Rush of Pleasure

Thrilling reviews for Rhyannon Byrd’s PRIMAL INSTINCT series from Mills & Boon®

“Byrd successfully combines a haunting love story with complex world-building.”

—Publishers Weekly on Edge of Hunger

“Ms Byrd had me first intrigued and then spellbound from the first page to the last.”

—Joyfully Reviewed on Edge of Danger

“[Byrd] serves up plenty of action and passion that won’t be denied … Great stuff!”

—RT Book Reviews on Edge of Desire

“This is a seriously sensual story with taut action and a plot that doesn’t let up.”

—RT Book Reviews on Touch of Seduction

“This is an ideal blend of suspense, romance, action and intrigue, all set within an amazing paranormal world.”

—RT Book Reviews on Touch of Surrender

Dear Reader,

I can’t believe this is it—with the release of Rush of Pleasure, we’ve reached the final chapter in the PRIMAL INSTINCT series. I just wanted to take this moment to thank you for your incredible support. I’ve been looking forward to writing Noah’s book and loved seeing his relationship with Willow unfold. Forced to fight for his very survival, Noah needed a woman who was strong but tender. One who could stand up to him but who could also understand him and help him find happiness. Theirs is a story full of dark passions, and one I hope will hold a place in your heart.

Wishing you all much love and happiness!

Rhy

Rush of

Pleasure

Rhyannon Byrd

For my three little sisters—Nikki, Amy and Crystall.

Here’s to the memories that always make me smile: The Three Amigos, 4th of July parties at Dave and Lisa’s, The Princess Bride, South Park, the infamous buttered popcorn incident in Carlsbad,

and last but not least … “One More Time!”

I love you guys and miss you bunches!

The hotter the pleasure … the sweeter the burn.

Destiny is what you are supposed to do in life. Fate is what kicks you in the ass to make you do it.

—Henry Miller

Sacred, Louisiana

THE END OF the world was a strange motivator, providing the kind of impetus that could make a man do things he’d sworn he would never be caught doing. Like coming back to places he’d vowed he’d never return to … Or seeking out people and memories he knew were best left to the past. The problem, of course, was that the past had ways of sneaking up on a guy.

In cases like this, it could even make you feel as if you were making the biggest mistake of your life.

As Noah Winston walked inside Broussard’s, the rickety bayou bar where he’d worked as a teenager, that’s exactly how he felt. Like a man walking the plank, heading toward his doom. And in Noah’s case, that doom came in the form of a woman. A woman who just so happened to be from one of the craziest families the state of Louisiana had ever known, and who, incidentally, also happened to be a too-powerful, too-stubborn, pain-in-the-ass caste of witch.

His best chance of surviving this visit in one piece was to get the information he needed, and then get the hell out of Dodge before that particular hellion ever set eyes on him. The faster, the better. If he were lucky, she’d never even know he’d been there.

Despite that comforting thought, a clammy, uneasy feeling crept over his skin as he made his way into the dim interior of the bar, the door sliding shut behind him. A bead of sweat snaked slowly down his spine while chills spread over his arms, the whirring blades of the ceiling fan swaying precariously over his head doing little to battle the oppressive heat. At one o’clock in the afternoon, the business was deserted but for the two beer drinkers playing pool near the back wall and the towering brute lurking behind the till, polishing shot glasses that looked absurdly small in his beefy hands. The bartender eyed him with a look of bored indifference, until he caught sight of his pale blue eyes. Noah took a quick sniff, his heightened sense of smell alerting him to the fact that the guy was no more “normal” than he was. A grizzly-shifter, if he was reading the scent right.

