Base Instincts (3 page)

The werewolf shouted in agony and dropped Raze to the ground. Spinning, Raze clamped his hand around the back of Heath’s neck and frog-marched the idiot through the rear of the club toward the back door. Marsden trailed behind like a shadow, content to let Raze handle his own messes, but when Mars slipped into the security office, Raze knew he’d be watching everything through the state-of-the-art surveillance system.

Raze shoved open the door and gave the camera overhead a smirk as he shoved Heath outside. The meathead took an awkward swing the moment they stepped out into the pouring rain, and yup, Raze’s patience meter had pegged out. With a hard shove, he sent the guy stumbling through the puddles in the alley.

“You’re banished, asshole,” Raze growled.

“Fuck you.” Clutching his head in one hand, Heath wheeled around and slammed his fist into Raze’s jaw.

Raze hit the closed door in a crunch of spine, and
damn
that hurt. Pain radiated across his back and through his rib cage with such force that even taking a breath stung. Lightning flashed as the werewolf came at him again, but Raze ducked and spun, barely avoiding a blow that would have broken a lot of bones in his face.

Son of a bitch. This fucker needed to be put down like the rabid dog he was. Raze had never liked werewolves, but this one was a special kind of stupid, stubborn jackass.

With a roar, Raze charged the guy, nailing him in the gut with his shoulder. Heath
oofed
and stumbled backward, but he managed to bring down his fist like a hammer on the back of Raze’s neck. Raze hit the wet pavement in a crack of kneecaps, his ears ringing and his eyes blurring. He thought he heard a high-pitched whine followed by another hefty
oof
, and when his vision cleared, he caught an eyeful of Heath the Dick, his mouth smashed in a bloody mess, spitting blood, teeth, and . . . a marble?

Before the guy could recover from the injury that had shattered his grill, Raze readied his power and leaped to his feet. Thunder ripped through the air as he threw a right hook that laid the werewolf out hard, putting him facedown and unmoving on the pavement.

He shook out his fist, knowing he’d feel that punch in his knuckles later. Then, out of the corner of his eye . . . movement. Slowly, he shifted his body around, and there in the shadows, casually leaning against the brick wall of the building across the alley, was the leather-clad male who’d been eyeing him inside.

And in his hand, bouncing in his palm, was a small, glowing ball the size of a marble . . . just like the one the werewolf had spit out. Whatever it was, it was one hell of a weapon. But as Raze took in the stranger, whose dark eyes were gleaming with an eerie silver light, the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he realized that as dangerous as the little glowing projectile was, its owner was far, far more lethal.

If Slake hadn’t been turned on before, watching the medic take down the werewolf had given him a raging hard-on. Whatever species the medic was, he had a killer power in that right arm, and even now, his tats were glowing, pulsing with residual energy.

Slake rolled the smooth, ice-cold
sinisphere
between his fingers before pocketing it and pushing away from the side of the building. “Nice, man. You laid that dude
out
.”

The medic gestured at the unconscious werewolf. “Wasn’t me who had him spitting teeth.”

Slake shrugged. “I have fun toys.”

The medic muttered something that sounded like, “I’ll bet you do.”

Slake grinned. He really did have some great playthings, and some of them weren’t even for killing or maiming. “I’m Slake.”

“Raze.” Raze bent over the werewolf, allowing for a tantalizing view of his ass wrapped like a gift in those perfect-fitting black BDU-style pants. Slake watched as he grabbed the unconscious idiot by the ankles and dragged him toward the Harrowgate Slake had used to get here. The gate, invisible to human eyes, had been set into the brick wall, its archway shimmering in invitation. Raze disappeared inside with the werewolf and then leaped back out as the gate closed.

“Where’d you send him?”

“Underworld General. Let them deal with the asshole.”

Slake snorted. “You’re nicer than I am. I’d have left him here for the vultures.”

“New York doesn’t have a big vulture population.” Raze dug something out of his pocket, unwrapped it, and popped it into his mouth. “But it does have a big werewolf problem.”

As far as Slake was concerned, the
world
had a big werewolf problem. Dumb mutts. They didn’t even get along with members of their own species. “I hear you. We got something in common.”

There was a subtle stiffening in the set of Raze’s shoulders that lasted only a second before he started moving toward the door of the club. “Didn’t know we were looking for shit to bond over.”

So the game was hard-to-get. Slake could play that way. For a time, at least. The medic had given him enough looks for Slake to sense the guy’s taste for males, but if Raze was, indeed, the guy Atrox said had been hanging out with Fayle, things might get a little complicated.

Or maybe they could be real damned simple. Fuck the guy, take the girl, save a soul.

His
soul.

“I didn’t say anything about bonding.” Slake moved toward Raze. Slowly. Purposefully. “But I wouldn’t mind getting to know you. Got a girlfriend?”

Raze came to a halt a couple of feet from the entrance. “No.”

“Boyfriend?”

Raze swung around, his green eyes darkening. “You have no idea what I am, do you?”

