Her Lycan Lover Read online

  With the recording completed, they returned to the kitchen where Tristen and Fin sat fiddling with wire, a soldering gun, and several bottles filled with paper, buckshot, and the blue power in a chamber at the top. Sherry came up next to Fin, and Quinn’s wolf senses rifled. She removed her dagger from her bag and cleaned the edge. As she began rolling up her blade, she smiled down at Fin. “A tool.”

  “Cool,” Fin said.

  “It comes in handy,” Sherry replied, tucking the blade into her bag.

  “I bet,” Tristen retorted dryly. “Like a magical sledgehammer.”

  Quinn withheld the growl that filled his throat. He knew that Fin and Tristen were pack all the way. But Sherry was right. He and she were both experiencing changes and his came in loud and clear. Every sudden movement, brought him closer to shifting and standing his ground around his soon-to-be mate. He’d always been laid back, and a bit of a jackass in his refusal to get hot and bothered over some babe.

  Those days were well the fuck over. He scraped a hand down his face, rubbing over the rough growth with his palm. “How much longer?”

  “Almost there,” Fin grunted.

  Quinn’s wolf self desired nothing more than to tear out the front door, and haul Sherry through the forest. In Lycan form, he’d be more than capable of having her wrapped around him while he raced down the side of mountain. As Lycan, he could take her into a den, one of several they had located deep in the Rockies. The Fae were a bunch of sissies. The inbreeding and fighting between the courts had all the Fae distrustful of one another. Eventually, their bickering would be their ruin and they’d leave without finding the four spellcasters with the correct sequence. He hoped. Why else had they come except during a time of weakness? They’d not be able to withstand being on Earth for long without finding places to hide and scavenge. He put out feelers and had found out these Fae where a mixture of air and water and had passed that along to Tristen and Fin. His enforcers had several tricks up their sleeves.

  Right now, he wasn’t about to share anything with Sherry that might get her more upset. She seemed hell-bent on blaming herself. Better that he saw what he could do to deal with these fuckers and kept her far away from them. Easy enough to keep on the move. Between apartments and houses, he could continue to hide Sherry, never staying too long in the same place. They’d return here maybe next week on some sort of living arrangement rotation. He would have all his homes retrofitted with lighting and protection against these fucking Fae.

  Eleanor had sent him a text earlier that their warehouse property sat in the middle of real estate that had been recently purchased by Carrigan. Overnight those dumbasses had cash to burn. They’d purchased every single building, store, and hovel in a mile radius in the eastern part of downtown. Strange sightings were being reported by shifters of unusual creatures taking up residence in the empty buildings.

  Unusual combinations but sure signs of Dark Fae given they couldn’t come into content with soil due to the mineral content. An aversion the freaks had since the beginning of time. These Dark Fae had been so underhanded they were thrown out the Light Fae court. Many were killed by the mighty Milesian soldiers in what is now Spain, thousands of years ago when the Fae had been stripped of much of their power. The Dark Fae couldn’t hunt, track, or figure out how things worked above Earth. They resorted to dark power in bending wills. And whatever they sought, crossing realms was only the beginning. It all tied into Carrigan somehow. He’d take each of Carrigan’s family and connections out if it came to it. But with Sherry to think about, he absolutely could not leave her side.

  “We’ll travel by bike,” Tristen began.

  “How so?” Sherry asked, her gaze snapping to his.

  “You’ll ride with me. Those two will be on the other bike. Fastest way through the mountains. If we need to, we can go off-road. The Fae aren’t likely to follow.”

  “I think they might,” Sherry countered.

  “Not in these woods. This isn’t Dark Fae country. In a snap we can garner enough shifters that the Fae won’t stand a chance.”

  She notched up her chin, a cold hard look taking over her eyes. “They don’t need much to be dangerous.”

  “Your blade is a real tool,” Tristen said.

  “Yeah. But they’d have to come really close for me to make an impression.”

  “Says who?” Tristen laughed. “You could wipe out a dozen Fae. With your eyes closed.”

  “No. You’re wrong,” she countered.

  Fin stopped working. Tristen stared back at her then shifted his attention over to Quinn. “She doesn’t know?”

