Rebecca Zanetti: Claimed

“None at the moment. I mean, the Coven Nine doesn’t know, and I’m trying to keep it that way.” She wiped a hand across her eyes. “So, ah, thanks for answering my call.”

He surveyed the room behind her. “Why are you at your father’s castle?”

She shrugged, still avoiding his gaze. “Where else would I be?”

Really? She wanted to play that game? “At your pretty little cottage on the edge of town.”

Surprise crossed her features. “How did you—”

“I’m aware of your location at all times, mate.” He let the words sink in, disappointment surprising him when she didn’t rise to the bait. He studied her for a moment. “What’s going on, dailtín? ”

Her sad smile twisted his heart. “I’m not a brat.”

“Yes you are.” He grinned. “One who looks like the world is falling onto her shoulders. What’s up?” His were more than strong enough to shield her if necessary.

She leaned back, a rare moment of vulnerability lowering those shields she’d perfected for so long. “Magic. Someone used it to harm. To speed up the virus. Probably with the actual virus as well.” Her pain slid along his own skin to bite.

Ah. Magic had made her and enriched her blood. His mate would take this attack personally. “We’ll find them, Moira. I promise.” Determination hardened his jaw. “You understand this puts you in even more danger, right?” Besides being a mate, her power as a witch painted a bull’s-eye on her smooth forehead.

He expected fire to light her eyes. Her chin to rise. A declaration that she could handle anything. What he got was a small nod and a whispered, “I know.”

Every protective instinct he owned bellowed through his formidable body. “I’ll come and get you.”

Her hesitation at refusing him solidified his intention as nothing else could have. “No. I have things to do, Connlan.” Her surprisingly dark eyelashes fluttered against her pale skin.

He frowned. “You’re worried about your chances to join the Nine? He’d heard the process could be dangerous, but she was the seventh daughter of a seventh daughter. Outsiders weren’t privy to the rules of the Coven Nine, and he suddenly wished he’d tried harder to understand her world, rules be damned.

Fragile shoulders straightened before her gaze lifted. “There isn’t a simple application and job interview, Conn. More is involved then just having been trained properly.” She glanced away, hiding her eyes from him.

“What else?” He’d bet everything in his accounts there was something else. Something that turned his firebrand of a mate into someone who refused to meet his eyes.

She shrugged. “Nothing. Just a lot going on at once.”

He inhaled, searching for the right words. “I’m a soldier, Moira.”

Curls bobbed when she tilted her head to the side. “So I’ve heard.” Amusement sparkled her eyes into the clearest of lake bottoms.

Ah good. At least she’d quit avoiding his gaze. His chuckle released some of his tension. “If I were Dage I’d cajole you with kindness and reason; if I were Kane I’d use pure logic. But I’m not.”

“Meaning?” Interest and something else lit her eyes. Desire? Need?

“Meaning, I’m coming to get you.” The vow echoed through the room, filled with truth. Pure truth had its own ring.

There was that fire he loved to see in her eyes. Curls rioted when she tossed her head. “The hell you are. If you think a one night stand will dictate my life, you’re bloody crazed.”

Man, he loved her Gaelic accent. When he’d taken her, she’d cried out in Gaelic pleasure, a soft lilt to the words he still heard in his sleep. He was done waking alone. The marking on his hand began to burn. “Here’s your kind reason. I need to be inside you so badly sometimes I think I’ll go mad.”

She swallowed hard, a sweet blush rising over those high cheekbones.

Pleasure filled him. “Here’s your logic. Fate has given us a push, and a push only. I knew the second I tasted you that you were mine. Fate or not. Marking or not. We need to give this an honest shot, which is something we can’t do living across the world from each other.”

Her nostrils flared and her blush deepened. Those devastating eyes darkened to something that hardened his cock.

He stood, leaning down toward the webcam, all purpose. All danger. “That’s all the reason or logic you’re getting. From now on, it’s the soldier. This is your one chance to negotiate terms for peace. For terms you can live with.”

She stood, mimicking his stance and leaning forward. “Or what?”

“Or I’ll take you, Moira.” Regret lowered his voice. “On my terms.”

Her hair crackled with energy, and her skin nearly glowed with power. “You think you can take me, Connlan?”

“Yes.” He kept her gaze, not flinching, not moving an inch. She deserved fair warning. He could and would take her out of the danger edging closer to her. And he’d keep her whether she liked it or not. “Make your choice.”

She flashed her teeth in a smile of pure challenge. “Come and get me.”

Dage found Conn beating the hell out of a punching bag in the underground headquarters’ impressive gym. The dark slate walls provided coolness and protection so far into the earth. Industrial lights angled down, bathing the area in harsh yellow. He rolled his shoulders, his mind calculating how in the hell the Kurjans had found their compound.

“I have the newest results on Emma. She hasn’t been infected.” The knot of fear he’d been living with had finally abated. He raised an eyebrow when his brother aimed a killing blow to the bag.

Conn nodded. “That’s good news.” Thick gouges and already healing cuts spread across his bare back from the battle earlier that morning.

Dage sighed. “You should get some rest.”

“Don’t need rest.” Conn threw a roundhouse punch, sending the bag spiraling away and back again, where he shot a side-kick and tore off the bottom half that dropped on the mat. “Need to make sure our soldiers are prepared to fight exceptionally gifted werewolves.”

Dage guessed werewolves were the last creatures on his brother’s mind. He’d bet anything a little redheaded witch had put Conn in this killing mood. “Has Kane concluded his tests?”

“Yes. The werewolves that attacked us were all human converts. No shifters.” Conn’s head butted the top of the bag, ripping the holdings loose from the ceiling. “Maybe the virus is unable to create werewolves out of shifters.” He stepped back as the bag fell and rolled over.

“We should know more next time the full moon comes out.” Dage cracked his neck, wondering if Maggie would be able to fight back the werewolf inside her for a third time. Although the third time signified the human victim becoming a werewolf for good, who knows how long it would take a shifter. He figured Kane was correct to wait after the next full moon before trying the spell on Maggie. If she beat the virus a third time with her natural immunities, there was a pretty good chance the virus needed some work.

“If she shifts into a werewolf?” Conn clapped both gloved hands together, his deep green gaze meeting Dage’s. “Are you going to give the order?”

“No.” Dage wouldn’t order anyone to kill the shifter. “Even if she turns into a werewolf, there’s a chance we might turn her back.” If not, he’d be the one to take her out. He wouldn’t ask anyone else to live with the deed.

“I see.” Conn stepped back from the bag. “If the time comes, it’s my job to take her out.”

Not in a million years. They’d deal with the issue if the time came. Dage steeled his spine, his gaze direct on his brother. “I need to thank you for covering my back. When I—”