Hunted

Chapter 31

Conn landed hard, glass shattering under his thick boots. Rage destroyed the strategic training he’d developed over centuries. Raw fury shoved temperance out of his heart. And fear, fear for the woman he loved, well now. That sent any humanity he may have owned straight to hell.

His hand clenched around Trevan’s throat before the man could get off one more shot. A careless swipe of his arm had the witch’s gun skittering across the floor.

Bleeding, nearly destroyed, working with half a demolished heart, Conn lifted his enemy with one hand, slamming the bastard down on the ground with all the force the universe contained.

Demidov’s skull exploded like a melon.

The animal Conn had become let loose with a growl. He squeezed harder, ripping the head right off the already dead body. Then he flung it out the window.

Rising, his fangs elongated, blood cascading down his cheeks, Conn searched for his mate. She leaned weakly against the wall, her hands shackled, her eyes huge pools of green in an entirely too pale face.

His legs grew heavy as he stumbled toward her, the blood deserting his body, his veins going dry. The last thing in this world he’d do was free her. Enamel flew when he gritted his teeth and reached for the shackles.

“Conn.” Her pretty eyes filled with tears. “Take off the collar. Please take off the collar.” Her voice came out breathy. Weak.

He frowned, wrapping his hand around the small lock until it crumbled into pieces. His fingers shook as he undid the binding, sliding the black leather off her neck. Sparkles lined it. Quartz?

She released more of a sigh than a breath. Her lashes fluttered while he unclasped the cuffs around her wrists. Two seconds later she reached for Brenna’s collar.

Conn growled. He hadn’t seen Brenna. She’d been right there, and yet, he’d only seen Moira. His mate. He reached for Brenna’s restraints, releasing her wrists as Moira threw the collar across the room. Brenna sagged to a crouch, deep gasps of air coming from her, her hand trembling as she pushed back her hair.

The room swayed. Or maybe that was him. A roaring filled his ears. Moira reached for him, her hands on his biceps.

Wood dented when his knees hit the floor.

The outside door splintered open, and he half turned to shield his mate.

Jase jumped inside, already ripping his wrist open with sharp fangs. “Here.” He shoved the wound toward Conn’s mouth.

The scent of blood filled Conn’s nostrils. Animalistic need filled his growl. He lunged for Jase’s arm, sinking his fangs deep. Drinking. Power shot into his mouth, into his veins. Straight to his heart, which most needed to heal. He released his hold, trying to force his canines out.

Jase shoved his vein in harder. “Take more. I don’t need it.”

Dage leaped through the door, his gaze taking in the entire scene. With two quick strides, he lifted Brenna off the floor, tearing the tape off her ankles. “Trevan’s reinforcements are coming. Get to the helicopter.”

Moira staggered forward, grabbing one of Conn’s arms as Jase latched on to the other, hefting him up. Together, they assisted the half-conscious soldier outside. The helicopter’s blades threw snow and pinecones at them like small missiles. Pain smashed into her face, her heart beating too fast against her ribs.

Even after drinking from Jase, Conn left a wide trail of blood through the snow. Yet he put each foot in front of the other, his head down, most of his weight leaning toward his brother.

Where did he get such strength? As his mate, she could feel the pounding pain ripping like tendrils of death through his tissues, through his organs. And yet, he moved—with a pure force of will.

“Not leaving you alone in this world,” he growled out, low and soft. Too soft.

“I love you.” The words came from nowhere near her brain. Maybe not even her heart. From somewhere deeper. Not exactly the wine and roses moment.

“I know. Get in the helicopter.” He released her to sag against Jase, waiting until she was safely inside before pulling his large body in next to her. Jase flanked him, facing outside, his gun aimed into the darkness.

Dage placed Brenna in the copilot’s seat, jumped into his own, and snapped buttons on the ceiling to life. “Hold on, everybody. Jase, get ready.”

The bird lifted in the air. Jase grabbed a grenade from his cargo pants, yanked the pin out with his teeth, and side armed the weapon through the mashed window into the hut. “Bye, Trevan.”

The helicopter cleared the area just before a massive explosion blew the wooden sides of the cabin in all four directions. Fire rolled into the sky, followed by dark smoke.

Heat sheeted across the windshield.

Moira reached for Conn’s hand resting on his thigh. He flipped his palm around, tangling his fingers with hers. Holding on. “Are you all right, Dailtín?” he murmured.

“Yes.” Hell no. Trevan had used a phanakite collar on her and Brenna. Weakness still threatened to steal her breath. She was discombobulated. Hopefully her mate wouldn’t catch on. She didn’t have time to go and rest in some hospital. “I need to get to Ireland, Connlan.” She stiffened, expecting a fight.

“I know.” Conn opened his eyes. “What’s the plan, Dage?”

