Chapter 14

" W e're not going to make it!"

Rhys shook his head, but didn't slow down in the slightest – if anything, he sped up. "No, we can do it. I am not spending another minute on this damn island."

He gritted his teeth, adrenaline giving him wings. Figurative wings, anyway. It probably wouldn't be a great time for the griffin to show its wings or its face.

But he meant it. He wasn't about to hang around this place any longer than he absolutely had to, even if it meant pushing himself to the edge of exhaustion, having just run approximately half the length of the island.

At the dock, the yacht was preparing to depart, taking its cargo of rich wankers back to the airport. It was just starting to move, ever so slowly, but that was fine – Rhys knew that he could make it in time.

He didn't care how far he had to jump, he'd make it.

Maisie was starting to flag, her breath coming in gasps. It was clear that when they got to the dock, Rhys would need to pick her up and leap the remaining distance to the yacht with her in his arms.

We're only ten seconds away.

Nine.

Eight.

Maisie stumbled, and Rhys caught her by the shoulder before she could fall, keeping her upright and moving forward.

Seven.

Seemingly from nowhere, a bunch of large, intimidating-looking men and women materialized in front of them. Rhys didn't need his griffin's unhelpful interjections to know that they were not here to help.

He gritted his teeth. Shit.

For now, they were keeping their distance, but they were closing in in a way that would head Rhys and Maisie off from the only path down to the docks. They were dressed respectably in clean black suits and white shirts – so Rhys knew exactly what their game plan would be.

They look like professionals. So if any other tourists happen to see them taking us down, they'll assume it's security removing some unruly guests.

Six.

He knew from experience that Hargreaves – if that's who these people even were – preferred to keep a low profile, but clearly they were now running out of options and they were doing what they had to do to prevent Rhys and Maisie from getting off this island.

Well, that's what they think, anyway, Rhys thought grimly.

What they didn't know was that Rhys was fighting for his mate. He would never, ever let anything happen to her, and he didn't care who he had to go through to ensure her safety.

Five.

Right now, the suits and ties were trying to position themselves in such a way as to cut them off before they could reach the steps leading down to the docks – and with the yacht just leaving now, slowly maneuvering its way out of its berth, they only really needed to slow Rhys and Maisie down rather than capture them. If they held them up long enough, the yacht would make its way out to open waters before they could jump on board.

And then it's Plan B – helicopter theft, Rhys thought grimly. Or Plan C – griffin mode.

If he had to shift in front of an island's worth of tourists to keep Maisie safe, then that's what he'd do.

Four.

Rhys tensed, trying to calculate whether he could burst through the lot of them with Maisie in his arms without hurting her, and still make the yacht. There were nine of them… and, while Rhys couldn't see any weapons on them, that meant nothing if you were dealing with shifters. Shifters who may or may not be equipped with Hargreaves' shifter-derived chemical weapons.

He didn't like their chances.

Three.

Still, it was their best option. The helicopter was probably out of the question at this point, given that he'd have to take out all of these suits in order to have enough time to hotwire it and get it off the ground.

On the other hand, if these guys were Hargreaves, then they wouldn't risk causing a scene by shifting or trying to attack the yacht. And he had already managed to outrun a few of them, so it wasn't like he'd have to get through nine agents. Just five or six of them. Piece of cake.

One of the agents lunged at him – Rhys took him out with a swift elbow to the throat, determination to protect his mate sharpening his reflexes even beyond their usual speed. Still, the guy went down remarkably easy – even Rhys was a little surprised, though right now, he wasn't about to question it.

Two.

Seeing how he'd dealt with the first guy, the next attackers came at him in a wave of four, though they seemed more intent on blocking his path than physically attacking him.

There was nothing for it – he'd have to try and burst past them and make a leap for it. If that failed, he'd have a split second to turn into a griffin and get Maisie out of there before they both plunged into the ocean. Rhys could only hope that no one on board the yacht had their camera out… but, well, he'd deal with that later. Maisie's safety was the only thing that mattered.

The remaining agents tensed at the edge of the dock, clearly readying themselves to block him.

His griffin squawked in his ear – Danger! – and Rhys shot back an irritated No shit! as he prepared to jump.

