"Rocket activation, no lock," the computer voiced as
Megan sent the Raider speeding into the cover of the trees, twisting the wheel brutally to avoid the thick trunks as she headed down the sharp slope to the road below.
"Those motorcycles are on our ass. Their mini rockets will do some heavy damage." Braden flipped around again.
"Security, disengage window, retain security field."
The wide back window dropped away as Braden began firing.
Megan activated the link to Control that Braden had programmed in days before.
"Lance. Lance, where are you? She yelled out the question as she fought the wheel, bouncing over rocks and more than one deep water weathered gully in her race to reach the flat land below.
"Control, this is Deputy Fields. I need a copter in the air ASAP. I repeat, I need a copter in the air, position Area Six-fifteen, Section A, heading to Twenty-four. Two cycles, enemy fire. Come back, Control," Megan yelled into the link as Braden fired behind them.
"Son of a fucking bitch, Megan." Lance was screaming into the link in less than a second, the fury pounding through his voice bringing a smile to her face. "Copters lifting off in three secs, destination Sixfifteen, A. How many?"
"Two cycles, one Dragoon on the north side of Casper's Pass, approximate pass near twenty-four, R." She called out the road number she suspected the Dragoon would use to intercept them. "Cycles carrying automatic fire on board,, Dragoon packing launchers." -
"Get in range, you jackal-assed bastards." Braden was yelling as he fired, his voice feral, enraged.
"Copter's ETA to intercept three minutes," Lance yelled, the sound of his Raider whining through the link assuring her he was moving fast toward them. "I'm five minutes from your intercept point, copter B
moving in ahead of me. Don't shoot the friendlies, God dammit."
"Not me, cuz," she yelled back, twisting the wheel as the hollow twang of bullets pelting close to the vulnerable outside security port warned her that they weren't playing with dummies. "Get these bastards off my back. They know my weakness here, Lance."
"Moving in, Megan. We're moving in. Copter B is closing in fast,'' John Briggins, the department's best pilot, reported in.
"Right!" Braden screamed out the new direction.
Megan threw the wheel to the right, cursing as the Raider jolted, slamming forward from the blast of the minirocket that exploded too damned close.
"Rocket fire. We have fire. Cycles equipped with shortrange rockets, look out for the dust."
She twisted the wheel, holding down the gas as she and the Raider bounced from the sharp decline to flat terrain.
"Prepare for acceleration." She hit the button, praying for just a little more. Just enough speed to clear them from the short-range rockets.
"Head for pass two-zero-four," Briggins ordered briskly through the link.
"We're seconds away. Hang on."
"Fuckers. Sons of bitches." Braden was cursing furiously as he sprayed gunfire from the back window.
"Those cycles have security shields, Meg. Punch the gas. Punch the gas."
"Gas out;' she yelled back. The accelerator was dead.
"Lay that foot to the fucking floor. We have one closing in, prepare for fire_ Right. Right."
She flipped the wheel, curses raging as she felt the rocket fire. Too close. Too fucking close.
"Hang on_" The rocket cleared the vehicle, striking to the side, the resulting explosion throwing the Raider through the air, flipping it, then throwing it back to earth with a bone-jarring force that had Megan seeing stars.
Impact protocol kicked in, the padded levers that suddenly extended from the seats taking the force of the blow and holding them in their seats. But nothing could compensate for the violence, or the jolt.
The Raider landed on its side, tires spinning as she heard a roar. Furious, animal rage. The sound echoed in her head as time seemed to slow down, moving with a distant, ethereal quality that had her fighting to breathe.
She searched desperately for the release control to the seats, grunting as the inflated belt and padded grips released her and dumped her against the passenger side of the vehicle.
Gunfire still raged as she shook her head, fighting to clear it while feeling for her gun.
There. Her fingers curled around the grip as she began to crawl to the opened back window. Braden was no longer in his seat; the security belts had been torn loose of their moorings. She had to find Braden.
And who the hell was roaring?
She fell from the jeep window, her face slapping the ground as her senses fought to right themselves. One of the motorcycles lay on its side, the rider stretched bonelessly on the ground, his neck turned at an
odd angle, No danger there.
Another roar split the air as the steady whap whap whap of the helicopter came in closer, swirling dust and dirt in the air as she finally found Braden.
Her eyes widened. He was bloody, his shirt tom from his back as he grappled with the other cyclist. Not that there was much fight there. As she watched in amazement, Braden jumped, twisting in midair as one arm came around the other man's neck, the opposite palm cupping the large head. A quick jerk, and the man was dead before Braden landed on his feet.
His head went back, his lips opening as another roar filled the air, his sharp incisors flashing in the sunlight.
She struggled to her feet as Braden's head lowered, his gaze finding her automatically. The golden color gleamed from his tanned face, the feral expression slicing through her consciousness as she stared back at him, watching as he began to stalk slowly toward her.
Dangerous. Primal. He strode to her, sweat, blood and dust gleaming across his naked chest, his hair flowing around him, his muscles bunched, tight.
When he reached her he didn't jerk her to him. His hands went to her
shoulders, lightly, moving over her efficiently as she swayed before him. A second later, obviously reassured that she was in one piece, he then pulled her into his arms, lowered his head to her shoulder and bit her.