  Sherry regarded all the shifters. Silence hung in the air. Quinn exhaled, wishing Tristen had kept his big mouth shut. “Sometimes, Trist, you’re a bit much.”

  “What haven’t you told me now?” She gazed, unblinking at him with a look that would freeze the balls off a lesser shifter. Raising her eyebrows slightly, she asked. “Well?”

  “Doll, you’ve got a secret weapon. I guess even secret to you.” He glared at Tristen, and the wolf had the sense to keep quiet. “Myth about casters with a dagger is what Mr. Big Mouth is talking about. That blade has a punch. Stronger than voodoo. But you’d have to know how to harness the force. I don’t think you’ve had that training. You said yourself, you hardly ever did much. It wasn’t for me to instruct you on your own casting.”

  “Apparently, my own Sisterhood hasn’t seen fit to giving out that piece of information.” She pursed her lips, probably considering the lack of information shared her by own kind.

  Quinn reached out to her. “Maybe it comes with training. If you don’t know the uses, a trained Fae could take the blade from you and use it against you. It’s not worth the risk. I don’t want you doing something that may get you into trouble.”

  Tristen rose and patted her shoulder. “Hey, it’s true. These types of weapons take years to master. Look at me, I’m still learning how to use—or not use my mouth.”

  “Thanks,” she mumbled, picking up her bag. “I’m going to change.”

  “Need help?” he asked.

  “Give me a moment.” She squeezed his arm, then pressed her lips on his cheek. Her scent swam softly through his senses, and his heartbeat thudded erratically at seeing her leave the room.

  “I can feel both you jackweeds staring at me,” he muttered. “Don’t say a fucking thing.”

  Fin and Tristen chuckled, and high fived each other. “He’s definitely whipped.”

  Quinn shot them the bird which only made them laugh harder. “Here.” Fin pushed a bottle down the table at him. “Help fill this one.” Sighing, he sat down at the table and helped pack a bottle with fuel and what would be debris.

  “Done,” he said. Tristen took the bottle and held it up.

  “Okay. We’re set.” Tristen and Fin finished packing up the goods with military precision.

  “Let’s roll,” Fin said, picking up two bottles, and handing one over to Quinn.

  Sherry returned and Tristen tapped her shoulder. “You’ll be the one to hold the bottle. Keep it upright. When ready, squeeze it hard so the contents mix, then throw it. Fast. Nothing sophisticated.”

  Fin slung the pack over his shoulder. “When you two were reading, I went outside and retrofitted the back of the bikes with some sparkplug ingenuity. If the motherfuckers get too close, give the bike some extra throttle. You’ll be riding on a racing flame shooter. It’ll buy you some distance.”

  “Here, see the top. It’s made to come off easily after threads were filed down.” Tristen spoke to Sherry. “Last resort, just uncap and throw it. The metal powder will act quickly on them. They’re like fluorescent bulbs always flickering. This stuff will take effect. Stand back. They’ll explode and it’ll be an ooze fest.”

  “Sounds sticky,” she murmured gazing at the greyish blue powder.

  “Put this on,” Quinn held out the helmet that Fin had worn.

  “What about you?�
� she asked.

  “Doll, it would take a lot more than landing on my head to harm me.”

  “Christ, you got that right,” Tristen laughed.

  “Eff you,” Quinn tossed back to the wolf shifter. His nature demanded he protect Sherry, but his experience gave him room to maneuver. In lieu of shutting down into his pure primal instinct as many shifters did during a mating period, his senses were on full alert, ready to kick-ass. He’d not gone to war, but having been alive a couple millennium gave him firsthand experience that upheavals came and went. His only concern this time was that Sherry was delicate in her humanity. The Fae needed her. There were all sorts of gambles being played here. Sonya was still missing, but he bet the Fae would keep her near. They always required others to do their bidding. Perhaps serve as a guide of sorts. Use her mind before trying to suck her dry. If Carrigan was involved, he expected worse. Either was a horrible situation.

  Quinn steered Sher outside, pressing his hand against the curve of her hip. He inhaled her scent as the wind stirred the leaves of the trees out front. The sunshine played hide-and-seek with the clouds. At least it wasn’t hailing.

