"Because I love you," she said softly, gently. "And because I believe in you, Ian. I always have."
A rough, desperate sound of need rumbled up from his chest, and Ian began calculating how close it was to the nearest hotel. They had a plane to catch, but more important than that, he needed to find a place where he could have her. Where he could lay her down on crisp, cool sheets, take her beneath his body, and show his woman just how much he loved her.
Quickly setting her back on her feet, Ian clasped on to her hand, pulling her along behind him as he dug into his pocket and handed her his cell phone. "Do me a favor and call the airline.
Tell them we're going to need a later flight."
"What? Why?" she panted, practically running to keep up with his long steps as they headed toward the car. "Ian, what's going on?"
"We have someplace we need to be," he told her, ready to offer up a silent prayer of thanks when he remembered there was a hotel only three blocks away.
In the next instant, Ian swept her into his arms, clutching her soft body against the violent pounding of his heart, so full of happiness and love, he didn't know how he carried it all inside.
With a warm, wicked smile of anticipation, he bent his head, whispering his intentions in the delicate shell of her ear, and at the husky, joyful sound of her laughter, Ian held her tighter...and began running--not from the shadows of his past, but toward a bright, breathtaking future.
Be sure to watch for Saige's awakening in EDGE OF DANGER, coming next month to HQN
Books.
And now for a sneak preview of the second romance in the PRIMAL INSTINCTS series, be sure to turn the page.
Thursday Evening, The Amazon
If the woman was trying to blend in, she wasn't very good at it. It'd taken Michael Quinn no more than five seconds to pick her out in the dim, crowded interior of O Diablo Dos Angels, a rickety roadside barra in the bustling market town of Coroza, Brazil. He'd been traveling for two days now, working his way through the stifling, humid depths of the Amazonian rain forest, and it showed in his haggard appearance. Two days that felt more like weeks, each passing hour grating against his nerves like a rusty nail, until he was in what could only be classified as a category five, off the Richter scale, completely uncharacteristic shitty mood.
Not that he was usually cheery. Normally Quinn just...existed. It'd been years since anything, or anyone, had managed to touch him or throw him off his firm, even keel--and now this. He couldn't explain it, but from the moment he'd been given Saige Buchanan's photograph, his cool, steady calm had begun to fade, slipping away from him like water spiraling slowly down a drain. And in its wake, he'd been left with this seething intensity...this gripping tension.
What made it even worse was the fact that Quinn hadn't even wanted the assignment--had, in fact, been adamant in his refusal. And yet, here he was, with his damp shirt sticking to his skin, the heavy scent of tobacco and sweat making his head hurt, while something piercing and uncomfortably sharp slithered through his system at the sight of his prey.
Huh. So this is little Saige, he thought, moving along the wall, away from the door, careful to avoid her line of sight as she sat at a small table on the far side of the room, a bottle of water held in one delicate hand. At her side sat a young man who couldn't have been more than nineteen, his dark skin, hair and eyes attesting to his Brazilian heritage. The boy's lips were moving, and though Quinn's hearing was far better than a human's, he couldn't make out the words over the raucous cacophony of sound coming from the crowd.
It seemed a strange setting for an American woman and her young companion, and yet, no one bothered them. Not even the drunks. Was she a regular, then? Under the owner's protection? Or was there some other reason the locals kept their distance?
Whatever the answer, it couldn't be from lack of notice. Saige Buchanan stood out among the weathered patrons like a neon sign in the midnight pitch of night, glittering and bright.
Quinn rubbed his palm against the scratchy growth of stubble that came from going several days without a shave, then slowly shook his head, already revising his analogy. No, the reportedly brilliant anthropologist wasn't brash or bold, like neon. As bright as she shone, there was a soft, almost tender aura about her, which probably made her stick out even more than that angelic face, lush body or unusual shade of hair. Neither red nor brown, it hovered somewhere in between, picking up the soft, hazy glow of light that spilled down from above, struggling against the lengthening evening shadows.
Saige Buchanan may have been more than an average human female, but then he was hardly an average man. He could scent that her Merrick had yet to fully awaken--and until it did, he would be able to retain the upper hand when it came to physical strength.
Later, after her awakening...Well, he'd never gone head-to-head with a Merrick female before, but he sure as hell hoped she wouldn't be able to kick his ass. If that ever happened, his friends back at the compound would never let him live it down.
As a member of the Watchmen, an organization of shape-shifters whose duty it was to watch over the remaining bloodlines of the original ancient clans, Quinn had been taught a little about the Merrick, once one of the most powerful nonhuman species to walk the earth. And since the crap that had recently gone down with Saige's older brother, Ian Buchanan, he now knew even more. But Saige was...different. Unlike her brother, who experienced certain physical changes when the Merrick blood in his veins rose to the surface of his body, it was believed that Merrick females, while gaining in strength and agility and heightened senses, didn't change in appearance. She wouldn't sport talons on the tips of her delicate fingers.
Wouldn't bulk up with thick, massive muscles. And her nose wouldn't alter its dainty, feminine shape.
But...you're forgetting the fangs.
Ah, right. Evidently, that was one of the changes the Merrick women did experience, in order to feed the primitive parts of their nature. Lifting his hand, Quinn rubbed at an odd tingle on the side of his neck, as if he could already feel the pleasure-pain of Saige Buchanan sinking her pearly whites into his flesh, taking the hot wash of his blood into her mouth, at the same time she took him deep into her body.
