Lovely in theory. Big problem with its proposed execution.
Wick didn’t trust the Archguard whelp any farther than he could throw him. No male in his right mind would. Especially considering Nian’s pedigree and history. Any number of possibilities might play out. The bastard could be in league with Rodin. He might be setting the leader of the Archguard up to take the fall for whatever scheme he had in the works. Could be lying through his teeth in order to lead the Metallics into a trap too. Any combination of which would see his brothers-in-arms murdered in cold blood.
All losing propositions.
“Sloan,” Wick said to his buddy standing sentry outside.
“Here.”
“Find a computer.”
Scales clicked as Sloan shifted on a nearby rooftop. “What do you need?”
“Warn the Metallics. Rodin’s got a price on their heads.” One ear on his commander’s conversation with Nian, Wick met his XO’s gaze. Rikar nodded, and he continued. “Tell ’em to get out of Prague. Under the radar. Most ricky-tick.”
“Roger that.”
The thump of boots on stairs came through mind-speak.
The sound lit Wick up, making his muscles tighten and tension creep across his shoulders. He wanted to yell “hurry!” at his buddy. Wick stayed silent instead. Sloan would do his level best. But computers weren’t as reliable as mind-speak. The message might not get through or be picked up in time. The entire Nightfury pack had just been forced into a holding pattern. Nothing left to do now but pray Gage and Haider made it out in one piece.
Chair springs squeaked as Nian shifted in his seat, bringing him closer to the computer screen. Forearms stacked on the desktop, he leaned in, picking up details, assessing the situation as he stared at Bastian. Holy Christ and a baseball bat. He’d expected fierce from the Nightfury commander. What he saw topped it. The male was more than warrior strong. Kick-ass with a healthy dose of dangerous, his vibe screamed “don’t mess with me,” and with Bastian’s green gaze pointed in his direction, Nian believed it. Every rumor. Every story. Every word whispered in dark corners about the male and his tactics.
Lucky for him he sat half a world away. Safe enough. Out of range with an entire ocean between them. At least, Nian hoped so. Bastian no doubt possessed a long reach and many allies on both sides of the Atlantic. Males willing to do his bidding without question or at a moment’s notice.
The thought wasn’t a pleasant one.
Good thing he wasn’t faint of heart. Or without power of his own.
Readjusting his position, Nian looked into the screen, out into an open room framed by large windows. Clustered behind Bastian’s chair, the Nightfuries backed their commander. Tall. Strong. Unwavering. Warriors driven to protect, every last one. Nian recognized the breed, but held the line, meeting each male’s gaze before returning his attention to Bastian. So far, so good. All systems were a go. Mission almost accomplished. Leading with the Gage and Haider angle had been a brilliant stroke of genius. The ploy had captured the Nightfury commander’s attention like nothing else could. Any fool could see Bastian cared about his comrades. His concern was palpable, fogging the air around him, coming through from over five thousand miles away. He wanted Gage and Haider safe. He wanted them secure. He wanted the pair home in Seattle.
Perfect in every way.
Ironic too. In his quest to bring Bastian down, Rodin—and his asinine scheme—had provided the one thing Nian needed above all else… an in with the Nightfury pack. Now he sat nose-to-screen with one of the most powerful males of his kind, minutes away from procuring the support he required to cut the leader of the Archguard off at the knees.
But only if he played his cards right.
Bastian wasn’t stupid. Then again, neither was he.
Gaze still narrowed on him, Bastian lifted his boots from the coffee table. Shifting in the leather club chair, he leaned forward, feet planted on the floor, elbows on his knees, fingers laced between the spread of his thighs. The move brought him closer to the camera. Nian swallowed, resisting the urge to lean back… get out of range before things went apocalyptic. A stupid reaction. Bastian couldn’t touch him. Not right now anyway.
“How did you come by the information, Nian?” Bastian asked, his voice soft. The melodic pitch pricked the nape of Nian’s neck, warning him without words. Something about the tone was off. Far too dangerous to ignore. “You in Rodin’s back pocket?”
Nian shook his head. “No, but I’ve worked hard to cultivate his trust. I’m there now. He’s begun to confide in me. Any information I have comes directly from the bastard. You can trust it.”
“Then tell me…” Same tone. Shivers rolled down Nian’s spine as the Nightfury commander nailed him with shimmering green eyes. “What’s the real reason behind the roundup? What’s Rodin’s true intention?”
Christ. Had he said smart earlier? Well, he’d meant brilliant. Bastian was astute in a way that made a male sit up and take notice. “He knows of Lothair’s death. Learned of it from someone in Seattle.”
“Fucking hell.” Standing behind his commander’s chair, a blond, pale-eyed warrior scowled at him. “Ivar. The asshole’s been chatting with Rodin.”
“I assume as much,” Nian said, dragging his focus from the blond warrior back to Bastian. “I can’t prove the connection yet, but I think Rodin is funding the Razorbacks. He’s running underground fight clubs and female slave auctions. Making a ton of money from both enterprises and—”
“How do you know?” A knowing light in his eyes, Bastian tilted his head and stared at him, the glare full of predatory intent. “You been visiting Rodin’s playground?”
Nian opened his mouth to answer.
Bastian cut him off. “Why don’t you tell me about the female?”
“What female?”
“The one you purchased last week at an auction.”
Surprise made him twitch. Recall made his throat go dry. Ah, Christ. Not good. He didn’t want anyone digging up that skeleton. It needed to stay buried, six feet under where it belonged. Otherwise, the truth of that night would get him killed. But even as Nian told himself to keep it under wraps, to remain impassive, calm, well able to deny the accusation, memory spun him in dangerous directions.
Grace von Ziger. The beautiful blond with big brown eyes and gorgeous energy. Not that most males noticed. His talent for illusion had unearthed her deception when she woke in his home. An HE female—rarest of the rare—Grace was a zinmera, so evolved she could disguise her connection to the Meridian. The chameleon-like ability served her well, allowing her to fool members of his kind into believing she was low energy, prompting them to overlook her.
Too bad that didn’t apply to him.
From the moment he’d laid eyes on her, he’d been unable to look away. Or allow another male to own her. Touch her. Possess and treat her like a sexual prize.
Lifting his hand from the leather blotter, he sat back and, reaching beneath the desk edge, fingered the driver’s license he’d wedged under the wooden lip. Lapier thought he’d thrown it away, erasing all trace of her, but he’d been unable to do it. He liked the laminated paper within easy reach. Often flipped it open to look at her picture. To imagine her safe in America, starting a new life with the seed money he’d provided. But as his fingertips ghosted over the crisp fold and he held Bastian’s gaze, Nian knew he should throw it away… burn it along with the file folder in his floor safe, the one that held all her personal information.