Noah might have been more or less human, but that “less” part of the equation was becoming more evident with each day that went by. With every passing hour, his senses were becoming sharper, allowing him to interpret the world around him in a way that was more monster than man. His human self, it seemed, had become another casualty of the war that he and his friends were currently waging against an ancient evil named the Casus. Fortunately, Noah and his buddies, a group of shape-shifters and vampires called the Watchmen, had finally managed to defeat the majority of the monsters nearly two months ago back in May. But the Casus leader, Anthony Calder, had mysteriously disappeared at the height of the battle, before Noah could kill him. They didn’t know where Calder was, but Noah had a good idea of who he was with. He also knew the bastard wasn’t going to stop until he got what he wanted, and Noah was willing to die to keep him from getting it.

But that was going to be a battle for another day. For the moment, he was after the solution to a different problem. One that was less personal, but no less important. And one he knew he could help with, if he managed to stay a step ahead of Calder.

As if aggravated by the thought of that particular Casus, his arm ached with a renewed wave of pain, the scar left from Calder’s fangs throbbing with a dull pulse. Though the injuries he’d sustained on the day Calder had been snatched from his grasp were nearly healed, Noah still didn’t feel … right. Too many changes were taking place inside him, his system in a constant state of flux that often left him jittery and tense. Or maybe that was just his current bitter outlook on life. Either way, he was a guy who others went out of their way to avoid these days. One who no longer even tried to hide the raw, constant burn of worry weighing heavily in his gut.

Heading toward the bar, Noah kept his gaze locked on the giant behind the till. The guy set down another shot glass, slapped the dish towel over his shoulder, then braced his beefy hands against the scarred but gleaming wooden counter. Thick, graying brows drew together in a deep scowl over his suspicious gaze. “You thirsty, Casus? We don’t welcome your kind here, but you can take something to go.”

“I’m not a Casus.” Noah fought to keep his tone easy, knowing it wasn’t going to do him any good if he started shit with the shape-shifter. “And I don’t want any trouble. I just need some information.”

“Not Casus?” The guy snorted. “You looked at your eyes in a mirror lately, son?”

Noah ignored the question. Thanks to his maternal bloodline, he had the same ice-blue eyes as the Casus, but he wasn’t one of them. Not yet, at any rate. “I’m looking for Jessie Broussard,” he said, making an effort to sound patient. “Do you know where I can find her?”

The scowl deepened. “What’s yer business with Jessie?”

“I need her help.”

“S’that right?” the guy drawled.

“I’m willing to pay for the information.” He reached into his back pocket, pulled out a wad of folded bills and slapped them on the counter. The scent of the money filled the air, sharp in his nose, but the shifter didn’t so much as blink.

Leaning closer, the guy eyed Noah with a dark, steady stare. “Do I look like the sort to be bribed?”

“You don’t want the money, fine.” His voice was tight, his irritation rising like the heat spilling in off the murky waters of the bayou that lurked just beyond the bar’s entrance. “But I’m not leaving until I’ve spoken with Jessie. It’s a matter of life and death.”

“For who? You?”

Noah clenched his jaw as he pocketed the money. “Let’s just say that I’m here on behalf of the Watchmen.”

A gritty laugh rumbled from the giant’s chest. “Those crazy-ass shifters? Hell, what makes ya think I care what they’re up to?”

“Because a helluva lot of people are going to die if you don’t.”

The seconds stretched out, marked only by the whirring of the ceiling fan and the distant sounds of the pool game, while he stared the older man down.

Finally, the shifter muttered, “You can find her out back. Last cabin on the left.”

“Thanks.”

“Hell, don’t thank me yet.” Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of the bartender’s eyes as he smiled. “Knowing Jessie, she’s liable to shoot ya before you get yer first word out.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” he grated under his breath, turning and heading for the door. It was common knowledge that the Winstons and Broussards had never gotten along. The human residents in Sacred believed the decades-old disagreement had been spawned by a particular piece of land that bordered both their properties. But those locals who were a part of the ancient clans—nonhuman races who lived hidden among the humans—knew the truth. That truth being that Chastain witches generally disliked any species that fed on blood, such as the Deschanel, or vampires. And the only species they hated more than the vamps were the Casus.