Whoa...
Scowling, he lowered his hand, fingers curling into a tight fist, and wondered what was wrong with him. Had the heat gone to his head? Had going without sex addled his brain? Or was he truly losing his mind?
Leaning his elbow against the small counter built into the side wall of the bar, Quinn shook off the irritating thoughts and signaled a stout, middle-aged woman who roamed the room with a tray, delivering drinks while she chatted with the customers. As she stepped closer, he could read the name Inez embroidered onto her apron, and despite the friendly way she'd handled the crowd, she leveled a cold, chilling look on him. Her dark eyes were wary now, and as they slowly inspected him from his scarred boots, up over his dirt-streaked jeans and damp black T-shirt, he said, "Una cerveza, por favor."
"Tell me," she replied in heavily accented English, "why do you watch our Saige like you are hungry?"
Quinn locked his jaw, angry that he'd revealed the focus of his attention to those watching him.
"Well?" she pressed, the corners of her wide mouth pinched with suspicion.
"No idea what you're talking about," he countered in a low, graveled voice, returning her hard stare. When it was obvious he wasn't going to back down, she muttered under her breath and turned around, making her way back to the bar.
Mentally kicking himself in the ass, Quinn purposefully withdrew his attention from the American and looked around the barra. In a strange way, he felt as if he'd walked onto a movie set. It was that surreal, complete with braying donkey outside the front door, the veil of smoke from cigarettes and cigars so thick you could all but slice it with a knife. The only thing that made it bearable was Saige. Her scent wrapped around him like a soft clinging vine, enticing and warm and sweetly addictive. It was like...like a rain shower, refreshing and clean, washing away the suffocating grime. It even eased the tension he felt at being in such a crowded, noisy, closed-in space. With a conscious effort, Quinn focused on that mouthwatering scent, drawing more of it into his lungs, desperate to block out the rest of his surroundings.
Unable to help himself, his gaze slid back to Saige, greedily soaking up the visual details, hungry for the data.
It was at that moment that she turned her head, angling it to the side, revealing the vulnerable length of her throat, and hungers too-long restrained stretched to awareness within him, the animal side of his nature blinking its eyes open to a lazy, dangerous, smoldering fire. He didn't take blood in the way that a Merrick did, but he still longed to clamp his teeth onto that tender, provocative part of her, while sending himself as deep into her as he could get.
As if she'd felt the press of his stare on that pale, feminine curve of flesh, she lifted her hand to the side of her neck. Then she suddenly twisted in her chair, scanning the room, and he quickly turned toward the wall, giving her his back. His fingers clenched around the bottle, nearly shattering the glass in his grip, while desire played hell with his control.
Had he gone out of his mind? All hell was about to break loose, and here he was nursing a warm beer, with a raging case of what could only land him in trouble. He didn't have time for this crap.
Stop stalling, dammit, and get on with it.
Turning purposefully back toward the room, he watched as she said something to the boy and stood up, making her way to the bar. She was talking to the short, smiling man behind the counter as Quinn moved to her side, draining the last of his beer. The second she turned and caught him in that deep, dark blue stare, the color as fascinating as the luminous perfection of her skin, he knew he'd been marked.
Quinn set his empty beer bottle down on the counter, preparing to introduce himself, when she reached for it. He wondered what she was doing as her fingers closed around the thick green glass, her expression instantly shifting from wary unease to full-blown panic. Then, before he could even guess her intention, she suddenly hurled the bottle at his head. The glass cracked against the edge of his right eyebrow, splitting the skin, the hot wash of blood flooding his vision.
Son of a bitch.
She immediately started running, shouting something in Portuguese to the boy, who took off past Quinn, out the front door. Moving in the opposite direction, Saige hefted the backpack she'd grabbed from the table onto her shoulder and pushed her way out the back exit, disappearing into what Quinn knew was the jungle.
Swearing, he tossed a wad of bills on the counter, and set off after her, hoping to God he could catch her before the fool woman managed to get herself killed.
As he ran out of the bar, into the humid warmth of the evening, the air thick and damp against his skin, the last watery threads of sunlight began fading beneath the heavy weight of night.
Quinn followed her scent, dodging the clinging vines of the jungle, his long legs making good time against her shorter strides, but she was fast.
Too fast, he realized in the next moment, as a strong, noxious odor reached his nose, coming from the same direction Saige was moving.
We're out of time, he thought, gripping his T-shirt and pulling it over his head as he allowed the change to flow over him. Hell was already there, and she was running straight into its deadly grasp.
Don't miss the entire the dark and sensual PRIMAL INSTINCT series from HQN Books: EDGE OF CRAVING � April 2009
An eBook exclusive prequel to the Primal Instinct series EDGE OF HUNGER � April 2009
EDGE OF DANGER � May 2009
EDGE OF DESIRE � June 2009
And available now from Silhouette Nocturne, the BLOODRUNNERS series: LAST WOLF STANDING
LAST WOLF HUNTING
LAST WOLF WATCHING
ISBN: 978-1-4268-3093-8
EDGE OF HUNGER
Copyright � 2009 by Tabitha Bird
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