His wrist rotated, and he shoved the blade into the lock, twisting until scraps of metal fell onto his face. He jabbed the blade up harder. The lock released with a snap. Sparks flew as the rope unraveled. Like a newborn foal, he dropped to his knees into a pool of his own blood, prickles detonating along his neck and shoulders.
Conn? Where the hell are you? Moira snapped words into his head like a drill sergeant counting push-ups. Jesus. He was half-dead here. Shouldn’t the woman be whispering sweet nothings into his brain ... cajoling him to return to her?
Hold your horses. Eyeing Marcus with distaste, Conn grabbed the shifter by the shoulders. His fangs shot down, and he dug them into the panther’s neck, drinking deep, allowing the nutrient-rich liquid to balm his insides, if not his outside yet.
A jolt of power washed through his body. His connection with Moira snapped closed. Damn. He actually felt bereft.
Energy filtered up Conn’s spine, even as he tossed the shifter away. The spicy taste of panther, especially male, lingered on his tongue. He needed a mint. Taking a deep breath, sending healing cells to the worst of his wounds, he patted Marcus down.
Oh yeah. Conn slid a cell phone from the shifter’s back pocket, flipped it open, and dialed.
“Kayrs.” Only someone who knew Dage well would recognize the stress and fury riding under the king’s low tone.
“Kayrs28877.” Conn gave the ALL RIGHT code and edged out of the cell, grabbing the metal bat in his free hand. He shook off the remains of his kidney to the ground. Into the phone he growled, “Miss me?”
Two beats of silence. “Are you gone?” Rapid typing echoed across the line.
“Funny. Don’t know where I am, could probably use backup.” Even with the panther’s blood, the wound in his leg still bled. Not as bad, but it sure wasn’t closing. His vision still wavered. Maybe he wasn’t as immune to the drugs as he’d hoped.
“We’re tracing your location now.” Dage’s tone rose slightly and his footsteps pounded across the distance. “I’ll teleport when we get a lock and the others will meet us via air.” He paused, the sound of a belt hitting the floor.
“No. I don’t know what I’m facing.” Conn shook his head. Dage could teleport, but no metal or weapons of any kind could arrive with him. “Come by helicopter, scout the area.” He grasped the doorknob, slowly twisting.
“No.” Dage used his king voice. “Do I need to bring Talen?”
“No.” Teleporting together would greatly weaken Dage. “If you’re showing up, I need you in top form.” Conn didn’t argue further. Nothing on earth would keep his brother away. King or not.
Tugging the door open an inch, Conn set his stance and eyed the silent room beyond.
Movement sounded through the phone, and Talen’s voice rose over the typing of keys. “He’s here.” Tapping echoed. “Compound in the Rocky Mountains, thirty minutes from Denver.” The cocking of a gun overrode the keyboard. “There’s one building dug into the mountain. . . guarded by three men outside.”
Relief filled Conn. At least they knew where he was.
His relief quickly slid to dread as he scouted his escape route. “Ah, you need to stay away.” His eyesight had returned to the point that he could decipher laser triggers set throughout. A keypad protruded from the wall next to his head. If a blast hit just right, it might blow him to pieces. “The place is wired tight—the room I’m in and probably the outside, too. Tell Moira—”
“Tell her yourself,” Dage growled. “Talen, bring up the building in infrared.”
Ah, Dage’s new toy. “That won’t help me at this point. I’m going to blow the place, and hope the explosion sends me sky-high and not to hell.” Conn tried to contact Moira directly, but only static met his attempt. If he lived through this, they really needed to work on that skill.
“That’s a stupid idea,” Dage muttered.
From behind Conn.
Conn whirled around, his eyes wide. “You stupid idiot. You could’ve put yourself down right in the middle of the laser zone.”
An outside door opened, the daylight making the red beams disappear. A shifter entered on the other side of the room, his eyes going wide at Conn in the doorway. He yelled a warning, pivoting and running back out. “Blow the building! Blow the building!”
A rumble filled the earth.
The explosives detonated.
Heat flashed through the space.
The world burned.
Chapter 22
“Who the hell do you think you are?” Conn grabbed the King of the Realm and shoved him against the wall of the strategy room in the Oregon headquarters. Fury burned him hotter than the inferno they’d just wisped through. The scent of scalded hair assaulted his nostrils. They’d barely made it.
Dage knocked him back, his normally bronze face pale. “Get off me. You weigh a ton to transport.” He kept the wall up with his shoulders, sagging against it. The fire had singed the side of his shirt, and raw, red skin rippled across one hard forearm in a burn deep enough to showcase white bone. His eyes blazed a furious blue. Never a good sign.
“You’re the king.” When the hell would the man realize that? Conn’s heartbeat slowed to a normal pace. Pain flared back to life. He shifted his weight to his good leg, striving for nonchalance.
Talen shrugged out of a bulletproof vest from behind a thick table scattered with battle plans. “You both need a vein.” His jaw was set, his hair tied back. His older brother had been preparing for a fight.
“My blood’s better.” Jase replaced the safety on his gun, placing the weapon on the table. He yanked up a shirtsleeve to bare his wrist.
Kane snorted. “No, it’s not.”
Conn held Dage’s gaze, anger spiraling higher when his brother lifted an eyebrow in challenge.
The king cleared his throat. “You want to fight about it?” Anticipation tipped his upper lip. “I’ll wait until you’ve recovered, of course.” He cut his eyes to Conn’s still bleeding leg, tracking several other injuries in his perusal back to Conn’s face.
Asshole. When was he going to realize his life meant more? Conn allowed a slow smile to cross his face. “No, I don’t want to fight. But I’m telling Emma you did.”
Dage’s nostrils flared. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would.” Conn took a second to appreciate the quickly veiled panic in his brother’s eyes, then dust mites danced across his vision. “What the hell?” He swayed. “Crap.” Then, darkness.
Moira settled into the overstuffed chair, her gaze on the half-naked warrior on the bed. Their bed. The bedroom held the scent of sage and gunpowder, the hand-woven Irish rug matching the down comforter. Three oil paintings lined the wall, all midnight scenes of her homeland showcasing a full moon. He’d decorated the room with her in mind.
They’d hurt him. Fury burned along her skin, crackling with an audible pop. Raw wounds dotted his chest and abdomen, no longer bleeding but swollen with angry bruises. Jase had shoved his wrist in Conn’s unconscious mouth, so at least he’d gotten some blood to heal.
“Moira.” His voice rumbled her name, his incredible eyes opening. “Lose the anger, Brat. I need happy thoughts.”
She couldn’t help the smile. What a smart-ass. “You think you’re in my head now, do you?” He bunched to sit up, and she jumped toward the bed, pressing down on the unwounded part of his chest. “Oh no, you don’t.”
His hands encircled her wrists. A gleam filled his eyes. With a sharp tug, he landed her on top of him. “Hello.”
She scrambled to sit up, away from his injuries. Anger burned right to desire. He’d played her. “You’re hurt, damn it.”