The Broussards didn’t care that Noah’s family was human. Nor did they care that the only reason the Winstons had Casus blood running through their veins was because one of his ancestors had been unfortunate enough to be raped by one of the monsters a millennia ago. They distrusted the Winstons’ ice-blue eyes, and they feared the day when the Casus would escape their immortal prison called Meridian and return to this world, using families like Noah’s as their human hosts. It wasn’t a fair prejudice, but was one that had been bred into Jessie’s grandparents, her parents and into Jessie herself.

About the time that Noah turned sixteen, the local sheriff had had enough of their constant bickering and proclaimed it was time the two families learned to get along. Jessie was ordered to give Noah a part-time job at the bar, which she’d inherited from her father, and her nephew Harris had been ordered to help out at Noah’s grandfather’s garage on the weekends. Though it took a few months, and a couple of brawls, he and Harris had surprised everyone by breaking the legacy of distrust and becoming friends. The hostilities between the families had cooled for a time—but Jessie had still scared the crap out of him.

Heading around the side of the building, toward the cabins that had been built in the woods behind the bar more than a hundred years ago, Noah figured the once ramshackle cabins must have been renovated before Jessie moved into one of them. The lady might have been one egg short of a dozen, even for a Chastain witch, but he remembered Jessie as a silver-haired woman who enjoyed things exceptionally neat and clean.

Wondering just how loudly she was going to screech when she set eyes on him today, Noah set off down the winding path that wove through the lush woods. He told himself he wasn’t afraid of Jessie Broussard, but an uneasy feeling still burned in his gut like bad whiskey. His instincts urged him to turn and get the hell out of there, but he couldn’t do it. Desperate times called for desperate measures, and he’d already wasted too much damn time as it was. He’d known for months now that this visit needed to happen, and yet, he’d put it off. Dragged his feet like an old woman. Yeah, he’d sent letters, but he hadn’t really expected the Broussards to respond to them. And he’d known that trying to email or call would be pointless. The Broussards had always trusted modern contraptions about as much as they’d trust a cranky cottonmouth. Twelve years might have passed since he was last in Sacred, but there were some things that just never changed.

So, yeah, he’d known this visit was unavoidable. But he’d stalled, because he hadn’t wanted to spend what might be his last days scraping off emotional scabs that had never quite managed to heal. Crap like that sucked. Left you raw. Bleeding. And he already had enough problems to deal with.

Following the path farther into the woods, Noah lifted his face as a cool breeze fluttered its way through the trees and he pulled in a slow breath that had him instantly jerking to attention.

There was something there. Something rich and sweet beneath the verdant scents of the forest. Something primal and female that called to those increasingly visceral parts of him. But despite the instinctive hardening of his body and the almost primitive impulse to hunt and take, he knew he had to maintain control. Damn it, he knew that scent. Knew precisely who owned it.

Willow.

With his heartbeat pounding in his ears and a low curse on his lips, Noah scanned his surroundings, knowing beyond a doubt that Willow Broussard was there in the forest with him. That mouthwatering scent was his first clue. The delicate little hand suddenly whipping around his shoulder, pressing a sharp blade against his throat was his second.

With her other hand fisting the collar of his T-shirt, wrenching his head back, she spoke quietly in his ear. “What the hell are you doing here, Winston?”

He choked back a frustrated growl and forced his body to remain still, unwilling to fight her for his freedom. She sounded irritated, but she wasn’t going to kill him in cold blood.

At least, he didn’t think she would. They hadn’t parted on the best of terms twelve years ago. No way to know how she felt about him now—but he figured it would be wise to play it safe. Especially for a guy with luck as crappy as his had always been.

“I asked you a question, Noah.” The soft weight of her body pressed closer against his back, making it damn hard for him to concentrate. He could feel the sexy shape of her breasts, the tightness of her nipples, and knew damn well that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Sweat broke out across his forehead that had nothing to do with heat and everything to do with the woman breathing into his ear. “What are you doing here?” she repeated.

