It was also strong enough to find her immediately on her rear end on a cold stone floor.
"Oh, hell, sorry! Are you all right? You just startled me ..."
Gritting her teeth against the feel of her smarting backside, Rowan looked up to find herself surrounded by four men and one sympathetic-looking woman. Even from this low vantage point, Rowan could tell that either the woman was tiny or the men were huge. Or possibly both, which didn't sit well considering her brother was nowhere in sight. From the little she'd heard, it sounded as though Bastian might have gone running off to do something stupid. That was bad enough without leaving her with a bunch of pushy, overbearing werewolves. She had heard of these Wolf shifters, though she knew little of them.
As of right now, she knew all she wanted to.
"Nice one, Gabe," said one of them, shaggily handsome and with a serious countenance, an effect that was enhanced by the long and deadly scar across one eye. He was shaking his head at someone behind her while two older men—one stocky and imposing, the other slim and clever-looking—eyed her as though she were some new and potentially dangerous species of animal. Rowan narrowed her eyes at them. Truly, they had no idea.
Those familiar arms tried to scoop her up into them again. "Here, let me help you."
Rowan yelped angrily, swatting at the hands, then struggling out of them as quickly as she'd found herself in them. That earned her rear end another sharp jolt, but this time it was, in her opinion, worth it. She was not accustomed to being manhandled. Ogled, yes, but not manhandled. And if she'd had her wits fully about her, Rowan swore she would have managed to singe her erstwhile protector's overzealous fingers. As it was, all she could do was scoot away from him and try to gain her footing before she found herself tossed over someone's shoulder in the name of assistance.
"Just ... could you just ... hey, look buddy, hands off, okay?" She finally shouted this last at him, pleased when it shocked him just enough to immobilize him. Quickly, Rowan got her feet under her. Though her legs were shaky, they held her well enough, despite the fact that she was still wearing those ridiculous, toe-numbing shoes.
Which meant she was also still wearing the equally ridiculous corset-and-hot-pants stripper ensemble, Rowan realized with an unpleasant jolt. What a wonderful way to begin to command some respect from whoever these people were. Well, just let them say anything about it, she decided, settling her hands on her hips with a deliberately arrogant toss of her head. She might not stoop to biting, but her mouth was well proven as a weapon vicious enough in its own right, fangs aside.
"Now," she began, "would someone like to explain just exactly what is going on here?" She swept her eyes over the lot of them before turning her attention to the one who'd been so vocal about his objection to her presence. Since he'd been holding her, she could only assume he was the one in charge. After all, her brother would have made sure she was left in the most capable hands. Not, she thought irritably, that she needed to be left in anyone's hands, but the two of them would take that up the next time she saw him. He'd just better hope that there was nothing flammable anywhere near him when that happened.
The gift of Fire was not one she had always cherished, but it did have its uses.
The silence that greeted her question had her temper at full boil before she even looked at him. Then she got her first eyeful of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Irritating, and temper mixed with an unexpected punch of a different kind of heat that left her momentarily speechless.
Speechless, but steaming.
He was as obnoxiously tall as she'd feared, Rowan noticed just before her brain function fried completely. She had never been considered short, but this mar absolutely towered over her. Wonderful... he's probably just as high-handed as Bastion if he's used to hulking over everyone to get his way, and... oh. OH. Uh-oh ...
It was the eyes that did it. Large and expressive framed by thick, dark lashes, those eyes watched hei with the silent intensity of the most powerful creatures oi the forest. Their color, a luminous golden green, had the hue of the sunlight as it filtered down through the endless canopy of trees that she had once lived beneath. Hunter's eyes, she thought dazedly, tearing her own away from that unblinking gaze to see if the rest of this so-called werewolf could possibly measure up to that kind of singular beauty.
Unfortunately, the rest, if at all possible, was even better.
He was bold-featured and dark, with a mouth that looked custom-made for all sorts of delicious mischief, and a physical presence that, coupled with his height, made it seem as though he occupied twice the space he actually did. His stance was deceptively casual, but she could sense the power coiled just beneath the surface, ready to strike if she did. What would it be like to spar with such a creature? she wondered. Would he toy with her before moving in for the kill, leaving her breathless with the need for him to pounce?
Would she let him?
