Rhyannon Byrd - Edge of Danger

Shrugging off Royce’s hold, he flashed him a sharp smile. “All this chatting has worked up my appetite.” The words were meant to incite, but there was an undeniable truth to them. His cock was already hardening at the thought of satisfying his hunger, anticipation thickening like a feral syrup in his veins.

“Don’t you think you’ve had enough for tonight?”

“They were just a snack,” he drawled, his mouth kicking up at the corner with a cocky grin as he headed toward the door. “Now I’m ready for the main course.”

“We need to get back to the bar and keep an eye out for her. And if you don’t stop picking off the locals,” Royce called out, “we’re going to have an angry mob on our hands.”

With one last glance over his shoulder, Gregory could see just how badly Royce wanted a go at him, and his grin spilled into a slow, satisfied smile. “Then I guess it’ll be just like old times.”

North Coroza

IT TOOK ALMOST an hour for Saige and Quinn to reach the crowded neighborhood where Javier Ruiz lived with his brothers. Night had spilled over the jungle in a warm, heavy pour of darkness, the last streaming shades of color finally fading from the bruise-colored heavens. Despite her continued assurances that the Casus couldn’t possibly attack them in such a populated area, Quinn kept a vigilant eye on the narrow, winding streets, as if expecting the obscene creature to suddenly emerge from the thickening shadows.

Watching him from the corner of her eye as they made their way down the weathered, cobbled road, Saige could sense that he had questions about what she was doing in Brazil. But Quinn was biding his time, his focus for the moment centered more on their surroundings than anything else. Not nearly as patient herself, Saige plagued him with questions about her brother’s awakening, and learned that Ian had used the cross she’d found in Italy to kill the Casus who’d been hunting him. Her mother, who had kept her maiden name of Buchanan for herself and her children, had heard the term “Arm of Fire” from her grandmother, but it wasn’t until Quinn explained how the cross had literally transformed Ian’s arm into a fiery weapon that Saige had understood what the term meant. She also learned that her brother had somehow soaked in the creature’s thoughts at the time of its death. He’d not only “seen” that more of the Casus had already escaped from their holding ground, but that they were also after the Markers themselves.

Saige absorbed the information with a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, thinking of the warning the second Marker had given her just that morning.

Enemies are coming who will take me from you.

Throughout the day, her conscience had plagued her for involving Jamison Haley in her problems, and knowing that it was the Casus who were seeking the Markers only increased her sense of guilt. If the monsters discovered she no longer had the ancient talisman, they could very well conclude that she’d given it to the young archaeologist—which meant that she’d put his life in extreme danger.

Damn you, Haley. You should have just told me no.

Any other person would no doubt have done just that, if asked for a favor as bizarre as the one she’d begged from Jamison. But the endearing Brit was one of those rare few who actually believed that sometimes things really did go bump in the night—things that humanity was better off not knowing about. As such, he’d believed her when she’d gone to him for help.

He also had a problem saying no to females who asked him for favors, which she’d ruthlessly used to her advantage.

And yet, as horrible as Saige felt for exploiting Jamison’s soft side, there was still a tiny voice in her head arguing that she’d done the right thing by sending him to Colorado with the cross. If Ian was right, and the Casus were after the Markers, then protecting the cross was the only thing that really mattered, regardless of the risk to herself and the people she cared about—and she knew that if Quinn were aware of what she’d discovered, he’d feel the same way.

The intense Watchman definitely seemed like the type of man who put his job above all else. Even though she obviously frustrated the hell out of him, he remained intent on keeping her alive…keeping her safe. As they headed through the ramshackle town, his dark gaze constantly scanned the narrow alleyways and high buildings, alert to any danger, the tension in his tall body evident in the rigid set of his broad shoulders and the subtle flexing of his strong, powerful hands. It was clear that he didn’t care for the tight, closed-in walkways of the crowded neighborhood.

“How much farther do we have to go?” he rumbled in that sexy drawl that made her pulse quicken each and every time he spoke. Saige shivered in reaction, somehow feeling that evocative sound in the center of her body, penetrating and warm, as if she’d swallowed a hot, smoldering ball of fire.

“Just a few more blocks,” she said, wishing the skies would unleash a frigid rain to cool the simmering heat beneath her skin. She was uncomfortably aware of the Merrick’s agitation growing worse with each moment that she spent with him. It prowled within her body like a panther pacing its cage, taking a primal, feral interest in the man walking at her side. Struggling to remain calm, she crossed her arms over her chest and drew in a deep breath that filled her senses with the pulse of the ethnic neighborhood, and more important, with that hot, mouthwatering scent she’d already come to recognize as pure, intoxicating Quinn.

“Have you ever been to South America before, Mr. Quinn?” she asked, surprised by the huskiness of her voice.

“Just Quinn.” The brackets etched around his mouth deepened as he added, “This is my first time down here.”

“I thought so,” she murmured, a small grin playing softly at the corner of her lips. The roughened surface of the road crunched beneath their booted feet, but Saige hardly noticed the grating sound, too fascinated by the hard play of muscle beneath his burnished skin as he lifted one hand, pushing it through the dark scrub of his hair. The cut would have looked severe on any other man, but it simply emphasized Quinn’s outrageously good looks. Despite his “in your face” male ruggedness, his features were impossibly perfect, like something that’d been sculpted from marble, his sharp cheekbones only accentuating the strong, masculine angles.

Clearing her throat, she went on to say, “You look as if you don’t quite know what to make of this place.”

Seemingly oblivious to the fact that she was practically drooling over him, the tension around his mouth eased a little as he slanted her a lopsided smile. “Is it that obvious?” he asked, his smile widening as he rubbed his left hand over the tanned length of his right forearm. “I was hoping the tan might help me blend in.”

A shaky laugh vibrated in her throat, and she inwardly rolled her eyes at herself, unable to believe that she, Saige Buchanan, the most independent woman she knew, had gone gaga over a breathtakingly gorgeous stranger like some teeny-bopping airhead. “You just seem preoccupied with the neighborhood,” she replied, forcing her attention back to the shadowed street. On either side of the narrow road, windows flickered with the soft glow of light, reminding her of blinking, watchful eyes, and she tightened the flannel shirt around her waist, then hefted her backpack higher onto her right shoulder, seeking comfort in the mundane tasks. “I guess all this probably takes some getting used to,” she added, stepping around a frenzied group of chickens that were pecking at some scraps outside an open doorway. “Especially if you’re accustomed to the wide-open spaces of the mountains.”