another lover, one Caleb seriously suspected had gotten off on hurting her, made him want to kill the unknown son of a bitch.
“So what’s it to be?” Mahone prompted. “Because a certain name’s drifting from my memory even as we speak.”
“You’re a fucking bastard, Mahone,” Caleb snarled.
“So I’ve been told.”
Caleb wanted to tell him to go to hell, but Mahone had planned well. Caleb wanted that name. He also wanted Wraith.
“Where is she?”
“I’ve got men tailing her. She got her stuff from the hotel and right now is on a bus headed for Maine.”
He blinked, then slowly shook his head. “Public transportation? What the hell is she thinking?”
“She’s thinking she doesn’t want anything to do with us, and that goes double for any type of transportation we offered her.”
“Yes, she’s also pissed and wanting to fight. And what better way to pick one than on a bus? Shit.”
“My thoughts exactly. Now, if you’re done dancing here, go after her and bring her back.”
Caleb winced, thinking of how he must have looked when he’d thrown his jacket to the ground. “Saw that, did you?”
“No worries, O’Flare. I’ll keep your little secret. Believe me, I’ve done quite a bit of my own tantrum-throwing lately. So, do we have a deal?”
Caleb knew he should tell Mahone to go to hell and walk away, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.
Things weren’t over between him and Wraith. Not this easily.
Not until he decided they were over.
“Fine.” He nodded curtly. “But first I need to check on . . . a friend.” He hesitated, not wanting to say Natia’s name out loud for some reason.
Mahone nodded, understanding in his eyes.
Caleb continued, “I want the name the instant I get back, whether Wraith stays or not. She’s too—”
“Yeah, I get it. Whether she stays or not.” Mahone looked over Caleb’s shoulder toward the reception room from which music was still merrily blasting. His gaze clouded. Caleb assumed it was because he’d caught sight of Bianca. Mahone’s jaw firmed as he turned around. Striding toward the entrance, he spoke without turning around. “Get her, O’Flare. And get her to L.A. in the next two days.”
NINE
O utside the Devereaux compound, Dex Hunt took a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it out on the rock he was sitting on. He stared at the butt, raised a brow, then stuffed the damn thing into his jacket pocket. Knox would kick his ass for littering, especially on his wedding day. The dharmire was even more fastidious than most vamps, and that was saying something.
Dex’s eyes narrowed when he saw Lucy Talbot, the Para-Ops team’s mage, slip onto the patio outside the ballroom. He’d seen Wraith’s furious exit. O’Flare had left about twenty minutes ago, followed not long after by a grim-faced Mahone. Having gotten wind of the situation in L.A., it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Wraith was royally pissed and that Mahone had just sent O’Flare to bring her back.
Snorting, he shook his head. He had to admit, O’Flare had balls. Going after Wraith after what he’d done to her? Well, he for one looked forward to seeing what kind of condition O’Flare returned in.
Glancing at the heavy steel watch on his wrist, Dex told himself he should’ve driven off hours ago. Hell, he should never have come. He’d known he was never going to make it to the ceremony, let alone the reception. But once he’d gotten here, he’d waited, compelled for some reason to see each of the team members.
Now that he’d seen Lucy, he knew he should leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he studied her. Seeing her all dolled up in a floaty golden dress and strappy high heels, he imagined he felt the way a big brother would feel seeing his little sister dressed for the prom. Proud. Protective.
He grinned, thinking it was a good thing Lucy couldn’t hear his thoughts.
She’d probably be pissed. Insulted. Spout something about being a woman,
“So what’s it to be?” Mahone prompted. “Because a certain name’s drifting from my memory even as we speak.”
“You’re a fucking bastard, Mahone,” Caleb snarled.
“So I’ve been told.”
Caleb wanted to tell him to go to hell, but Mahone had planned well. Caleb wanted that name. He also wanted Wraith.
“Where is she?”
“I’ve got men tailing her. She got her stuff from the hotel and right now is on a bus headed for Maine.”
He blinked, then slowly shook his head. “Public transportation? What the hell is she thinking?”
“She’s thinking she doesn’t want anything to do with us, and that goes double for any type of transportation we offered her.”
“Yes, she’s also pissed and wanting to fight. And what better way to pick one than on a bus? Shit.”
“My thoughts exactly. Now, if you’re done dancing here, go after her and bring her back.”
Caleb winced, thinking of how he must have looked when he’d thrown his jacket to the ground. “Saw that, did you?”
“No worries, O’Flare. I’ll keep your little secret. Believe me, I’ve done quite a bit of my own tantrum-throwing lately. So, do we have a deal?”
Caleb knew he should tell Mahone to go to hell and walk away, but he knew it wasn’t going to happen.
Things weren’t over between him and Wraith. Not this easily.
Not until he decided they were over.
“Fine.” He nodded curtly. “But first I need to check on . . . a friend.” He hesitated, not wanting to say Natia’s name out loud for some reason.
Mahone nodded, understanding in his eyes.
Caleb continued, “I want the name the instant I get back, whether Wraith stays or not. She’s too—”
“Yeah, I get it. Whether she stays or not.” Mahone looked over Caleb’s shoulder toward the reception room from which music was still merrily blasting. His gaze clouded. Caleb assumed it was because he’d caught sight of Bianca. Mahone’s jaw firmed as he turned around. Striding toward the entrance, he spoke without turning around. “Get her, O’Flare. And get her to L.A. in the next two days.”
NINE
O utside the Devereaux compound, Dex Hunt took a final drag of his cigarette before stamping it out on the rock he was sitting on. He stared at the butt, raised a brow, then stuffed the damn thing into his jacket pocket. Knox would kick his ass for littering, especially on his wedding day. The dharmire was even more fastidious than most vamps, and that was saying something.
Dex’s eyes narrowed when he saw Lucy Talbot, the Para-Ops team’s mage, slip onto the patio outside the ballroom. He’d seen Wraith’s furious exit. O’Flare had left about twenty minutes ago, followed not long after by a grim-faced Mahone. Having gotten wind of the situation in L.A., it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Wraith was royally pissed and that Mahone had just sent O’Flare to bring her back.
Snorting, he shook his head. He had to admit, O’Flare had balls. Going after Wraith after what he’d done to her? Well, he for one looked forward to seeing what kind of condition O’Flare returned in.
Glancing at the heavy steel watch on his wrist, Dex told himself he should’ve driven off hours ago. Hell, he should never have come. He’d known he was never going to make it to the ceremony, let alone the reception. But once he’d gotten here, he’d waited, compelled for some reason to see each of the team members.
Now that he’d seen Lucy, he knew he should leave, but he didn’t. Instead, he studied her. Seeing her all dolled up in a floaty golden dress and strappy high heels, he imagined he felt the way a big brother would feel seeing his little sister dressed for the prom. Proud. Protective.
He grinned, thinking it was a good thing Lucy couldn’t hear his thoughts.
She’d probably be pissed. Insulted. Spout something about being a woman,
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