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“O’Hara?” Jagger asked stiffly, not liking where this was headed. “Any relation to Declan?”
“The bastard is his father,” Cracker answered roughly.
“What? But I thought his father was a nonissue, as in long gone and dead.”
“After the banishment from his coven, he was presumed dead,” Cracker continued, “but he’s obviously very much alive and up to no good.”
Jagger let the words sink in and his thoughts turned to Skye. What the hell was her connection to O’Hara?
He needed to get to her, and fast—before his brother did. There was no telling what the jaguar would do if he thought Skye was somehow involved in that whole mess.
He could feel Julian staring him down, and his brother’s aggression was falling off him in waves. It called to the animal inside Jagger, and he could feel his control slipping again as thoughts of Skye in danger filled his mind.
He forced himself into a somewhat calm state and turned to Cracker. “You should know that there is a large contingent of warriors about a day’s hike south of here. I took three out last night and laid down a shitload of false trails to confuse the rest, but I’m sure it will only slow them down for a day or so.”
“Good to know,” Cracker said softly. “So … you have somewhere you need to be, or can we count on your help?”
Jagger’s hands fisted before he loosened and stretched out his tight fingers. He hesitated.
What the hell was he going to do? His gut told him that Skye was involved. He just didn’t know if she was up to her neck in it, or over her head. Was she the enemy? Or was she in need of his help?
His insides began to tremble with the urge to get to her. The thought of her alone in the jungle touched off a protective instinct in him that he’d not experienced before, and he was beginning to think it was more than just fleeting.
Skye was one hell of an amazing woman.
Nervous energy rolled over his skin. “Why don’t I hook up with you boys tomorrow morning? I’ve got to take care of something first.”
Decision made,
Jagger turned to leave, but stopped abruptly as his senses came alive, like a layer of film had just been pulled away. A rustling off to the right drew all of their attention and he felt his animal begin to make noise as a tall man appeared, his lean, muscled frame sliding into the clearing like he’d been pulled from the air.
He wasn’t alone.
Jagger felt his animal explode so swiftly he nearly doubled over as he fought the change that threatened again. Declan O’Hara sauntered into the clearing, his arm gripped tight around none other than Skye.
He’d had the decency to give her his shirt, but it was the sight of his hands on her soft flesh that tore at him, and Jagger growled low, deep from his gut. He ignored the quick look that Cracker threw at him. Ignored the way Julian grew quiet.
At the moment all of his senses were focused on Declan and the blonde that stood at his side, chest heaving.
Skye’s curves were barely covered and the thought of Declan, of anyone, looking upon her, or touching her, filled him with such anger that he began to tremble.
“Would this be what needs taking care of?” Declan asked, his voice deceptively light. He pushed Skye forward and she barely avoided falling.
Jagger leapt toward them and caught her in his arms, hissing a warning, his face blackened in anger.
“So,” Declan continued his tone conversational, his manner anything but. “Let me get this straight. You’ve been MIA for the past three months, playing Tarzan and Jane with Cormac’s whore?”
“I’m not … you don’t know what you’re talking about!” Skye shouted.
“No?” Declan said softly, his white teeth slashing through the gloom as he continued to smile at her. “Wanna explain to us all how you’ve miraculously come back from the dead?” He sneered and stepped away, totally disgusted.
Silence stretched long and hard. “Cat got your tongue, Skye? Doesn’t matter. I have my own theory.” Declan’s voice dropped. “I think you and Cormac are working together. I think you wanted us to believe you were dead and that you in fact helped the bastard escape.”
Jagger stilled at Declan’s words. He felt Skye tense beneath his hands and he turned her around roughly. Her eyes were huge in her pale face, the blue so dark it almost appeared black.
She kept them aimed straight at his chest, totally avoiding contact with his. Her action spoke volumes, and what it shouted to him was guilt.
The anger he felt earlier multiplied tenfold and he bared his teeth, his breaths coming hot and fast.