One.

He reached over to pull Maisie into his arms – and skidded to a stop, heart in his throat, as she was suddenly yanked back from him, her fingers slipping from his grasp, her body jerking back before he could get his arm around her waist.

"Rhys – !"

The yacht sounded its horn as it pulled away from the dock, but Rhys barely noticed. He only had attention to spare for Maisie, her eyes wide, mouth open, as some arsehole pulled her back and held her close, out of Rhys's reach.

His fury intertwined with that of his griffin, to the point where he couldn't tell which one of them was thinking it:

He will pay.

He shifted into a fighting stance, taking in as much information as possible before he made his move.

Firstly: Maisie didn't seem to be under immediate threat. The guy didn't have any weapons that Rhys could see, and he didn't seem to be hurting Maisie or trying to take her anywhere. He was just holding on to her, his arms around her shoulders as she struggled against him.

Secondly: the suited agents seemed as surprised as he was, looking back and forth between each other, as if trying to work out who to go for first. But at this point, at least they weren't interfering, or trying to take him down now that he'd stopped running and was on his own.

Thirdly: Rhys became aware of what his griffin was yelling at him.

It's a shifter, his griffin was bellowing. Our mate has been stolen by another shifter!

Rhys blinked. He could sense it now – the man who had a hold of Maisie was definitely a shifter.

But the others… aren't?

It was true – now that he had time to send his griffin's senses out, he could tell the suited agents who surrounded him were just regular humans.

That didn't mean they weren't Hargreaves agents – Hargreaves employed humans when it suited them. But it did open up a whole range of possibilities as to who they might be working for.

He turned his attention back to Maisie and the arsehole who was still holding her arms. Maisie looked pissed off, which was reassuring in its own way.

The arsehole himself looked like a massive wanker. Obviously thought pretty highly of himself, with his slicked-back hair and his stubble and his cocky attitude, and his… leather jacket?

Who the hell wears a leather jacket in Queensland? What a tosser.

He did seem to be sweating a bit under it, at least, which gave Rhys a small amount of satisfaction.

"Brent!" Maisie yelled, trying to jerk her arm out of his grasp. "What the hell are you doing?! Who the fuck told you to come here?!"

Rhys blinked. Brent?!

The name rang a bell somewhere at the back of his mind – before he remembered that Maisie had mentioned that the plane ticket he'd flown up here with had originally been booked under the name Brent Coleman.

Wait – it's her ex? The guy she broke up with?!

Judging from the stunned expression on this Brent's face as he finally let Maisie go, it definitely seemed to be the case – but it also seemed to be the case that he was just as surprised to see her as she was to see him.

" Maisie? " he said, sounding completely flummoxed – but then his face broke out into a massive grin. "What the fuck! This is so weird, babe. I had no idea – when I was told we had a guy on the inside, I had no idea that guy was you!" He laughed. "It's like some real-life Mr. and Mrs. Smith shit – we were both working this job, and we didn't know? Babe, this is so funny. I knew you weren't really breaking up with me. It was just a cover all along."

… Babe?!

Anger built up inside Rhys – not toward Maisie, of course, but toward this idiot. Maisie had told them they were broken up and Rhys believed her entirely – and besides which, it was clear that Maisie didn't want anything to do with him, her face scrunched up in distaste, her body angling away from his.

We must rend him limb from limb, his griffin snarled. And then we must reanimate his worthless carcass, so that we can destroy him once more. Death is too good for such a fiend.

Rhys didn't disagree, but he had to focus. There was way too much going on, and, from the looks on the faces of the other agents, they were just as confused as he was.

Brent had said that they were both working a job. Obviously that wasn't true at all – Maisie had come up here with him on the spur of the moment, but even so, she clearly wasn't working for anyone.

What organization is Brent doing the job for? Rhys thought, his eyes narrowing. He wasn't acting like a professional, that was for sure – he was putting both himself and Maisie in danger, standing there yapping. But it must have meant Maisie was unknowingly involved with a man who was into some shady shit – and a shifter besides. She hadn't known what shifters were before meeting Shaz and Michael, so Rhys didn't find it very likely she'd known about anything else, either.

