Morgan took the hint…try not to call attention to herself.
The fortress was nothing like the castle she saw on her last visit to the capital, little resembling her beloved Academy. Instead, this monstrosity was a falling-down mess, nothing more than a heap of rubble remaining from a long-ago battle. The building was decrepit, the gray stones stained a gunky black that no amount of scrubbing would remove. What remained of the trees were withered. The grass was no longer a bright green, but a brittle brown that looked scraggly and trampled.
The fortress was not the safe haven she expected.
The leader must have noticed her unimpressed expression, and he scowled, clearly affronted by her lack of awe. “Every night, the mist creeps closer, inching farther and farther up the wall, consuming anything that contained magic in its wake. We’re the last outpost. Once this place falls, there is nothing to stop the cursed fog from advancing on the capital.”
He uttered the words like being appointed to serve at the outpost was a badge of honor, but she couldn’t shake the feeling he and his men had been abandoned to their fate, probably as a punishment for some crime they committed.
“What were you really hunting in the woods?” Because it sure as hell hadn’t been a peacekeeping mission to retrieve her and Ward.
The hint of smile on the elf’s face didn’t change, but his blue eyes darkened with a cold ruthlessness that stole her breath. “We were sent here to stop the fog. Few creatures are able to resist succumbing to the mist, and we collect them when we can and try to figure out a way to duplicate their immunity.”
He acted so noble, but her mind flashed to the little bird and the cruel net—evidence that they clearly didn’t care if the creatures were hurt.
Study, my ass.
She doubted the other participants were any more willing than her bird, based on how the elf’s smooth voice made his prey sound more like ingredients.
Appalled and more than a little protective of the bird she harbored, she tore her eyes away before she did something foolish, like launch herself at him and slice his lying throat.
No doubt she would find herself at the top of his study list.
Ward acted as if he hadn’t heard the conversation at all, his sole focus on the ruined castle. Not an ounce of emotion showed on his face, but the stiff way he held himself warned he was barely holding his shit together.
Not good.
Only one of them could be the loose cannon—and no way in hell could she be the voice of reason.
She’d get them both tossed in the dungeon even before they set foot into the elves’ precious, decaying castle.
A deep-chested, victorious howl interrupted her thoughts, and she whirled toward the sound, her heart lodging in her throat. “Ryder!”
Chapter Seven
“Woo-hoo!” Draven yodeled from the ramparts, pumping his fist in the air. “Where the hell have you been?”
Morgan sprinted the short distance toward the castle, her eyes locked on her guys, who were standing at the edge of the thirty-foot wall. When she would have shouted a reply, she was stunned to see Ryder sail over the ledge.
Even knowing the fall wouldn’t kill him, the sight of his plummeting form caused her breath to catch in her throat and shaved years off her life.
He landed in a crouch, every inch the wolf staring back at her in his human form.
“Dammit, wolf boy, wait for me.” Thankfully, Draven raced for the stairway instead of giving her another fucking heart attack.
Then her attention swung back to Ryder as he slowly straightened to his full height and stalked toward her, and her breath caught again at the delicious, totally captivating loose-limbed gait of his. It screamed one night with him would never be enough.
Hunger darkened his whisky brown eyes, his gaze a combination of wolf and human as he boldly stared at her, refusing to drop his gaze, his natural reserve around others vanishing when he was with her.
His shoulder-length brown hair had beautiful highlights that invited her to touch. The strands were wild, like he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. With each step, he grew larger, almost a giant of a man she’d mistaken him for when they first met. His aversion to touch, his reserve around others, left him often mistaken for being stupid, but the quiet cunning of his wolf stood out boldly in his eyes.
And he clearly had one thing on his mind.
Her.
A rumbling growl worked up his throat when he strode within touching distance. He wrapped her up in his arms, swept her off her feet and enveloped her in a hug, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his fingers dragging her hair out of its ponytail. He inhaled deeply, a small tremor running through him, and she knew he was fighting to remain human. The clean scent of wildness reminded her of wide-open places and freedom she associated with him.
She was concerned about his reaction, his continual silence disturbing. He was almost completely wolf, so much so, she doubted he could even form words at the moment. In less than a day’s separation, he had devolved so much, acid churned in her gut.
“My turn.” Draven didn’t wait for an invitation. He shoved at Ryder’s shoulders, ignored the snarled reply as the big man delicately lowered her to the ground. He refused to release her completely, keeping hold of her hand as if afraid she would vanish again. Draven snatched her up in his arms and squeezed so hard she lost her breath. “You had us worried, little one.”
Morgan was shocked by Draven’s voluntary touch. He was always so careful to keep his distance, now she wasn’t sure how to react. One wrong move might send him scurrying back into the hard, protective shell he used to maintain his distance from everyone. She slowly wrapped her arms around him, afraid he might skitter away like a feral cat.
The heavenly, sugary-sweet smell of brownies and chocolate goodness enveloped her, and it didn’t surprise her one bit how many women gave into the delicious urge to taste him.
Suddenly uncomfortable at the turn of her thoughts, she reluctantly pulled away.
He wasn’t hers.
She had enough trouble with her mates. She didn’t need to invite more into her life…despite the temptation and the urging of her body.
When he released her, Morgan saw the lines of strain on his face—lines put there by her disappearance—and sorrow pierced her chest like a lance. None of the fun-loving jokester remained, his eyes flat and hard as images of murder and rage danced in his head.
He was losing control.
What little progress they made at the Academy to chase away the demons of Draven’s past had completely vanished.
He grabbed her hand, lifted her arm up away from her body, and studied her with those frosted blue eyes of his, scanning her from head to foot. Only when he concluded his exam and found her relatively unscathed did he relax and smile for the first time.
He glared over her shoulder, his happy mood fading when he spotted the contingent of elves watching, then tugged on her hand. “We should head inside.”
She wasn’t sure what triggered his protectiveness—the falling darkness or the troop of elves descending on them.
“How many people from the school survived?” She forced the question out past her dry lips, terrified of his answer.
“The school evacuated us, opening every portal and pulling us through.” He scowled at the answer, clearly disgruntled. “Then it fell with barely a fight.”
Morgan was shocked, but secretly relieved to know everyone made it out alive…almost everyone. “And the gargoyle? He was being swarmed when I left. Did he make it through the gate?”
Draven’s hand tightened on hers, and she knew she wasn’t going to like the answer. “The statues and wolves bought us time to escape. None of them were transported through, so I’m not sure if any…” He broke off at her expression. “…I’m not sure who survived.”