The awakening. The prophecy said it would come with death. With her death.
She stared into her mate’s eyes. Gideon, Graeme, whichever face he showed to the world, he was hers. His one drive for as long as she could remember had been her protection. Nothing, no one else had ever mattered but her. She’d always longed for a place to belong, but as she stared up at him, she realized she’d never had to fight for such a thing. She’d always belonged, because she had always been his life.
“I didn’t know,” she gasped, trying to hold on to him as an animal’s scream of rage seemed to echo around her. “I didn’t understand . . .”
Oh God, she couldn’t breathe.
“I love you,” she whispered, gasping, feeling her spirit being ripped from its mooring. “Hold me, G. Hold me . . .”
Darkness wrapped around her.
No. Not yet. She needed him one more time. She needed to tell him she was sorry for taking so long to understand. She needed to tear his ass for not telling her so many things. She needed to love him.
She didn’t want to leave him.
But she was being taken. She could feel it, feel that all-encompassing weight coming over her, sucking the life from her and stealing her from all she had ever known . . .
Stealing her from the dream of holding the man she’d always known belonged to her. Heart and soul.
Her G.
? CHAPTER 22 ?
Graeme stared into the sunlit landscape from the balcony of the bedroom, the heat of the day barely registering any more than the presence of those standing with him registered.
Jonas Wyatt, Rule Breaker and his brother, Lawe Justice. Lobo Reever and three of his Wolf Breed alphas and the one female, Cassie Sinclair. Where the hell Cassie had come from he hadn’t even questioned. She’d been there, watching him sadly when he’d returned to the house, her face pale, tears standing in her eyes as he moved past her up to the bedroom.
Cat’s bedroom.
The scent of her filled it, surrounded him. For hours he just sat on the bed, letting her scent seep into him, remind him of what he’d held. She smelled of summer in the mountains, high above the chaos of the world. That innocence and truth a man found only when confronted with the Earth as it should be. Natural. Free of artifice. That was his Cat.
They’d taken her from him and he’d been helpless . . . he, who commanded a creature unlike any he’d heard of, a primal base instinct that came alive to protect his mate, and he’d been helpless.
The winds had locked him in place, ignoring his roars, his struggles, and they’d taken her from his arms as he’d felt the life lifting from her. He’d screamed out to her, he’d begged her not to leave him.
And they had taken her.
The moment he’d lost sight of her the winds had released him, but there was no finding her. And the fight had just gone out of him. The monster had retreated, sulking in silence and waiting. Oh, it was waiting. His mate was taken, and the monster would have vengeance. Graeme would find them, he would tear apart every rock, every speck of dust in that desert and he’d find them, as soon as he could accept that they’d taken a lifeless Cat from his arms.
Lifeless.
He’d felt her spirit being torn from her body, torn from him. When he’d looked up he’d been alone. Even the winged Breeds had disappeared into the night, and he’d been left kneeling in the dust, silent, staring down at where Cat had been, unable to believe what he knew.
“We had no idea Keenan and his men were in the area,” Jonas stated, his voice low as he stood braced by the railing of the balcony. “There wasn’t so much as a whisper they were here.”
“There were rumors they were hiding in South America again after hearing of surviving winged females,” Rule interjected. “We sent messages to them, offering to help, but never heard anything back.”
He would have helped them, Graeme thought. He had helped them. The technology they possessed to remain invisible to even Breed senses, he had given them. The armor in their leather clothing, he’d given them, just as he’d created the therapy that strengthened the muscles of their wings, allowing them to add more muscle to their bodies and still fly.
He’d helped them, yet they had taken her from him and allowed her life to be stolen.
His mate. His mate had been taken from his arms and he hadn’t been able to do a damned thing to stop it.
He’d find them, those winged bastards, he’d kill Keenan. The others he’d make watch. He’d make that bastard scream for days before allowing him to die. Then one by one, he’d take out the Unknown and their leaders, the Six Chiefs. The Navajo spirit warriors did nothing without the chiefs knowing. And he’d start with Orrin Martinez. Old, weak, he wouldn’t last long, but Gideon would leave the proof of the hell a Breed could bring when his mate was taken.
“Graeme . . .”
“I am Gideon,” he stated softly in response when Jonas spoke. “I am retribution.”