Brent must have been keeping things from her, or they weren't going out long enough for her to know. That has to be the answer.

"Brent, what the hell are you talking about?" Maisie was shouting, having finally jerked herself free. "I'm here on my holiday – the holiday you texted me to say you weren't coming on! And what do you mean, you knew I hadn't really broken up with you? Yes, I did! I meant every word of that text, and I should have sent it weeks ago, the first time I realized what a worthless scumbag you are."

"Babe, I know you have to keep your cover, but that kind of hurts my feelings," Brent said, frowning.

" Your feelings?!" Maisie sputtered, getting up in his face. "What about my feelings? You tell me that you can't come on this holiday with me because of work – which you've never actually even told me what it is that you supposedly do, by the way – and now I find you up here anyway? What the hell is wrong with you?"

Rhys heard a little ooh from one of the watching agents, all of whom seemed to have decided that catching up on the gossip was more important than carrying out their mission. He supposed that it came under the umbrella of intelligence gathering and ensuring we're capturing the right person rather than being an incurable stickybeak , if they were questioned by their superiors.

Still, they only seemed to be a rung or two above this Brent on the professionalism ladder – at this point, he was leaning away from them being Hargreaves. That, however, raised the question: Just who the hell are these people? And why were they trying to keep us from leaving the island?

"What's wrong with me ?!" Brent demanded. "All I ever did was look out for you, babe! And this is how you repay me?"

"No," Maisie said with fury in her eyes. " This is how I repay you."

And with that, she delivered an almighty slap across his cheek.

Stunned, Brent staggered backward, his hand rising up to his already-reddening cheek. The betrayal on his face would have been comical, if he hadn't been so infuriating.

"Babe," he whispered as he took another step back… and toppled backward, arms pinwheeling for a moment before he fell off the edge of the dock and into the water below with a satisfying splash.

Rhys went up to meet Maisie, who was shaking with adrenaline, but who also looked pleased with herself as she shook out her hand.

"Are you okay?" asked Rhys, gently taking her face in his hands and looking into her eyes. If that bastard had put so much as a mark on her, Rhys was going to turn him into shark bait.

"Never better," she replied, and although her voice was a little wobbly, she sounded determined. Rhys supposed that Brent could live another day.

He pulled her in close, feeling reassured by her warmth and hoping that she felt reassured in return. They stayed like that for several moments, just holding each other.

After what felt like way too short a time, he pulled back. As much as he just wanted to lift her up in his arms and get her out of here, they needed answers. And he was still very much aware of the suited agents, who were just hanging back and watching them – he wondered if they would try to stop the two of them if they attempted to leave.

Not that we have many options for that now, Rhys thought, glancing behind him – the yacht was well and truly out of reach now, unless he shifted and flew to it. But if he was going to reveal himself like that, he may as well just fly them all the way back to Sydney. And he didn't think they'd just let him steal a helicopter.

There was also the matter of Brent. Rhys could hear him splashing about and swearing somewhere below, and they were going to have to deal with him one way or the other as well.

All he'd wanted to do was go on a beach holiday with his mate!

Before he could say anything, Maisie turned to him, eyes wide. "What was he talking about – about both of us working on some job? I'm not an agent for anyone, I swear."

Rhys nodded. "Don't worry – I believe you." And he did. Even if he hadn't had the mate bond telling him that he could trust her, he would have believed her anyway. Maisie didn't have a deceptive bone in her body.

Maisie smiled. "I should've hit him months ago," she said. "That felt so good."

"Yeah, I've only known him five seconds, and I wanted to hit him," Rhys agreed. "I can't believe you managed to go this long without causing him serious bodily harm."

"Believe me, I'm disappointed in myself. But at least I got there in the end." Her smile turned to a frown. "But what the hell is going on? Brent is some kind of secret agent? I just thought he was an emotionally unavailable skeeze."

Rhys had to admit, that didn't seem very likely – the Hargreaves agents he'd had to deal with in the past had been cold-blooded, ruthless, and consummate professionals. He might have only been aware of him for a minute or two, but still, Rhys couldn't imagine someone like Brent passing their screening processes for even their lowest-level intern position.

