Styx's Storm (11 page)

"Doesn't surprise me," Dougal grunted. "Ye've not had time for me since Animera and I mated."

Styx grimaced as he headed for the kitchen and the coffee. This man who had created him, called himself his grandfather and insisted on interfering in his life had the ability to make him damned nervous.

"I've been busy," he lied without so much as a twinge of guilt.

Dougal snorted at the excuse. "Ye've been runnin'. What makes ye so damned uncomfortable around me now, boy? The fact that I'm happy for a change?"

"The fact that in the past eight years you seem to have regressed in age a good ten?" Styx questioned him mockingly. "Sorry, Pops, I guess I'm just not used to it. It throws a mon off just a wee bit." Dougal ignored the comment. This was the way of every argument they had. Styx couldn't explain why he was having problems with it, he just knew he was. Give it another six to ten years and his grandfather would look more like his brother.

"I'm sending after the equipment we hid in Scotland," Dougal said then, changing the subject. "Animera and I will be settin' a lab up here to aid Dr. Armani. The equipment we hid is more specialized, some of the technology more advanced than what Vanderale and Lawrence Industries have been providing. I'd like to see if we can't do more to figure out the problem of conception with the Wolf Breeds."

"Perhaps we weren't meant to conceive," Styx growled as he turned to glare at the other man. "The Feline mates conceive fine without help. Hell, they need birth control rather than conception aids. Let nature figure it out herself."

"You don't have the luxury of time, Styx," Dougal retorted, as he had in the past.

"Then we'll make the luxury."

Styx shrugged. Hell, he didn't want to argue over this. He wanted to curl up in the bed with his mate and warm her, to ensure she was never cold again.

"That may not be possible," Dougal warned him, his tone far too somber now. "My contacts within the Council Directorate's ranks called this morning. The Coyote they had chasing her was found in his hotel room this morning, dead. He'd been shot in the back of the head. The weapon used was the same the Montague girl used last month when she wounded one of their soldiers. They're assembling a team to find her."

The bastard had been executed. It served Farce right, and Styx was pretty certain Dog had been the executioner.

"Any word on where they're concentrating their search?" Styx asked.

Dougal shook his head. "My contact said they're being damned quiet about it, but they want that girl more now than they did a month ago."

They were more careful now. The Directorate ensured that they were never in any way associated with the Breeds or the trainers and scientists that still worked for their cause. World sentiment was currently strong enough against the Breeds that prison sentences were being passed down on the few that had gone to trial in the past years.

The Directorate was careful, but they were still lethal. The fact that a team had been assembled to bring Storme in worried Styx.

"I'll take care of it," he assured Dougal.

"Be careful, lad," Dougal sighed. "You may be uncomfortable with the fact that we're family, but that's what we are. You and your brothers and sister are still my life. Losing any of you would break my heart."

Dougal stepped closer and much to Styx's consternation wrapped his arms around his shoulders for a quick hug.

"You're important to us as well, dammit." Styx raked his fingers through his hair as he stepped back and glared at him. "Cannot ye keep the mushy stuff for your mate and just continue as we were? Hell, Pops, give her the hugs."

Dougal chuckled at the response. "Ye'll get used to it, lad. Now I'll head to the labs and see what Nikki and I can come up with on your mating problems. She's requesting Amburg's help on this as well; he worked with Wolf Breeds almost as much as the Felines. Between the three of us here and Drs. Morrey and Vanderale at Sanctuary, I believe we'll have this problem solved in no time."

One problem down, God only knew how many more to go, Styx thought irritably as his grandfather left the cabin. Styx had a feeling this problem wouldn't be so easily fixed though. Mating heat and the word "easy" never went hand in hand.

Hell, he didn't need this. Not his grandfather with his youth returning, not Jonas in child protective mode, not all that while he was in the middle of a mating heat that wasn't a mating heat, with a mate who smelled of fear more often than affection.

Hell, he should kill Jonas simply for waiting until he needed the information before pulling Storme into safety. She could have learned, easily, that the Breeds weren't the monsters they were made out to be.

He'd show her that here though. Show her now.

Returning to the kitchen, he pulled the ingredients for dinner out of the freezer. Chicken soup fixed everything, the Felina, the alpha female of the Feline prides, had once assured him. He had a feeling she wasn't talking about a delayed mating heat though.

He stared at the chicken he'd laid in the sink to defrost, turned the water on to flow over it and decided he'd finally found a problem chocolate couldn't fix.

