And maybe that was part of what terrified her when it came to Del-Rey. An innate knowledge that she was the woman this man had chosen, among all the women he had been with, those he had known, or could have known. He had chosen her. His body had chosen her. His soul had chosen her.
Which meant she belonged to him and everything he was. Even more, he belonged to her in the same way.
“Jonas showed me your file,” Hope admitted then. “Our director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs is amazingly efficient. That file listed your IQ as pretty much off the charts. Notes in the files state that anything you ‘want’ to learn, you excel at quickly and I’ve seen that. You’ve taken your place as the coya of your pack in a matter of months. You knew inside you couldn’t escape it, Anya. You didn’t want to escape it, or Del-Rey. Did you?”
“At the time, I had to.” And she had known that then as she knew it now. “That doesn’t mean I know how to be the woman he needs or that old hurts are easily forgotten,” she whispered.
“Being coya is a far cry from being a Breed’s mate, isn’t it?”
Hope nodded slowly. “Yes, it is. But being a Breed’s mate can quickly become even more important than anything you ever imagined, Anya. His lover. Letting him be the man you love.
It’s growth. Just as you’ve grown in the past eight months. Because you wanted to grow. It was in you to do it, and you did it far quicker than any of us anticipated.”
“You were working me.” She saw it now. Eight months of being worked, slowly, surely.
“Only in the most loving ways. We’re pack, Coya. We stick together and we help our own. It’s the only way we’ll survive in this crazy world we’ve been drawn into,” Hope said softly before her gaze shifted past Anya.
Anya twisted around, watching as Dr. Armani moved from surgery, her dark face creased in a frown as she pulled the mask from her face and found Anya’s gaze.
Anya was on her feet and moving to her, even as Brim stepped between them.
“Status,” Brim snapped.
Anya laid her hand on his arm and moved in front of him. She was aware of his irritation, the tension in his body as he stepped aside.
“Coya, I need a Coyote assistant,” Armani sighed. “Why did they kill all their scientists? We could have used one.”
Because their scientists were mad—not evil, not cruel, but their search for the perfect unfeeling warrior had been relentless. Letting them live hadn’t been an option. The two Anya had hidden were the exception.
“Something’s wrong?” Anya asked carefully.
“He’s already started healing.” Dr. Armani grimaced, shaking her head. “The wound was healing around the bullet, which made it harder to extract. He’ll be conscious within an hour, I predict, and back on his feet within a few days, but the bruising has gone bone-deep. He’s going to be growling for a while.”
“He growls anyway,” Anya stated. “Can I see him?”
“I need to talk to him first,” Brim protested. “He’s going to have questions I need to answer.
He’ll have orders to keep Base moving effectively.”
Anya turned back to him slowly. “I’ll see him first. Base is covered for the moment with all security protocols enacted until further word from Del-Rey, myself or you. You can allow me five minutes before he turns back into the big, bad Coyote.”
“The big, bad Coyote returns the moment he opens his eyes,” Armani snorted. “I do want to keep an eye on him. The branch he landed on nearly punctured vital organs. His Coyote genetics still aren’t familiar enough to me. White blood counts, hormonal levels, shift in the mating hormones.” She shook her head. “Even heart rate and pulse are different from Wolf Breeds. I’m flying in the dark with him.”
“He’ll heal,” Brim challenged her. “He always does.”
Anya nodded at the doors. “I want to see him now.”
“Anya, I need in there first,” Brim countered her again.
“Now, Dr. Armani.” Anya ignored him.
“Mates come first, Brim,” Armani told him. “Come on, Coya, I’ll show you to your mate.” She turned back to her, and they pushed through the surgery room doors. “While you’re here, its time for your hormonal shot. We need to do that before you go in to him. We don’t want to forget it.”
Anya paused. She stared at the doctor as she let herself mentally scan her body and its reactions.
For eight months a part of her had felt almost dead inside. She attributed that to the hormone, and she realized she didn’t want to feel it any longer. She knew what she intended to do; she didn’t need the hormone shot any longer. Del-Rey would ensure she didn’t hurt, because he would ensure she was taken often.
“No more shots,” she said softly as Armani arched her brows.
“You know what will happen,” she told her. “It could happen in phases or it could slam into you, catching you unaware. Be certain, Anya.”
“I’m certain.”
As Anya stepped into the recovery room and stared at Del-Rey stretched out on the white hospital bed, she affirmed that decision. She was ready to take her place, ready to accept what she had once thought she could never accept.
Right now, she had a hard time believing he was hurt in any way.
The sheet covered bandages; the raw scrapes and scratches on his face and upper torso were already healing. Coyotes, her father had once told her, were a sheer work of art. Their genetics were exceptional. They healed faster. They ran faster. They could process information faster and make decisions faster than any other Breed. Then he would shake his head and say, “Too bad they’re still just killers. They could have been a benefit to mankind rather than soulless beings created to kill.”
The scientists, soldiers and trainers that oversaw Breeds didn’t see them as possessing a soul. Not Wolf, Feline nor Coyote. But the Coyotes least of all. For more than a century human scientists had worked to find a way to eradicate what they called the human genetic that promoted a conscience. And they thought they had found that in the Coyotes. The animals were scavengers
—primal, brutal. And for a while it seemed as though the Breeds created from them were as well.
She touched Del-Rey’s arm, amazed at the heat radiating from it. She lifted her gaze to the doctor. “He’s running a fever?”
Dr. Armani shook her head. “Not like you or I would. The heat is part of the healing abilities. I’d be worried if it wasn’t there, though it’s higher than normal. I suspect it has something to do with the off-the-chart mating hormones racing through his blood.”
“Did you give him anything for it?”
“No. He’s already made certain his files were notated. At no time is he to be given hormonal treatments himself. He refuses. But, most male Breeds do.”
“They’d rather suffer?” She remembered the pain herself, the brutal, soul-suffering pain that stole control from the mind and made her a creature of lust and little more.
“It’s different for male Breeds than female mates,” Armani told her. “The females suffer the pain, the need for a hormone that isn’t natural to their body. Like a withdrawal from a narcotic, only worse. Male Breeds are more aggressive, more territorial. The constant lust isn’t as painful, but it has no cycle. Females go into mating heat, then it eases for periods of time, only to return. Rather like ovulation. For the males, that need never goes away. One of the males told me it’s like having a dagger continually stabbed into his balls, the need to release is so imperative.
Masturbation only makes it worse. The scent or taste of another woman’s lust is so distasteful they can’t find release there either.”