"I don't know," he admitted. "But right now, I think we have to focus on just getting the hell out of here."

"Um. Yeah," Maisie agreed, glancing over her shoulder to where the – far more professional-looking – suited agents were starting to close in again, though clearly Rhys having taken down their colleague without breaking a sweat had given them something to think about, and they were glancing at each other uneasily even as it was pretty clear they'd do their best to stop Rhys and Maisie if they made a move.

Given that they were human, Rhys was sure he could take them pretty easily if it came to that. He'd taken that first guy out no problems – and he supposed now that was why.

Humans are so fragile.

It wasn't his preferred option to leave a pile of unconscious bodies on the dock, especially as the sun was rapidly rising in the sky and more people were milling around – but if all else failed, at least there was a way out of here that didn't involve turning into a mythological beast in an open area.

The guy he'd elbowed in the throat earlier was up and about, though he didn't look like he was in great shape – so that meant eight and a half goons that he had to get through in order to make his way to the helicopter, preferably without drawing any attention.

"Stay behind me," he murmured to Maisie, even as he tried to work out what the best way to approach the situation was. Should he show some aggression and fight his way out, or try to sweet-talk them?

He didn't think they were the type to be sweet-talked.

You should destroy them with a wave of righteous fury, said the griffin. How dare they attempt to prevent a griffin from protecting its mate.

Rhys rolled his eyes. That's very helpful. Thanks.

I see that you have finally started to thank me for my excellent advice. It has taken far too long, but I suppose that it is better late than never.

Rhys thought about trying to explain the concept of sarcasm to a griffin, but decided that he had better things to do. And he knew that it wouldn't be a fruitful experience.

Suddenly, the griffin's head jerked up, eagle eyes widening.

We have company.

Rhys looked around, unable to see anyone suspicious, but in this, at least, he trusted his griffin's instincts.

A moment later, the drone of an approaching boat engine at the edge of his hearing caught his attention. At almost the same moment, he saw one of the goons lift his walkie talkie, and instinctively he knew that they were talking to whoever was approaching.

"Is something going on?" whispered Maisie, leaning in close to his side.

"Yeah," he muttered back. "I don't know if it's good or bad – but we should probably assume it's bad."

I would not be so certain of that, his griffin said suddenly.

You sure? Rhys asked, surprised.

No, the griffin said, in an exceedingly rare admission of imperfection. But I believe that those approaching may not be enemies.

The boat was close enough now that Maisie could hear it, and she turned as it glid across the water, maneuvering smoothly into an empty berth.

"That's one fancy boat," Maisie said. "Should we be running away from it?"

"The griffin thinks it's safe. Probably."

Maisie grinned weakly. "Well, if the griffin says so, then it must be true."

I would never lie to you! the griffin bellowed, making Rhys wince. Tell her that we would only ever speak truths to her! Tell her that we are devoted to her always!

Rhys tried – and mostly succeeded – to not sigh audibly. Keep your shirt on. You know that she knows that.

She must know it even more! She can never know it enough!

He hadn't thought that he would be relieved for the mystery boat to arrive – but, he thought, it was better than dealing with his griffin's haranguing. If he followed all of his griffin's romantic advice… well, it didn't even bear thinking about.

The boat wasn't as opulent as the yacht had been, but it was definitely more high-tech. Rhys was pretty sure it was a military or spy craft masquerading as a luxury vessel, and doing a bit of a piss-poor job of it… though some of that came down to the occupants. They were obviously trying to look like they were rich bastards out on a joyride in their pleasure craft, but they weren't quite pulling it off.

Not good.

Rhys didn't want to start doubting his griffin's instincts now, but in a choice between choosing to trust these guys weren't their enemies and risking Maisie's safety, or making a break for it now while the going was still good, he knew which one he'd choose.

The goon put away his walkie talkie and nodded at one of the agents on the boat. So, they were definitely all in cahoots.

That certainly doesn't put me at ease, Rhys thought grimly. Time to shift, and I don't care who sees it.

"Step back a little," he murmured to Maisie, as the guys on the boat started leaping out of it up onto the dock and heading their way – and Rhys could tell from their faces that they meant business.

