Cat barely felt the burst of pressure that sent the drug into her vein.
Pulling back, he touched her cheek, his thumb hovering just above her lips before he paused glaring down at her. “I have matters to attend to downstairs now. Two Jackals and one Nation chief. They’ll be able to scream for you. I always thought it rather cruel to paralyze the ability to scream, didn’t you? I believe I’ve adjusted that nasty little drug to allow for the screams,” he promised her.
He’d lost his mind.
And he was going to have who scream for her?
Raymond and those Jackals he’d secured?
He thought she wanted to hear that?
She had never tortured any of the Council Breeds she had been forced to kill. She had never wanted to hear their screams. Hell, the sight of blood even made her queasy. She couldn’t stand to look at it for long.
She stared back at him as he watched her eyes, knowing his freaky ability to read her thoughts would allow him to sense her complete distaste of such a thing.
Another rumble of rage vibrated from him as a heavy frown jerked between his brows. “Fuck. Council’s gotta be using defective genetics. I swear to God, where have all the bloodthirsty Breeds gone? The ones with balls? Breeds don’t have balls anymore,” he snarled down at her. “Is it too much to ask? Too much to expect a Breed to want blood? We were fucking created to crave the taste of blood. What the hell happened to you? I gave you all the right genetics. I know I did.”
She had actually never craved such a repugnant thing.
Cat remembered this rant, though it had obviously strengthened over the years. Graeme had become discontent with the level of courage and fight in his enemies even before their escape from the lab.
“Don’t want to hear their screams, do you, Cat?” He sounded disgusted now. “Of course you don’t. Now, just what made me think any differently? The fact that they wanted to hear your screams, perhaps? How about all those years I taught you better than to have mercy for your enemy?” he snapped furiously. “By God, I know I did.”
The stripes across Graeme’s face seemed to flare and darken again as madness lit his gaze and the amber of his eyes glowed like golden fire.
“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, straightening, still glowering at her. “Cannot fucking believe you. I know I taught you better than this. I remember it . . .”
He seemed to be having quite the conversation with himself. She wondered if he ever needed anyone to participate other than himself.
Yes, he’d tried to teach her to show no mercy. He’d taught her how to kill, taught her to separate justice and vengeance. He’d taught her blood was necessary to survive. But he hadn’t taught her to enjoy it, though she knew he seemed to.
He seemed to. Inside, though, deep, where he thought no one could sense it, Graeme regretted far more than even he suspected.
At least, he once had.
What had happened to him?
The need to reach up and touch the harsh line of his lips, to draw them to hers, was like a hunger she couldn’t push aside. The need to push away the insane fury in his eyes destroyed her.
“Pity, Cat?” he sneered, flipping the sheet over her bare body. “Is that pity I can feel reaching out to me? For me?” Demonic amusement flashed in his eyes. “Save it. Those bastards downstairs need it far more than I do.”
No, they were beyond pity, but it wasn’t pity she felt. It wasn’t compassion or sympathy. What it was, she wasn’t certain, but it hurt to see the soul-deep fury raging in his eyes.
Where had it come from? Even in the labs it hadn’t been rooted so deeply inside the essence of who and what he was.
“You don’t want to know what let the monster free, little cat,” the beast snarled. “But you will know the price your enemies will pay for striking out at you.”
A savage growl rumbled in his chest as his lip lifted in a snarl. “And, I hope you can ignore what you don’t want to hear, because I want to hear their fucking screams.” He thumped his chest with one hand. “And by God, I was created with enough balls to make sure they scream loud and long.”
Of course he was.
He was Graeme. Gideon. G. All the parts of the Breed she had adored with every fiber of her being. But she’d never been unaware of the strength and determined savagery inside him. It was the pure mercilessness she’d been unaware of.
Turning, he stomped—Graeme stomped?—back to the bedroom door and slammed it closed behind him.
Graeme stomped? Oh God, that couldn’t be a good thing . . .
What, she wondered, would happen when he returned? Once he’d heard the screams, spilled their blood and rendered them lifeless?
Where would the madness go then? What would its focus be once he’d killed . . .