Dage banked left, heading toward Trevan’s main house and descending. Fire lit the trees on every side. “Talen took Cara and the baby for medical help. Kane and Jase will stay here and go through the rest of Trevan’s holdings, make sure we didn’t miss anything or anybody.” The helicopter touched down with a slight bump, sending wafts of snow into the air. “I have a plane prepared for you to escort the members of the Nine as well as Moira and Brenna to Ireland. The Coven Nine is waiting.” Grim and angry, the king’s voice promised the meeting wouldn’t be pleasant.

Jase jumped out, nodding at Kane near the other helicopter.

Moira frowned. “You said members of the Coven Nine.”

“Yes.” Dage tilted his head toward where Kane assisted two women from the back seat. “Simone and Grace.”

Moira gasped. “Grace is alive?” Trevan had said Moira was the first survivor of his transporting kidnapping plan. Lying bastard.

“Yes.” Dage pressed a couple buttons on the console. “We found her in a closet, wounded, with some weird collar around her neck.” His eyes met Moira’s in the mirror. “Looked like quartz, and I’m assuming an explanation will be forthcoming soon.”

The king assumed wrong. Moira struggled to slide open her door. Conn tightened his hold. “Stay still, sweetheart.” While his head rested against the seat and his eyes remained closed, the command held bite. Her mate was regaining his strength. Well, that was probably good.

She turned her focus through the open doorway on his other side, where Kane assisted Grace and Simone toward the craft. Grace’s pale face held a myriad of fresh purple bruises. Her long scarlet skirt brushed the dirty snow, turning the bottom into a sooty mess. A circular green tinge marred her neck.

Moira grabbed her throat, scrubbing the skin.

“You have a green mark,” Conn said, not moving.

How long would the color last? Moira reached across Conn to help Simone into the helicopter. “Are you all right?”

Simone nodded, quickly wincing. “Yes, just a small headache. Cara will be fine. Talen shoved his vampire vein into her mouth immediately.”

Moira sighed. “I assume Talen is beyond grateful you tried to jump in front of her and take the bullet?” The realization hit that she didn’t know her cousin at all. Simone hadn’t given a second thought to forfeiting her life for Cara’s or the babe’s.

“I wasn’t fast enough.” Simone sighed, resting back, her pose similar to Conn’s. “I want to go home.” She scooted in farther to allow room for Grace, whose hands were visibly trembling. Kane shut the door behind her, slapping the outside twice before jogging to safety.

Dage pulled back on the throttle and they lifted into the air. Blinking lights from the controls flicked across his strong profile. Brenna snuggled down in the copilot’s seat. “Wake me when we arrive at the plane,” she whispered.

Moira fought her own eyelids closing. The phanakite collar had truly drained her. But sleep seemed an unwise luxury. She needed to get her thoughts in order before meeting with the council. As Conn’s breathing evened out next to her, she glanced across the bench at Grace. “How did you survive the transporting?”

The councilwoman waved bruised knuckles in the air. Apparently she’d fought back. “I’m not sure. I imagined a safety bubble around myself, and suddenly a light pierced the darkness.” She gingerly fingered her neck. “He gave me a collar.” Her deep blue eyes widened and she angled toward Moira. “Is Trevan really dead?”

“Yes.” Moira kept her face bland. The man may have been a councilmember, but she felt nothing at his death. He’d turned his back on all of them.

Grace put a fist to her mouth. “Good.” Tears filled her eyes, and she turned away to the storm outside her window.

Moira lacked the energy to comfort. Her eyelids closed and she snuggled closer to her mate. Maybe she’d relax her eyes for a moment. While her body went limp in exhaustion, her mind spun.

She was missing something.

Before she could figure out what it was, the helicopter touched down. The snow had given way to a light smattering of rain across the tarmac. The battle-weary group exited the vehicle almost in slow motion, staggering, limping, and stumbling into the jet already humming with power and ready to go.

The main cabin held eight thick leather chairs facing a wide screen. Dage gently placed Brenna in one, sliding it open to form a bed and grabbing blankets from an overhead bin to tuck her in. Simone assisted Grace and then grabbed her own place. Moira leaned against the side, her mind spinning. Tired. So damn tired.

Dage stalked back toward them. His fangs shot out, and he ripped into his wrist. The musky scent of blood filled the space.

Conn opened his mouth to protest, and Dage pinned him to the wall with a forearm to the neck. The entire plane rocked with the force of their powerful bodies. His wrist smacked against Conn’s lips. “Take some blood or I’m going to kill you.”

Moira backed out of the way.

Conn’s eyes swirled silver, then narrowed. He bit down, amusement lighting his face at Dage’s harsh intake of breath. A healthy flush worked across his cheekbones. His nostrils flared when he finished drinking.

Dage released him. “Moira. Do you need blood?”

Moira started in surprise. She felt pretty woozy. Her throat ached like she had a horrible cold. But combining vampire blood with whatever reaction she’d had from the collar seemed risky. “No. But thanks.”