"Are you – are you going to –" Maisie whispered, looking up at him with wide eyes. "But people will –"

"I don't care right now," Rhys told her. "Right now, the only thing that matters is your safety. I'll do what I have to."

Maisie swallowed heavily, before she reluctantly nodded and took a step back, giving him some space.

All right, Rhys thought, pulling in a deep breath as he prepared to shift. Here goes –

"Agent Richardson! Stop right there!"

The voice that rang out across the docks was loud and strident enough to give Rhys pause. And how do they know my name?!

"Whatever you're about to do, just listen to me first!"

Rhys could see the speaker now, though he didn't recognize him at all – and there was also the matter that right now, he didn't know who, exactly, he could trust. Hadn't he sent Michael to hack into the Agency's computer system because he'd thought there was something fishy going on?

He thought back to how Michael and Shaz had been fleeing through the streets of Sydney. While he hadn't had much chance to think through the ramifications, being caught up with some fleeing of his own, he couldn't believe the two things weren't connected. Had Michael's changes to their hotel booking somehow linked them together in the eyes of someone who had it in for them? Or were they being watched, even when they visited Michael's apartment?

"Stay alert," he murmured to Maisie. "I'm not sure how far I trust these guys."

She nodded, watching them closely, clearly ready to follow his lead at a moment's notice.

"Who the hell are you?" Rhys growled, as the men from the boat came to a halt in front of them, though Rhys could tell from their stances that they were ready for action at any moment.

"Just calm down, Agent Richardson. We're here to help you," the foremost guy – who couldn't look any less like an actually rich wanker if he tried, with his military-style flat-top haircut and thick, bull-like neck – said, holding up his hands peaceably. "The Agency's Sydney branch sent us here on an emergency extraction mission. For you ."

Rhys blinked, then narrowed his eyes. He'd never seen these guys before, which wasn't exactly telling one way or another; outside of their specific teams, agents rarely had much contact with other agents, so they'd have less information to give up if they were ever captured. But right now, he wasn't exactly in the most trusting of moods.

"Prove it," he snarled.

"You know I can't. But there's some other people on the way I hope you'll be able to trust more," the man said. "Believe me when I say this – you've been set up. We got information that one of our agents was in trouble from… well, not a source we trust , necessarily, but one that was able to provide enough corroborating evidence that we thought we needed to check it out."

Rhys frowned.

Michael.

That was the only person it could have been. And he must have been really worried if he'd made contact with the Agency, even anonymously. He really didn't like to draw their attention. With good reason.

That is, Rhys thought, if these guys are telling the truth.

"Who are these guys in the suits, then?" he asked, gesturing to them with a flick of the head.

"Resort security," Flat-Top Military Haircut Guy replied, looking a little abashed. "We asked them to keep you here until we could arrive, but not approach if they could help it. You're with some dangerous company, after all."

Rhys couldn't fault them for that, he guessed – that brown snake had been a pretty nasty customer, after all, even if Maisie had managed to take it out with a putt-putt club.

Not to mention…

A sputtering sound behind him drew his attention, and Rhys turned to see a very sodden, annoyed-looking Brent hauling himself up over the side of the dock. He flopped face-down, wheezing, onto the ground, a puddle of seawater slowly spreading around him.

Rhys wondered if maybe Brent couldn't swim – unlikely, but possible. On the other hand, maybe his ridiculous leather jacket and boots had just weighed him down.

"Babe… Maisie…" he spluttered out, only to notice the Agency agents standing above him, not looking pleased. "Shit," he had the time to get out, before he was suddenly descended upon.

Rhys watched as a slew of agents pinned Brent to the ground, whipping out a pair of what he recognized as handcuffs that would shrink or expand with his body size, keeping him from slipping out of them or busting them open if he tried to shift.

"You're under arrest for attempted murder," Flat-Top said, and Rhys heard Brent squawk in what sounded like real fear and confusion.

"What?! No! I never murdered anyone, I swear! You've got the wrong guy!"

