Here’s what Romantic Times BOOKreviews has to say about RHYANNON BYRD’S BLOODRUNNERS seriesfrom Mills & Boon® Intrigue Nocturne
Last Wolf Standing
“4 1/2 stars…Fast paced and exciting, Rhyannon
Byrd’s Last Wolf Standing is hard to put down.”
Last Wolf Hunting
“Top Pick. 4 1/2 stars.”
Last Wolf Watching
“Top Pick. 4 1/2 stars…Rhyannon Byrd’s
compelling, sexy characters and exciting story
make Last Wolf Watching a must read.”
Don’t miss the rest of the dark and sensual
PRIMAL INSTINCT trilogy, coming this autumn
from Mills & Boon® Super Nocturne
Edge of Hunger Now availble
Edge of Desire October 2009
And available from Mills & Boon® Intrigue Nocturne, the BLOODRUNNERS series
Last Wolf Standing
Last Wolf Hunting
Last Wolf Watching
BY
MILLS & BOON®
Dear Reader,
I’m thrilled to present Edge of Danger, the second book in my new PRIMAL INSTINCT series with Mills & Boon® Super Nocturne. Set within a world where paranormal creatures live hidden among an unknowing humanity, this provocative trilogy continues with the story of Saige Buchanan and the dark, devastatingly sexy shape-shifter who steals her heart.
Michael Quinn is a hero who refuses to forget his past…or to risk his future. And yet the instant he sets eyes on Saige in a crowded Brazilian bar, he wants her with a relentless hunger that’s impossible to deny. But Saige has fears of her own. To get what he wants, Quinn must conquer not only his own demons, but those of the wary, tempestuous Buchanan as well.
I’m so excited to be sharing Quinn and Saige’s wickedly seductive romance with you, and I hope it will be one that truly touches your heart!
All the best,
Rhyannon
To my amazing editor, Ann Leslie Tuttle, without
whom none of this would have been possible. Endless
thanks for the wonderful guidance, support and insight.
You’re helping me to grow so much as an author and
I’m so incredibly lucky to be working with you!
Embrace the danger…
Embrace the danger….
Thursday evening
The Amazon
IF THE WOMAN was trying to blend in, she wasn’t very good at it. It’d taken Michael Quinn no more than five seconds to pick her out in the dim, crowded interior of O Diablo Dos Ángels, a rickety roadside barra in the bustling market town of Coroza, Brazil. He’d been traveling for two days now, working his way through the stifling, humid depths of the Amazonian rain forest, and it showed in his haggard appearance. Two days that felt more like weeks, each passing hour grating against his nerves like a rusty nail, until he was in what could only be classified as a category-five, off-the-Richter-scale, completely uncharacteristic foul mood.
Not that he was usually cheery. Normally Quinn just…existed. It’d been years since anything, or anyone, had managed to touch him or throw him off his firm, even keel—and now this. He couldn’t explain it, but from the moment he’d been given Saige Buchanan’s photograph, his cool, steady calm had begun to fade, slipping away from him like water spiraling slowly down a drain. And in its wake, he’d been left with this seething intensity…this gripping tension.
What made it even worse was the fact that Quinn hadn’t even wanted the assignment—had, in fact, been adamant in his refusal. And yet, here he was, with his damp shirt sticking to his skin, the heavy scent of tobacco and sweat making his head hurt, while something piercing and uncomfortably sharp slithered through his system at the sight of his prey.
Huh. So this is little Saige, he thought, moving along the wall, away from the door, careful to avoid her line of sight as she sat at a small table on the far side of the room, a bottle of water held in one delicate hand. At her side sat a young man who couldn’t have been more than nineteen, his dark skin, hair and eyes attesting to his Brazilian heritage. The boy’s lips were moving, and though Quinn’s hearing was far better than a human’s, he couldn’t make out the words over the raucous cacophony of sound coming from the crowd.
It seemed a strange setting for an American woman and her young companion, and yet, no one bothered them. Not even the drunks. Was she a regular, then? Under the owner’s protection? Or was there some other reason the locals kept their distance?
Whatever the answer, it couldn’t be from lack of notice. Saige Buchanan stood out among the weathered patrons like a neon sign in the midnight pitch of night, glittering and bright.
