Hunted

Chapter 7

The scent of lilac and musty books filled Conn’s nostrils as he glanced around Moira’s spacious office at the academy. “Do you also need to submit grades at the University of Dublin before we leave town?” His mate taught at both the human university and the witch center of higher learning. He ran his finger over a crystal ornament of a fairy perched in front of books on the shelf. He’d sent the priceless gem to Moira last year when she’d been promoted to full professor at the Quantum academy, a university known only to magic users.

Her shoulders jumped, as if she’d been expecting another question. “No. I turned the human grades in last week.” She licked a manila envelope, scrunching her nose afterwards. “Damn glue tastes horrible.”

Wheels from her chair squeaked when she pushed back from the alder-wood desk. Anyone in the hallway would know when she was sitting in her chair. Conn needed to teach her more about stealth. “You’d think with all the advancements in computers, we wouldn’t need to file a hard copy of grades with the dean.” She stood, rolling her eyes.

Conn snorted. “Magic users are notorious for hacking computers. Your dean is smart.” Celestial light glinted off the pretty figurine, and he turned toward the night. The shade slats revealed large windows overlooking a quaint courtyard bathed in moonlight. He’d held her hand under the moonlight a century ago as he’d led her away from the festivities—toward destiny.

“Good point.” Moira shuffled around two chairs piled high with thick, leather-bound books, her boots clipping across the ancient wooden floor.

He could see her as a scholar. Perhaps later she’d put on glasses and tie her hair up in a bun. A sexy librarian, waiting to be kidnapped—which he pretty much had decided to do. Time to get his mate out of Ireland.

He ran a rough hand through his hair. “The Coven Nine is in trouble.” Unsettled, scared, and reacting instead of steering their people.

“I know.” Her tone held a note of resigned inevitability. “I’ll need to join sooner than I’d planned.”

Probably true. Good thing she could do so remotely. Away from whoever was attacking her people. She’d need training against werewolves, although he had no intention of allowing her on the front line. Still, learning defense was a must in their worlds.

“So what other abilities do you possess?” If the woman could turn his spleen into glue, he’d appreciate knowing about it.

She sighed. “I deal in quantum physics, Conn. If something has molecules or waves, I can alter the material state.” A frown marred her pretty face as she faced him squarely.

Brave little witch.

“But when altering, I can only choose a state like solid, gas, or liquid. I can’t take a destroyed heart and reshape the organ into a working heart. Just into some sort of solid, which wouldn’t help at all.”

“Too bad.”

“Yes.” Her tooth bit into the flesh of her bottom lip, making his fangs ache for a taste. “The process is much easier on humans, of course. You’re probably rather safe.” The glint in her eye didn’t reassure him. “Besides. You vamps have plenty of abilities and weapons you don’t go around advertising.”

She hadn’t quite answered his question.

“I asked what else you could do.” The hair on the back of his neck rose, yanking him from the issue at hand. “Wait a minute.” He grabbed her biceps and shoved her behind him.

“What the hell are you doing?” she gasped.

An ominous silence filled the corridor outside. He sniffed the air. Nothing. The silence lay heavy, like a wool blanket on a summer day. Something waited in the hallway. His gun instantly cooled his hand. “Get down.”

Glass shattered. Plastic skipped across the floor. Conn whirled, grabbing Moira and tucking her face into his chest, pinning her against the bookshelf. Light flashed, bright and deadly. His ears rang. More glass shattered and boots landed hard and loud on the wooden floor.

“Damn it.” Conn bent Moira at the waist and shoved her underneath the desk, pivoting and leaping forward to take the first body to the ground. Anger ripped through his system. The flash grenade blurred his vision, but his knife slashed true. Kurjan blood sprayed across his face, burning like embers. Strong arms grabbed him, throwing him into the bookshelf. The door splintered open. Three more Kurjans swept inside.

They wore all black, with many red medals across their chests. High ranking. An elite squad. The one in the lead leveled a large green gun between Conn’s eyes. Bright purple eyes glowed in the monster’s stark white face. These guys deserved to live only in darkness. “Kayrs. It’s five against one. Give us the witch and you won’t die today.”

Green fire flashed from beneath the desk, the laser bullets turning to lead as they ripped into the leader’s face. He crashed to the floor.

Moira jumped to her feet. “Five against two, asshole.” She dropped into a slide, knocking the next guy on his ass. Instantly, her knife slashed into its neck, decapitating the monster.

Talk about impressive. Conn jumped for the two Kurjans still standing, ripping the arm off one as his fangs dropped low. The soldier bellowed in pain, silencing as Conn struck into his jugular, taking away part of his neck. A knife cut into Conn’s gut, and he grunted, keeping one eye on Moira as he turned his attention on the Kurjan who’d stabbed him. A side kick to the groin and a punch to the monster’s face later, he whipped his knife against the enemy’s neck. The Kurjan’s head rolled to the ground.

