Wouldn’t take much.
The work of seconds.
A soft command.
The flick of his fingertips, and he’d launch an arsenal, lay waste to the Shadow Walker testing his patience. Burn Habersham House to the ground. Never have to deal with the bastard again.
A nice thought. One his vicious nature urged him to make manifest.
Tightening the grip on his temper, Rannock slowed his pace instead. His boots thumped across thick carpet. He rolled his shoulders, took a deep breath, and reached for control. Not an easy feat, given his current need to annihilate. Rathbone interrupting his time with Cate was one thing. The pod the bastard had placed at the base of her skull was quite another.
The fact the implant remained active pissed him off. He’d done as Rathbone demanded and retrieved the TriHexe. The instant he realized Rannock approached Habersham House carrying the magical device, Cate should’ve been freed, allowed to leave the house, meet him and his brothers outside on the street, instead of remaining trapped inside.
Rathbone should’ve kept his word. Immediately. An honorable male would’ve moved to ensure the safety of a female in his care, instead of endangering Cate much longer than necessary.
The realization cranked him tighter, which made his need to rip the male’s head off much more difficult to ignore.
Not that he would act on it. Not yet.
Cate remained in danger until the pod was removed. Sucked for him, but he must abide by Rathbone’s rules. Stay calm. Play the game the Shadow Walker’s way—for now.
The second he eliminated the threat to his mate, however, the conversation—and his approach—would change in ways Rathbone and his brothers wouldn’t appreciate. A dangerous endeavor, given the magic the male commanded.
Rannock didn’t care.
A lesson needed to be taught. The bastard must be made to understand involving innocent humans (females in particular) in the games he played wouldn’t be tolerated. Not by him. Not by his brothers-in-arms or any Dragonkind who sided with the Scottish pack.
Distance meant nothing. The miles between Savannah and Scotland could be navigated. Spies could be sent. With a little incentive, and a lot of money, Dragonkind warriors who’d approached the Scottish pack looking for a new home could be convinced to relocate. Tabs could be kept on the trio of Shadow Walkers without difficulty, ensuring the brothers stayed on the straight and narrow.
The possibilities were endless.
The best one, however, rested closer to Georgia. He’d picked up the scent upon arrival, detected the whiff of magic in the air and knew what it meant. Another Dragonkind pack moved through the area on a regular basis. The unique energy signature wasn’t difficult to follow.
Magic moved in the wind along the coastline. Slight vibrations. Telltale signs. Trace energy in the ocean currents. All indications a good-sized pack called the Eastern Seaboard home. Where, precisely? Somewhere close by his kind’s standards. No farther than a thousand miles away. Easy flying distance for a Dragonkind fighting triangle.
Interesting discovery on his part.
Especially if he made contact.
Having an ally on the East Coast of the United States might solve his problem. He suspected Rathbone hadn’t told him the whole story. Now, Rannock knew for sure. After handling the TriHexe, he understood its power. Raw. Elemental. Full of killing magic. He’d barely been able to contain it, even in a carrying case. His dragon half had suffered. He’d been come close to death, which meant…
Henry Biscayne hadn’t stolen it. Not from inside Habersham House. Not from outside it, either. The TriHexe was simply too powerful for a human to hold, so…
Only one conclusion to draw.
Rathbone had hired Henry to do a job. He’d enlisted the human male’s services for a reason, to further his cause and achieve a specific goal—before the plan went to shite, forcing the Shadow Walkers to improvise by kidnapping Cate.
As far as theories went, Rannock’s was a good one. No way to corroborate it, though. Rathbone was a secretive bastard. He would never reveal his true plan to a pack of dragon warriors capable of stopping him.
The circular argument led Rannock back to the beginning—the mystery pack who’d set down roots within striking distance of Savannah. With allied Dragonkind warriors scouting, he wouldn’t need to worry about Rathbone. He’d have eyes on the trio, be able to assess from afar as well as build a strong alliance with others of his kind.
An intriguing idea, though dragging the mystery pack out of the shadows might prove to be a problem. The fact no one knew the group existed spoke volumes. Whoever commanded the pack wanted to stay hidden, had no intention of joining the wider Dragonkind community.
A good plan, as far as strategies went.
Rannock knew it firsthand. After the murder of his uncle, Cyprus had closed their borders fifty years ago, shutting down all communication with the outside world. Other packs continued to reach out… at first. When his commander refused to engage—killing any warrior stupid enough to cross into territory protected by him and his brothers-in-arms—other commanders quit trying.
Radio silence.
Needed at the time.
But more difficult as the years wore on.
The trauma might’ve strengthened his pack, bringing them closer together, but isolation took its toll. Loss of reputation was the least of it. The lack of community hurt more. But after Rodin’s (leader of the Archguard) treachery, everyone outside the Scottish pack became suspect. No one could be trusted. Cyprus had been right to retreat, but being mated changed a male’s perspective. The instant Cyprus met Elise, things shifted. Now, he wanted allies, strong warriors in positions of power all over the global to combat the Archguard and the slow erosion of Dragonkind principles.
The idea of alliances was in its infancy, but grew by the day. After half a century of isolation, bridges between the Scottish pack and others were being built. The Nightfuries in Seattle were on board. A meeting between Cyprus and Bastian was already in the works, which gave him hope.
Hope for a better future. Hope for the continued good health of his kind. Hope that the power-mongering in Prague, seat of the Archguard and Dragonkind elite, could be stopped. That the coming battle could be fought and won.
Lofty ideals. A difficult goal.
Getting commanders from different parts of the world to agree wouldn’t be easy. But convincing a pack that preferred to fly under the radar to join the cause would prove even more difficult. The risk, however, was worth the reward. A commander followed by strong warriors with no ties to the Archguard—or loyalty to Rodin—would be a valuable asset in the fast-approaching war. Now, and in the future.
Which meant he needed to call home and update his commander. Sooner, rather than later. Cyprus would want to know about—
A sharp knock rattled the brass knob.
Feet planted six feet from the door, Rannock swallowed a growl and flicked his fingers. The antique key sticking out of the lock flipped sideways. The click echoed inside his head a moment before he murmured a command. Well-oiled hinges hissed as the wooden panel swung open.
Shimmering blue eyes collided with his.
“I want it taken out,” he said, refusing to be polite. He didn’t care where he stood—inside the Shadow Walker’s home, under his roof. Courtesy belonged to males who respected boundaries, not those who implanted explosive devices inside a female’s head. “Now.”