B00T3PMJTS EBOK Page 8

  Jaċken barked out a laugh. “Parthen isn’t going to negotiate with us.”

  “Mr. Parthen won’t negotiate with you,” Roth came back concisely. “He most certainly will with her.” He nodded toward Tonĩ.

  Jaċken sat back in his chair, looking impressively calm…although Nỵko would eat his socks if his brother really was. “So let me see if I’ve got this right?” Jaċken said. “You want me to bring my pregnant wife topside to meet with a man whose main goal is to steal her and pair her with one of his sociopathic half-Rău. A man who’s already shown that he doesn’t have a qualm about using abortifacients, seeing as he nearly jacked up Marissa Nichita with one. And the baby Tonĩ carries—my genes—sit about as high up on the evolutionary scale to Parthen as gum on the bottom of his shoe. Is that what you’re saying?”

  Oh, boy. Nỵko dropped his gaze. He really wished he was off fixing a toaster right now instead of here.

  Syrian Popovici, Jaċken’s former blood donor, turned to look at Jaċken from where she sat on his right. “We trust the Special Ops Team to keep Dr. Parthen safe during the meeting, Jaċken.”

  Jaċken aimed a cold stare at Syrian. “That from someone who’s never faced down Parthen’s power, thank you.” He addressed the entire Council again as he added, “We don’t know Parthen’s full potential, yet, but you can be damned sure that he’ll blast my men with everything he’s got in order to get Tonĩ. So, I’d be sending my men into what could easily be a suicide mission, only to end up losing Tonĩ and our chance at this Pändra woman, too. Combating Parthen head-on isn’t the way to do this.”

  Ælsi Korzha, gray-blonde owner and operator of Aunt Ælsi’s coffee shop, pinched her lips together. “Then come up with another plan, Jaċken. The only thing I hear you doing is shooting down our idea, but not recommending one of your own. Thomal will be dead soon.”

  “All right, please,” Tonĩ finally inserted. “Nobody is in any doubt about how grave this situation is. But this isn’t a Council decision. Jaċken is my bonded mate and it’s his right to protect me as he sees fit.” She looked at Roth. “I’m actually shocked you’re not respecting that. Would you allow the Council to make decisions about your wife?”

  Roth’s expression chilled. “My wife isn’t one of the leaders of this community. You don’t have the luxury of being only a mate in this, Tonĩ.”

  “Any decision that affects my marriage,” Tonĩ returned, “is a mate issue, and will be made exclusively by Jaċken and me.”

  Nỵko shifted his feet. That sounded pretty danged final.

  Some of the rigidity eased from Jaċken’s mouth, and he captured Tonĩ’s gaze across the U.

  Tonĩ stood. “We’ll let the Council know our decision shortly.” She exited.

  Jaċken followed, then the team.

  In the hall, Tonĩ turned to face Jaċken. “Roth does have a point about my position, Jaċken. We have to fix this.” She rubbed her eyebrows. “Look, contact my father, anyway, and say that you want to meet with him. He might agree out of curiosity. I don’t have any idea how to get Pändra out of him. We’ll have to be creative.”

  Jaċken nodded. “The last few days, I’ve been brewing some—”

  “Hey!” Ãlex hurried down the hallway toward them, dressed, as usual, in khaki pants and a button-down shirt; most days Nỵko thought of the professor from Gilligan’s Island whenever he saw Ãlex. He also wore gold-rimmed glasses, and—because he was Royal Fey like his sister—had a bit of red streaking his hair. “Sorry I’m late,” Ãlex went on. “But I had a vision, and wanted to gather more information on the Internet before I brought it to the Council.”

  “The Council has somewhat adjourned,” Tonĩ said drolly. “What have you got?”

  Ãlex held out a piece of paper. “This is the air manifest for Delta Airlines. A flight arranged by Raymond Parthen is arriving in San Diego tomorrow evening with two very interesting women on it.”

  Jaċken’s brows edged together. “Interesting how?”

  “According to my vision, they’re Royal Dragons.” Ãlex glanced at Nỵko, probably figuring Nỵko, as a man of half-Rău bloodlines who could only ever hope to have a future with a Royal woman, would be the most invested in that information.

