Blood Trinity (Belador #1)(60)

Tristan shook his head. “So basically, you need to keep a low profile until you can get out of town, so to speak?”

Batuk tilted his head in confirmation. “Once you convince the new master to willingly give you the stone, you will hold the power in your hand to break the curse of being an animal. In return, I want you to use the stone’s power to send all of my tribe back eight hundred years to our home—not Mount Meru but when we lived as men with families. And, as I said, possibly battle the Beladors if a conflict arises.”

Tristan’s eyes twitched, narrowing on Batuk before his gaze evened out with a look of silent understanding that Vyan trusted even less than Batuk’s words. Something had just transpired between the two. If only he could determine what.

The Alterant’s entire body relaxed. “Why would the stone’s master help me?”

“Because the master will be a woman. With the face and body you now possess, can you not sway one female to do your bidding?”

Tristan actually smiled. “There are many ways to make a woman bend to my will. Some are more enjoyable than others. Looks like we have a deal.”

Batuk might have a deal, but Vyan had no intention of bending to Tristan or trusting the bastard to help his people.

Vyan no longer trusted his leader either.

That left him with only one person he could rely on.

Himself. And only one choice of action. He’d have to find this woman who possessed the stone before Tristan did and convince her to help free his people before Batuk’s real agenda killed them all.

Vyan clenched his teeth as the task ahead daunted his conviction. Damn, his conscience had picked a terrible time to return.





SEVENTEEN




The sense of spinning ended abruptly with Evalle standing upright. She shoved her hands out for balance. Her palms hit a surface that flexed, but it was the lungful of raw sewage she breathed in that told her exactly where she was.

Sen had teleported her to a port-a-potty.

In the middle of the summer in Atlanta. Gross.

That bastard’s sense of humor came from the same place his head was shoved up most of the time.

She fumbled with the door handle and stumbled out onto a dark sidewalk on shaky legs, gulping fresh air. The sidewalk pitched with her vertigo.

Nausea threatened to finish off her perfectly crappy day.

At least it wasn’t dawn yet. That would be more like Sen to stick her in a port-a-potty in the middle of a hundred-degree day without sufficient clothing to leave.

A hand latched onto her shoulder. “Hey—”

She came around swinging out of reflex, her mind a rush of red fury. No one would ever hurt her again.

He blocked her right cross. She shoved her knee up. He used another hand to deflect her slam to his groin. That gave her an opening to throw an uppercut with her left fist, clipping the edge of his chin.

“Ow, dammit. Stop!”

He spun her like a top on a string.

Vertigo won at that point. And she figured out who she fought.

“You stop or I’ll throw up on you,” she warned, sure that would be enough to make Storm shove her away.

“You don’t transport well, huh?”

Was he laughing? She could break his hold even though he had her back pinned to his chest, but her legs were so weak she’d probably land facedown on the sidewalk. She hated to ever feel weak, but the shaking wouldn’t stop. “We call it teleporting in VIPER. You make me sound like fresh fruit that gets damaged in shipment.”

He did laugh this time, a warm, throaty sound. His grip changed from one of containment to one of comfort.

She tried to make herself push away from him, from being held, but her body refused to help. His fingers wrapped her abdomen and moved slightly, cupping her waist. He breathed deeply, a motion that gave her an up close and personal idea of just how wide his chest was.

The air changed from one of joking to awareness.

Not the fight-or-flight mode she usually experienced this close to a man.

She was torn between wanting to stay in this moment a few seconds more and shoving away from someone who was helping Sen.

“You better now?” Storm’s voice was next to her ear and sounded as though he didn’t want to hear yes, but that was the answer she gave him. “Okay. If I let you go, will you promise not to hit me or throw up on me?”

“For now.”

When his arms fell away she experienced a quiver of disappointment. And surprise at not feeling the bone-deep fear of being held and hurt in his grasp.

Would she ever want a man to touch her … to really touch her?

She stepped away, recognizing the street and buildings as she turned and located her bike in the same spot she’d left it. Satisfied nothing had happened to her baby, she faced Storm. “What time is it?”

“Right around five. Be daylight in a half hour.”

Crud. She’d lost almost five hours even though the Tribunal meeting had seemed to pass in less than an hour. Isak had to be ticked off about her blowing a second meeting. One problem at a time. She cut her eyes at Storm. “What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to show up. Again.” He canted his head in the direction of the bike. “I found your gixxer after you left. Figured I’d hang around and keep an eye on it.”

“Why?”