  He climbed onto the back of the black-on-black Phantom, kick starting the bike. The body of the motorcycle was sleek and low slung, compact. The powerful beast between this legs was a testosterone rush. Not hard to admit, he enjoyed speed. He revved the engine, a wicked satisfaction playing at the corners of his mouth. The roar relaxed into a steady purr.

  Flashing a smile at Sherry, he soaked up the way her body blazed a path through the light shimmering around her. She’d changed into black leggings that hugged every inch of her incredible legs and hips. Wearing sneakers and a tight fitting shirt, she resembled a runner ready for a marathon. Their gazes locked as an awareness came to him. She was his to protect. The thought arched and twisted in his body.

  “Come here, baby. Hop on.” He bent to the side, helping Sherry mount the motorcycle as she swung her leg over the back end and sank down in back of him on the seat. He pulled her thighs snug against him, wanting to feel her warmth, her softness. Everything she had to offer, he desired. “Put the bottle between us. Then give me your hand.”

  Donning his sunglasses, he curled her arm around his waist as she held the bottle with one hand up next to his middle. He wondered if they’d return soon. The house meant nothing to him except it was the place he had brought her and had half-mated. Another few days, when the moon was completely full, he’d have her and they’d be a permanent fixture in his life. And hers.

  Now to deal with these greedy bastard Fae. The gates rolled open. Tristen and Fin moved forward, cautiously. Fin held up his palm, seated on the back of the bike. Those two shifters dressed in black were impressive in their near synchronized movements. Heading out the gate, Fin lowered his hand, a sign that the perimeter was clear.

  Quinn’s pulse thundered, not from excitement, but from the primordial realization he was taking Sherry from relative safety into the outer world. He preferred to check unknowns, and keeping her within a wolf pack stacked the deck.

  Rocketing down the street, they rode toward the main roadway, which ran parallel to the highway. Then they could decide whether to take the Interstate or keep to the smaller surface roads. The plan was to return to Denver and sort through the clues and leads being reported about where Sonya had been taken.

  He hit the brakes, bringing the bike to a stop at the first crossroad. Fast moving shadows flew past. He wasn’t wearing a helmet, and his vision had no reason to play tricks on him. Then why the fuck were there shadow flashes ripping by them in bleeps?

  “Shit,” he hissed the word between his gritted teeth.

  “You saw them as well.” She leaned in closer.

  “We’ve got to move. Hold on. Tight.” He pulled the clutch, eyeing the review mirror, and pressed down on the throttle. The motorcycle burst forward fast enough to pop the front tire. Landing, the tires screeched over the pavement. He curled his fist, twisting the throttle until the engine screamed, rocketing down the road as he moved the bike through the gears.

  Fin turned around, but Quinn wasn’t going to risk a hand signal with possible Unseelie nearby. Right now, these Fae required physical points to materialize between the elements and how they did that was an unanswered question. The leeching Fae marauders didn’t possess vehicles so a physical form would be of little use as long as they kept on the move. He came up to Tristen without stopping and they rode side by side down the street.

  “We’re being tailed. Air. But eventually they’ll be around.”

  “Fuck,” Tristen yelled. “That was fast.”

  Sherry squeezed Quinn’s waist. “Look. Up ahead.” A black Hummer was parked in the roadway about a hundred yards off.

  “Shit. So much for only air bleeping Fae. They might be hybrid humans.”

  “Can you?” Tristen asked.

  “Jump a Hummer?” Hell, he’d not done crazy in a while on two wheels, and considering the company waiting, Quinn was in favor of any move to make tracks.

  “Just follow my lead. The frames aren’t Kevlar for nothing.” Tristen slammed the visor down on the helmet he wore.

  Quinn considered the possibilities of what to do to keep from becoming road kill and all too conscious this wasn’t about outmaneuvering. He had to get Sherry away from here in one piece, while at the same time, preventing the Fae from following. No way to take the bike off road as he’d originally envisioned. Up here, they were racing along a mountain cliff. His list of choices was getting shorter. He could not turn around with Fae behind them. And now with the roadblock ahead...they couldn’t stop. Two choices. Drop off the side of the narrow mountain road. Or take to the granite rock wall. Neither of the choices were good.

