Windburn (Nightwing# 2) (8 page)

I felt Lorian’s gaze, but refused to look his way. The elevator dinged open on the fifth floor where I could walk straight out to the garage for my car. They continued up to one of the lift-off terraces where Morgons could come and go. In this building, there was one on every tenth floor.

Finally able to breathe, I walked through the garage door to my car. When I clicked on my keypad, the doors unlocked but no responding beep sounded from the car alarm. A prickle of fear tingled up my spine. I spun in a circle, but saw no one, heard no one. There was no place a Morgon could hide here in the broad daylight.

Clip-clopping fast to my car, I jerked open the door and found a wrapped gift on the driver’s seat. “Son of a bitch.”

I tossed it on the passenger’s seat, hopped in, and locked the doors. Without even thinking, I started the car and punched it into gear. If the creep was still around, I wasn’t going to be a sitting target. Jetting across town, I kept glancing at the small, square package, wrapped in shiny black paper with a crimson ribbon. A white card dangled with the red-inked scrawl.

At the first light, I ripped off the card.
For your lovely skin.
Embossed on the back was the same Larkosian symbol as before.

I tore off the wrapping and popped open the square box. In gold tissue paper was a tear-dropped, crystal decanter of
Allure
.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I mumbled to myself.

Allure
was a unique perfume oil, specifically engineered as an aphrodisiac to the male Morgon senses. It was manufactured in the Drakos Province and sold in exclusive jewelry shops because of the outrageous price tag on even an ounce of the stuff. This was a full bottle.

What the fuck?
I dropped the bottle back in the box. My hands trembled in my lap. A horn honked behind me. I lurched forward and zoomed to the building site a short distance away, my pulse pounding by the time I arrived.

Lorian, Fallon, Willow, and Belka stood near Ragnor across the lot. I made my way to them, my heels catching in the soil. I could hardly concentrate, but when I finally took a look around, I realized the entire skeleton of the building had been constructed in a few short days.

Ragnor turned to me as I approached. “What do you think, Ms. Linden?”

“It’s impressive. Your crew works fast.”

He smiled at me. “Yes. Morgons tend to move fast. Our wings help us get a lot done.”

“I’m sure.” I heard the bitterness in my voice, but couldn’t help it.

“Would you all like to take a look inside?” Ragnor whistled and the crew stopped working. The pounding of metal on metal came to an abrupt halt. He led the way.

Fallon stepped next to me. “Are you alright, Ms. Linden? You look pale.”

I shook my head, realizing how serious this stalker shit was becoming.

“Go on,” ordered Lorian. “I’ll take care of Ms. Linden.”

Fallon hesitated, his expression anxious, then stepped aside and followed the others.

Lorian faced me, his eyes burning into mine. “What’s happened?”

I pointed to my car. “Another gift.” Before I could protest, he scooped me in his arms and flew us both to the parking lot to my car at rocket speed.

“Put me down!”

He did, leaning me against the car. “Show me. Now.” Guttural, growling words.

I opened the door and pulled out the box and card, handing them both over. I swear I felt a flare of heat beat off his body as he perused my latest present. My skin tingled. Again, he smelled the package.

“No scent?” I asked, hoping.

He shook his head. “You’re moving into my place tonight.”

“No, I’m not.”

“This isn’t an option.”

“You can’t order me around.”

“Yes. I can.”

“I just want everyone to leave me alone. Is that too much to ask?”

“He’s not going to. And neither am I.”

“Oh, so you’re a stalker now, too?”

His wings snapped out, enclosing us together. He dropped the box back in my car. His hands locked on either side of my face, forcing me to look up at him. “You know that’s not true. Stop this shit now, Sorcha.”

I grabbed his forearms, trying to pull his hands away. “Let go of me.”

“No.”

I yanked again, which was like trying to move concrete. He didn’t budge. “Let—go—of—me.”

His mouth came over mine for the first time, forcing my lips apart, demanding my full and complete attention. He had it. My fingers curled around his forearms, my blood racing for an entirely different reason. He whispered against my lips, “Never,” and I yielded, accepting his kiss without a thought. He swept in, an aggressive invasion of teeth and tongue. His fingers combed into my hair, wrapping my skull, keeping me at the perfect angle for his onslaught of sensation. I moaned into his mouth. It felt so good. I wanted more. God help me, I wanted more.

