Impossible questions.
No pathway to finding answers.
It was over and done. He needed to stop thinking about it, do what Kruger said and put the awful experience behind him. Problem was… memories kept poking at him, dragging up the pain, leaving him to wonder if he was cut out for connection, the meaningful kind. The kind a female mated to a Dragonkind warrior not only expected, but deserved. If Cate belonged to him, he owed her nothing less than his complete attention and unfailing devotion.
Unease ghosted down his spine.
Rolling his shoulders to break the tension, Rannock gazed skyward, to the place he wanted to be, soaring above the clouds, counting the stars, carefree in the arms of cold winds and open vistas. His eyes went where his body couldn’t in the moment, searching for constellations through crooked branches dripping with Spanish moss.
His night vision sparked. Orange shimmer bathed the live oak. Birds nesting in bark-lined hollows blinked at him. Rannock tipped his chin in greeting as damp air rolled in, bringing the scent of night-blooming roses. Water splashed in the fountain behind him, reminding him where he stood… and what he was supposed to be doing.
Nerves flattened into resolve.
Rannock returned his attention to Habersham House.
His eyes narrowed. Fucking Shadow Walker. By taking Cate, Rathbone had forced his hand, dragging a possibility he wanted to keep in the dark out into the light. Now he must acknowledge what he wanted to hide—that the idea of meeting Cate for the first time sent him into a tailspin. Which was the height of stupidity. No way he should be uneasy.
He knew her well. Had talked to her every day for a month. The last thing he should be doing was second-guessing himself… or doubting her welcome. She wanted him as much as he did her. He heard the pleasure in her voice every time he dialed her number and she picked up the phone. The fact she’d called him instead of the police when Rathbone showed up at the shop should be all the proof he required. And yet…
Doubt eroded good sense.
Now, he spun like a top inside his own head, going nine rounds with dread. Which left him cooling his heels outside, fidgeting like a green lad, worrying about her reaction to him when he finally—
A hiss lashed his temples. A link into mind-speak opened.
“What’s the hold-up?” Levin asked, scales clicking as he shifted on his perch five miles away. “Trouble?”
“Nay. Just getting the lay of the land.” Magic humming, Rannock tracked his packmates. The ping boomeranged, allowing him to pinpoint each of his brothers’ locations. All in dragon form, all cloaked to keep from scaring the natives. Levin on the south side, Kruger perched on a high rooftop to the west, and Tempel? Rannock’s lips twitched. The earth dragon wasn’t fooling around. Preferring soil to sky, the male burrowed deep underground, digging channels, setting up shop, mapping the city from subterranean levels. “Tempel—tell me something good.”
“Nice spot. Savannah’s got good energy. Great bones. Lots of old souls.”
“Ghosts?” Levin asked, sounding intrigued by the prospect.
Kruger hummed. “Interesting.”
“Not what I mean,” Rannock clenched his teeth. Bloody hell. Seriously? He was about to enter a Shadow Walker’s den, not go ghost hunting. “Back on track, lads. Tempel, give me a grid.”
“Big house. Tons of square footage.”
“Aye,” he said, scanning the front of the mansion again. “Tell me something I donnae already know.”
“The house you can see. What’s hidden beneath it, you can’t,” Tempel said, the sound of dragon claws digging through rock came through the connection. “The bastards have a complex underground. Sprawling. Bigger than the main structure. Two stories of interconnected rooms and corridors.”
Kruger grunted. “Living quarters.”
“Powerful magic surrounding it,” Rannock said, sensing the spell protecting the house. Nothing overt. No visible sign of the enchantment shimmering in the open air. To be expected. Rathbone seemed like the careful sort. It only made sense he preferred to fly under the radar. All immortals did. Drawing too much human attention never ended well. “No way I’m getting in undetected.”
Tempel growled. “Well then, good thing the asshole handed you a gilded invitation.”
“I donnae like it,” Kruger muttered, the scrape of claws against steel scratching through mind-speak.
“You and me both, brother,” Levin said, objecting to the plan. Again. For what felt like the thousandth time. “You shouldnae be going in alone.”
Rannock shook his head. “No choice. No clue what I’m walking into, lads. Best-case scenario, I agree tae Rathbone’s demands and walk out with Cate. Worse case—I get trapped in there. Need you bozos on the outside tae pull me out if that happens.”
Levin chuckled. “Bozos?”
Kruger cursed under his breath.
Tempel chimed in. “Got an imprint of the underground complex. Want it?”
“Light me up,” Rannock said, preparing for the magical onslaught.
He waited less than a second.
Tempel hooked in tight, using the open link to relay the information. Pain nicked Rannock’s temples. He gritted his teeth, holding the line as the ache moved toward agony. Heat burned through his skull. A map streamed onto his mind. Precise layout. Perfect dimensions. Steady lines. The discomfort downgraded from jagged to smooth. Releasing a pent-up breath, Rannock flipped through mental pages, analyzing the blueprints to Rathbone’s home.
His mouth curved. “All set, lad. Thanks.”
“No worries.” The noisy rumble powered down as Tempel stopped digging. “In and out, Ran. Don’t fuck around in there.”
Kruger grunted. “Retrieve Cate and get out.”
“If you donnae hear from me in an hour, unleash hell,” Rannock said, refocusing on the mansion.
His brothers-in-arms growled in agreement.
Rannock put his feet in gear. Striding from beneath the live oak, he crossed the sidewalk and stepped into the street. The spell protecting Habersham House reacted, detecting his magic, sending up an alarm, informing Rathbone of his proximity. Rannock didn’t care. Stealth, quiet recon, no longer mattered. He had what he needed—a map of the underground complex pinned to his mental grid and an invitation to enter.
Two essentials if he hoped to get his female out alive.
9
T-minus two minutes and twenty-one seconds
“Your plan is fucking nuts.”
Standing in the vestibule off the side entrance, Rathbone glanced at his brother. Feet planted on antique black-and-white tiles, arms crossed over his chest, Dillinger met his gaze head-on. His expression reinforced his opinion, infecting the enclosed space with his bad mood. Par for the course. The male changed the atmosphere of every room he entered. Happy. Sad. Pissed off and in need of a good fight. If Dillinger felt it, other people got caught up in the ensuing chaos.
Easy enough to read. Difficult as hell to contain.
But after centuries of corralling his brother, Rathbone knew exactly what to do. He raised a brow, challenging the male without saying a word.
Dillinger growled low and deep.
Letting the silence stretch, Rathbone shook his head, refusing to defend his decision. Any other time, he would’ve gotten in his brother’s face and backed him down. Tonight, he let the pissy attitude slide, ’cause…