  “Don’t worry. I can help,” Sherry volunteered. “They already know of our whereabouts, so I might as well help. I think a blimp on the ley lines won’t be news to the Sisterhood or the Fae.”

  He’d almost forgotten, Sherry came with a powerful bag of tricks. “Go for it, love.”

  The roar of the cycle’s engine up ahead disrupted more conversation. Flames shot out from Tristen’s tail pipe and the flicker of a dark shadow burst into fire. Shit, the Fae had been close all this time.

  Quinn hit his throttle, rapidly clutching until the scent of fuel spewed and the sparkplug caught. A whoosh became a long reddish plume of flame erupting straight from the twin tailpipes. Another smoldering shadow lay behind them in the road. The incremental feeling of nausea that had taken hold of his gut lifted. Another sign of Fae being nearby, but he’d attributed it to gunning a motorcycle engine and racing down the road in triple digits.

  He followed close behind Tristen. They had one chance to get past the Fae. The Unseelie up ahead were hard to study with the wind in his eyes. He only noted some looked human, while others were grey skinned and shadowy, having a nebulous appearance of thick smoke. So unearthly, a vile vapor that might have originated in a poisonous swamp somewhere in another galaxy. He wouldn’t discount their ability to do damage.

  Now, only a few feet ahead, the Fae stood outside the Hummer on the road, having parked the car so it took up the width of the narrow street. Tristen’s motorcycle became a blur. Constructed of Kevlar, it was lightweight and incredibly strong. The marine popped the front tire, kicked out the back wheel, and hugged the rock wall. The bike rode an arcing path up and around the Hummer. Fin threw a bottles and at the point of contact, they exploded. A diversion. The windshield blew.

  The grey faced Fae watched, their expressions blank. Not the men. Quinn sniffed the air, and perceived the scent of Carrigan. He didn’t see him amongst the group, but these could be his family. It was the proof that cocksucker was involved. They yelled, demonstrating emotion which Fae lacked until they mirrored. The taller man slammed his fist down on the hood, and dented the metal. Then the Fae also yelled, mimicking emotions with a punch on the panel of the car. Only the Fae punch made the car move. The differ
ence in reactions between the men and Fae wasn’t lost on Quinn. He had zero room for a mistake.

  Time to make it all look easy. Shit. Clamping his jaws together, Quinn took the throttle all the way. He released the clutch, catching air, and slanted the rear of the bike. This was Tokyo drifting on granite. Piece of cake. He leaned forward following the same path that Tristen had taken. He heard an explosion. Sherry must have tossed her bottle. With her spellcasting help, all he had to do was hold the line Tristen had cut, even though gravity tugged at the handlebars. Hell, nothing doing and he ripped the throttle all the way roaring upward, cresting the arc. Shit, yeah! Far easier coming down.

  Tearing off the uneven wall, they landed, and the bike bounced, going into a wobble as they headed toward the edge of the roadway. Quinn jerked the motorcycle back toward the center line, peeling rocks as they came perilously close to the side. He glanced down from the road into the valley and white water river below. He braked and slowed the bike down, coming to a stop.

  “Double the points, baby!” He yelled, reaching around to pull her closer to him. “We’re a kick-ass team.”

  “How’d you learn how to do that?” Sherry asked, hugging him around his middle, her fingers dangling down between his legs.

  Swallowing, he sucked in his breath. “It wasn’t me alone. Thanks in part to your skills.”

  “I froze. I could barely throw the bottle. I couldn’t get the words out fast enough once we started to climb the wall.”

  “Oh hell, luck I guess.” He laughed, unable to believe it had been that easy to hug the side of a mountain. He glanced back down the road. “Looks like they won’t be able to follow. The Hummer is on fire.”

  “There were men down there along with the Fae. The explosion… it hurt them.”

  “I don’t think they were here on a neighborly mission. Love, you did good. We’d better get moving. Let’s hope there aren’t any more waiting. Are you ready?”