If anyone was looking, there was no doubt we were breaking the protocol against inner-office affairs. I didn’t give a fuck. He obviously didn’t either.

After a lengthy, wet, mind-numbing kiss, he drew back. “You’re moving into my place tonight.”

I struggled to catch my breath, but finally did. “Let go, Lorian.” I tugged on his arms gently this time, asking with my eyes, more than demanding with my voice.

He released me, keeping his wings up as a shield.

“I need to get back to the office.” And by office, I meant the one at Linden and Burke, not the one at Nightwing Industries.

“I’ll follow you.”

“No!” I took a deep breath, lowering my voice. “No. I’m fine. I need to immerse myself in work. There’s tons of planning left to be done on the public relations end of this deal. At the pace Ragnor is going, I don’t want to fall behind.”

He stared at me for a long moment before finally stepping back and letting me slide back into the car. I slammed the car door shut and took off, unsettled for more than one reason.

So, I had a cult fanatic for a stalker who meant business. He had money and the resources to disengage a car alarm from an alleged thief-proof vehicle. This wasn’t just some crazy whack-job. He was meticulous and smart, which meant I truly was in danger.

But more than that, there was a Morgon man already under my skin where no man belonged. Lorian… Lorian who didn’t give a damn how long and hard I’d been building that wall to keep men out. Every touch of his, every kiss demanded that I yield, that I lower my shields. Most Morgon men were dominant. I laughed to myself, sounding like a lunatic to my own ears. None of them exuded the pulsing power of dominance like Lorian Nightwing, commanding my submission with raw, rugged sensuality. I careened around a corner, speeding faster, as if physical distance could expel him from my mind.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

There’s no way in
hell
I was moving in with him, no matter how skin-melting his kisses were.

No. Way.

I passed the receptionist’s desk, nodding to Sherrie who was a plump nine-months pregnant.

“Still with us?”

She grimaced. “Barely. Please don’t ask me to file anything. My back is killing me.”

“No. Take it easy. Is my mom in?”

“Yes. In her office.”

Down the hall, I found her, the woman whose shape and hair so closely resembled mine. Instead of green, her eyes were a light, tawny brown, always warming me when I looked into them.

“Hi, sweetie. How’s the Nightwing project going?”

“Oh, it’s going.”

“Everything’s progressing well?”

“Mm-hm. The interior designer, Willow Silverback, and I are a perfect team.”

“And, Mr. Nightwing? He isn’t too difficult to work with, is he?”

“Oh, he’s difficult, but I’m handling him.” And he was handling me.

“Excellent. We’ve already gotten two new Morgon clients because the Nightwings so graciously selected our firm. Things are looking up for Linden and Burke.” She shuffled some papers into a pile as I walked to her side table and poured a glass of water. “I appreciate you working so hard on this one, Sorcha.”

“My pleasure, Mom.” More than she knew. “Have we found a replacement for Sherrie yet while she’s on leave?”

“Oh, damn. I was supposed to take care of that. I keep forgetting to place the ad.”

“Don’t. I’d like to hire Ella if you don’t mind.”

“Ella? Your friend, Ella? Doesn’t she have a fine arts degree or something? Why would she want to be a receptionist?”

“Mom, you’ve met her parents, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, enough said. They’re waiting for the proper, pedigreed man to come and take her off their hands. She’s going stir crazy in that freaking mansion and needs a job to escape her jailors.”

“What about one of the art galleries downtown? Something more in her field?”

“There’s a problem there. Most of the galleries are Morgon-owned or curators are collaborating between the races, and the Barrows don’t want her mixing with Morgons. I’m surprised they even let her major in such a progressive field. But they probably thought she’d be married already and chained to a husband who’d keep her in-line.”

“Oh. They’re that way, are they?”

“Afraid so.” I sipped my water and stared out into the manicured garden behind our complex. It always felt odd to be on the ground floor. I’d been spending so much time up in the air.

“Mom?”

“Hm?”

“Why haven’t you ever remarried?”

The papers stopped shuffling behind me. “Why do you ask?”

I met her wary gaze. “You’re beautiful and vibrant. Men hit on you all the time, but you never go out.”