  And, definitely, Nỵko’s heart had lurched into a couple of strange beats.

  Ãlex pushed his glasses higher on his nose. “I know it’s probably pushing things to save them with everything that’s going on with Thomal, but—”

  “No,” Jaċken cut in. “Actually, this is perfect. We’ll try to grab one or more Topside Om Rău dickheads while we’re saving the women on this mission, give ourselves some bargaining power.” He looked at Dev. “Get your team ready to deploy.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Topside: Lindberg Field, San Diego Airport, the next evening

  “Oh. My. God,” Faith whispered, hearing an echo of the exact same three words from her twin, standing next to her near the baggage claim area.

  They’d both just caught sight of the man holding up a sign with Teague Sisters hand written on it, and clearly they were in agreement that he was the most breathtakingly handsome man ever created for visual consumption.

  The sign-holder saw them gawking and walked forward…with a smile.

  The flash of his pearly whites turned the man into pure Adonis…and Faith’s belly into warm honey. She glanced at her sister. Dream?

  No.

  Okay. Faith looked back at the man. He had a Bluetooth stuck in his ear and was dressed in the kind of dark, conservative suit worthy of a businessman. But no one observing this fellow could ever mistake him for a mere bean-counter. Faith had been around the well-honed physiques of male dancers for long enough to recognize the musculature and bearing of a very active man, probably an athlete.

  He stopped in front of them. “Faith and Kacie Teague?”

  They executed a perfectly choreographed double-nod.

  His smile broadened.

  Faith tilted, bumping shoulders with her sister. She didn’t date much. Her fast-paced career—at least, pre-knee injury—hadn’t left her with time for more than the occasional tryst with a dance partner. This man was making the area between her thighs feel that lack acutely.

  “I’m Arc Costache,” he introduced himself. “Raymond Parthen’s assistant.” He reached out and shook each of their hands. “I hope the change in your flight didn’t cause you any problems?”

  “Not at all,” Kacie said, sounding as breathless as Faith felt. “It was only an hour difference.”

  The man glanced back and forth between the two of them, marveling. “You two really look the same, don’t you? So, who’s who?”

  “I’m Kacie,” Kacie answered. “This is my older sister, Faith.”

  Faith patted her bun to check for disobedient hair pins.

  “Older?” Adonis asked.

  “By four-and-a-half minutes.” Kacie tinkled a laugh.

  Faith eyed her sister sideways. What kind of laugh was that?

  “But despite our age difference,” Kacie went on, her chin tilted at a coquettish angle, “most people can only tell us apart onstage. Faith here dances like a swan, whereas I tend to resemble something close to an ostrich in a tutu.”

  “I bet that’s not true.” Adonis chuckled. “Besides, I can tell you two apart, no problem.”

  Kacie tinkled again. “Maybe now. We’re dressed differently and my hair’s in a ponytail. But trust me, if we wanted to fool you, we could.”

  Faith silently agreed. The Teague girls had been tricking people ever since they’d left the womb.

  But Adonis merely tossed them one of his charm-loaded smiles, this one seeming to say not me.

  With a plonk and a whir, the carousel belt started moving. A suitcase pushed through the flaps and one of the other passengers grabbed it.

  “After we get your bags,” Adonis said. “We’ll go someplace to talk. There are a few things about Raymond Parthen I need to clarify with you.”

 
Faith frowned. “About the ballet company?”

  Adonis watched as more bags were belched through the flaps. “Not at all.”

  Faith nodded. Okay. Good.

  More bags came through and were claimed until they were the last people waiting there.

  Kacie crossed her arms. “Shoot, I hope they didn’t lose our luggage.”

  “No.” Faith pointed. “There’s yours.”

  “I’ll get it.” Adonis stepped forward and reached for—

  A large hand shot through the baggage flaps and grabbed Adonis’s wrist, yanking him downward.

  Adonis hit the conveyor belt chin-first and let out a bark of pain.

  Faith jumped.

  A man rocketed through the flaps and landed on top of Adonis. He was dressed in a TSA airport security T-shirt. Although she’d bet her good knee he was a fake—his bare skull was tattooed with an array of ominous-looking black flames, and that just didn’t look…official.

