Keeping a piece of her, after all, was foolhardy, not to mention dangerous.
As dangerous as the warrior pack seated in Seattle.
“How long have you been spying on me?” he asked, feeling stupid for not realizing it sooner. Hell, Bastian no doubt had someone watching him right now.
“Long enough to know you bought a first-class ticket out of Prague. Question is… who was on the plane? Not you, so…” Bastian raised a brow. “The flight landed in New York. You want me to do some digging? Check passenger manifests? Track travel plans stateside? I can send a couple of warriors to—”
“Stay away from her,” he growled, rage lighting his fuse.
“She mean that much to you?”
Nian stayed silent, a warning in his eyes. He understood Bastian’s intent… received the message loud and clear. The bastard wanted him to know he wasn’t invulnerable, that anyone could be gotten to with the right amount of leverage. And Bastian—clever tactician that he was—knew how to crank the hell out of it. But if the Nightfury warriors went anywhere near Grace, Nian would show no mercy. He’d use every ounce of power he possessed to level the Nightfury pack. Alliance be damned. She deserved a fresh start, and he hadn’t saved her life—and risked his own in the doing—to turn around and thrust her back into danger.
“All right,” Bastian murmured, watching him closely. “But the offer stands. We don’t hurt females, Nian. If she gets into trouble… needs help… let me know. My pack is closer, able to reach her faster.”
Nian should’ve appreciated the offer. It pissed him off instead. If Grace got into trouble, he’d jump the pond to ensure her safety. No one else would be involved, and the Nightfury commander would be the last to know.
Done with the bullshit, Nian challenged the warrior threatening him. “You done screwing around? Can we get back on point now?”
A slow smile spread across Bastian’s face. The amusement didn’t quite reach his eyes. “As long as we understand each other.”
“No doubt of that,” Nian said, anger mixing with respect. Bold bastard. Whatever else his claim to fame, Bastian knew how to operate, and as much as it chafed Nian to admit it, he admired the warrior for it. “I’m almost positive Rodin and Ivar are in league together. All the income from the fight clubs and slave auctions… and there is a lot of it… isn’t hitting his personal accounts. It’s being funneled elsewhere.”
“You tracking it?” the blond male asked.
Nian nodded. “Trying to, but he’s clever. Good at hiding his illegal holdings along with the money trail. But that’s not the most immediate problem.”
Bastian raised a brow. “How do you figure?”
“Rodin is calling a special meeting of the high counsel. He wants Lothair’s death ruled illegal… treated as murder. Charges will be levied against a member of your pack.”
“Who?”
“Forge.”
Bastian cursed. The Nightfury warriors standing behind him backed the sentiment. As f-bombs dropped, clouding the airwaves, Nian dished the rest. “He will demand you deliver Forge to Prague for trial.”
“And execution,” Bastian said, quick on the uptake. The trial would be nothing more than a ruse. A sham conducted behind closed doors. Oh, Rodin would make it look good. Court favor among Dragonkind by playing make-believe—using sleight of hand and rumor to establish the male’s guilt—when in reality, Forge would never see the inside of the Archguard’s tribunal courtroom. “Why Forge?”
“I don’t know, but…” Nian trailed off, then let his suspicions loose. “Rodin is rattled, scrambling to cover up something… afraid of Forge for some reason. But he has no proof of his involvement in Lothair’s death, of that I am certain.”
Bastian snorted. “He’ll manufacture what he needs.”
“Probably, but here’s the kicker.” Plucking his lighter from its perch beside the laptop, Nian flicked at the top. The snap echoed, sounding loud in the quiet. “When you fail to produce Forge, the entire Nightfury pack will fall under suspicion. Rodin will then have reason to reinstate the old laws and—”
“Jesus,” Bastian growled. “Xzinile.”
“Exile.” The blond snarled, showing a row of straight white teeth. “And a bull’s-eye on our backs for every bounty hunter around.”
“It’s a power play, Rikar.” Twisting in his seat, the Nightfury commander glanced over his shoulder. He met his warrior’s gaze and shook his head. “Hell, the bastard’s after me.”
As Nian nodded, another round of low curses came through the speakers.
Facing forward once more, Bastian pushed to his feet. Both hands curled into fists, he walked closer to the camera and plugged Nian with an intense look. “When’s the vote?”
“Night after tomorrow.”
“Can you stall it?”
“Maybe.” Nian frowned, mind churning over viable options. The best ones lay in the letter of the law. If he put up too many roadblocks, suspicion would fall on him, and Rodin would guess his game. Turning the lighter over in his hand, he brushed his thumb over the crest engraved in the gold. “There are certain criteria Rodin must follow to reinstate Xzinile. If I make him jump through all the hoops, it’ll take more time.”
“Good,” Bastian said with a nod. “Keep me in the loop.”
Nian leaned forward in his chair. “Can I count on you to keep me in yours?”
A bold inquiry with potentially disastrous consequences. A wise male didn’t tweak a powerful dragon’s tail. Nian knew it but didn’t care… couldn’t pass up the opportunity to secure Bastian’s support. He’d waited months for a face-to-face with the Nightfury commander—to acquire what he needed to move forward with his plans for the Archguard. Now that he’d done his part and given Bastian valuable intel along with his trust? Nian wanted something in return. The warrior’s stamp of approval. Something that wouldn’t cost Bastian much up front, but held the potential to yield vast returns for years to come.
Green eyes narrowed on him. “Excuse me?”
“I scratch your back… you scratch mine.” Holding the lethal male’s gaze, Nian pushed his agenda. “I want what you want, Bastian… Rodin’s head on a platter. I can’t achieve that without your backing. Do I have it?”
Silence met his question. Terrible and effective, the quiet spread, filling the void, slithering in like a poisonous snake—silent, venomous, deadly. Cranked tight by uncertainty, tension wrung him dry as pressure banded around his chest. Smothering his reaction, Nian breathed around the knot in his throat and stayed true, refusing to back down. The outcome was too important. Everything hinged on the next few moments. On Bastian’s decision and—
“You have it,” Bastian murmured. “But Nian?”
“Yes?”
“Disappoint me, and you die.”
A promise in his eyes, Bastian warned him with a look, then turned and walked away. Unease picked up his heart, making it slam against his breastbone as Nian watched the Nightfury commander stride toward the door across the room. A second later, the computer screen went black, severing the connection, leaving him in the dark and without the reassurance he craved. Nor the triumphant moment he’d expected.
Christ help him. After months of planning, he’d finally gotten what he wanted, so… Nian frowned. Why wasn’t he celebrating? He should be. Should be relieved, thankful he now had the powerful male’s backing, but…
He wasn’t grateful at all. Not happy either. Instead, he felt wary. Out on the tip of a very thin limb. Uncomfortable in his own skin, ’cause… no doubt about it. He had a bad, bad feeling. One that suggested he’d just allowed a shark into shallow water, inviting him to swim in his private wading pool.