LITMIR.BIZ

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relented to the compelling pull of the damsel’s distressed gaze. Ridge folded himself into the passenger seat, and after adjusting it as far back as it would go, his shoulders still rubbed the door and his knees the dashboard.

      “You’re right.” Abigail turned off the ignition with a frustrated sigh. “This car doesn’t fit you. I’m sorry. Let’s take yours.”

      Pleased to be behind the wheel of his Ford 350—and in control—Ridge navigated the pickup truck around the perimeter of the Twin Cities on Interstate 35W. The snowstorm they’d had three days ago had left a sheen of ice along the shoulder, but the main drive was thankfully clear and dry.

      Abigail had suggested they begin with the River pack, located closest to the Cities, which occupied land on the Minnesota side of the St. Croix River.

      “You’re tilting at windmills,” he said as they cruised the freeway amidst a blur of red taillights heading home during evening rush hour.

      Through rain, snow, hail or sleet, the Minnesota driver never backed down from the challenge of rush hour. Another reason he was thankful his job wasn’t nine-to-five or in a business complex. Ridge liked to drive, but preferred the rough back roads and anywhere away from traffic.

      “After Creed Saint-Pierre and Blu Masterson got married, all the packs and vampire tribes in the area agreed to the pact to cease warring against one another,” he said, feeling it was necessary to state what the witch obviously had overlooked.

      “Do you really believe that, Ridge?”

      “You tell me if it’s something to believe. Did they all agree to play nice with each other? Doesn’t the Council know?”

      “We always know. I’d say seventy-five percent of the opposing forces have stepped back and are now minding their own business. The Council is extremely pleased over that. The wedding was worth the effort, if you ask me. The Kila and Nava tribes have been exemplary, but then the Kila leader, Nikolaus Drake, does sit on the Council, as well. And I’m sure some of the packs are participating—”

      “Some of them? You said the Council always knows. And yet, you have no idea which packs are involved in the cease-fire, if any are.”

      “That information has yet to be gathered.”

      “Uh-huh. Or did the Council throw a big party for the wedding, then leave the newly-weds to flounder in hopes their love would bring peace and happiness to the world?”

      “You’re the one who blindly believes all the packs have ceased participating in the blood sport.”

      He tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He didn’t know that for sure. And yes, he did want to blindly believe everyone—vampires and werewolves—could get along. But he wasn’t stupid. Hell, he’d grown up knowing vampires were nasty, longtooth bloodsuckers and should be taken down if they looked at him cross-eyed.

      Of course, he’d grown up knowing that it was every man for himself, and no one, not even your own breed, could be relied upon to stand with you or to even be civil to you, let alone treat you with kindness.

      “I know little about the River pack,” he said, “save where they could possibly hold blood sport. That is if they are involved in the heinous games. Their compound is on the other side of Marine on St. Croix. But I don’t know what you expect to do. We can’t rush them and rescue the vampire if they do have him.”

      “Why not?”

      He flashed her a glance, but couldn’t find a joking smirk on her face. “I thought you were centuries old.”

      “I was born in 1550.”

      “So shouldn’t you know more? Like how one lone wolf and a trigger-happy witch could never stand against an entire pack. Especially if they are holding the blood sport. You have to know how the wolves get worked up during a match. The scent of vampire blood excites them and jacks up their adrenaline. They think with their beast brain as opposed to their were minds. They will tear any outsider limb from limb.”

      He slowed and Abigail leaned over to check the speedometer. “What are you doing? We’re on the clock!”

      “We need to think this through more. A plan is in order. I’m going to take the next exit.”

      “No! We don’t have time to think. Forty-eight hours, Ridge. More like forty-six now with this damned traffic. My son is in danger.”

      “Did the caller indicate he was in danger?”

      “He’s been kidnapped. What part of kidnapped does not entail danger to you?”

      “You said they were keeping him in protective custody. Sounds kind of … protective to me.”

      “I can’t believe you’re being this stupid.”

      Yeah, him, either. The boy was in danger if some unknown had taken him from his mother’s care. But he needed facts, information—more than a wild goose chase—to better understand the situation and come up with a plan. He did not like reacting.

      “Tell me about him.” He resumed speed, catching up with traffic, thinking if he could get more information from her, she may begin to trust him more, and then he could talk her out of this insane mission, at least until a workable plan had been solidified. “I didn’t know you had a son.”

      “His name is Ryan and he attends boarding school in Switzerland. That’s all you need to know.”

      “Fine.”

      Boarding school? He’d never understood a mother who could send her child away for months at a time. It was wrong. Children needed parents to thrive. And for protection. But who was he to judge? His opinion had no bearing right now. Abigail was a lioness out to protect her stolen cub. He should not stand in her way.

      “Does the Council know you have a kid?”

      He caught her gaze and she quickly looked out the window. Well hell, he couldn’t prevent curiosity. She was known to have a wicked reputation. Motherly and protective were the last two words that came to his mind.

      “I think Ravin Crosse—one of the witches on the Council—is aware,” she offered, “but no one else knows. It’s no one’s business but my own. If I want to protect my family by keeping it a secret, that’s my right. You know it isn’t easy surviving in a world meant more for mortals than us.”

      “Is he a witch?”

      “It’s rare that magic is passed on to a son. That’s something I won’t know until he hits puberty.”

      “Which is when?”

      She huffed and gave him her silence.

      “Sorry. I won’t ask about him again. Kids are miracles. You’re lucky to be a mother.”

      It changed his mind a bit about Abigail to know she was a mother, and further, to know she so fiercely protected her own. He’d heard the rumors about her, that she was quick to judgment and the first in line to administer punishment at the Council’s beckon. Rumor told she’d had a crazy love thing going with a vampire once, too, but he wasn’t clear on that. What mattered was now she was clearly putting her child’s interests in front of her own.

      He’d do the same in her position. If he had a son, and someone threatened him, Ridge would show no mercy and take no prisoners. Forget the plan, he’d react without remorse. Let the bloody kidnappers beware his paternal wrath.

      “So I’m surprised you didn’t come to me sooner,” she suddenly said. The cool darkness of the truck was intermittently lit from the glow of red taillights passing by. “It’s been a long time. Figured you’d had a blackout and totally erased all memory of Vegas from your brain.”

      “Close.” But he had never forgotten her sweet coconut scent or the softness of her skin. Never.

      “So why now? It’s been over a decade. You haven’t

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