Quinn rubbed his palm against the scratchy growth of stubble that came from going several days without a shave, then slowly shook his head, already revising his analogy. No, the reportedly brilliant anthropologist wasn’t brash or bold, like neon. As bright as she shone, there was a soft, almost tender aura about her, which probably made her stick out even more than that angelic face, lush body or unusual shade of hair. Neither red nor brown, it hovered somewhere in between, picking up the soft, hazy glow of light that spilled down from above, struggling against the lengthening evening shadows.
A heavy wooden door suddenly slammed behind the bar and Quinn locked his jaw, marveling that the ramshackle structure didn’t crumble down around them in a pile of mortar and bricks. Flicking a quick glance upward, he was surprised the stained ceiling actually managed to remain in place, even with the various thick support beams wedged between it and the sawdust-covered floor. Without a doubt, this place made him uncomfortable. He didn’t like being closed in, confined, preferring the outdoors and the endless freedom of the sky.
And why don’t you stop moaning and just get on with it? The sooner you get your hands on her, the sooner you can get out of here.
Sound words, and yet, now that he’d found her, the last thing on earth Quinn wanted to do was touch her—to get his hands on her. Not that he was concerned he couldn’t handle her if she decided to be difficult. Saige Buchanan may have been more than an average human female, but then he was hardly an average man. He could scent that her Merrick had yet to fully awaken—and until it did, he would be able to retain the upper hand when it came to physical strength.
Later, after her awakening…well, he’d never gone head-to-head with a Merrick female before, but he sure as hell hoped she wouldn’t be able to kick his ass. If that ever happened, his friends back at the compound would never let him live it down.
As a member of the Watchmen, an organization of shape-shifters whose duty it was to watch over the remaining bloodlines of the original ancient clans, Quinn had been taught a little about the Merrick, once one of the most powerful nonhuman species to walk the earth. And since the crap that had recently gone down with Saige’s older brother, Ian Buchanan, he now knew even more. But Saige was…different. Unlike her brother, who experienced certain physical changes when the Merrick blood in his veins rose to the surface of his body, it was believed that Merrick females, while gaining in strength and agility and heightened senses, didn’t change in appearance. She wouldn’t sport talons on the tips of her delicate fingers. Wouldn’t bulk up with thick, massive muscles. And her nose wouldn’t alter its dainty, feminine shape.
But you’re forgetting the fangs.
Ahh, right. Evidently, that was one of the changes the Merrick women did experience, in order to feed the primitive parts of their nature. Lifting his hand, Quinn rubbed at an odd tingle on the side of his neck, as if he could already feel the pleasure-pain of Saige Buchanan sinking her pearly whites into his flesh, taking the hot wash of his blood into her mouth, at the same time she took him deep into her body.
Whoa…
Scowling, he lowered his hand, fingers curling into a tight fist, and wondered what was wrong with him. Had the heat gone to his head? Had going without sex addled his brain? Or was he truly losing his mind?
Leaning his elbow against the small counter built into the side wall of the bar, Quinn shook off the irritating thoughts and signaled a stout, middle-aged woman who roamed the room with a tray, delivering drinks while she chatted with the customers. As she stepped closer, he could read the name Inez embroidered onto her apron, and despite the friendly way she’d handled the crowd, she leveled a cold, chilling look at him. Her dark eyes were wary now, and as they slowly inspected him from his scarred boots, up over his dirt-streaked jeans and damp black T-shirt, he said, “Uma cerveja, por favor.”
“Tell me,” she replied in heavily accented English, the corners of her wide mouth pinched with suspicion. “Why do you watch our Saige like you are hungry?”
Quinn locked his jaw, angry that he’d revealed the focus of his attention to those watching him.
“Well?” she persisted with an air of command that made him suspect she was more than a barmaid.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he countered in a low, graveled voice, returning her hard stare. When it was obvious he wasn’t going to back down, she muttered under her breath and turned around, making her way back to the bar.