Moira battled with the remaining Kurjan, who had size and strength on her. But Conn’s mate owned speed and agility. She ducked, slashing with her knife, drawing first blood. The Kurjan landed a lucky punch, connecting with her cheekbone and sending her sprawling.

Conn saw red.

Fury loosed the blood in his veins, allowing adrenaline to course faster. A roar escaped him, and he lunged forward, taking the Kurjan to the floor. The idea of anyone harming Moira, of anyone daring to strike out against his woman shattered the chains around the shackled beast inside him. Not only genetics separated vampires from humans. The additional chromosomal pairs comprised enhanced strength of an animalistic nature.

Immortality came with a primitive price.

A pounding clashed inside his skull. His bare hands dug into the bastard’s neck, his fingers digging so hard blood sprayed. The need to protect, the primal fury to defend his mate gave him strength beyond the possible.

Purple eyes swirled to red and then black as the Kurjan struggled, fighting to live. With an animalistic bellow, Conn ripped the head off the body.

Moira darted forward to clutch his arm. Her swollen cheekbone contrasted with her pale face. “Conn. We have to go. More are coming.”

She began to dodge into the hall and he stopped her by the scruff of the neck, tugging her behind him. “Stay behind me, Moira.” He was first through the door—any door. Always.

He fought the urge to take her hand and dodged into the hallway, swinging his gun one way and then the other. Silence. Light filtered in the broad windows, glinting off the polished oak floorboards. “Come on.”

Keeping his back to the wall, he inched toward the exit, his senses on high alert. Nothing moved. If the Kurjans were near, he’d sense them. His mate followed, her breathing even, the gun steady in her grip. They’d have a discussion soon about her current employment, though her training impressed him. Unwanted pride filled his chest.

The outside door remained shut tight. He paused, his senses searching the night. “When I open the door, run for the bikes. Behind me.” His body would conceal hers as they moved. “If I go down, keep moving.”

She snorted. The woman actually snorted.

He’d deal with her later. For now, they needed to run. His shoulder lowered and he twisted the knob, shoving open the heavy maple door and leading with his gun. Their bikes sat at the edge of the curb, sparkling under the full moon. Various vehicles lined the road and music spilled from a bar a block down. The witches hid their school in plain sight. “Run, now.”

His torso swung back and forth as he ran down the steps, aiming his gun into the shadows. Nothing moved. A row of hedges lined the brick building. He didn’t sense anyone hiding behind them. Quick strides had him across the pillared entryway to the street. Moira threw her leg over her bike and twisted the ignition a second before he did, both forgoing helmets for speed.

“Conn!” she yelled, leaping for him and tackling him to the ground just as a missile hit his motorcycle. Boom! The machine sailed into the air and crashed into the front window of a clock shop. Springs, clock faces, and shredded wood flew into the street.

Heat blasted his face. Concrete ripped into his cheek. Cold fury shot the night into focus.

In one fluid movement, he rolled over, lifted Moira, and jumped on the back of her Ducati. “Drive.” Folding his larger body around hers, he turned and fired his gun into the alley where the missile originated. He and the Kurjans were about to come to an understanding—as soon as he got his mate to safety. A bellow of pain echoed from the darkness.

Moira kicked the bike loose, turning into the street and punching the power. Bullets pinged across the metal, the small windshield shattered. Conn returned fire. Pain exploded in his rib cage in a blast of five. Lights sped by, music filtering into the distance. Moira dodged into an alley, following it until ripping into traffic at the other end, swerving to avoid a taxi.

A minivan tried to pull into the street. Moira swept her hand out, stalling the vehicle in place. Impressive.

The wind smashed into Conn’s face. He lowered his head closer to Moira’s neck. Even with the world rushing by, her scent of lilacs surrounded him. Filled him. “Go to the private airport.”

She shook her head, curls slamming into his eyes. “Need to get my stuff,” she yelled.

He tucked his gun in the back of his pants, reaching around to cover her hands on the bars. Lowering his mouth closer to her ear, he fought the urge to take a bite. “They’ll be waiting. Go to the airport or I’ll drive.” He did not believe in threats, so when he spoke, he told the truth. Always.

She stiffened. Her head turned, the soft skin of her cheek brushing his mouth. “I smell blood.”

Nothing on earth could’ve prevented the soft kiss he whispered across her smooth skin, even while keeping one eye on the road. Lilacs filled his nose. “Nothing to worry about. ’Tis only a flesh wound.” He gave his best Monty Python impression, but the rough cough that followed may have ruined it. The slight shrug she gave relaxed his shoulders—for the moment. When they reached the plane, when they reached safety, boy were they going to talk.