  Faith clutched Kacie to her as the two men turned into a whirling knot of wrestling and cursing, fists swinging, hands tearing at clothing, boots gouging licorice strips of rubber off the belt. Sweat and spit streaked the air.

  Faith scurried sideways with her sister. My goodness!

  Kacie’s eyes rounded. What’s happening? Faith heard her sister’s voice in her head…not in any way that was overtly telepathic. She just knew exactly what her twin was thinking.

  I don’t know. We need to get help. Faith whirled around, one hand still on Kacie, and—bounced off a man’s concrete chest. Gasping, she staggered back. Then her jaw dropped.

  The muscular man standing in front of her had black hair, a black goatee, and bright wolf’s eyes, like the hulking predatory Wolverine. He was wearing a headset and was also dressed in a TSA T-shirt, although just as unbelievably as Bald Guy. She darted a glance over Wolverine’s shoulder. The closest people were at the farthest baggage claim area.

  “Not a word,” Wolverine warned her.

  The expression in his silver gaze sent Faith’s belly into a deep dive for her knees.

  “You two are in danger,” Wolverine added.

  The conveyer belt chugged the two snarling combatants past them. Adonis had his hands manacled around Bald Guy’s neck and was squeezing. Hard. So hard that a dozen wormy veins pushed up along Adonis’s forearms and his arms began to shake.

  Bald Guy’s face went blue, then violet. He wrenched at Adonis’s hold, but Adonis’s eyes were ablaze with some kind of violent insanity, and his grip never wavered. A grinding metallic sound spilled out of Bald Guy, like the noise a car engine makes when it’s already running and the driver turns the key again. And then…there was…another noise.

  Crunching spinal bones?

  “Faith,” Kacie squeaked.

  Faith hugged her sister closer, gaping in speechless horror as Adonis dumped Bald Guy to the floor and staggered off the belt. She’d never seen a dead person before, and Bald Guy had clearly given up the ghost. His neck looked like a pillar of wet clay an enraged sculptor had clutched between his fists, deforming it into uneven ridges.

  Adonis moved over to them, breathing heavily. One sleeve of his blazer was torn and dangling. “Crap, that dirtbag was strong.”

  “Yes,” Wolverine said shortly. “We don’t want to still be in the airport when he wakes up.”

  Faith blinked. Wakes up?

  “I’ll carry him on our way out the back.” Wolverine smirked. “Mürk is just going to love that we’ve captured him to use as leverage again. You see to the women.”

  See to…? Us? Faith glanced over Wolverine’s shoulder again. There had to be real airport security somewhere.

  Wolverine pivoted to address Faith again. “I need you two to listen to me, quickly. My name’s Dev Nichita. I’m head of a special military unit that’s been tasked to save you. We need to—”

  “Save us from what?” This was beyond ridiculous. “We’re a couple of ballet dancers.”

  “The simplest version I can give you right now is that you and your sister have been duped by Raymond Parthen. He’s not the head of a dance company, but the leader of a faction of individuals who want you and your sister for a very special gene you carry. My people found out you were being flown into San Diego to be kidnapped, so we changed your flight to protect you. But Parthen’s men have shown up and are trying to grab you back. Your situation is extremely perilous, Miss Teague. I need you and your sister to come with—”

  “Wait a moment,” Faith interrupted, her throat jerking around her words. “I’m sorry, but…” He’s not the head of a ballet company. “Are you sure? The website for Mr. Parthen’s company was impressive and his credentials, impeccable.”

  “That was faked.”

  Kacie blew out a sigh. “I thought that email sounded too good to be true.”

  Faith pressed a hand over her mouth. You’ve been duped by Raymond Parthen. Breathing became an effort.

  “Miss Teague,” Wolverine tried again.

  Faith shook her head. “This still doesn’t make sense. My sister and I don’t have any kind of special gene.” She stepped back on a surge of impatience. She needed to get away from this man and make some phone calls, figure out if this was really true. “We’re normal, everyday identical twins.”

  Wolverine grabbed Adonis by the shoulder and spun him around. “You two have brown birthmarks which indicate the existence of this gene: they’re pieces of a dragon, actually. Most probably you have a strip of wing here.” Wolverine arced his finger high up on Adonis’s right shoulder. “Or a blotchy spot here for the nose.” Now he pointed low on the left scapula. “Or here”—the lower back to the left of the spine—“for the foot. Correct?”