Mentally kicking himself in the ass, Quinn purposefully withdrew his attention from the American and looked around the barra. In a strange way, he felt as though he’d walked onto a movie set. It was that surreal, complete with braying donkey outside the front door, the veil of smoke from cigarettes and cigars so thick you could all but slice it with a knife. The only thing that made it bearable was Saige. Her scent wrapped around him like a soft, clinging vine, enticing and warm and sweetly addictive. It was like…like a rain shower, refreshing and clean, washing away the suffocating grime. It even eased the tension he felt at being in such a crowded, noisy, closed-in space. With a conscious effort, Quinn focused on that mouthwatering scent, drawing more of it into his lungs, desperate to block out the rest of his surroundings.
Unable to help himself, his gaze slid back to Saige, greedily soaking up the visual details, hungry for the data. For the way her wavy hair fell around the delicate angles of her face. That impish sprinkle of freckles and the lush shape of her provocative mouth as she spoke with the young Brazilian.
Even without the photograph tucked into his back pocket, Quinn knew he’d have recognized her the second he set eyes on her. Though her coloring was fairer than her brothers’, her feminine frame slight compared to their brawny strength, she still bore the marks of the Buchanan bloodline. Despite the thick smoke that filled the room, he could see the dark, deep blue of her eyes as if he were sitting at her side. And there was something about the angle of her jaw that attested to the Buchanan stubbornness he’d dealt with on a firsthand basis since meeting her siblings.
The small, tight T-shirt she wore fit her body like a glove, hugging a pair of lush breasts that were surprising on a frame as slight as hers, and his mouth almost curved with an appreciative male grin. Just because he didn’t plan to touch, didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the view. The frayed khaki shorts and flannel shirt tied around her waist did nothing to disguise the womanly curve of her hips, and Quinn found himself wondering if her ass would be as enticing as the rest of her. He guessed her height to be somewhere around five-six, and though that wasn’t overly tall, she looked smaller, somehow fragile. Still, her muscles were toned beneath the peaches-and-cream complexion, testament to the fact that she lived a physical life. She probably spent her time crawling in and out of archaeological digs, climbing up the treacherous sides of mountains, traipsing through the rain forest—all places where a fey little creature like herself didn’t belong.
The corner of Quinn’s mouth twitched as he pondered her reaction to that chauvinistic observation. The impudent set of her chin told him that Saige Buchanan was the kind of woman who went where she wanted, when she wanted, her safety and the opinion of others be damned.
The boy said something, smiling at her, and she reached out, ruffling his thick black hair with an easy camaraderie that spoke of friendship. Of closeness. Quinn’s eyes narrowed, and he about jumped out of his skin when the serving woman, Inez, came up behind him, smacking his beer bottle down on the counter. She muttered under her breath some more as she stomped away, and he grabbed the bottle, taking a long swallow of the lukewarm beer, while silently lecturing himself.
Wiping the back of his wrist over his mouth, he grimaced, thinking it was impossible that he could be jealous of a kid. It was moronic to think he could be jealous at all. Jealousy stank of possession, and he gritted his teeth, unwilling to go down that particular road.
Still, Saige was his responsibility until he delivered her safely to Ravenswing, a Watchman compound in Colorado and Quinn’s home, where her two brothers were waiting for her. He knew the Buchanans hadn’t wanted one of the Watchmen alone with their baby sister, just as he knew Kierland Scott, his best friend and unofficial leader of their unit, would have assured the Merrick that they had nothing to fear from him. From the others, yeah—but not from Quinn. His bed partners, when he needed sex, were always ones he was never likely to run into again, which meant soon-to-be housemates were off-limits.
Rolling his shoulder in a hard, irritated gesture, Quinn focused his thoughts back on the task that lay ahead of him. He needed to get her home, in one piece, and it wouldn’t be easy. A Merrick female was going to be considered easy pickings by those who were hunting her. He and the Watchmen had hoped that Riley Buchanan, the middle son, would awaken before his sister, but now that he’d set eyes on Saige, Quinn knew that wasn’t going to be the case. He could scent the coming change in her, the awakening of her ancient bloodline, and though she hadn’t fully awakened yet, it was on its way.
Which meant that a newly liberated Casus was most likely already onto her, and Quinn’s job had just gone from dangerous…to deadly. Though there was still so much they didn’t understand, it was firmly believed that the Merrick awakenings were triggered by the presence of the Casus, a race of preternatural monsters who preyed upon the Merrick, feeding from their flesh for power, as well as revenge. The immortal Casus, who’d been imprisoned for centuries for their indiscriminate killing sprees, had finally discovered a way to escape from their holding ground back to this realm. And though their numbers were still small, Quinn and his fellow Watchmen feared what was to come.
