The Curse (Belador #3)(82)
“I’m riding my bike,” Evalle clarified.
“I wish you’d go with them,” Storm said.
“Not a chance. I can go places a bigger vehicle can’t.”
Tzader ended all discussion. “I’ll walk Storm down to the delivery area with me. Quinn, we need a pace car on rocket fuel sitting here ready to go in five minutes.”
“You’ll have it.” Quinn took the Nyght weapon from Tzader.
Tzader told Evalle, “Go get your bike.”
Before she stepped away, Storm snagged her arm and said, “Do not face off with another Svart alone.”
She bristled. “Who do you—”
He gave her a quick kiss, shutting her down, then walked off with Tzader, who glanced back, looking confused.
Evalle’s cheeks were a rosy shade Quinn had never seen.
She took one look at him and snapped, “Don’t say a word,” then strode off in the direction of the parking deck.
Women. Quinn had tangled with more than his limit today. He rubbed his head and called telepathically to his Belador driver. While Quinn had rushed here on foot, he’d sent his driver to call up his Aston Martin Virage from where it sat parked in valet at the hotel. At Quinn’s word, the car arrived outside Underground within minutes.
When Tzader called Quinn telepathically to confirm that Storm had picked up a scent and they’d left Underground, Quinn peeled out and caught up to the pair on Piedmont Avenue.
He pulled over long enough for Tzader to jump in and toss a handful of clothes onto the backseat just as the biggest jaguar Quinn had ever seen ran ahead, jumping over homeless people sleeping in doorways. In spite of his size, the sleek, black animal blended with the night like a racing shadow.
Evalle streaked past Quinn on her wicked motorcycle and stayed ahead, keeping pace with the jaguar.
Tzader said, “Trey’s got choppers picking up some of the teams. The rest are spread out over a mile behind us, following directions I’m sending.”
Quinn’s grip on the wheel tightened with every mile that Storm covered. He had to get Lanna back. The jaguar led them away from the corporate jungle of glass towers in the center of downtown to the fringe, where tattered buildings with bar-covered windows intermingled with pockets of redevelopment.
Then Storm stopped. His sides heaved in and out with deep breaths, but Quinn doubted he’d paused due to lack of stamina.
Quinn pulled the Aston Martin into the parking lot of a closed medical office and got out. “What’s wrong, Evalle?”
She’d parked and had her helmet off. “I don’t know. Give him a minute.”
Striding over with Tzader beside him, Quinn stopped next to Evalle. She watched Storm move back and forth, then squatted down and asked the coal-black animal, “Does the scent end here?”
Storm lifted his jaguar head and nodded.
Tzader said, “I bet this is where they stopped to change the damn tire.”
Storm confirmed that with another nod.
Quinn asked Evalle, “Is there any way you know to reach those two boys?”
“No, but I know someone else who might help us.”
The jaguar roared at her.
Sentient blades hanging at Tzader’s hips came to life, snarling and snapping. “Evalle?”
“Storm’s not going to do anything.” She stood up and walked up to the giant beast and leaned down, stroking his ebony fur. “You agreed as long as he behaved himself.”
Tzader warned, “Evalle, don’t stand so close.”
“He won’t hurt me,” she said with conviction, and damn if that jaguar didn’t reach up and lick her chin.
Quinn sighed. “You scare the shit out of us sometimes.”
He swore the bloody jaguar smiled at him until Evalle said, “We need Isak Nyght’s help.”
TWENTY-SIX
Evalle held the throttle of her Gixxer steady and hoped she wouldn’t be late. The truck with the teens had parked eight minutes ago, just after the stroke of midnight.
One call to Isak and in less than fifteen minutes he’d performed the impossible, locating the truck. Storm had shifted back into his human body and put on his clothes by the time Isak had called Evalle two minutes ago with news that she was only three miles from where the truck was parked.
Storm’s arms banded her waist as he snugged up close to her on the back of the bike.
She’d blame the cold air beating his exposed arms and face for the movement, but he never shivered. She had a strong sense that he wanted to remind her of their agreement that he would not touch Isak as long as Isak kept his hands off her.
As if she’d risk more bloodshed tonight.
She’d never been in this situation—between two men. She had no skills for handling either one of them, but they’d both be sorely disappointed if they didn’t work together to help save nonhumans from Svarts using them as food.
Except Isak didn’t save nonhumans. He hunted them.
Tzader came into her mind. Just heard from a Belador named Vince who’s with the captives inside the old Sears Building on North Avenue, so Isak was right about the truck being there.
Can he get out?
Said it’s too dangerous. Four prisoners teamed up against one Svart and tried to make a break for it. The Svart overpowered them and decapitated one. I told Vince to sit tight and feed us information on how to get to them.