Son of a fucking bitch. This biting shit was going to have to stop.
She struggled in his arms, only barely aware of the buzz of loud voices behind her. Lance was yelling over her father, the first argument she had ever heard between them.
There was growling in her ear, the sound rough and too primitive.
"Let me go, you growling, sharp-toothed, SOB." She snarled as he finally raised his head, a drop of blood-her blood-clinging to his lips.
Adrenaline was surging through her body, arousal in the midst of triumph, success and overwhelming excitement.
And he had to pull the alpha claim-his-mate crap. She didn't think so.
Before she was even aware of the thought her arm cocked back, fingers tightening in a fist and slamming toward his face. He jerked back, but not fast enough. Her fist connected with his eye, not as strong as it could have been-after all, she had just flipped a Range Raider, not exactly child's play there. But hard enough that she knew it was going to bruise.
"Neanderthal," she bit out as he stared back at her in surprise. "Keep those vampire teeth off my fucking neck before I have them extracted."
She jerked her shirt over her shoulder. To be fair, he had bit her there, nor her neck. But she wasn't in the mood to be fair. She stared around, her frowning gaze settling on the two dead riders.
Propping her hands on her hips, she ignored the incredulous male expressions around her and snapped out furiously,
"You couldn't even save me one, could you, Purr-boy? Just one. Was that too damned much to ask?"
He breathed in slowly, easily, then nodded.
"Yep, cupcake. In this instance, one would have been way too many. Count yourself lucky I let you drive. I promise, it will be the last time." If his expression was anything to go by, the ride had been as wild for him as it was for her.
Exhilaration glittered in his eyes with the same strength that it throbbed in her veins.
She smiled, a slow, wide curve of her lips, before encompassing the silent men in her gaze.
"Today is a good day." She nodded with a laugh. "Yep. Damned fine. Now, where's that fucking Dragoon"
Chapter Sixteen
She was like that damned bunny Braden had seen in the old vids they used to watch in the Labs. What was it called?
The little pink froufrou thing with the drum? Something to do with a battery? An Energizer Bunny? Kept going and going and going_ She was making him dizzy. Hell, that flip had damned near scrambled his brains, he didn't need a fist upside his head to help him along. And add to that the fact that until she disappeared into one of the bedrooms with the Breed doctor, Elyiana Morrey, she had been bouncing around like a Mexican jumping bean.
Not that he blamed her for hitting him. He still didn't understand that
bite he had given her. The compulsion to do it had been so primitive, so overwhelming he hadn't even thought to ignore it. He had bitten her, then just as quickly began to lick the two small punctures he had made in her shoulder. He had marked her, and some primitive instinct had demanded that he force her to submit to him, in at least some small way.
Not that Megan would ever submit. She was as much an alpha personality as he was himself, which explained the fist she had used against him. She knew what that bite meant, every bit as much as he did. A claiming. An attempt to force some measure of control over her, if nothing else, in the certainty that she was still his. That the hormone that bound them together would continue to fill her system, and make her hunger for him just as much as she hungered for justice and for adventure.
Now midnight was rolling around and all he wanted to do was sleep away the pressure in his head. Right after he got rid of the pressure in his dick.
"Braden, we couldn't find the Dragoon." Jonas stepped out on the porch where Braden was nursing a cold beer and a pounding headache.
He pushed his fingers through his hair wearily as he sat perched on top of the hard rubber doghouse Megan's mutt had occupied when he first arrived at the house. The top of the roof was flat enough to sit on, the side of it slanted enough to brace his feet on. He bet the inside would hold him and Megan both, let alone that wolf-sized mutt she called her
dog.
"Where the hell do you hide a Desert Dragoon?" Braden shook his head. He knew the technology the Breed community now possessed. They could find the proverbial needle in a haystack, but they couldn't find a heavily armed Dragoon in the middle of a fucking desert?
"It could be hidden in any one of hundreds of caves and caverns." Jonas stepped closer, his silver eyes looking damned odd in the dark. What the hell was he, anyway? He smelled like a lion, but Braden was damned if he acted like one.
"I don't like this, Jonas. Those weren't Coyotes, they were Special Forces trained and some of the best I've gone up against. They had the weapons and the vehicles in place for an ambush with no idea when we'd be heading out there. They knew the route we'd take and Megan swears only her family could have known of it. And I can't believe Lance would try to hurt her. In any way."
"Jacobs isn't under suspicion." Jonas affirmed his own thoughts. "I agree with your earlier assessment though. There's something else going on here, but I'll be damned if I can figure it out."
Neither could he. Braden had gone over the information backward and forward and still hadn't found the answer. It would have been easier to
take Megan out in a hundred different ways. Why wait? Why attack at the canyon when it would have been much more efficient to do so on the way there? It was almost as though they were being tested. As though Megan was being tested. But for what?
"She needs to go to sanctuary, Braden." Jonas's voice was quiet, firm.
"She might not survive the next attack."
Braden propped his elbows on his knees and stared into the dark glass of the bottle he held. The heli-jet sat a short distance from the house. while several teams of Felines kept silent watch. He could sense them in the darkness, watching the house and those within it.