Rowan hissed out a frustrated breath, commanding herself to concentrate on the matter at hand. She may have been raised among women, but she was certainly no stranger to men. Attraction, even so unexpectedly intense, was nothing to her but an unwanted distraction. She could deal with it, just brush it off and move forward. And by all that was sacred, she would keep it to herself. Blind, unrequited lust had destroyed everything she'd had. She shuddered to think how much more damage might be done should she ever reciprocate, for however brief a time.
You will love me, Lucien whispered in her memory, and her skin went cold. Once, she had been blissfully ignorant of the destructive power of the beauty of her kind.
Never again. If she were ever so lucky as to assume her place as Dyana, she would leave the wild affairs and intrigues, the inevitably brief attachments, and by default, she thought with a pang of regret, the children, to whoever of her sisters remained. She would drink from men because she had no choice. But her body, and her heart, would forever remain her own.
She lifted her gaze back to meet his, intending to show nothing but disdain and defiance. Her reaction to him was troubling, yes, but thankfully that had no bearing on his to her. And she would make sure he saw nothing but cold, proud, utterly indifferent beauty. He would feel nothing, she told herself. And her feeling would then fade quickly away.
Except the heat that blazed back at her when her eyes locked with his told another story entirely, kindling an answering slow burn at her very core.
Damn you, Bastion, Rowan thought. Of all the places on Earth ... why here?
Gabriel watched in helpless fascination as one emotion after another crossed the most stunningly beautiful face he'd ever had the fortune to see.
Whether that fortune was good or the worst in all of MacInnes history remained to be decided, but in the meantime he was content to just stand there and be utterly annihilated by beauty.
He'd seen (not to mention bedded) plenty of women in his life. It was a point of pride with him that he was a bit of a connoisseur of the opposite sex, though Gideon had never done much but shake his head and laugh over Gabriel's tales of his many conquests. All had been lovely in their own particular ways, some had been widely considered to be rare beauties. None, however, held so much as a candle to Rowan an Morgaine.
The eyes that reflected everything from amazement to anger, from fear to what looked suspiciously like animal lust (please, God), were tip-tilted and jewel-bright, an exquisite shade of purest emerald green that seemed lit from within. Her face was a perfect oval, her features delicate yet regal, while her skin was the closest thing to alabaster he'd ever seen. And as for her body ... he had barely restrained himself from shouting his thanks to the heavens that female Drakkyn apparently dressed like some Goth teenager's wet dream. A tiny waist, miles of leg, and curves enough to keep his hands busy for several eternities were all showcased perfectly by her revealing ensemble. And all that outrageously red hair was the icing on the cake.
Gabriel felt the memories of all the women he'd ever had in his life vanish in the face of pure female perfection. His heart stumbled along in his chest as he stared, unable to tear his eyes away. His breathing felt constricted, and he was suddenly grateful for the baggy cargo shorts and loose Hawaiian shirt he was wearing. They went a long way toward camouflaging the rest of his body's reaction to her.
It astounded him that he'd just been holding this exquisite creature in his arms and complaining about being saddled with her. Why hadn't he bothered to actually look at her before opening his big, stupid mouth? And now, having gotten off on the wrong foot, this Rowan was doubtless convinced he was a complete and utter ass. Which might not be far from the truth sometimes, he reflected, but it wasn't something he generally cared to display right up front. Leave it to him to put a foot in it but good.
"Well?" she asked, tapping one long, red fingernail against her hip and glaring at him. All traces of that flash of lust, he noted with disappointment, had been replaced by pure, unadulterated pique. It also appeared to be directed entirely at him.
Gabriel opened his mouth to answer, and then realized he had absolutely no clue what she was talking about. He thought quickly, trying to come up with something at least semi-astute to say.
"Um," was what came out. He frowned, and then tried again. "Er."
One red brow arched so high it looked as though it might reach her hairline. "Are you," she asked slowly, "impaired in some way I should know about?"
His frown deepened as he wondered whether such radiant beauty could be hiding a somewhat less stunning temperament and tongue. "No," he heard himself grumble, and was gratified that he had at least managed a one-syllable word that made sense.
Rowan looked unconvinced. "Well. Whatever." She turned away from him to look at the rest of their small party, which Gabriel found insulting, though the feeling was softened somewhat by the view.
"Where is my brother, and where am I? And who are all of you?" She glanced back at him dismissively. "Except for you. You don't have to answer. Wouldn't want to tax you."
Carly, Gabriel saw, bit down so hard on her lip, it was almost certainly going to bleed. She also refused to look back at him while he was glaring at her, and her shoulders shook suspiciously. Gideon looked at the ceiling. Malcolm coughed.