“She’s too patient,” Lobo pointed out.
“Her patience has always seemed immeasurable. And it’s vast. But it has a limit. When that limit’s been reached she’s already perfected a deadly plan of attack or retribution. She’s incredible.” He was in awe of her and she had no idea how he felt.
At twelve she’d done what neither he nor Judd had expected. When the transport agents had arrived to take her to the kill center they had deemed her without threat and hadn’t restrained her. Not that their restraints would have locked properly around her tiny wrists.
She’d waited, seemingly drawn within herself, until she’d somehow sensed the perfect moment to launch herself on the agent guarding her and tear his throat out. Judd hadn’t expected such a move and it had been accomplished before he could react. The silent accuracy and cold determination Judd had described had Graeme doubting him. In the time he’d watched her, though, seen her few desert hunts, he’d lost that doubt.
“And when she loses her patience with you?” Lobo asked in an amused murmur. “Will you survive?”
Graeme wasn’t so certain he would.
“She’ll shred me,” he admitted. “Without mercy and without death, she’ll fucking take me apart. But when she does she’ll be the mate I know lurks beneath the calm.”
Breaking that calm had been impossible so far. She was too calm. Too much of the protective Claire still influenced her instincts as well as the Breed genetics struggling within her.
“She’s rising,” Lobo alerted him.
Moving his attention to the e-pad, Graeme watched as she tossed the electronic device aside and rose from the bed. Striding to the dresser, she collected a short, filmy gown from a drawer and moved into the bathroom.
Dammit, he should have replaced the security equipment she’d removed from the room. Waiting, nerves on edge, he knew the sound of the shower long minutes later should have had him relaxing. But it didn’t. There was nothing to indicate danger, no reason to suspect she was doing anything but preparing for bed, but he could feel the monster rousing. Some instinctive knowledge pulled it to the surface despite Graeme’s attempts to push it back.
“Brim, take Ashley and Emma in to check the master shower,” Lobo ordered through the communication link he wore. Graeme had been unaware that link had been programmed to connect to the Coyote Breeds.
Brim didn’t answer but Graeme detected a hint of movement as the Breeds exited the Dragoon and scaled the fence at the front.
Graeme waited, watching carefully as security showed Brim, another Coyote and the two females entering the front door and proceeding upstairs cautiously.
“Something’s not right.” His voice was deeper, harsh, an indication he was losing his grip on the maddened force he harbored inside. “Damn her. She’s flown . . .”
Flown. Claire had said she would fly, not run.
Swinging his head to Lobo, he pierced the Breed with a furious stare. “Are the winged Breeds in this desert?”
Lobo stared at him in surprise. “They’re in South America.”
“Like hell they are,” the monster growled. “They’re here and they have her.”
The monster was free. Power flooded his body, shaped it, poured through his senses and sharpened each detail, each sight and scent that filled the night. And then, the smell of them, so subtle, barely there, reached him.
The winged Breeds had taken his mate.
A savage, enraged roar filled the night.
He’d kill every damned one of them.
? ? ?
The thrill of flying with the winged Breeds would never grow old, Cat thought as Keenan landed with her on the desert floor next to a Limo series Desert Dragoon. The larger, expanded Dragoon with its luxury appointments inside and additional armor and weapons on the outside was quickly becoming adopted as the perfect defense vehicle in the Southwest.
Around the vehicle were four other winged Breeds with one inside the vehicle with the human couple. Reaching forward, Keenan opened the passenger-side back door and allowed Cat to slide inside.
The lighted interior had been hidden by the dark windows, but when she faced the couple, she could clearly identify where Honor had gotten many of her features. The general’s hair was graying now, as was his wife’s, but the attractive, almost aristocratic features made them look years younger.
They stared at her in shock, both the general and his slender wife silent, their gazes wide as they watched her. She flashed them both a grin as she pulled a leather-bound sheath of papers from the deep pocket on the thigh of her snug black pants.
“What were you expecting?” she asked, amused at the looks. “You knew the winged Breeds were flying me in.”
“I wasn’t expecting you,” the general almost whispered. “Sweet God, Catarina, we thought you were dead.”