Taking another long swallow of beer, he watched Saige from beneath hooded eyes, wondering how much she knew. What was she doing in South America? Did she know the Casus were hunting her? And where the hell was Paul Templeton?
Templeton was the Watchman who’d been assigned to Saige for the past several months, but when they’d put in the call for him to bring her back to America, there’d been no response. Either Templeton had gone AWOL, which no one believed, or he was already a casualty of what was set to become a war of deadly proportions.
Circumstances being what they were—which was about a mile deep in shit and sinking fast—Quinn knew he didn’t have any choice but to move as quickly as possible. He needed to act. Now. But something kept him back. Kept his ass planted against the rickety counter, his body vibing with a hot, angry restlessness.
When someone accidentally knocked over a chair, Saige turned toward the sound, angling her head to the side, revealing the vulnerable length of her throat. It was at that moment that hungers too long restrained stretched to awareness within Quinn, the animal side of his nature blinking its eyes open to a lazy, dangerous, smoldering fire. He didn’t take blood in the way that a Merrick did, but he still longed to clamp his teeth onto that tender, provocative part of her, while sending himself as deep into her as he could get.
As if she felt the press of his stare on that pale, feminine curve of flesh, she lifted her hand to the side of her neck. Then she suddenly twisted in her chair, scanning the room, and Quinn quickly turned toward the wall, giving her his back. His fingers clenched around the bottle, nearly shattering the glass in his grip.
Had he gone out of his mind? All hell was about to break loose, and here he was nursing a warm beer, with a raging case of lust that could only land him in trouble. He didn’t have time for this crap.
Stop stalling, damn it, and get on with it.
Turning purposefully back toward the room, he watched as she said something to the boy and stood up, making her way to the bar. She was talking to the short, smiling man behind the counter as Quinn moved to her side, draining the last of his beer. The second she turned and caught him in that deep, dark blue stare, the color as fascinating as the luminous perfection of her skin, he knew he’d been marked.
Quinn set his empty beer bottle down on the counter, preparing to introduce himself, when she reached for it. He wondered what she was doing as her fingers closed around the thick green glass, her expression instantly shifting from wary unease to full-blown panic. Then, before he could even guess her intention, she suddenly hurled the bottle at his head. The glass cracked against the edge of his right eyebrow, splitting the skin, the hot wash of blood flooding his vision.
Son of a bitch.
She immediately started running, shouting something in Portuguese to the boy, who took off past Quinn, out the front door. Moving in the opposite direction, Saige hefted the backpack she’d grabbed from the table onto her shoulder and pushed her way out the back exit, disappearing into what Quinn knew was the jungle.
Swearing, he tossed a wad of bills on the counter and set off after her, hoping to God he could catch her before the fool woman managed to get herself killed.
As he ran out of the bar, into the humid warmth of the evening, the air thick and damp against his skin, the last watery threads of sunlight began fading beneath the heavy weight of night. Quinn followed her scent, dodging the clinging vines of the jungle, his long legs making good time against her shorter strides, but she was fast.
Too fast, he realized in the next moment, as a strong, noxious odor reached his nose, coming from the same direction Saige was moving.
We’re out of time, he thought, gripping his T-shirt and pulling it over his head as he allowed the change to flow over him.
Hell was already there, and she was running straight into its deadly grasp.
MOVE IT…MOVE IT…MOVE IT.
Saige Buchanan chanted the choppy refrain within her mind again…and again, forcing her legs to keep going, even after the cramping had set in, demanding she stop. Though she’d done her best to sit at the table and act as if nothing was wrong, reality couldn’t have been further from the truth. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her shoulders, her nerves so frayed, she felt as if she were unraveling at the seams. Despite the fact she felt safe at the local barra that was owned by Inez and her husband, Rubens, who were good friends of hers, Saige knew she shouldn’t have risked meeting with Javier Ruiz in such a public place. But she’d needed to go back for the valuable maps she’d stored in Inez’s safe before she left for America, and it had been her last chance to see her young employee. In the time he’d worked for her and the other members of the research team at their dig site, Saige had come to think of the cheerful Brazilian as a younger brother, and she hadn’t wanted to just disappear without telling him goodbye.