“Should I?” Slake advanced on him, enjoying how Raze’s body tensed and his breaths became more rapid. “Are you . . . dangerous? Aside from that crazy shit you do with your tats.”

One corner of Raze’s mouth tipped up in a half smile. “I’m only dangerous if you piss me off.”

“What if I
get
you off?”

Raze barked out a laugh. “Man, what do you want from me?”

Slake got close, invading the other male’s personal space. The guy would either stand his ground or back off, and either one would speak volumes about him.

Tension filled the narrow gap between them, pulsing like a heartbeat. Raze was taller than Slake’s six three by maybe half an inch, but Slake outweighed him by a good twenty-five pounds, and as they stood there taking each other’s measure, he had to admire that Raze didn’t back down. Most dudes who went toe-to-toe with him did so out of macho arrogance, but the calculation and intelligence flashing in Raze’s eyes said he was holding his ground for a different reason.

Raze was attracted to him.

But he was suspicious. Which was smart.

“What do I want from you?” Slake reached out, brushed a finger over Raze’s jugular, once again watching. Gauging. And hoping. “I want to buy you a drink. Is that too much to ask?”

“I don’t drink.”

“Why not?” Alcohol was poison to some species, while in others, there was no effect at all, no matter how much they ingested. Anyone else who didn’t drink was just weird in Slake’s opinion.

Raze’s hand snapped up to grab Slake’s wrist in a hold that walked the line between pain and . . . well, not pain. But it felt good to be touched. Too good.

“Alcohol can’t make me drunk, but it does make me want what I can’t have.”

“And what,” he said softly, “is that?”

Releasing him with an angry shove, Raze pivoted smoothly toward the club. Oh hell no. Slake wasn’t done with the medic. Raze was probably associated with the female Slake was looking for, and even if he wasn’t . . . well, there was just something about the guy that intrigued him. Besides, Slake had never been one to give up easily. He’d have been dead a long time ago.

With a low growl, Slake snagged Raze’s shoulder and spun him back around. Surprise and anger flashed in the medic’s expression, and in that moment of startled disbelief, Slake took advantage like the predator he was, pressing his body against Raze’s as he brought their mouths together.

Instant, sizzling lust shot through Slake, sparking nerve endings to life and shocking his heart into an erratic rhythm. But low on his back, the scar from an ancient stab wound began to throb, a reminder to never surrender entirely, not even to a sultry kiss that could potentially lead to more. He needed to keep his mind focused, clear, and aware of everything going on around him. Like the cool breeze that rattled the trash on the ground and smelled like rain. Or the drip of water from the downspout a few yards away. And the sound of honking horns and squealing tires from the street traffic.

No one and nothing would ever sneak up on him again.

Hungrily, he fisted Raze’s hair and increased the pressure on his mouth. Raze’s lips were firm, unyielding, and tasted of the sweet caramel candy he’d eaten a moment ago. Decadence, Slake thought, as he swept his tongue along the seam of Raze’s mouth, urging him to open. Raze stubbornly clenched his teeth and snarled softly, but Slake persisted with lingering, sensual licks. Just when he thought he’d lost the battle, Raze’s tongue clashed with his in a hot, wet struggle for dominance.

One strong hand cupped the back of Slake’s head and another slid around his waist to draw him even tighter against Raze. The press of Raze’s erection into his made Slake groan as a fresh wave of lust rolled over him, dulling the edges of the situational awareness he prided himself on maintaining.

Shit. It was time to put the brakes on—

“Asshole.” Raze jerked away and stepped back. He was breathing heavy, his lips swollen and glistening, and Slake wondered if he looked as punch-drunk as Raze did. “There are at least a dozen guys inside who would let you blow them on top of the freaking bar with an audience if you wanted. So why me?”

Because you might be the key to locating the female I’m after.
The thought flew through Slake’s brain, but on its heels was something unexpected. Startling.

“Because something about you makes me want to throw caution to the wind, and I never do that.”

“Why not?”

Slake shrugged. “Letting down your guard gets you dead.”

One ginger eyebrow cocked, but the wariness in Raze’s eyes never lessened. “You must live a dangerous life.”

Slake shrugged again. “You know what they say. You feel the most alive when death is on your doorstep.”

“Death, huh?” Raze laughed, a deep, throaty sound that went straight to Slake’s groin. “You have no idea.”

“Yeah? Then why don’t you educate me?”

“No need.” Raze threw open the door to the club. “You’re a dick, so I have no doubt that death will come for you soon enough.”

With that, Raze disappeared, likely not even realizing how right he probably was.

Raze practically ran through the club, hitting the medic office in record time. Vladlena, the owner’s shifter mate and a coworker at Underworld General, had arrived for her shift, so he gave her a quick status update and darted out the back of the club and into a narrow alley separating Thirst from the apartments across the way. Quickly, he yanked open the dented metal door and took the stairs to the third floor.

The stairs were old, wooden, and he swore they wobbled under every step. It wasn’t until he slammed into his place and sagged against the door that he realized the stairs were fine.
He
was shaking.