Grinning at the thought, he laid vegetables on the cutting board by the sink, then pulled the chef's knife from the butcher block to begin chopping them.

He was on the first slice when his body tensed, and before he could even consider his actions he raced from the kitchen, out the front door and to the side of the house.

The bedroom window was shattered.

Glass lay spread out on the pristine grass, some tipped with blood, some still lodged and glittering in the long black hair that fell around Storme's features and emphasized those large, fear-ridden emerald green eyes.

She looked like a cat. Lithe, sensual, clawed and hissing.

But she wasn't a cat. She was a Wolf's mate. She was his mate. And by God he was growing tired of her hurting herself, endangering herself and generally refusing to care for her own health.

If this trick was anything to go by, taming her was going to be a full-time job and ensuring her place in Haven wasn't going to be easy.

One thing was for damned certain, she could well see an ass paddling in her future if it didn't come to an end.

Alarms were screaming, and the bud tucked into his ear began filling with Breed reports even as Styx stared at the fearful vision crouched in front of him.

He felt his stomach clench with rage as a snarl of protective fury burst from his chest. Damn her, he'd not allow her to continue this habit of harming herself. He couldn't bear to see more wounds on her delicate, pale flesh.

"She went out the back window. She's contained and we've only to return her to her room," Styx reported into the sensitive mic attached to the ear bud. "All Enforcers stand down. I repeat, stand down." Weapons were held ready with more Enforcers racing for the area.

The last thing he needed was the circle of Breeds already forming around her, let alone what could happen if more joined.

Terror and shock were vivid on her pale face, her dark green eyes were wild, and her long, straight black hair fanned around her. Her slender body was crouched as his was, facing the Breeds that had slowly begun to surround her.

In her own mind she was a woman facing death.

A woman who would die before walking easily into the monster's embrace again.

And Styx decided in that moment that she would come, and come easily, to his every touch.

CHAPTER 5

She was dead.

Storme remained crouched, her breathing harsh and irregular as she stared back into the clear, amused gaze of the red Wolf casually facing her, his arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes glittering with irritation. Canines gleamed in the early morning light as long, burnished red hair feathered back in the breeze and tempted her fingers to dig in and grip fingerfuls as she pulled him into her kiss.

She swore she could almost taste his kiss. Chocolate and spice, a hint of coffee and peppermint. The taste of it was on her lips, against her tongue, and she couldn't get rid of it. She'd awakened with the taste of him tormenting her, pushing her to demand more. What she wanted was freedom, she assured herself, not some Breed's kiss.

Not this Breed. Not the possessiveness, the dominance glowing in his gaze.

Savagery reflected in his features. A brutal, too attractive sort of savagery that drew a woman even as her survival instincts kicked in with a scream.

This was the Breed she had slept with, the one that had given her such pleasure. She'd managed over the years to do a vast amount of research by using the passwords to Council records she'd been able to hack. She knew many of the Breeds by face as well as by their lab reports.

"Styx," she whispered as dread threatened to overwhelm her. She had read that in mythology the word meant "hated," "detested." It was the river of death, and so this Breed was one known for his hatred of humans and his ability to kill in the most painful ways and always with a smile.

If she died, she was going to go down fighting. She would not willingly give this bastard her neck for to rip open.

But shouldn't she have thought of this before she fucked him? Before she gave in to her weakness, gave in to the need to relish his warmth rather than running another night?

"Ah, lass, would ye keep runnin' from me," he crooned, that devil's soft brogue stroking over her feminine senses as every muscle in her body tightened further in the demand that she run.

She wouldn't make it far. There were more than a dozen Breeds surrounding her, all Wolf and Coyote, with the exception of the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, who lounged casually at the corner of the cabin.

She swallowed tightly. "Let me leave."

"Give me wha' I want, lass, and the Breeds will give you free passage. I promise this."

And he sounded oh so sincere, but there was something in his gaze, some premonition that warned her he would never let her go so easily.

Styx, the charming Scots red Wolf. He could flow through the night and kill in ways that left his victims screaming long after he had disappeared. Among a very select group of Breed supporters, he was also known as the Scots lover. A man that took physical pleasure to its very limits and left a woman always begging for more.

And damn her, she had known that about him. Known and been intrigued by his reputation. Intrigued enough that she couldn't resist him herself.

And now she was paying for it.

"I don't have what you want." She infused her voice with desperation, lying, though she knew she couldn't completely hide the scent of that lie.

He chuckled, a low, rough sound filled with amusement and patience.