Rhys had to admit that he was a bit surprised as well – as much as he didn't like Brent, he didn't seem like the murdering type. Rhys wasn't sure that he was actually capable of it – not so much from a moral point of view, but a competence one. Brent seemed like the type to puff himself up big to try and impress people, but who wouldn't want to put himself in a situation where he could be in physical danger.

A coward, in other words.

An annoying background noise suddenly turned into a deafening roar as a helicopter came in overheard to land nearby, the wind from its rotors sending dust flying. Rhys braced himself against the wind and Maisie clung to his arm, yelling something that he couldn't hear.

Eventually Brent appeared from under the pile of overpriced Hawaiian shirts, cuffed and bruised, and looking scared.

"I didn't try to kill anyone," he insisted over the sound of the slowing helicopter rotors. "I was just hired to do some intimidation."

"Uh-huh," said Flat-Top. "Well, you can tell that to our investigators."

"Shit," Brent whispered, his eyes wide, and Rhys almost felt sorry for him. Almost. Normally he wouldn't care, but something felt very wrong about this situation – and his griffin was getting antsy, which added to the feeling. As much as he tended to roll his eyes at the griffin's antics, its instincts were top-notch.

He approached Flat-Top.

"You sure you got the right guy?" he asked. "This guy's a moron, but I'm not sure he's the killer type. What did he do?"

Flat-Top looked surprised – or as surprised as it was probably possible for him to look, anyway. "He was with the group that attacked you a couple of days back. The ones with the deadly weapon."

Rhys could tell that he was trying not to say things like wyvern blood in front of the resort security, but that was really the least of his concerns. Because he really didn't think that Brent was one of the guys who'd attacked him. He'd gotten a look at the ones who'd gotten up close, and Brent hadn't been one of them.

Besides…

"I thought they all died?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent, rather than suspicious.

"Nah, this slippery little bastard ran away," Flat-Top said, jerking his head in Brent's direction. "Thanks for helping lead us to him. Now maybe we can get some answers about that whole mess."

Brent's eyes were as wide as saucers. "I didn't try to kill you, I swear! Like I said – I just got hired to do an intimidation job! I'd never kill anyone! Yesterday I turned over a turtle that'd got stuck on its back!"

"Sure, sure, you're an angel, I'm sure," Flat-Top said, rolling his eyes.

This is just fucked, Rhys thought, scrubbing his hands over his face. I don't know what to think.

He knew that Brent wasn't a good guy, turtle rescuer or not. But his gut – and his griffin – told him that he probably wasn't a killer. And the whole vibe from these Agency guys was just weird… and he didn't think it was just because they were from Queensland.

He was going to have to –

" RHYS!!! "

He spun around –

To see Maisie staring at him in terror, as two agents jerked her arms behind her back and slapped a pair of cuffs around her wrists.

The world took on a red tinge as fury coursed through Rhys's veins, his inner voice and the griffin screaming out as one.

They dare to even touch our mate!

He readied himself to shift, shifter secrecy be damned, the whole world be damned, when he felt Flat-Top's meaty hand clamp down on his shoulder.

"Easy, champ," he said into Rhys's ear. "You don't want to make a scene now, do you?"

Rhys growled, barely able to form coherent words. "Let. Go."

Flat-Top's grip tightened. "Nah, won't be doing that. You see, she's been screwing you over, and you haven't even realized." He laughed, and it was a nasty sound. "You see a pretty face, and you just spill all your secrets. It's no wonder you screwed up bad enough to get suspended."

Screwing me over? What the hell?!

He knew it wasn't true, of course – but why the hell would the Agency think that Maisie was a threat?! She'd saved his life! She was a burned-out nurse who needed a holiday, not some master of espionage! What could she have even possibly done that would make the Agency think that she was involved?!

"You're making a mistake," Rhys growled. "Don't make it worse."

Flat-Top's eyes narrowed. "Is that a threat?"

It had been, and Rhys intended to make good on it if these guys didn't back off from Maisie.

"Just let her go," he said, looking the man in the eye. "She's got nothing to do with this."

Flat-Top raised an eyebrow. "Oh no? So… you wanna explain the chain of events to me, then? I'm only getting this second-hand from headquarters, so perhaps you can tell me if I missed anything. First, she just happens to drive you right to your office. How'd she know where that was, huh?"

