Edge of Danger

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.

“I know what the Casus are—what they’re capable of,” she whispered, hating the way her throat shook and her eyes burned. Hating that she couldn’t hide it from him—from this beautiful stranger whose presence completely screwed with her body and her mind. “I don’t need details.”

“Maybe you do.” His tone was equally soft, but hard, his mesmerizing eyes still narrowed with frustration. “Especially if you think you can traipse off through the jungle like a stupid little idiot when you have a sadistic killer on your tail.”

“Excuse me for panicking,” she ground out, caught in that dizzying, explosive state between fury and fear, “but I wasn’t thinking about monsters when I ran. I was too busy trying to get away from you and your perverted mental sex show!”

The second the words left her mouth, his expression turned livid. “Just what the hell does that mean?”

Saige glared at him, while in a far corner of her mind she accepted the fact that this was by far the strangest conversation she’d ever had—and God only knew she’d had a few. She hadn’t meant to blurt that little tidbit out, but terror had apparently seized her ability to self-edit.

Clearing her throat, she tried for a calmer tone. “I…I know what you were thinking about back at the barra.”

His gaze sharpened with suspicion, the sharp ridges of his cheekbones flushed a dull shade of red that she could clearly see in the thickening lavender twilight. For a moment it looked as if he was going to demand how she knew, but then he scraped his hands back through his short black hair, the raised position of his arms accentuating the predatory power of his muscles, making him look like some kind of carnal god come down to tempt her with the savage beauty of his body. Pressing one hand to her pounding heart, Saige could have sworn that a nearly silent, gritty burst of laughter rumbled deep in his chest, though the seductive sound never quite reached her ears.

“Do you read minds, then?” he asked.

Unwilling to reveal the truth, she hedged, saying, “I’m not blind, Mr. Quinn. It wasn’t hard to read your thoughts with that look you had on your face.”

She couldn’t believe it, but his blush actually deepened. “Christ, you Buchanans are all the same, aren’t you?” He pushed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, staring at her with a searing intensity that made her feel hot and cold all at once.

Taking a deep breath, Saige searched his expression…and found herself mesmerized by the shifting heat and shadows in his dark, beautiful eyes. Was he after the Marker? Or was it something else he wanted?

“What do you know about the Buchanans? What exactly do you know about me?” Other than the fact that you know I want to bite you, she silently groaned, thinking uncomfortably of the vision. It was madness, how much the idea of sinking her teeth into him excited her. The heaviness and stinging heat in her gums was growing worse, signaling the release of the Merrick’s fangs.

It won’t be long now, she thought. Like a match set to a fuse, there was something about the tantalizing Michael Quinn that had her primal blood surging, pulling her awakening closer to the surface…urging it on.

Which meant that her hunger would grow stronger, demanding to be fed.

He watched her with that hard, silent gaze, making her feel as if he were listening in on her private thoughts, which she seriously hoped wasn’t the case. Finally, after what seemed like a long, painful forever, he answered her question in a low rumble of words. “I know enough to believe that you understand what’s going on here. I also know about your family, your mother, even the cross you found in Italy. And I’m also pretty damn sure that you’ll know exactly what I mean when I say that I’m a Watchman.” He paused, as if waiting for her to deny it, but she simply stood there, dazed, wondering what in God’s name she was going to do. Being a Watchman meant that he was one of the good guys, which should have been a relief…and yet, Saige couldn’t deny that she felt more restless than ever.

“You can trust me, Saige. If we’re going to make it out of here alive, you have to trust me.”

“Trust you?” She stared, thinking he was unlike anything or anyone she’d ever imagined as a Watchman—and yet the truth burned in that dark, smoldering gaze. She believed him. But if he was what he claimed, then he was clearly breaking every one of the Watchmen’s rules. “I know how this is supposed to work,” she murmured, unable to disguise her suspicion. “You’re meant to watch me, to keep your distance. Not walk right up to me in the middle of a crowd…while thinking about…about what you were thinking,” she finished lamely.

“You know what they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures? Well, this is one of them.” He pulled a photo of her out of his back pocket, and held it up for her to see. “I have orders to get your troublesome little ass back to Colorado, to your family. Your brother Riley gave me this to help me find you.”

Saige looked at the picture taken of her two years ago, when she and Riley had spent Christmas at home with Elaina, then back at the man who called himself Quinn. “Why would Riley send you after me? And what was all that about back at the bar?” she demanded, only to immediately wish that she hadn’t, too aware of the fact that the more she thought about that explicit image, the warmer she got, until it felt as if she were melting from the inside out, and her stomach actually gave an embarrassing growl.

Cool it, Saige. You need to stay sharp…not starving.

Unfortunately, the primal creature awakening within her had other ideas.

Quinn rolled one of those broad, bronzed shoulders in a casual gesture, as though the situation was no big deal and she’d overreacted. “Yeah, I was thinking about having sex with you—but that doesn’t mean that I’ll do it. Doesn’t even mean that I want to.”

Huh. She didn’t know whether to be relieved, insulted or strangely disappointed. “Well, gee, thanks.”

“Look, my temporary case of lust, or insanity, or whatever you want to call it has been cured,” he added with an impatient scowl, probing meaningfully at the nasty gash at the edge of his eyebrow. “So let’s just get the hell out of here before that thing tracks us down.”

He returned her picture to his back pocket, then reached down and picked his T-shirt up from where she’d dropped it on the ground, his muscles bunching across his chest and arms with each movement of his beautiful body. Saige blinked, wondering what kind of gene pool a guy had to come from to look that good, the dusky, vibrant glow of twilight only accentuating his raw masculinity, as if he were some dark, sylvan creature escaped from a primeval forest—and she seriously hoped there wasn’t an embarrassing stream of drool slipping from the corner of her mouth.

“What was up with the blindfold, anyway?” she asked, her voice oddly husky as she watched him pull the shirt over his head, the soft black cotton tight against his powerful build, hard biceps stretching the seams at the sleeves.

Despite his lingering anger, he slanted her a laughing look. “Your brothers mentioned your fear of flying.”

“So you thought not being able to see would make it better?” She shook her head, her tone dry as she rubbed her palms on the front of her shorts. “And for the record, I’m not afraid of flying. I’m just a firm believer that if the gods had meant for us to take to the skies, they would have given us wings.”

He didn’t say anything, just arched one midnight brow in her direction, and she pressed her lips together, fighting the ridiculous urge to grin. Since the second she’d first set eyes on this man, she’d felt like a hormonal wreck, going from one extreme to the other in a dizzying maelstrom of emotions that were wreaking havoc on her sanity. Prickly. Frustrated. On edge and uncomfortably agitated—while at the same time filled with some odd, inexplicable sense of security. She felt sheltered and threatened all at once, aware of him in a way that she’d never experienced before, the disquieting sensation flowing through her with piercing intensity. In the past, Saige had always been at ease around men, working among them as an equal…just another one of the guys. She didn’t usually take notice of them as sexual creatures, not even the blatantly beautiful ones—and never in the way that she was “noticing” Michael Quinn.