“Merrick,” it growled, and the smile spread in an expression of pure, unadulterated evil.
Terror clawed at Saige’s throat, and she could read in its pale blue eyes its anticipation as it lurched toward her at an awkward, loping run. She flinched, knowing she was going to die, the knife held tight in her fist. She was prepared to go down fighting, when a great swooping rush of air brushed against her back.
In the next instant, the night went black.
One second she was standing her ground, facing certain death…then Saige Buchanan was flying.
CHAPTER THREE
DESPITE THE FURIOUS, keening howls of the Casus, Saige could hear the stranger’s graveled voice snarling a visceral string of curses near her ear. She twisted and kicked, struggling to break free…to see what was happening, but he’d thrown something soft and damp over her head, pitching her into an infuriating darkness. She couldn’t even punch or scratch at him, her arms pinned tight in a hard, unbreakable hold, the backpack smashed uncomfortably against her chest.
“Fuck,” he grunted, clutching her tighter, while his body burned like a fever against her back. Another sinister, bellowing scrape of sound came from below, just seconds before something cruelly sharp, like a claw, grazed her left calf. Saige flinched from the searing pain, a soblike noise tearing from her throat as the knife slipped out of her stunned grasp, falling to the ground below.
She hated not being able to see, the terrified landscape of her mind providing one vivid, grossly detailed scenario after another. Was the monster leaping for her again, its gruesome jaws gaping? Reaching out for her with extended claws? And how exactly was she…flying? What in God’s name was happening to her?
She wanted to demand an explanation from the beautiful stranger who had his strong, muscular arms banded about her torso, holding her tight, but couldn’t stop screaming long enough to form the words. For long minutes, he carried her through the sweltering twilight, over the dense jungle that she could scent just beneath them, until her screams finally died, her sickening fear slowly replaced by a mounting fury.
“Put me down!” she seethed, the enraged sound muffled beneath the cloth. “Goddamn it! Put me down or you’re going to be sorry!”
“And let you become its next meal?” he growled, his own anger giving his words a biting, guttural edge. “I don’t think so.”
He was obviously pissed that she’d run from him—and the fact that she’d tried to brain him with that bottle probably hadn’t helped.
Refusing to feel guilty for what she’d done, she continued to rant at him, though it was another five minutes before he finally lowered their elevation, the flapping rush of what sounded strangely like powerful wings becoming softer as they whopped against the forest’s upper canopy. An embarrassing, completely girly squeal of sound jerked out of her when his hold began to ease, though he didn’t completely release her until her feet touched the ground. Her forward momentum made her stumble for a few steps, so that by the time she managed to drop her backpack, peel what looked to be his shirt off her head and get turned around, she caught only a glimpse of massive ink-black wings from the corner of her eye. In the next instant, they disappeared behind him, the movement so smooth, it was as if he’d absorbed them into his body.
Gasping at the stunning sight, Saige stumbled back a step, then another, while he stalked toward her, his powerful muscles coiling and flexing beneath the bronzed sheen of his skin. His mouth was set in a hard, uncompromising line, his dark, angry eyes burning like a midnight stretch of star-studded sky, pulling her in, making it impossible to look away. She was trapped, held in place by the sheer power of his presence, and Saige knew she’d have been terrified by the smoldering force of his fury, if she weren’t so bloody angry herself.
“What are you?” she demanded, holding her ground as he came a step closer. She’d deliberately put the emphasis on what instead of who, his species a heck of a lot more important to her than his name.
Instead of answering, he stopped a few yards away and crossed his strong arms over what was assuredly the most mouthwatering chest Saige had ever seen, either in the flesh or on the silver screen. Solid, powerful slabs of muscle were packed beneath smooth, burnished skin that gleamed like satin, begging for the touch of a woman’s hands. For the soft, sensual press of her lips, inviting her to lose herself in his warm, masculine flavor. She didn’t need any proof to know it would be dangerously tempting. Didn’t need to taste him to tell he would be perfect and spiced and wildly addictive. It was there in that earthy, evocative scent, reinforcing the unsettling fact that she was hungry—starving—for something that she instinctively knew this man, this stranger, could give her. Something that the awakening creature within her wanted…badly.
And I’ve apparently lost my freaking mind, she thought, wondering how she could be caught up in such an urgent, violent clutch of lust when she’d only just escaped death by a wing and a prayer. Literally.
“Do you belong to the Collective?”
The dark slash of his brows lifted. “How many shifters do you know in the Collective Army?”
So he was a smart-ass even when he was pissed off. Great. “Then who the hell are you?”
“Name’s Michael Quinn,” he replied in that deep, husky voice that was the perfect complement to those devastating looks. There was even a bit of twang to the words, hinting at a long-forgotten accent. He took his time looking her up and down, and with a wry drawl rounding out the edges of his speech, he said, “I’d ask if you’re Saige Buchanan, but I think that’s fairly obvious.”
He must have read her intention to turn and run again, because his eyes narrowed as he quietly added, “I caught you once, lady. Don’t think I won’t be able to do it again.”
“Are you kidnapping me, then?”
“I’m just stating a simple fact,” he rasped, his tone saying that he definitely thought she was crazy. “If I tell you not to run, then you had damn well better stay where you are.”
“And just where do you get off telling me what to do?” she objected through her clenched teeth, mustering what was left of her bravado, hoping it didn’t land her in more trouble than she could handle. And considering she’d managed to drop her only weapon, it didn’t look as if she could handle much at the moment. At least not from him. He had a racehorse-lean physique that was nothing but sleek, solid muscles and beautiful lines—the perfect personification of a dangerous predator. No doubt the man was built for power and speed, as well as other things she had no business thinking about, considering she didn’t know him from Adam. And she was alone with him in the jungle.
“One would think you’d be a bit more grateful, considering I saved your life,” he pointed out in one of those cool, utterly male voices of reason that always made her want to stamp her foot in a childish display of temper. Thankfully she squelched the ridiculous impulse and straightened her spine instead, determined to stand her ground. With her shoulders pulled back, Saige lifted her chin and wished for the thousandth time that she’d grown a few more inches at some point in her life. She’d always hated arguing with someone who towered over her, and she suddenly had a vision of herself facing him down while strapped into a pair of four-inch stilettos, then nearly snorted at the absurdity of it. Not exactly jungle-wear, but at least she could have used the heel as a weapon.
Through the thick weight of his lashes, he
