A rush of breeze blew over her, indicating he’d lifted from the balcony in a surge of power to return to wherever he and his small group of winged Breeds hid.
She’d seen them fly once, deep within a hidden canyon where no eyes could see them other than those they allowed. She’d watched them train in aerial combat and had marveled at the grace and agility of such a huge wingspan. It had been incredible, a sight she’d marveled at for weeks.
With the rising conflict between Breeds and Raymond Martinez, though, those little outings had come to an end and only the most important meetings conducted face-to-face.
Such as this one.
In two nights’ time she would meet with Honor’s parents, give them the information she’d selected and the pictures that would lead them to their daughter. Honor deserved her parents.
Once, long ago, Cat had wondered why she hadn’t deserved parents. Her mother had died from a disease she’d refused to treat, one she’d passed on to her newborn daughter because of her refusal to acknowledge it.
There had been no father listed on her birth record. Her mother had been without any known family. Cat had been born alone in the world and would have died had Phillip Brandenmore not claimed her and brought her to the research center to test his new gene therapy.
It sometimes seemed she was just as alone now as she had been when she’d been born. Without family, but not totally without friends, it appeared. Hell, Keenan was a damned good friend to have too, not to mention a rather cool one.
A grin touched her lips.
“Take that, Ashley,” she murmured. “Bet you don’t have an Eagle for a buddy. All you have is Graeme.”
It might have been said defiantly, but the ache, the hurt that hadn’t abated, reminded her just how much she wished so many things had been different.
As that thought drifted through her mind, the distant scent of enraged Bengal drifted to her senses and it was coming closer. Fast.
Jumping for the bedroom door, she unlocked it quickly and, opening it, came face-to-face with a furious Graeme.
It wasn’t the maddened fury that brought out the Bengal to mark his eyes and his flesh. This was the Breed, the mate, who had somehow sensed more than he should have been able to sense.
“What the hell is your problem?” Stepping back, she allowed him to stalk into the room, watching his nostrils flare, wondering if he could detect Keenan’s scent even when she couldn’t.
Glaring at him, she crossed her arms over her breasts, waiting. He prowled around the room, a growl rumbling in his chest as she blinked at him in amazement.
“You’re starting to worry me,” she informed him with a glare. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“Motion sensors on the balcony picked up movement, and it wasn’t you.” The growl in his voice was one that demanded not just answers, but the truth.
“Really?” Moving slowly to the balcony, she looked outside the open doors before turning back to him with an arch of her brows. “Well, it wasn’t me, but how would you know?”
“Who was it?” The snap in his voice caused her eyes to widen in surprise.
“Check your damned cameras, Graeme,” she snapped back at him. “Who the hell could get to my bedroom without you knowing about it now?”
Lying to him wasn’t preferred for some reason, she didn’t know why. No doubt he lied to her every chance he got. He was created to lie. He was a lie.
She could almost hear his teeth grinding at her question.
“No one should be able to get to your bedroom without detection,” he admitted, not in the least pleased to do so.
“Maybe you should check your electronics,” she suggested slowly, as though wary of his mood.
Screw his mood.
She was in a mood of her own.
“I checked my electronics.” Facing her fully, arms braced on his hips, he confronted her with a heavy frown. “What are you up to, Cat?”
He said it so seriously that she had to laugh.
“What am I up to? Really, Graeme? I think I should be asking you that question. You’re the master of games, not me.”
Dropping her arms, she moved to the bedroom door and held it in preparation to slam it behind him. “Why don’t you go check your electronics again, wild man, because I don’t have time for your moodiness right now.”
The change in him was instant, but then it only began to coincide with hers.
Mating Heat.
She’d been burning for him for two days. The need for his touch was growing like an addict’s need for a fix.
She wondered if she could find a twelve-step program to fix it.
She doubted it. Her luck simply wasn’t that good.
Surely to God there was a cure rather than just some stupid hormonal treatment to aid in the symptoms. Because she had news for him, she simply wasn’t in the market to try another therapy.
She’d had enough of those as a child.
“My moodiness?” he asked carefully, his expression tightening, his eyes narrowing on her warningly.