Edge of Danger

At his sides, Royce’s big fists clenched tighter, the veins sticking out in sharp relief beneath the golden sheen of his skin. “What are you talking about?”

“I was able to cut her tonight,” he explained, rolling his shoulder, “which means she wasn’t wearing it.”

“Then she must have hidden it,” Royce murmured, raking one hand back through the thick, chocolate strands of his hair. Despite the fact that their human hosts—American brothers who had owned a tourist fishing boat in Rio—were almost identical in appearance, Friesen’s hair was not only shorter, but several shades darker.

“If she did,” Gregory drawled, “then she’s an idiot for not keeping hold of the only thing that can protect her.” Calder had told them that they would be unable to kill her so long as she wore one of the ancient Markers, the power of the crosses protecting her from their fangs and claws.

“Either that, or she’s very clever. Somehow she must have figured out that we’re after the Markers, as well. I told you before, you’re underestimating her.”

“Am I?” Gregory asked with a laugh as he scraped a palm over his rough jaw. “She ran tonight, just like a pathetic woman.”

Royce sent him an impatient look. “And since you said yourself she was running away from the Watchman, I think we can safely assume that had nothing to do with you at that point.”

“You’re giving her too much credit,” he muttered, shaking his head. “I keep telling you that she’s nothing more than food.”

“It doesn’t matter what you think of her, Gregory, because she’s my food. As soon as you know where your Merrick is, do as you like—but until then, stay away from mine.”

Gregory held up his hands in a sign of surrender. “Come on, man. There’s no need to be so suspicious. I was going to bring her to you,” he murmured, enjoying the potent force of Friesen’s frustration as it blasted against him like a hot wind.

Royce jerked his chin and snorted. “Do you honestly expect me to believe that?”

“Still don’t trust me?” he asked lightly, wearing a ghost of a smile.

A bitter laugh fell from Royce’s lips. “Try ‘will never trust you.’”

“And yet,” Gregory said softly, his gaze hard and steady, “you need me.”

“I need that Marker…and then I need the woman. You, I have no use for.”

“Hmm, well, I suppose I would be lying if I didn’t say that the feeling is mutual,” he offered with a low, throaty chuckle. “And, like you said, I have my own waiting for me, so you can have her flesh.” It was a lie, but as much as he enjoyed taunting his comrade, he knew better than to push too far. Not yet, when they now had a Watchman to contend with.

And Gregory knew how touchy Royce was about the little Merrick bitch’s life.

According to legend, each time a Casus shade escaped from Meridian, one Merrick would awaken, in keeping with nature’s need for balance. In an effort to promote order among the newly escaped Casus, it’d been decided that since only a fully awakened Merrick could provide their kind with the “ultimate” feeding, each escaped Casus would be allowed exclusive rights to the Merrick their return to this realm had caused to awaken. It was an important rule, as only a Merrick could provide the power charge needed for the Casus to “pull” another one of his kind back from Meridian, bringing them across the divide. Seeing as how the desire to build their numbers so that they might rule as they once did was the driving force that motivated so many of his kinsmen, the awakened Merrick were going to become a hot commodity.

Gregory, however, couldn’t have cared less about his species’ power base.

The only power that concerned him was his own, and for that reason alone, he planned to eventually find his Merrick and kill it. But first, he’d deal with the Buchanans.

“Until you can focus,” Royce drawled, “you know damn well that you’re never going to find your own Merrick.”

“Oh, I’ll find mine,” he murmured, scratching lazily at his blood-spattered chest. He knew the full extent of Royce’s anger from the simple fact that the uptight bastard had failed to notice he was covered in blood. “But for now, our problem is Saige Buchanan. You can’t blame me for tonight. If you had been there, you wouldn’t have been able to resist any more than I did.”

“I’ve resisted so far, haven’t I?” Royce said over his shoulder as he headed toward the cabin. Though the moonlight somewhat softened its defects, it still seemed a marvel that the structure remained standing, its sad-looking roof sloping on the right side, as if it would eventually just slide its way into the dark, murky waters of the river.

“At least I didn’t come home empty-handed,” Gregory commented with casual indifference, following after him.

“Do I even want to know?” Royce asked with a hard sigh as he opened the front door.

Stepping inside the ramshackle structure, Gregory headed toward the lone sink and began running water in its stained basin. His reflection stared back at him in the dingy panes of the window before him, providing a hazy view of the moon and the wine-dark water that snaked its way through the jungle like a serpent. “I paid a visit to her little helper on my way back here.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched as Royce’s hands fisted angrily at his sides for the second time that night, but knew the bastard didn’t have the guts to take a swing at him. Not when Gregory was vibing with the hard, thick power of his recent kills. “You bloody idiot,” Royce growled through his clenched teeth, his rage echoing through the room like a physical force, nearly shaking the shadows from the cobwebbed corners. “Why in the hell would you do that?”

“I wanted to know more about the Marker,” he calmly explained, splashing water onto his face and chest. After losing Saige, he’d wanted to hit her where it hurt. And he had.

“And?” Royce growled, taking a step closer.