"Then I'm verra verra sorry to say, we'll have to step back into this cabin for a while," he stated as his gaze flicked to the Lion Breed at his side. "Jonas, could ye do me the small favor of having a few bars placed on the windows so the lass can't catapult through them so easily? It distresses me mightily to smell the scent of her blood when she wounds herself."

He gave her a heavy-lashed, wicked look. A look that assured her he wanted her in top physical form for a certain reason.

And damn her, she shouldn't be blushing at the thought of it, or the memory of his touch.

"Well now, Styx, you know how I hate to see you distressed. It will be taken care of within the hour." Jonas Wyatt grinned back at her as she threw him a glare.

There had to be a way out of this. In the past ten years she had escaped every time she had feared she was well and truly caught by either Council or Bureau. Surely there was a way to escape this time as well.

She gazed around desperately, seeing only marked cool purpose on the Breeds' faces, and the lack of an opening to slip through.

This couldn't happen. It couldn't end this way.

She'd awakened from the nightmares of the past. The sight of her brother's throat ripped out, her father begging for mercy, gleaming red eyes and a monster's smile as curved canines descended to her own vulnerable flesh.

She'd awaken, confused, sweating with fear, and the horrible realization that she couldn't escape whatever was happening to her now. Whatever was going to happen to her. The abnormal reaction, the sense of desperation clawed at her throat and left her gasping for air.

"Let me go!" She was surprised by the vehemence and the desperation that tore through her voice and came out as an agonized scream.

All she could see were those wicked curved canines tearing out her brother's throat. All she could feel was the nightmarish touch of them against her neck and the sensation of her blood spurting, her body growing cold in death.

"Lass, letting you go isna a part of the bargain here." That smile, so charming, so dangerous, had fear cramping her stomach. "So let's be a wee bit reasonable and step into the cabin for a bit o' chocolate coffee and perhaps a bowl of the chicken soup I'm preparing to put on the stove, while we discuss this predicament we find ourselves a part of and perhaps reminisce about the night past."

Storme could do nothing but blink. Every muscle, every nerve and instinct in her body was demanding action, and the killer standing casually in front of her was suggesting chocolate coffee and sex? Had he lost his ever loving Wolf mind?

Did he think this was the Internet where he had yet another groupie fawning over his every abbreviated typed word? That she didn't know the training, the years of blood and death, that had created him?

She had no weapon, there was no way to escape. Her gaze went constantly around the forested area, tracking each Breed surrounding her as she fought to stay in place rather than run in panic.

"Lass, you can see you're not escapin'," he crooned. "Come on now, let's go chat about this. I bet I could even find a brownie or two to occupy us while we sip at the coffee and argue a bit about your present situation."

Oh yeah, a brownie was really going to convince her to just give in and cooperate with her own murder.

"Do I look seven to you? I am not a child to be led to my own murder by a fucking brownie."

Male appreciation filled his gaze then, a hungry glint of lust brightening the sea blue gaze as his grin shifted to one of anticipation.

"I must admit, love, you're no' seven. A lovely grown woman you are, and I had hoped one that well understood that if you were gonna die, I'd have just taken care of that little job before bringin' you here. Why then would I wait until you awakened, all soft and warm, afore doing the deed?"

She snorted at that, her breathing still rough, panicked. "Because you think I have something you want? Because you know there's not a chance in hell I'll trust you now."

"And why would I kill you now, believin' you have this 'something' that I want?" he asked. "Wouldn't I be inclined to let you live a bit, to give me what I wanted?" His gaze flicked over her breasts, the tops of which were revealed by the low neckline of her T-shirt. "Or perhaps, a bit more." He smiled. A slow, sensual smile that struck at the very core of her sensuality.

Storme sneered back at him. "You don't have a chance. Enjoy the memories because it won't happen again, Wolf boy."

His grin widened. "I don't know, pretty girl, I've been planning the next seductive little session we might have. I'd be bettin' that creamy flesh would take the taste of chocolate as though it had been made for it. Should we give it a try?"

For a second, the image of him licking chocolate from her body flashed through her mind. Decadent dark chocolate that his tongue feasted on, his features twisted in pleasure.

God, she was as sick as every other groupie this bastard Wolf came across.

"Let's say not," she snapped.

The other Breeds should have been distracted, like any other male would be. They should have relaxed their guard and allowed her the second she needed to slip past one of them. Any one of them. She didn't care which.

"Ms. Montague, would it help if I gave you my personal assurance that you're going to come to no harm here?"