“I go out with men,” she snapped, arching a brow at me. “I even take one home every now and then.”

“Mom. Please!”

A light laugh escaped, making her more beautiful. “I just don’t settle down.”

“Why not? I mean, why won’t you commit?”

I wished I could take the words back. The corners of her mouth turned down. Brown eyes grew distant. “I prefer to be alone.”

“No one prefers to be alone.”

She stacked more papers. Her tone sharpened. “What’s this all about?”

I sighed, turning back to the window. “No reason.”

I heard light footfalls come up behind me. She turned me by the shoulder, tucking a wild lock of hair behind my ear—her tender, maternal gesture. Her voice was soft this time. “What’s this all about? Are you serious about someone?”

I blinked away the sudden tears standing in my eyes and the painful possibility that I could be falling for Lorian. I never cried. What was coming over me? I cleared my throat and set the water down. “No. It’s nothing. I need to go.” I plastered a tight smile on my face and gave her a peck on the cheek for reassurance.

When I twisted to leave, she grabbed my hand. “Sorcha. Sweetheart? Don’t abandon love because my love abandoned me.”

Sure I would choke on a sob if I uttered a word, I left, her words haunting me all the way home.

* * * *

I sipped the glass of red wine and sunk deeper into the steamy, bubble bath. I stared at my red-painted toes peeking out of foamy bubbles. Exactly what I needed to calm my nerves.

Even so, my mind kept shifting back to the bottle of
Allure
and the son of a bitch who sent it to me. He had to have serious money.

It could be Torin. The Greyclaw family was filthy rich. Next to the Nightwings, they were the most affluent clan in the Gladium Province. I recently read an article about how the Greyclaw clan was swiftly becoming the most influential family in Drakos and—

Tap, tap, tap.

I jumped, sloshing water and bubbles over the rim of the tub, and froze. The bathroom door was open. The tapping came from the living room area. Wait. My stalker wouldn’t tap on my…was that the balcony window?

Rap, rap, rap.

Oh, hell. Only one Morgon would show up on my balcony and knock so aggressively like he owned the place. Jolting out of the tub, I hurried and towel-dried, wisps of my hair falling from my hair clasp and sticking to my neck.

Rap, rap, rap!

“I’m
coming
!”

I slipped into my robe and tied it before rushing into the kitchen area. Sure enough. There he was, looming in the glass balcony door, the light fading behind him, looking fine as ever with his arms braced on the frame above, wearing faded jeans and a white T-shirt stretched tight over his biceps.

I clicked open the door and slid it open, tilting my head in a sassy way. “What? We’re actually knocking before entering now?”

His eyes wandered. “I didn’t want to surprise you, but now I wish I had.” He pushed into the room and walked right past me into the bedroom.

“Wait a minute! Where are you going?”

I scampered after him. He ignored me, went straight to my closet, rummaged around, and threw a piece of luggage on the bed before unzipping it.

“Nightwing! What are you doing?”

He tossed a few dresses in the open suitcase. “Packing.” He pulled out a short, black dress, looked at me, and grinned. “I want to see you in this one.”

“Nightwing. Get out of my closet. I already told you—” I stepped in between him and my hanging clothes and pushed on his chest to move him. I tried anyway. Physically impossible with the body-weight difference.

A smirk split his face. Apparently, he found my anger amusing. “Sorcha. You’re moving in with me. Until we know who this guy is and deal with him, you’re in danger by staying here.”

“But I didn’t give you permission to be my keeper.”

“I didn’t ask for permission.”

Unbelievable. This man!

He maneuvered to my dresser, pulled out the top drawer, and upended it in the suitcase. He picked up a pair of red, lace panties, throwing a sinful smile over his shoulder. “Mmm.”

“Stop it.” I snatched them from his hand and threw them down. “What don’t you understand? I’m not moving in with you.”

He wrapped me in an embrace so fast, I gasped. Lowering his face to mine, eyes piercing, he demanded my full attention. As always. “What you don’t understand”—the smile vanished—“is I won’t let a murderous psychopath snatch you away and do unspeakable things to you before he slits you open on an altar.”

“You don’t know he’ll actually follow through with this cult ceremony thing.”