Page 104 of Darkness Bound (Night Prowler 5)
He reached out and grabbed her.
It should have surprised him more than it did. But Edward had come to understand during his time on Earth to expect the unexpected . . . so the sight of a half-dressed human female creeping around in the jungle, obviously spying, was little more than another oddity of his already odd life.
She was strong for a human—a female human, at that—but she wasn’t a match for him, though he was no longer young. Or even in shape, for that matter. He twisted her arm behind her back, so high she squealed in pain, lifting onto her toes. He yanked her head back with a hand in her hair and hissed an unmistakable warning in her ear, enforced by the presence of the stiletto he always carried, now pressed against her throat.
Whoever she was, he knew she wasn’t Expurgari. They only recruited men. A bounty hunter? An environmentalist reporting on the destruction of the rainforest who took a wrong turn somewhere, and now was hopelessly lost? Doubtful, but anything was possible. Either way, this would earn him points with the powers that be.
Maybe they’d even let him kill her himself.
Smiling at that thought, and grateful he’d found a satellite phone in the Alpha’s deserted quarters so he was finally able to make that important call he hadn’t been able to make for days, Viscount Weymouth shoved the female forward, broke through the edge of the trees, and walked into the clearing.
Alejandro’s fist caught Hawk square in the jaw and knocked him staggering back.
Regaining his balance quickly, Hawk snarled at him in the Old Language, a curse forbidden to speak to the Alpha—but as far as he was concerned, Alejandro was Alpha no longer. He lunged forward, teeth bared, and crashed headlong into his brother’s chest. They went down onto the dirt with a heavy thud that shivered the ground and was audible all the way up into the trees. Rolling and punching and howling like a pair of slavering wolves, they were a spectacle that sent the crowd into a frenzy.
They leapt to their feet and began to circle one another. Alejandro swung, Hawk feinted. Hawk swung, Alejandro Shifted to Vapor, and his hand punched through a cool cloud of mist. The linen drawstring trousers Alejandro had been wearing slipped empty to the ground with a sigh. Hawk froze as a black panther appeared before him, crouched to spring.
Hawk couldn’t Shift. His hand was injured; he’d cut it when he’d crushed the jar of ointment in his hand. Trapped in human form, he’d have to fight at a serious disadvantage.
For a hair of a moment, Alejandro looked surprised, waiting for Hawk to Shift, also. When he didn’t, the look in the panther’s eyes changed to one of victory. Then one of deadly focus.
There was only a single rule that governed this contest.
The loser dies.
Just as Alejandro leapt into the air with a powerful thrust of his haunches, Hawk caught sight of a flash of red with his peripheral vision. Distracted, he turned his attention away from the panther for a split second, snapping his gaze to the right and finding Jacqueline’s face, pale, grimacing in pain. The flash of metal beneath her jaw: a knife.
Then a pair of razor-sharp fangs sank into his shoulder, and he went down, blood spurting over his chest.
Morgan felt the disturbance in the air at the exact same moment she caught sight of Viscount Weymouth pushing Jacqueline through the crowd, which also happened to be the same moment Alejandro leapt on Hawk in the arena and tore a sizable chunk of flesh from his shoulder.
Deep in the marrow of her bones, she knew what was about to happen.
Time slowed to a snail’s crawl. Her vision came into perfect, crystalline focus, and she saw everything unfold simultaneously. There was Hawk on the ground, executing a swift, precise roll that took him from beneath Alejandro so efficiently for a moment the panther was off-balance, his long tail cracking like a whip behind him as he hissed and spun around. There was Viscount Weymouth, shoving his way toward where she stood with Leander, Xander, and the other Assembly members to one side of the arena, the expression on his face one of smug satisfaction, the crowd parting in shock to let him pass. There was Leander, rigid and feral-eyed, no longer paying attention to the contest below, but staring with avid concentration at the sky above, twilight staining it mottled purple and blue like a bruise.
And there, far off in the evening sky, was a white dot, vivid as a star on the distant horizon. Only this star sported wings.
It was moving fast in their direction.
Together, Leander and Morgan whispered, “Jenna!”
Jack’s heart was choking her.
She couldn’t catch a breath with it in her throat, as it beat furiously in fear and horror. The man shoving her forward had the strength of a bear in spite of having the appearance of an elderly fop, and was sweating in his fitted white dress shirt and formal black slacks. He pushed her relentlessly on as she tried to twist out of his grip, stumbling, panting, trying not to let the knife on her jugular press too hard against her skin.
He threw her down. Morgan was there, and Xander, and others she didn’t recognize, a mass of bodies pressing in to see, everyone gaping at her captor. But Jack was looking to her right and down, to the awful scene in the arena: a bleeding Hawk and a giant, spitting black cat, ears flattened against its head, muscles bunched beneath its glossy black coat, sinking into a crouch.
My God, it’s going to eat him!
“No!” she screamed.
The panther flicked a look over its shoulder. Hawk took the window of opportunity and leapt on the animal, throwing his big arms around its neck, knocking it off balance. Then Jack was hauled to her feet roughly by a strong pair of hands, and she lost sight of Hawk altogether as bodies around her closed the gap in her view.
“My Lord,” said the man who’d had the knife at her throat, bowing stiffly to Leander. He kept his hand fisted in her hair as he did so. “I found this”—he gave Jack a kick—“hiding in the shrubbery. Shall I slit its throat?”
Leander shouldered past him, ignoring him, looking up at the sky as if it were about to rain diamonds.
“You bloody duffer, Weymouth!” screeched Morgan. She hauled off, made a fist, and punched the man right in the nose.
