“You’ll have everything you require,” Rathbone said, voice quiet, regret in his eyes before he looked away. “Come back with the TriHexe, Rannock, and I’ll remove the pod from your mate’s head. She’ll suffer no lasting harm.”
Rathbone better be right.
Rannock already planned to kill him. But if anything happened to Cate, he’d take his time. Make it painful. Stretch out the torture. Take him back to Scotland and make him bleed for decades. And his word was his bond. No word of a lie.
14
Snug and warm in the middle of the king-size bed, Cate lay curled in the protective cove of Rannock’s arms, head on his chest, legs tangled around one of his. Naked, vulnerable, wide awake when she ought to be sleeping. And—according to the placard screwed to the exterior of the wooden door—back inside the Emerald Room. Pretty wallpaper, brass fittings, ornate fireplace and all. Her prison once again, as she listened to the sound of her dragon breathing.
Deep inhales.
Even exhales.
Steady and smooth. Each breath a gift. Every one of his heartbeats her lifeline.
Gaze glued to the grate, she watched the fire burn. Flickering flames ate through heavy logs. Embers glowed in the near dark. The quiet crackle of a well-laid fire inside the beautiful room should’ve relaxed her. Allowed her to push past the anxiety while lulling her to sleep. Rannock had warned her she needed it, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the feeling something terrible was about to happen.
Cate blew out a long, even breath.
The understatement of the year. Forget about something awful. Something worse had already happened.
Adjusting her head on his chest, she pressed her ear over his heart. She listened to the thump, letting the steady rhythm soothe her, then shrugged her shoulder. Worn by time, the soft quilt slid down her arm. She raised her hand. Her fingers slipped through short strands to the nape of her neck. Rubbing back and forth, she imagined what lay underneath her skin. Dread unspooled in the pit of her stomach. Pressing against the spot, she fought through her fears, but…
It was there. Right at the base of her skull. The magical implant that would detonate if she failed to comply.
The Shadow Walkers called it a pod. Cate called it extortion—Rathbone’s way of controlling Rannock through her. The asshole. How dare he? The guy must be insane. Either that, or what he claimed—desperate. He didn’t seem like a bad guy. She got the impression he hadn’t wanted to take her, didn’t like hurting her, or forcing Rannock into making a deal to protect her. Intuition told her he and Noble—she excluded Dillinger, the jerk—abided by a strict set of principles. At least under normal circumstances.
Too bad everything about her situation screamed abnormal.
She was a prisoner with an explosive buried inside her head. But worse, she’d dragged Rannock into her problems, putting him in danger, setting him down in the middle of what amounted to a magical hurricane. Right now, she sat in the eye of the storm. All was calm. All was quiet. But soon, he’d be forced to leave her—inside a house owned by those he now considered enemies, at the mercy of three brothers with supernatural abilities and few scruples, who expected her dragon to go into enemy territory to retrieve what her father stole.
All to save her.
Guilt dug its claws beneath her skin. Remorse followed, joining the parade of if-onlys banging around inside her head. Closing her eyes, Cate swallowed past the lump in her throat.
None of it boded well. Not for her. Not for Rannock, or the other dragon warriors hunkered down inside her studio apartment, waiting for the sun to set and Rannock to move. The entire situation reeked of insanity. She couldn’t believe her father’s dirty dealings had landed her in trouble. Again. For the… Cate frowned… she couldn’t remember how many times she’d bailed him out.
Too many.
Cate clenched her teeth.
Far too many.
If only she’d listened to her sister. Nicole kept telling her to get out of Savannah. The only way to combat their father’s tomfoolery was to put distance between them. Cate knew it. Nicole continued to remind her of it, encouraging her to put in her two weeks’ notice, pack up her stuff, and move to Scotland.
Fisting her hand in the back of her hair, she turned her face into Rannock’s shoulder. Heavy muscles flexed. His hand curled around her hip. Her breath hitched.
God help her.
What had she done?
She should’ve known better. Talking sense to her father never worked. Trying to keep him on the straight-and-narrow always failed. Being his lifeline only landed her in trouble. At some point a girl had to say enough, start looking out for herself, and—
“Catie-mine,” Rannock rumbled, interrupting her epiphany.
Yanked from her thoughts, she looked at his face. Dark stubble on a face most guys would kill to possess. Angular cheekbones. Chiseled jaw line. A strong brow below a mess of thick, dark hair. Her chest tightened. So beautiful. Rannock was incredible. Unbreakable spirit. Gorgeous face. Hard body that hid a heart of gold.
“Did I wake you?”
“Your thoughts are verra loud, lass.”
She blinked. “You can read my mind?”
He cracked one eye open. “Bellmia, we’re bonded.”
“Energy-fuse,” she whispered, recalling what Nicole had told her about the connection she shared with Vyroth. The bond only formed when a Dragonkind warrior met his match. Fueled by dragon DNA and the energy he drew from the Meridian through her, the link lived and breathed inside each couple. The tie that bound—unbreakable, irreversible, intense, and all-encompassing. Stacking her arms on his chest, Cate set her chin on the backs of her hands, went searching and… yeah, right there. She felt him everywhere. In. Out. All around her. “Feels awesome.”
“Aye.”
“So, you’re in my head now.” Lifting her hand, she drew her fingertips along his jaw. Day old stubble pricked her skin. “Doesn’t seem fair.”
“One way tae look at it.”
“And the other?”
“Enjoy the idea I know exactly what tae get you for your birthday in two weeks.”
An unexpected spark of amusement flicked through her. Grinning, she laughed. “Handy.”
“Decidedly.” Cradling her in his arm, he shifted in bed. The covers rustled. The mattress dipped as he rolled, turning onto his side, settling her on hers. Sharing a pillow, he kept her close, enclosing her in an enclave as she looked into his eyes. Hazel-orange irises, two golden flecks in his right eye, only one in his left. Pushing his muscular thigh between her own, he brushed long bangs off her face. “You need tae stop stewing, Cate.”
“I don’t like any of this,” she whispered, hooking her knee over his hip.
“I know, but—”
“He’s my father, Ran. Always stirring up shit. Always making a mess, then leaving it for someone else to clean up.” Her voice hitched. The admission felt like a betrayal, but she refused to lie. She’d been doing it too long. Fixing what she could. Covering up things she couldn’t. Denying the truth even when it stared her right in the face. “And now, he’s dragged you and your friends into it.”
“You as well, Cate.”