Edge of Danger. Rhyannon Byrd

an eye on her, waiting for the day when she was no longer human.

      Saige had always done her best to ignore them. After all, they never interfered in her life. They were just there, like the birthmark on her hip, constant and predictable. And in a strange way…oddly comforting.

      But there’d been something alarmingly different about the breathtaking stranger back at the bar. Instead of easing her mind, he’d completely overwhelmed her senses. When she’d touched his empty beer bottle, the vision that had roared through her brain had been shocking in its force, completely stunning her. Saige normally didn’t read objects that strongly. Nor did she pick up on such powerful, visceral emotions, and she’d panicked…running straight into the comforting arms of the jungle. A place where she’d always felt at home, despite its inherent dangers. The forest wasn’t an enemy, and it wasn’t simply a place. It was her companion and she trusted it, knew what to expect from it, unlike people.

      People were unpredictable, but nature always folowed its course. Yes, it could be merciless and unforgiving, but it could also be generous in spirit, sharing its beauty…its splendor, asking for nothing in return but respect. Saige had always felt at peace in its embrace, but tonight, she drew no comfort from her lush surroundings. The shadows were closing in on her, panic tripping her feet, thickening in her lungs, burning in her muscles. Scents that had once been clean and fresh now slithered against her skin, sinking into her pores, wet and dank and meaty. Her sanctuary was being transformed, stolen from her, replaced by terror and fear, and she wanted to get her hands on the one responsible and make him pay.

       Which would be a heck of a lot easier to do if you’d taken what your body wants…and found someone to feed from. And the cross would have helped, as well.

      Hating that she’d become such a bloody whiner, Saige gritted her teeth and ran faster, pushing her body to its limit, when a stark, demonic howl suddenly broke through the night, directly ahead of her. She stumbled, almost falling, but turned to her right and kept running, painfully aware of the shock jolting through her system. She went hot…then cold, her eyes wide as she struggled to wrap her mind around it. Though she’d been a believer for so long, it was still a brutal assault on her system to find that she’d actually been right.

      Oh God, she thought, followed swiftly by a choked, breathless outburst of “Shit!” and “Hell!” and “Not now, damn it!”

      Struggling to keep hold of her backpack, Saige managed to lean down and grab hold of the small knife that she carried in the top of her right boot, clutching it within her damp grasp. The terrifying, sickening howl came a second time, right in her direct path again, and a sharp, choking sound of panic broke from her throat. Not knowing what to do, she cut left this time, feeling as if she were being herded…hunted…stalked. Which she was.

       Think, damn it. Think!

      Her Merrick grew more restless, seething within her body, eager to break free and confront the coming threat—but until she nourished that savage, primitive part of her soul, the ancient creature would be unable to fully break its way out of her, no matter how much danger she found herself in.

      Which means that you are so freaking screwed, she thought, just seconds before the dark-haired stranger called out her name, his deep, resonating shouts coming from just behind her, full of guttural fury and concern.

      “Saige! Goddamn it, stop running. The Casus is closing in. You’re going to get your crazy little ass killed!”

       Not if I can help it, I’m not.

      She panted, her chest heaving as she cut to her right for a second time, completely clueless as to where she was going. Was she running in circles? Running right toward it? Another scraping howl came from ahead of her again, as if the monster was playing with her—taunting her—and she struggled against a strange, instinctive urge to suddenly turn around and run back toward that rough, compelling voice still shouting for her to stop. It was the sexiest thing she’d ever heard, even when cut with the savage edge of rage, fitting the mouthwatering male to perfection.

       Don’t get dotty now, woman. You don’t know him. And don’t forget what made you run in the first place. He was thinking about having sex with you, not saving your life.

      Right, right. She wasn’t thinking clearly. God, she wasn’t thinking at all, operating on nothing but pure adrenaline and fear at this point.

      The man was gaining on her, getting closer, and she could have sworn she could draw in his intoxicating scent. The bar had been too smoky for her to pick him out right away, until the power of his stare had touched her like a physical caress. Still, it wasn’t until she’d stood beside him that she’d gotten the full effect of that rich, woodsy, masculine smell—so different from the vile odor that filled the jungle ahead of her, coming from the Casus.

      She slowed, her face damp with the salty sting of tears, and had no idea in which direction she should turn. Some soldier she was.

      Suddenly, the stranger roared with fury, and in the next moment, the creature Saige had spent a lifetime envisioning burst out of the thick foliage, about thirty feet in front of her. She stumbled, screaming, eyes glued to the sight of its massive, grotesque body and beastly mouth of fangs, the muzzled shape curling in a cruel, sadistic smile as it zeroed in on her. Its grayish skin stretched tight over heavy, bulking muscles, body hunched from the ridges that marked its curved spine. A faint clacking noise came from its hands, where it clinked its razor-sharp claws together, the deepening shades of twilight casting a silvery glow on their sinister length.

      “Merrick,” it growled, and the smile spread in an expression of pure, unadulterated evil.

      Terror clawed at Saige’s throat, and she could read in its pale blue eyes its anticipation as it lurched toward her at an awkward, loping run. She flinched, knowing she was going to die, the knife held tight in her fist. She was prepared to go down fighting, when a great swooping rush of air brushed against her back.

      In the next instant, the night went black.

      One second she was standing her ground, facing certain death…then Saige Buchanan was flying.

       CHAPTER THREE

      DESPITE THE FURIOUS, keening howls of the Casus, Saige could hear the stranger’s graveled voice snarling a visceral string of curses near her ear. She twisted and kicked, struggling to break free…to see what was happening, but he’d thrown something soft and damp over her head, pitching her into an infuriating darkness. She couldn’t even punch or scratch at him, her arms pinned tight in a hard, unbreakable hold, the backpack smashed uncomfortably against her chest.

      “Fuck,” he grunted, clutching her tighter, while his body burned like a fever against her back. Another sinister, bellowing scrape of sound came from below, just seconds before something cruelly sharp, like a claw, grazed her left calf. Saige flinched from the searing pain, a soblike noise tearing from her throat as the knife slipped out of her stunned grasp, falling to the ground below.

      She hated not being able to see, the terrified landscape of her mind providing one vivid, grossly detailed scenario after another. Was the monster leaping for her again, its gruesome jaws gaping? Reaching out for her with extended claws? And how exactly was she…flying? What in God’s name was happening to her?

      She wanted to demand an explanation from the beautiful stranger who had his strong, muscular arms banded about her torso, holding her tight, but couldn’t stop screaming long enough to form the words. For long minutes, he carried her through the sweltering twilight, over the dense jungle that she could scent just beneath them, until her screams finally died, her sickening fear slowly replaced by a mounting fury.

      “Put me down!” she seethed, the enraged sound muffled beneath the cloth. “Goddamn it! Put me down or you’re going to be sorry!”

      “And let you become its next meal?” he growled, his own anger giving his words a biting, guttural edge. “I don’t think so.”

      He