  The conveyor belt shissshed to a stop.

  Kacie’s lips parted. “We have all three of those marks.”

  Another cause for lament by their theatre makeup artists over the years.

  Adonis craned his neck around to look at Wolverine, eyebrows high.

  “Royals,” Wolverine said cryptically. “They’ve got a shitload of the Dragon in them.”

  Faith placed her hands on her hips. “How could you have known about our—?”

  “You are the women I’m claiming you to be,” Wolverine insisted, turning tetchy. “So unless you want Raymond Parthen to get his hands on you and subsequently pair you with a man like that.” He cut a gesture at Bald Guy. “Then you’ll come with me and my men. Right now.”

  Faith met her sister’s eyes. This man is certifiable. Nothing he says makes sense.

  I’m not going anywhere with total strangers. Kacie took a step back next to Faith. Let’s keep moving.

  Wolverine pressed an index finger to the earpiece of his headset. His predator eyes turned to flint as he aimed a look at Adonis. “Gábor just spotted one of the enemy outside.”

  Adonis’s attention sharpened. “Who?”

  “Her,” Wolverine growled low.

  Adonis went rigid and the violent insanity returned to his expression. “Let’s go,” he snapped. “We don’t need Mürk if we’ve got that bitch.”

  “We have to take care of them first,” Wolverine countered.

  Take care of…? Faith exchanged an alarmed look with her sister. The two of them had managed to sneak away from the men by a couple of feet, but the exit from baggage claim was still several yards away. We need to run.

  “We don’t have time for this,” Adonis argued.

  “No, we don’t,” Wolverine agreed. “Let’s deploy Plan B. You carrying?”

  “Fucking A.”

  “Kacie—!” run! The second word never made it past Faith’s lips.

  Wolverine was suddenly beside her, his hand clamped around her arm. She opened her mouth again to scream, but her voice box seized up and her vision blurred.

  Wolverine had just jammed a syringe into her arm. “We’ve been authorized to use whatever means necessary to rescue you,” he said, then scooped her into his arms.

  Terror filled Faith’
s nose with acid.

  “You’ll thank me for this someday, I promise.” Wolverine laid her gently on the motionless conveyor belt, then climbed up behind her. Grabbing her under the armpits, he ducked back through the flaps and zoomed her through with him to the other side. He set her on a transport carriage. Next, came a couple of suitcases, then Kacie.

  Her sister’s eyes were glazing over, but Faith could still see the panic in them. They’re going to kill us.

  Faith’s tight throat muscles locked out all possibility of sound. She couldn’t move at all.

  Wolverine leaned over her. “We don’t want to hurt you.” His features were rendered cartoonish by whatever drug had been injected into her, his nose slipping sideways off his face. “We injected you and your sister with something called ketamine, so you’ll be unconscious in a second. When you come to, you’ll be safe.”

  Pretty rainbows soared across Faith’s field of vision and sparkly fireflies flitted. She felt the transport lurch into motion beneath her spine. The hairs on the back of her neck rose straight out from her flesh like icicles. Her vision tunneled into a tiny pinprick.

  End of act. Curtain down. House lights fade to black.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pändra leaned back against her Porsche and crossed her feet at the ankles, lightly slapping the instep of one strapless high-heeled shoe against the sole of her foot. She should’ve worn boots. Her toes were going numb from the cold weather.

  Just another inconvenience to add to this blighter of a night.

  Going out into the field with her brothers was supposed to have been a lark, giving her a chance for more shit-stirring. But Mürk had turned out to be too much of a bossyboots for her tastes, and finally, fed to the teeth with him ordering her about, she’d bunked off and come here to wait. After those sisters were grabbed, Pändra would drive home Tëer and Däce, while Hütch would go with Mürk and the women.

  It seemed to be taking the lads bloody forever.

  She shivered as she leaned in through the driver’s side window and fished an emery board out of her purse. Ten more minutes and then she’d wait inside her car, even though she hated the limited visuals it gave her, and would set the Porsche’s heaters to blasting.