“The boy claimed to know nothing about where she’s keeping the cross, but he did say that he thinks they’re keeping some kind of papers for her at the bar.” Turning, he caught Royce’s pale, interested gaze. “If Calder’s right about her having the maps, that could be them.”

They had been told there was a good chance that Saige Buchanan had found a set of maps that led to the location of the Dark Markers. The maps, according to Calder, were a closely guarded secret that not even the Watchmen knew about, and an invaluable resource to the ones who possessed them. Which meant that he wanted them—badly.

“You were thorough?” Royce asked, his voice deceptively soft.

Gregory lifted his brows. “Trust me,” he purred. “The boy told me everything he knows.”

“It doesn’t matter.” Royce sighed. “If the maps were there, she probably got them tonight.”

Grabbing a towel from the counter, Gregory wiped at his damp face, then hooked the cloth behind his neck. “She didn’t. He said she got scared away before she could get them.”

Royce slid him a thick look of frustration. “And did it ever occur to you that he could have been lying?”

Gregory rolled his eyes. “I had my claws dug into his groin, Royce. The kid would have told me where I could find his mother if that’s what I’d wanted.”

Pushing one hand back through his short hair, Royce stared through the open front door, obviously thinking over his options. It was a waste of time, but Gregory let him have his illusion of command. When the moment was right, he’d show the bastard exactly who was the dominant Casus.

“She’ll have to go back for them,” Royce finally rumbled. “When she does, we have no choice but to go ahead and take her—but it won’t be easy.”

Gregory shook his head, understanding why Calder put so much trust in Royce Friesen. Calder obviously knew a follower when he saw one. The first Casus since the start of their captivity to succeed in organizing his kinsmen into a cohesive force, bringing rule to the anarchy, Calder was the one who’d finally offered them hope…a chance of escape. Like an angel surrounded by devils, he’d promised to deliver them into salvation—and yet, Gregory didn’t trust him.

And he had good reason to be wary, seeing as how Calder had been less than honest with his brother. Not only had Malcolm been denied certain information, but he’d been led to believe that it would take some time before Calder and his followers would be strong enough to send more Casus across. And yet, no sooner had they learned that Malcolm had safely made the transition, than they sent through two more. Two Casus who would hunt down their own Merrick, and then go after the Marker that Malcolm had hoped to secure for himself. Not to please Calder, but because his brother had planned to use the cross to barter for Gregory’s release, in the event he wasn’t able to “pull” him across himself. Malcolm hadn’t expected to have competition for the crosses so soon, and Gregory knew he must have been furious when he discovered that Calder had sent through others right after him.

Still, it was a long, strenuous process—one that was already taking its toll on Calder and his followers, which was why it was so important for the released Casus to contribute to the effort and “pull” back as many as they could using their own power. To date, there had been three Merrick kills: one in Canada, one in Germany and the last made in Australia. In all three cases, the Casus had been able to bring another across after feeding off the Merrick, and now they, too, would join the search for the Markers, doing everything they could to get their hands on the ancient crosses that Calder was so desperate to possess. They would also continue to hunt, seeking out any Merrick who managed to send a Casus back to Meridian. Without the power of a Dark Marker, the Merrick were unable to destroy the Casus’s soul in the way that Ian Buchanan had done to Malcolm, but they could still kill the host body, in which case the Casus shade was instantly sucked back into the holding ground, where it would wait to be released again.

As their numbers grew, Gregory knew that Calder’s hope of keeping peace among the escaped Casus wouldn’t work. As much as his kinsmen wanted their species to return to power, they would simply tear each other apart in a bloodthirsty battle for the ancient crosses, seeing as how Calder had promised to significantly reward those who found a Marker and delivered it safely into Ross Westmore’s possession. Westmore was another mystery in Calder’s scheme—one they knew next to nothing about. All he and Royce had been told before coming across was that the mysterious Westmore—whose species was unknown—would be their contact man once they made it into this realm, and was to be entrusted with any Markers that they obtained. Though they’d had brief contact with a few of Westmore’s men, they’d yet to meet the man himself, and Gregory couldn’t deny that his curiosity had been piqued. After all, Westmore was not only helping to orchestrate their return to power, but had also managed to infiltrate one of the most secretive organizations in history, using their money to fund the Casus hunts.

As far as Gregory was concerned, the guy was either a genius…or completely insane.

Leaning against the counter, he crossed his arms over his chest, wondering if this mysterious Westmore would agree with Royce’s prediction that catching Saige wouldn’t be easy. “You know, I was always told that you held too much respect for the Merrick.”

Friesen snorted. “I don’t respect them, but I know better than to underestimate them.”

“You shouldn’t waste your time. It’s obvious that they’re no match for us.”

Lifting his right hand, Royce rubbed at the back of his neck. “It’s thinking like that, Gregory, that makes you a liability. Among other things,” he muttered. Turning away from the doorway, he paced toward the threadbare sofa slumped against one wall, then back again, past the single archway that led to the bedroom, where a stained mattress lay on the floor.

“You actually think we’ll have trouble taking her?” Gregory asked, snuffling a dry laugh under his breath. “A woman? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“She’s not exactly alone anymore, is she? Raptors are some of the most bloodthirsty breeds there’s ever been.”