The plan had been so simple. Say her farewells to her friends, grab the maps, then put herself in plain sight as she headed for the airport in the nearby town of São Vicente. Instead, she’d run without the maps, and for all she knew she might have gotten Javier marked as a target by the dark-haired stranger who’d been watching her with that sharp, penetrating stare. Saige couldn’t be certain of who or what the man was, or even what he was after, and she hated the fact that she might have exposed Javier to danger.
Face it, chica. You screwed up. Big-time.
A low, choked stream of curses slipped from her lips at the frustrating thought while she shoved the dense jungle foliage out of her way, jumping in midstride to avoid a thick tangle of roots, but it was too late to go back and undo her actions. She’d made a mistake, and she was paying the price for it, perhaps even running for her life.
Was the man giving chase a new threat, or was he somehow involved with whatever had been tracking her every move for the past few days, stalking her like a shadow? Saige had felt its malevolent presence almost every hour she’d worked in the jungle, like a low-frequency wave of evil that made her skin crawl. Even now she could have sworn its noxious scent lingered on the evening air, slipping into her pores like a sickness.
Knowing what she did of the gypsy legend that foretold the time when the Casus would escape their holding ground and make their way back to this realm, prompting the awakening of the ancient Merrick bloodlines, Saige couldn’t deny the growing veil of terror creeping over her, binding her in its cold, slimy grasp. Had the Casus escaped? Had the moment she’d always feared, since hearing the first hazy fragments of the legend from her mother, finally arrived? Fragments that Elaina Buchanan had nearly driven herself insane to uncover, as her obsession with the Merrick had reached a point that even Saige had known was unhealthy—but in her own way, had understood. Fragments Saige herself had spent her life working to piece together. To fully understand.
Or…was the threat merely a mortal one? Had she already become a target of the Collective Army? Saige had no doubt that, once aware of the awakenings, the ruthless human mercenaries devoted to obliterating all preternatural life from the world would do everything they could to destroy the Merrick. All of which meant that until she actually came face-to-face with her enemy, she would be left guessing as to which one had found her first—supernatural monster…or human zealot?
“And where exactly does the guy from the bar fit in?” she grunted under her breath as she hoisted her backpack higher onto her shoulder, her fingers biting into the strap so hard they’d gone numb. Was he after the powerful cross she’d unearthed in the depths of the jungle…or her life? Either scenario seemed likely, and yet, it wasn’t ancient weapons or murder she’d seen when she’d touched that empty beer bottle. It had been sex. Hard, grinding, explicit images of the two of them together, his mouthwatering body covering her, thrusting savagely between her spread thighs, while he growled her name and she sank a heavy pair of fangs into the side of his strong, corded throat. Her body had writhed beneath his dark, beautiful form, consumed by searing waves of pleasure, and she nearly stumbled as she pressed her left hand low on her belly, against the strange, provocative sense of heaviness that filled her. It was almost as if he were actually a part of her—as if he were, in that moment, driving that thick, heavy part of him deep inside her, igniting a fire that threatened to consume her—and she bit her bottom lip to keep from moaning at the breathtaking sensation. Her temperature spiked, a stinging in her gums unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, the painful cadence of her heart more from the hard, demanding rise of hunger than from fear.
Which means that you’ve gone stark barking mad! You don’t feed from the enemy, you idiot. And that guy sure as hell wasn’t your buddy.
Frustrated that she had so little control over the violent, visceral cravings of her Merrick, Saige ground her teeth and focused instead on keeping her body moving as quickly as possible, her speed so much greater than a human’s, despite the fact that her awakening had only recently begun. She still looked the same…still sounded the same, but inside…inside she was becoming something so much more than what she’d been. Her senses were sharper, the vivid, breathtaking details of the surrounding jungle swarming her mind with a brilliant, chaotic flood of information. Colors exploded with electrifying focus, her hearing so precise she could detect the nocturnal animals scurrying for shelter in the underbrush.
