He knew it deep down where instinct lived and self-preservation visited upon occasion. The beast inside him made that clear enough. His dragon wasn’t confused about Cate. He wanted her. Craved her. Lived to hear the sound of her voice every morning. Longed to hear it at the end of each day too.
Bare feet brushing over oriental rugs, Rannock vaulted over the back of the couch. As he landed, he shoved an armchair out of his way. The thing tipped over, slamming into the floor as he sped past the kitchen into the corridor on the other side.
He snarled at the doors lining the hallway. Ten total. All closed. No one awake. Zero reaction to the powerful magic frothing around him and into the air.
Clenching his teeth, he fired up mind-speak. Neutrons sparked. The connection solidified. His temper snapped. He roared at his commander, “Cyprus!”
Pushed through the link, his voice detonated in the quiet. The mental blast exploded against his temples, then into his brothers-in-arms’ heads, yanking each out of la-la land.
Various versions of “what the fuck?” echoed through mind-speak.
“Shite. She’s in trouble,” Kruger said, recovering first. Not surprising. Quick on the uptake, Kruger ate brilliant for breakfast, puzzling things out faster than any male Rannock knew. “How bad is it?”
A round of “who” hit the airwaves.
“Cate,” Kruger said.
“Niki’s sister?” Tydrin asked, sounding half-asleep. “How does Ran know her?”
Kruger grunted. “Seriously?”
“What?” Tydrin grumbled.
“Swear tae Christ,” Kruger said with a sigh. “It’s like you donnae pay attention on purpose. He’s been talking tae her on the phone for nearly a month.”
“Jesus,” Wallaig muttered.
“Hell,” Vyroth said, resignation in his tone.
“Totally missed that one,” Levin murmured.
Tempel huffed. “You’re not the only one.”
Cyprus chimed in. “Ran—answer the question. How bad is it?”
“Bad.” Fighting the urge to rip bedroom doors of their hinges, Rannock planted his feet on the wooden floor. He must stay grounded. Cate needed him focused, not out of control. Cyprus wouldn’t give him the green light if he didn’t keep his shite together and explain. “She’s been taken. I was on the phone with her when the bastards came. I was… She… Fucking hell, Cy. She was scared. So bloody scared. I can still hear her panic in her voice. It’s in my head. I can still…”
“All right, laddie,” Wallaig said. “Hold yer calm. Let us get mobile.”
Sheets rustled.
Feet began to hit the floor.
Bedroom doors opened and closed with quiet efficiency as his brothers stepped out into the corridor, leaving their mates asleep in bed.
Pale violet eyes met his through the crowd.
“I need tae go,” he said, words laced with urgency, expression set in stone as he held his commander’s gaze. “I cannae wait. The bastards took her. I donnae know what bullshite her sire’s into, but he’s dragged Cate into it. I know the timing sucks with the Danes circling, but I need tae get there and protect her. It’s a seven-hour flight. Too fucking long, but I promised. I promised her, Cy, and cannae let her down.”
Cyprus nodded. “Jet’ll be fueled by the time you get tae the airfield.”
Relief hit Rannock like a fist. Gratefulness sank deep, wiping away panic, restoring his calm. The downgrade in alarm sharpened his mind. Strategies began to form with greater clarity—all the if this then he’d do that scenarios. He might be hours away, but planning ahead—preparing for all possible outcomes—gave him the best chance of pulling Cate out alive.
“I’ll make the call. Get Malcolm out of bed and into the hangar.” Already on the move, Cyprus strode up the hall toward him. “Who do you want with you?”
“Kruger, Tempel, and Levin,” Rannock said without hesitation.
He chose Kruger, ’cause well… he was Kruger—smart, lethal, the most adaptable on the fly, as well as the male he spent the most time with, in and outside of the lair. Tempel had been born and raised in America and knew the terrain. And given Levin’s aptitude for advanced interrogation techniques and ease with computers, taking the ice dragon along went from borderline to no-brainer.
“The rest of you are mated,” Rannock said, gaze bouncing between his packmates. “Your females need you home. And Vyroth, mon, I know she’s your sister-in-law and you want in on the action, but Niki cannae get on the plane. Cate’s too important tae her. She’ll get in the way and fuck up my plans.”
“Agreed,” Vyroth murmured, surprising him. “If it’s as bad as you think, I donnae want my mate anywhere near Savannah… or her bastard da.”
“I’ll pack a lunch for your trip, Master Rannock.”
The comment came out of nowhere.
Everyone glanced toward the lip of the corridor. All eyes landed on Lapier, the Numbai Vyroth had rescued in Germany, and who had quickly become the Scottish pack’s go-to-for-anything guy.
Pivoting to face him, Rannock tipped his chin. “Thanks, Lapier, but do it fast. The second I’ve got enough fuel in the Hog, we’re airborne.”
The Numbai nodded and, with a sharp pivot, disappeared into the common room. His destination no doubt the gourmet kitchen hidden behind a pair of heavy wooden doors. Not wasting a second, Rannock followed, moving through the underground lair with purpose. Ten minutes to fuel the Hog. Twenty-five minutes to the airstrip. Seven hours until he landed on foreign soil and started hunting in a city he didn’t know, to rescue a female from thugs he hadn’t seen, but planned to rip apart on sight.
5
HISTORIC DISTRICT — SAVANNAH, GEORGIA
T-minus three hours
One-hundred-and-fifty-year-old wooden floors creaked as Rathbone enter his private study under the north side of the Habersham House. A throwback to another era, the boutique hotel he owned with his brothers embraced all things old. Old floors polished to a high shine. Historic red-brick exterior with large, curving balconies. Three stories of wide white trim around wavy paned windows designed to allow cool breezes in, but never got opened anymore. And inside? A glorious mix of antiques and new-world charm. Upscale. Comfortable. Exclusive. The best-run hotel in Savannah.
Everyone said so.
And, of course, the reviews on Yelp! never lied.
With a huff, he crossed the pitch-black room. Twirling the woman’s cell phone in one hand, he flicked the fingers of the other. His unspoken command whispered across the study. Candles on the altarpiece flared. Light crept into dark corners as flames rose from blackened wicks, flickering into spindles, adhering to his wishes. Why he bothered was anyone’s guess. He didn’t need the light. Like all of his kind, he could see in the dark, was more comfortable haunting the shadows than standing in the stark light of day.
Footsteps sounded on the spiral staircase.
The floorboards creaked as his visitor stepped into the hallway. Private floor. No guests allowed on the lowest level of the house, so…
Rounding the antique table doubling as his desk, Rathbone tossed the Samsung onto the leather blotter and shrugged. The Armani suit jacket slipped down his arms. Tossing it over the back of his leather chair, he listened to the heavy thud of footfalls move closer. He loosened his tie and, unbuttoning the top button of his dress shirt, prepared for the violent storm about to roll under the massive archway into his study.