“All right.” The king pivoted. “Conn, take your mate to the back bedroom. You both have twelve hours to rest. I expect your heart and at least one lung healed by the time you set down. I’ll secure headquarters and then call in during the meeting with the Nine. Good luck.” He slammed the door shut and jogged down the steps to the tarmac.

A thick hand tugged Moira past the bathroom to the bedroom. The one they’d shared last time. Even exhausted, heat flowed through her to pool in her abdomen.

Conn chuckled. “I’m not saying I couldn’t satisfy you, sweetheart. Though we should sleep a bit first.” He tugged off his clothing.

She rolled her eyes, crawling over the bed to flop against the pillows. Quick motions had her boots kicked off and thumping on the floor. “Good plan.” She shivered in her wet jeans, snuggling deeper down.

A T-shirt landed next to her head. “You’re wet, Dailtín. Change your clothes or I’ll do it for you.” Thunks sounded as weapons hit the floor.

The thought was tempting, but the guy needed to heal. Without opening her eyes, she shimmied out of her jeans and shirt, tugging on the clean shirt. The bed dipped, and Conn rolled her under the covers, his muscled body warming her. “Sleep. We’ll talk later.”

The comment should worry her, but at the moment, she was too tired to be concerned. She’d figure everything out when her brain kicked in. Willing her mind to relax, sending calming thoughts to her body, she counted Conn’s even breaths. He was out. Pain radiated from him, along with the tingle of healing. The king’s blood probably held some serious power. The extra power Conn gained as her mate should finish the healing process.

She counted sheep. She counted vampires. Then she counted the challenges to her relationship. That took the longest.

A soft knock on the door had her lifting up. “Come in,” she whispered. Her mate didn’t move.

The door slid open on a whisper of sound, the hall light outlining Brenna. She tiptoed inside, sliding the door closed with a soft click. Light steps had her around the bed and snuggling next to her sister. “Is he healing?”

“Yes.” Moira scooted over to make more room on the pillow. Her body was already pressed against the hard rock of her mate. “You should be sleeping.” She kept her voice to the same soft whisper used by her sister.

“Can’t sleep.” Brenna tugged her hair free. “My throat hurts. I feel weak.” She clasped her hands on her stomach, extending her legs with a sigh. “I think ... well, I don’t know ...”

“Think what?”

“Trevan forced something down my throat—a liquid. I think maybe ...”

Dread slammed hard into Moira’s gut. “Liquid phanakite?”

“I don’t know.” Brenna sighed. “Was probably just a tranquilizer. We’ll worry about that later. Right now, something more timely is bothering me.”

“What might that be?” Moira had her own suspicions, but Brenna could solve a puzzle faster than anyone she’d ever met.

“A couple things. First, well, the king isn’t stupid.”

“I know.” Moira turned on her side toward Brenna. She reached out, winding her fingers through her sister’s, reassuring them both. “We can’t do anything about his knowledge.”

“He’ll discover what phanakite does. The secret is out.” Brenna cuddled closer.

“Yes. But Dage won’t hurt our people.” Probably.

Brenna tightened her hold. “I have two labs working on a countermeasure to the mineral.”

Moira started. “You do?”

“Of course. Secrets may last a long time, but never forever. We’ve been arrogant to think so.”

Pride filled Moira. “You’re a smart woman, Bren. Any luck?”

“Nope. So far, nothing. But I will find a defense against that crap.” Brenna’s voice crackled, her throat probably as sore as Moira’s. “I have another concern.”

“Grace.” Moira tried to swallow and ease some of the pain.

“Yes. She’s dressed in a gorgeous designer skirt and top. Not exactly prisoner garb.”

“True.” Moira catalogued her last image of the councilwoman. “Trevan was a freak. He may have dressed her like that on purpose the last few days.”

“I know.” Brenna sighed. “And her face is seriously bruised.”

“New bruises.” Moira tucked her hand under her cheek. “Very fresh. Almost like she received them the last hour. When the vampires attacked.”

“She could’ve smashed her face into a wall a few times before putting the collar on her own neck.” Brenna’s voice turned thoughtful. “But I can’t imagine forcing that mineral on your own skin. No way.”

“I heard a woman’s voice when I first arrived.” Accusing a member of the Coven Nine of betraying them held certain threat. “My guess is Grace was working with Trevan.” How had she missed this?

“We have no proof.” Brenna sighed. “None at all.”

“I know.” That left Moira with only one option. “I’ll take care of it.”

Seconds ticked by. Brenna stiffened next to her. “You can’t. Even normally I’d talk you out of it. But now, feeling so weak. You don’t have the strength.”

Moira shrugged. “Sometimes fate doesn’t give us a choice, Bren.” It appeared she was about to meet hers. Or lose herself trying.