BRANDED BY FIRE

Hawke folded his arms, forcing himself to focus on this problem and not the one he could do nothing to solve. “But you’re not as pretty anymore without those long, silky—what’s the word—yeah, tresses.”


Adam was giving Hawke the finger when a softly curvy woman with the mystery of the Greek Islands stamped onto her features walked into the room. “Out,” she said. “Both of you. He needs to heal.”

“We’ll go, Naia,” Lucas said, his voice quiet. “But we need to know what Adam brought into our territory.”

“Nothing,” Adam said.

“I might believe it if I heard it from Aria.” Hawke scowled.

“There’s been a change in the structure of our wing.”

“What change?” Lucas asked when the other man fell silent.

“Aria’s dead.”

Hawke sucked in a breath. “Hell. I liked her.”

“She had a good life,” Naia said, eyes drowning in sorrow. “She was a good wing leader.” A short glance at Adam, and Hawke understood without words why Naia, and Jacques—now the second-highest-ranking member of WindHaven, had come with Adam. Aria hadn’t only been their wing leader, she’d been Adam’s grandmother. They’d probably been worried he’d blow the negotiation by picking a fight with either Lucas or Hawke just to let off steam. Both men would’ve understood, but it would’ve delayed things.

“She was,” Lucas agreed. “So we have to deal with your feathered ass now.”

“You’ve been dealing with me for years,” Adam reminded them. “Now there’s no filter so we have to become friends.” The sarcasm fairly dripped. “Did you get the bullets?”

“No. One went through your body, the other shredded your wing and disappeared.” Hawke didn’t like it. His men would shoot down an enemy, but only after checking with him. Lucas had already told him it hadn’t been one of his people. “We’ll find out who it was.”

“Jacques knows the location,” Adam murmured, the words hazy. “He was …”

Naia waved them out as Adam lost consciousness, exiting herself a few minutes later.

“How did Aria die?” Lucas asked.

“Old age.” Naia’s face was sad, and yet there was peace in it. “We knew it was coming. She somehow survived her mate’s death, perhaps because she was wing leader, but the life went out of her—she only lasted six months after he took his last breath. There was no foul play.”

Which made it less likely that someone had targeted Adam. Since neither Lucas nor Hawke liked unknown threats in their territory, they went out with Jacques. What they found was unexpected—spent shells and eight dead men with chips in the backs of their necks.

Mia and Kenyon, one of the SnowDancer boys who’d been among the missing, identified three of the eight as having been involved in their kidnapping.

“I’m going to call Bowen,” Lucas said, “see if he can shed any light on this.”

The Alliance man arrived twenty minutes later, took one look at the dead men, and nodded. “Two of them worked directly for the chairman, probably saw his face.” He bent down by one particular body, sorrow in every line of him. “Damn it, Claude. Why?”

“Your chips seem to have a kill switch,” Lucas said, feeling a stab of pity despite himself. “Their brains are literally leaking out their ears.”

Sorrow morphed into cold rage. “No one told us.”

But the evidence was plain to see. Whether these men had attacked Adam in retaliation for DarkRiver and SnowDancer’s interference in their plans, or whether they’d been given orders to simply cause chaos, it didn’t matter.

Because it seemed the chairman was cleaning house.


Riley hated seeing Mercy so still, so quiet. He could feel her in his soul, a vibrant presence, but in front of him, she was pale, unmoving. Tamsyn was worried about a hidden infection—Mercy should’ve woken by now. Riley’s wolf grew frantic with every passing second. God, he’d just found her. He couldn’t lose her. Who’d jerk his chain when he needed it most? Who’d make him laugh at himself?

He closed his hand around her fingers and squeezed. “Wake up, kitty,” he said, trying to reach the wildness in her. “I need you.” He hadn’t said that to anyone since the day his parents died.

Deep in his soul, he thought he felt a pulse of love, of warmth, but the mating bond was new. He didn’t know if it had been real or if he’d imagined it because he needed it so much. In his hand, her fingers lay quiescent, so unlike the woman he adored with every part of him.

All those years they’d danced around each other, all those insults they’d hurled at each other, all those times they’d stood nose to nose, toe to toe, it had been preparation, he thought. They hadn’t been ready for each other then. But now they were and damn if he was going to let fate steal the future from them.

Getting into bed beside her with effort, he held her to his heart. And then he dropped every remaining shield, every barrier, and willed her to heal.