It was a mistake to pull in another deep breath through his nose, his temperature spiking when her scent flooded his senses, his brain derailed by the feverish surge of lust ripping dangerously through his system. Determined to stay in control, he managed to rasp, “I need … to talk to your aunt. To Jessie.”

Her low, husky laugh was one of the sexiest damn things he’d ever heard, and he wondered how sick it was that he had a hard-on for a woman who was holding a knife to his throat.

“You’ve got to be kidding,” she drawled.

“I’m not. I swear. You know I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

Silence, punctuated only by their sharp breathing and the rustling trees, and then she muttered a quiet, colorful curse and lowered the knife. She was taking a step back as he turned to face her. He tried to give himself time to prepare, but there was no way to hide the fact he was floored. Damn near knocked on his ass by the sight of her, just like he’d been the first time he noticed her transformation from a scrawny, troublesome tomboy into a beautiful girl. It’d been a sweet shock to his system, as well as painful as hell, since Noah had known he couldn’t have her. His unlikely friendship with her older brother, Harris, had been part of the problem. Harris would have kicked his ass if he’d known Noah had a serious case of lust for his younger sister, and he hadn’t wanted to lose that friendship. Then there’d been Jessie, who would have skinned him alive if he’d so much as looked at Willow with a whisper of interest.

It hadn’t been easy, but Noah had somehow managed to fight the rising attraction … until that hot summer night when he’d come across her fighting off Johnny Stubb in the front seat of the bastard’s Corvette. Raw, possessive fury had taken hold of him, and his resistance had shattered, along with Stubb’s nose when it met with his fist.

But she was no longer that reed-thin little urchin who’d tried so hard to hold her own with the boys. The features that had once been a little too bold for her age were now stunning within her heart-shaped face, the long braids replaced by sexy, light blond curls that brushed her shoulders. She hadn’t gained much in height, but her five-sixish frame was leanly muscled and beautifully curved in all the right places. She looked earthy and gorgeous, completely at home there in the primeval surroundings of the forest.

She didn’t blush under his heated appraisal, her rosy mouth tilted at a wry angle as she looked him right in the eye. Slowly, she said, “I never thought I’d see the day that Noah Winston came slinking back home.”

“It’s … good to see you,” he murmured, giving her a wary nod as he shoved his hands in his pockets, figuring it was the safest place for them. He watched as she slipped the knife into the sheath strapped to her tanned, bare thigh, her cutoff shorts and skimpy halter top revealing far too much flesh for his peace of mind. He was a little shocked to see her wearing the weapon so openly, but knew he shouldn’t be. Any woman who was related to Jessie Broussard was bound to be hell on wheels, and Willow was obviously no exception. Her parents had been killed in a boating accident when she was only five, and it was Jessie who had raised Willow and her siblings. Raised them and loved them like her own.

Clearing his throat, he added, “It’s been a long time.”

She dragged her gaze over him, then slid him a taunting smirk. “You look like hell.”

And you look good enough to eat. Or lick. Or nibble on, he thought, keeping the provocative, no doubt dangerous, words to himself. Instead, he said, “You look … pissed.”

She arched one slim pale brow. “I’m sure that doesn’t come as a shock. Most girls never stop hating the first guy who trampled their heart. We have long memories.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing to your heart,” he said tightly. Her body, yes. He’d kissed it and touched it and had been on the verge of taking things too damn far before they’d been interrupted. Just thinking about it made his insides burn. He’d been about two seconds away from burying himself between her sweet little thighs when Harris had shown up. Then his mother … followed by Jessie. Before he knew it, a goddamn crowd of relatives had surrounded them.

“You know what?” she murmured, her voice growing softer. A chilling light flickered wildly in her big brown eyes, the unique color reminding him of gold-dusted cinnamon. “You’re right. You didn’t do a damn thing, Noah. You just cut out and ran.”

He scraped his palm across his scratchy jaw, silently reminding himself to stay calm. He couldn’t let her rile him, which was exactly what she was trying to do. “We haven’t seen each other in years, Will. Can’t we at least be civil?”