Rhys's lip twitched. "She told me she got a call on my phone while she was driving me to the hospital, telling her where to go."

"Did you check your phone?"

Rhys opened his mouth to say Of course I checked my phone, and he had. But then, he remembered – there'd been no log of the call in there at all. At the time, he hadn't thought much about it, but, he realized, he couldn't say that to Flat-Top here.

"And then you took her to your dropout hacker friend, didn't you?" Flat-Top said, his smirk deepening. "And what happened to him?"

Again, Rhys realized, he couldn't say anything. He knew what had happened to Michael and Shaz – they'd had to go on the run in their shifter forms. He had to assume they wouldn't have done that without a very good reason. And he'd gotten that text from Michael only seconds earlier telling him he'd been set up.

"And then… what? She coincidentally asked you to come up here on a holiday, with her spare airline ticket?" Flat-Top looked like he was about to burst into laughter at any moment. "To come with her up here, away from your team and any kind of support, and the first thing that happens pretty much is you get attacked by some bunch of hired yahoos – so you tell me, what kind of picture does this paint to you?"

Rhys growled. Perhaps to an outsider, it did look bad. But not for one second did he believe Maisie had had anything to do with what had happened. The phone call he'd need to look into, but everything else…

"That's all just a coincidence," he said, realizing as soon as the words were out of his mouth how unconvincing they sounded. "You have no fucking idea what you're talking about."

"Well, we'll see about that," Flat-Top said, shaking his head.

"I'm telling you for the last time, let her go," Rhys snarled, aware that there were other agents crowding in on him – but he didn't care. He'd fight every single one of them, lose his job, and have to deliver pizzas for a living if it meant protecting Maisie.

"Rhys!" Maisie called out again as the agents started to manhandle her toward the newly-landed helicopter, and Rhys tensed, calling his griffin forward and starting the shifting process. He didn't give two shits who saw him – the only thing that mattered was Maisie.

We will spill the blood of any who harm our mate!

The world went blurry in front of his eyes, as he felt his arms and legs start to elongate –

"Rhys! No! For fuck's sake, mate, stop !"

Shock made Rhys stop mid-shift, slipping back into his human form.

Because he knew that voice. He trusted that voice.

Trent.

Sure enough, Trent was sprinting toward him from the helicopter that had landed a minute ago, Euan right behind him.

What the hell are they doing here?! Rhys thought – though it didn't matter.

He had to protect Maisie, and they couldn't stop him.

"It's okay, we've got him," Trent said as he raced over, grabbing Rhys and hauling him away from Flat-Top, who released Rhys's shoulder reluctantly. "This is Sydney business – we'll take over from here."

"Whatever," said Flat-Top, as he turned to head toward the helicopter. "You can deal with your own mess."

"Trent?!" Rhys exclaimed, barely able to think any kind of thought except go rescue your mate right now. The sound of the rotors whirring back to life ratcheted up his apprehension even further. "You have to let me go – they're taking her away! Let me GO. "

Trent grabbed Rhys by the shoulders, forcing Rhys to look him in the eye. "Look, mate, I hate to be the one to tell you this, but she was spying on you. Feeding information back about your movements to whoever it is that's after you."

Behind Trent, Euan nodded, his face solemn.

No. Absolutely not.

On this, at least, he and the griffin were in one hundred percent agreement.

Rhys yanked Trent's hands off of his shoulders – surprised, Trent let him.

"She's not a spy!" he yelled, sprinting toward the helicopter. "You don't fucking understand – she's my mate. "

He faintly heard Trent's oh, shit somewhere behind him, but he didn't care. All he cared about was getting to Maisie – even as he knew that it would be impossible. The helicopter was ready for take-off, and he was too far away.

Maisie looked over her shoulder as they bundled her into the helicopter, and for a split second, the two of them locked eyes even as he ran.

I will find you, he thought desperately. I will find you, and I will make anyone who even thinks about hurting you pay.

She nodded, as if she'd heard his words – and perhaps she had. From everything he'd heard about the mate bond, it wouldn't surprise him at all.

