteen hours through that?”

Sweet Jesus, that’s what they’d been talking about when he came in. He couldn’t believe they’d stood it for as long as they had; a female in her Fever emitted an irresistible siren call to a male, a call that on a purely biological level was almost impossible to ignore. The Fever in females of young-

bearing age happened once a year and lasted for three days, and mated or not, it was a dangerous time for the female and any nearby males, as well.

Competition festered. Fights broke out. Animal impulses reigned supreme.

In his colony any female in Fever was kept on full lock-down until it passed. And now—

“Bartleby’s been giving her drugs to keep her calm,” said Mateo. “And we’ve been doing a little self- medicating with our friend Mr. Daniels over there,” he added, glancing at a bottle of Tennessee whiskey on the counter. “And now that you’re up, we can clear out until—”

“I’m not leaving,” Xander said emphatically. “I’m not leaving her here alone.”

Silently they assessed him. “She’ll be with Bartleby, X,” said Tomas.

He met the male’s cool, tintless gaze. “I’m not leaving her.”

“We’ll be back in a few days,” said Mateo, trying to be reasonable. “She’s out of danger. You took down both those deserters who broke into the hotel room, and no one but us knows we’re here.

She’ll be perfectly safe here with Bartleby for a few days—” Xander turned to him, his gaze flinty. “You’re not listening to me. I. Am. Not. Leaving.”

Mateo stared back at him. “Because...?”

“Because she’s my responsibility.”

Mateo cocked his head. His eyes narrowed. “That sounds strangely familiar, Alexander.”

A rush of vicious fury, blinding white, and before he knew what he was doing, his fist connected with Mateo’s jaw.

Tomas and Julian jumped between them as Mateo snarled and moved to retaliate, his own muscled arm cocked back to strike, all of them shouting at once. It took a few minutes before they could be separated. Julian dragged Xander back into one corner of the kitchen, Tomas pushed Mateo, cursing, into the other. They stood staring at one another on opposite sides of the room, breathing hard, straining against the arms that held them.

“You did it again, didn’t you?” Mateo panted, flushed and angry, held tight in Tomas’s arms.

Xander bristled. “One more word and so help me God—”