“You can be whatever you want,” she drawled.

“I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

With a sharp sigh, she crossed her arms under her breasts and cocked her hip. “Exactly why are you here?”

“I already told you. I need to talk to your aunt. Ask her some questions.”

“And would this have anything to do with your little quest to save the world?”

Surprise had his eyes going wide. He knew she’d become some kind of hotshot private investigator for the ancient clans who still walked the earth. But he hadn’t imagined she would ever waste her time keeping tabs on him. “You’ve been spying on me?”

She shrugged, and Noah couldn’t help but notice how the motion pushed her breasts against the thin cotton of her shirt. “I’m not deaf,” she replied, the lazy, liquid cadence of her speech striking him as incredibly seductive. He’d spent so much time on the West Coast, he’d forgotten just how sultry a true Southern accent could sound on a woman. Like something hot and sugary that would melt on your tongue. “I’ve heard the talk spreading among the clans. You’re a part of the Watchmen now. Or whatever the separatists have decided to call themselves.”

Separatists? He almost laughed, imagining what Kellan, one of his werewolf buddies, would say to that. Idiot would probably love it.

“Look, it’s important that I talk to Jessie.” Before she could tell him her aunt wouldn’t want to hear anything he had to say, Noah played his ace. “It’s about your family.”

HER FAMILY? Though she tried to play it cool, Willow knew he’d seen the truth in her eyes. That initial blast of wariness and fear that had caught her by surprise. He couldn’t mean … No, that would be impossible. She didn’t know with any certainty that he was talking about Sienna. Hell, there were Broussards scattered all over the world, each one as crazy as the other. Any one of them could have stumbled into trouble. Noah was just sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong.

Taking a deep breath, she ran her hands over her arms, wishing she were wearing more clothes. A woman needed full emotional battle armor when faced with a man like Noah Winston. Carefully, she said, “I don’t see how that could be possible. You don’t know a damn thing about my family, Noah.”

A warning flashed in his shadowed gaze, making her stomach bottom out. “I know something you’re going to want to hear. Trust me.”

“As if. I’m not in the habit of trusting the Casus,” she murmured, deliberately baiting him. She knew damn well that he hadn’t been taken over by one of the monsters. Yet. He was still Noah. But for how long? Without sustenance, the Casus had become shades while trapped within their metaphysical prison. From what she understood, they were forced to take human hosts when they returned to this world—but not just any humans. They needed ones who had a trace of Casus blood in their ancestry, and the Winstons fit the bill. Hell, they were practically the headliners.

“Stop the bullshit,” he growled, finally losing his temper as he took a step toward her. “You know me.”

Shaking her head, she said, “Wrong. I knew you, as in past tense. I don’t have a clue about who you are now.”

“I’m still me. Nothing’s changed.”

Like hell it hasn’t, she thought. But she kept the resentful words to herself. She didn’t want him thinking she was still bitter over his desertion. A girl had her pride, and a Chastain witch had more than most.

And even though it appeared as if he’d just walked through the fires of hell, he still looked damn good. Gone were the boyish looks that had made all the girls in Sacred pant after him when he’d been nineteen. He’d matured over the years, and he wore that rugged maturity well. He was attractive in a dark, sinister kind of way, his long body wrapped entirely in black—black jeans, black boots, black shirt. His thick black hair was spiky from the wind, his mouth almost cruel, but sensual. And then there were those ice-blue eyes that should have looked cold, but burned like smoldering flames instead.

“What happened to your arm?” she asked, changing the subject as she eyed the wicked-looking scar that was still healing on his forearm. She didn’t want to think about how hot he looked, or how badly she wanted to strip off that black T-shirt and see for herself if he was even half as muscled as he appeared to be. He was all sleek, predatory strength, ripped and hard and mouthwateringly gorgeous.

“I got bit,” he finally forced out in response to her question, the memory of the event clearly not a good one. Not that she had expected it to be.

“By what?”

“A bastard.”

“You kill him?” she asked, lifting her brows.