The helicopter lifted off, and Rhys skidded to a stop, lungs heaving, even as his griffin howled in fury.

Maisie. My mate. Maisie.

Shift! Shift and chase after her! his griffin howled, but Rhys knew it would be hopeless – the blades on a helicopter would rip his wings to shreds, and he'd do nothing but condemn them both to falling to a very messy death.

But still, I have to try –

He barely registered the sound of Trent and Euan catching up to him.

"Shit, mate, I'm sorry," said Trent. "She's your mate? Are you sure? "

"Of course I'm fucking sure!" Rhys bellowed at him, fury carving its way through his chest. "Were you sure Zina was your mate? Even though she shot at you first time you met?"

"Okay… point," Trent said, before his expression darkened. "There's something really fuckin' weird going on here, and I don't like it."

Next to him, Euan nodded. He was a man of few words, but Rhys was used to that, and knew that it didn't reflect on the depth of his feelings.

Usually, Rhys would be relieved to see them both after the day he'd had, but right now, all he could think was that they'd stopped him from going after Maisie, and now they seemed to want to stand around and chat.

"If you haven't got anything useful to say, then I'm going after my mate," he growled. "Why are you even here?"

"The boss sent us to come and collect you once the threat was dealt with. We can take the Agency boat back to the mainland," Euan said, gesturing toward the dock. "And hold your horses – we just got here. Maybe you could try explaining things instead of standing here yelling and screaming. Come on – we can't beat the helicopter, but we have enough equipment on board to try to alert someone that this is a mistake. She'll be waiting for you –"

"I can't just get on a boat and trust everything will be okay!" Rhys exploded, fury tearing through him. "If that was Delilah on that helicopter, would you just be getting on some fucking boat and –"

"No, I probably wouldn't," Euan said, voice level. "But I would listen to my friends when they tried to tell me that fighting a helicopter isn't going to work out well for anyone. Not her, and definitely not you."

Rhys snarled, but he had to admit he'd had the same thought. "I could follow her though – I could make sure she knows –"

"Mate, you're already suspended," Trent cut in. "You're not doing yourself any favors, and you won't be doing her any either." He frowned. "That's your mate. We know she wouldn't betray you. Trust me – we'll head right there and get this sorted, one way or another."

The words sounded ominous – but Rhys didn't doubt that Trent meant it. Their team was tight-knit, and loyal to a fault. Any one of them would lay down their lives for the others if they had to.

"First things first," Trent said. "Let's get off this island. It's a nice island, but I think it's time to split."

The resort security guards appeared to have left the scene, which was probably for the best – Rhys wasn't sure he could be trusted to hold back if someone tried to stop him from getting to Maisie.

A few Agency agents remained at the dock, and Rhys barged past them, climbing into the boat without a second thought, Trent and Euan right behind him.

"Hey!" yelled one of the agents. "You can't just take that!"

"Can and will, sorry," said Trent with a cheerful wave. "We're Agency, you're Agency – what's yours is ours, you know?"

"Son of a bitch," one of them muttered, climbing up the side – and Euan sent him right back down to the ground with a well-aimed foot to the chest.

"Sorry about that!" Trent yelled over the side. "Our man here is the kick first, ask questions later type. Big and grumpy, but with a heart of gold. You'd like him if you got to know him."

"Can we just get going?" Rhys snapped. He was in no mood for Trent's banter today… although, deep down, it was a little reassuring. At least he knew he wasn't alone in this anymore.

The boat's engine roared to life. "Set sail!" Trent called out gleefully.

Rhys's eyes narrowed. "How many boats have you stolen now?"

"It's not stealing, it's borrowing," Trent said. "It's an Agency craft, after all. Besides, it's not my fault if they didn't lock anything. I just pushed a few buttons, and off she went!"

Trent was an expert at walking the line between entertaining and infuriating, and right now, Rhys wasn't feeling particularly in the mood to be entertained. But it was satisfying to see the remaining agents yelling furiously from the dock as they pulled away.

"You can fill us in on the way," Trent said, glancing over his shoulder at Rhys, and Rhys nodded tersely. "And then we'll go rescue your mate."