Page 83 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
Money. All things in life ultimately came down to that. He made a sound of acknowledgment.
“And Thirteen?”
“Yes, sir?”
“If you manage to capture only one of them . . . you know which one I want.”
Thirteen smiled, thinking of the anonymous phone call they’d received from someone who’d said he wanted to “serve mankind.” The information he’d given had been vast and invaluable, with details only someone who’d lived in close proximity to the creatures would know—abilities, weaknesses, locations—and one particular detail that caused Thirteen to shudder in disgust.
There was one Ikati who could Shift not only to an animal, or to a puff of air.
One of them could Shift to anything.
“Verstanden, Herr Chairman,” said Thirteen. Understood. He understood everything, and he felt peace descend on him, the kind of peace only clarity can bring.
In less than a week, he’d capture that Queen of theirs, or he’d die trying.
As would they all.
The Queen in question was, at that very moment, flying southwest at breakneck speed over the Atlantic Ocean.
Capture. Exterminate. Those two words had become the resident demon inside her skull.
She’d meant to stay longer, to spy on Caesar, gain some insight into a weakness they might exploit to end his life, but then she’d heard about Weymouth, about what he planned to do to the colony, to her husband and children . . .
Her muzzle curled back over long, sharp teeth. Fury rose inside her, sharp as knives. At long last, she’d identified the snake in the grass.
If he lays a finger on any of them, I will hunt that bastard to the ends of the Earth.
Skimming the underbellies of the clouds, her will held her aloft when her wings faltered. She was exhausted from her flight from England to Morocco, and hadn’t rested nearly long enough. With at least a two-day flight into the heart of the rainforest ahead of her, Jenna knew her will would be put to the greatest of tests.
But failure wasn’t a possibility. Not with so many lives at stake.
Sinuous and silent as smoke, the white dragon pumped her wings harder. She pushed upward into the cloud layer, moisture beading her lashes and the ruff along her neck, sliding off pearlescent scales, then punched through it like a bullet through wet cotton, trailing mist behind her barbed tail in long, looping curls. She climbed high, as high in the atmosphere as she could go, where the air was thin and hard to breathe but offered far less resistance, and soared into the heavens, shooting like a star across the sapphire sky.
I will hunt him until the end of time.
As anyone who’s ever been in love knows, time isn’t a fixed thing. Time is flexible. It bends. It stretches. It even stops, curling back on itself like a cresting wave, so that a single moment can be lived over and over with the suspended weightlessness of infinity.
Propped up on one elbow on the bed, floating in that weightless space where lovers often find themselves, Hawk stared down at Jacqueline. Content, awash in a sensation he thought could most closely be described as bliss—was this what heaven felt like?—he drifted on a current outside the place where clocks tick and watch hands turn and sundials tell their tales with growing shadows.
“Are you hungry?” He was whispering, unwilling to break the spell. Stretched out nude beside him, their legs intertwined, Jacqueline reached up and gently stroked his cheek.
“You’ve been hand-feeding me fruit and sweets all night. How could I possibly be hungry?” She was whispering, too, and her soft laugh sent a shiver of happiness through him. He leaned down to nuzzle her neck.
“I had to make sure you kept your strength up,” he said, and they laughed together.
Hours and hours of lovemaking, beautiful as poetry, raw and tender and altogether unforgettable. How had he ever thought emotionless encounters with females he didn’t really know or care for were fulfilling? Those empty couplings seemed now as hollow as seashells at the shore: pretty, lovely trinkets, but ultimately dead.
“Well, it certainly worked.” She kissed him, running her foot up the back
of his calf. “Why do you call yourself Hawk, anyway?” she said against his mouth. “You’re not a bit birdlike, as far as I can tell.”
He smiled, gazing down into her soft eyes. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
She shrugged, coy, and he swatted her bare bottom.
“Don’t you dare start that again!” she squealed, pushing against his chest. It didn’t move him, of course. Nothing could move him from his present spot, attached to her side securely as a barnacle.