Certain that she could sense the stranger closing in behind her, Saige pumped her legs with greater force, ignoring the sharp burn of pain in her muscles as she shoved at the thick, damp leaves that crowded in on her. The small, silver compass that she wore around her neck thumped repeatedly against her pounding heart, beneath her sweat-damp shirt, and for a moment she wished that it was the cross, which could supposedly be used as a source of protection for anyone who wore it.
Wincing as the jungle flora scratched against her arms and legs, Saige figured a little protection would have come in handy right about then, but the cross was already gone. After finally uncovering the second Marker’s resting place that very morning in the stifling, humid depths of the rain forest, Saige had secretly sent the cross to Colorado in the care of a fellow colleague named Jamison Haley, then purposefully remained behind as a decoy. It’d been a risky move, but she was banking on the expectation that if they were out there watching her, the last thing in the world the Casus would expect her to do, after discovering one of the Markers, was separate herself from the powerful talisman.
Which apparently wasn’t the smartest move, now was it?
Obviously not. She might have managed to throw them off Jamison’s trail, but at the expense of throwing herself into what looked to be one heck of a fire.
“But it’s not like you had any choice,” she muttered to herself, casting a quick glance over her shoulder before narrowing her gaze back on the darkening forest. Untold dangers lurked in its shadowed depths, her Merrick blood altering her vision, allowing her to see far better than her human eyes had ever done—and yet, she still couldn’t say what lay ahead in the coming flood of night. She only knew it was there….
Enemies are coming who will take me from you.
When she’d laid hands upon the mysterious weapon, those were the words its voice had whispered through her mind, eerie and ancient and soft, so unlike the “voices” or “images” she usually picked up. But then her strange little talent for reading physical objects was most often a lark…a fluke. Only in her work did it tend to give her something meaningful. An object unearthed from hundreds of years ago, if not more, revealing its secrets to her as Saige first touched her fingers to its surface.
It was when it came to everyday life that the excitement faded. She would pick up a ketchup bottle in a restaurant and find herself privy to the internal thoughts of the last person who’d held it. Did I turn the iron off? Are these calories going straight to my thighs? Should I have the ice cream for dessert…or the apple pie? Hardly earth-shattering revelations, and she’d gotten good at shuffling the mundane facts in and out of her mind, like a revolving door, giving them little notice. Only when touching something from the past did she pay attention—focus and search for more.
Like when she’d found the first elaborately carved cross—or Dark Marker, as Saige had learned they were called—in Italy last year, and it had told her of its power: that it was one of the ancient weapons meant to destroy her enemies, as well as a source of protection. Saige had been awed by its warmth against her skin, by the beauty of its intricate design, and she’d vowed to search for the others with the use of the maps she’d found wrapped in an oilcloth, buried beside it. Worried that her discovery of the Marker was a portent of things to come, she’d wanted her mother to have the cross’s protection, and so she’d left the talisman with Elaina Buchanan while on a trip home to South Carolina. Now that her mother was gone, Saige only hoped the right decision had been made in passing the Marker on to her eldest brother, Ian. Her mother had written a letter asking that the cross be left in Ian’s possession, and Saige had found it impossible to ignore Elaina’s last wish. Knowing how much Ian had always despised any talk of the Merrick, all she could do was pray that the first Marker wasn’t lost…or thrown out, because there was no doubt they were going to need it. Especially now that she knew there were others who wanted the powerful, mysterious weapons.
After hearing the second Marker’s chilling words of warning, Saige had known she had to do everything she could to protect it. With the rest of the international research team having headed back to their various home countries the week before, she and Jamison, an archaeologist from London, had been the last remaining members to stay behind, continuing on with her private search. Over the course of the past year and a half, Saige had come to know Jamison well, and he was one of the few of her colleagues she actually considered a friend. Young and studious, the freckle-faced Brit wasn’t exactly a warrior, but what he lacked in brute strength he more than made up for with brains, and Saige trusted him implicitly—which was why she’d entrusted him with her precious find. She would meet up with him on Tuesday afternoon in Denver, and then once reunited with the cross, her plan was to track down her brother Riley and force him to take the Marker whether he wanted it or not, knowing he could protect it better than she ever could.
Pulsuz fraqment bitdi.