Storme's gaze flicked back to the director, Jonas Wyatt. There were rumors of this one as well. The one that had struck deepest was the whispered tale of a volcano and the disappearance of several Breed enemies.

"Made any trips close to volcanoes lately?" She smiled tightly.

His brows merely lifted, as several Breeds behind her chuckled. He remained comfortably propped against the corner of the cabin, his hands in his slacks, the white silk of his shirt stretched across a broad chest.

"Lass, I can see you think our director has a fine chest, but I promise you, I can be a rather possessive Breed, and I know you're rather fond of mine."

Surprise. Shock.

Bullshit--if Styx was known for anything, it was his lack of possessiveness where a woman was concerned.

This was not going exactly as she would have foreseen it if she had considered this situation for even a moment.

Her gaze shifted instinctively back to Styx, though she refused to consider his chest or how much she had enjoyed it the night before. His hair flowed around his face and shoulders like pictures she had seen of Scottish warriors of old. Like the lover that had given her such pleasure that even now her senses reeled from the memory of it.

Her pussy tightened, clenched. She could feel it creaming, growing slick and wet as the wicked glint in his gaze continued to remind her of his touch.

His face was hardened, tough, his expression lazily filled with the male knowledge of his own charm, hungers, and his effect on the female of both Breed and human species. Especially his effect on her.

Soft, scarred boots covered large feet, jeans cupped and molded heavily muscled legs and thighs, while a black T-shirt molded biceps, chest and an eight-pack most men would kill for.

"There you go, love, I like the attention much more than our fine director," he said and chuckled knowingly.

She would have no better chance. These Breeds weren't going to relax; the only chance she had was to throw them off guard. She had no weapon; she had nothing but her ability to move, to run, and there wasn't a chance in hell she would make it.

She jumped.

Moving to avoid the crouched Wolf Breed Storme sprinted to the side, kept low and thought to slide between two of the Breeds on the far end of the circle as they moved to block her.

They fell back, and she knew she was screwed.

The harsh growl behind her had the others backing away as she sped past them, racing for the narrow lane that led to the exit and the road away from Haven.

She didn't run for the forest; either way she went, she knew she didn't have a chance without divine intervention. And divine intervention wasn't coming.

She was weak. She was tired. She could feel her muscles giving out on her; weeks of exhaustion and too little food had caught up with her.

She had a million excuses, but what it came down to was the fact that she had known it was a useless effort. She had made it no more than perhaps thirty feet when she felt the hard manacled arm that came around her waist, restraining her, and felt herself lifted up and back against a hard, broad chest.

"No!" The rage that tore from her throat was harsh, tearing at her vocal chords as she felt tears of anger falling from her eyes.

"Lass, ease up." Gentle, crooning, his lips at her ear, the Scots Wolf restrained her arms at her side and turned to head back to the cabin.

She kicked, she screamed. Rage and terror whipped through her system as she tried to fight, only to find each move blocked, the training she had gained over the years ineffective in the face of her own weakness, and the strength of the Breed holding her.

"Tell you what, we'll get some food in you, a few cups of coffee, some rest, and you can try it again," he suggested, and she was certain the good-natured tone of his voice was no more than a lie.

He was enjoying this; she could feel it, sense it. Just as he would enjoy killing her.

"You bastard! Fucking monster," she screamed. "I hope you die. I hope all of you die. You should have never been created ..." She sobbed as he stepped onto the porch and moved into the cabin. "Just kill me now."

"Would you stop the damned caterwauling, lass." He strode through the cabin before yelling behind him, "Jonas, get Nikki up here. She's bleedin'."

She tried to claw at his arms, his hands, but the hold he had on her kept her from scratching. She slammed her head back and only met his shoulder, not his chin or his face as she'd hoped.

She tried to kick, but he evaded each swing of her legs until he reached the bed and threw her onto it.

"Like hell!" Coming off the bed, her only thought was to go back through the window, to escape the only way she knew how.

With a casual little push against her shoulders, he effectively managed to put her on her back as she fell.

Rage was burning inside her like wildfire. It whipped through her exhausted mind, stealing her ability to do anything but to hate and to fear.

They were playing with her and she knew it.

She rolled to the other side of the bed. There was another window, another way out.

Hard fingers at her ankle jerked her back, holding her to the bed as she flipped to her back and tried to kick furiously at the restraining fingers locked around her, keeping her on the bed.

"You could always tie her to the bed," an amused male voice pointed out.

Storme's gaze sliced to the doorway. "You monster!" she screamed at the Bureau director. "You won't win. You won't be able to kill everyone who knows what you are."