"He'll kill you for insulting his mate, my boy." Brandenmore laughed. "He might not love her, she might be a shackle about his ankle, but that animal inside him will protect her with his last breath." He looked at Jonas. "That kid is another matter, isn't it, Mr. Wyatt?"
"So you're suggesting I give you Amber, in exchange for what, exactly?" Jonas asked.
Brandenmore leaned forward again, that fanatic light still gleaming in his eyes. "Well, number one, in exchange for your lives." He smiled. "Secondly though, I will share my research with your scientists. It's my understanding that mating heat is causing no small amount of discomfort, at least according to the medical assistants you caught helping me not long ago. This is a win-win situation for you, Jonas."
A win-win situation? Who lost? Definitely she would lose, her child, the most precious treasure in her life. Amber would lose her life, if not in the first weeks of this so-called research, then in the years following.
Rachel stared at Brandenmore, then at Devon.
"That's your daughter," she whispered, wondering how she could ever face the questions Amber would eventually have about her father now. "How could you do this, Devon?"
He finished his drink off quickly before sneering back at her. "I told you to abort the brat, Rachel. You didn't do it. Phillip can at least use her efficiently."
Rachel flinched. Jonas growled, low and dangerous, as Phillip Brandenmore stared back at Jonas in surprise, as though he recognized the inherent danger in the sound.
"Mr. Wyatt," Brandenmore said carefully, "you want to consider this. We both know the child means nothing to you, but your mate does. You'll call Sanctuary and have the child flown to a location I'll give you. Once I have her, you'll be released."
Rachel heard the low hum of laser weapons powering up behind her.
She was shaking her head. Tears were rolling down her cheeks; she was trembling from the inside out, until that moment.
"No," she whispered. "I won't let you . . ."
"But it's not your choice," Brandenmore informed her. "It's your mate's. And tell me, Ms. Broen, what do you think that animal inside him is demanding that he do? He wants rid of that kid because it's not his. She isn't his blood, or his species; therefore, she is a hindrance to his Pride, a threat to his leadership and the future leadership of his rightful children."
"This isn't the Middle Ages," she exclaimed.
"Shut the fuck up, you stupid little bitch." Devon's glass flew across the room and shattered on the wall as everyone stared back at him. "You will give him that little brat or I'll have her killed. Take your pick."
"No, you won't," Jonas growled, the hard, dangerous rumble of his voice filling the silence with a bone-chilling wave of vicious intent.
"Of course he won't." Brandenmore was definitely aware of the murderous undercurrents filling the room now. "Jonas, Amber won't be harmed. I swear it. You won't lose in this, and your mate can't hate you. The only way to save her is to trade the kid for her. That simple."
Jonas breathed in slowly, subtly, careful to make certain no one was aware of the scents he was drawing in. There were Breeds outside, more than one. Four of them were from Ghost Team. He'd seen the glow of Jag's green eyes minutes before in the window behind Devon's head.
There were others. Lawe was out there, Rule, Mercury and, strangely enough, Jonas could smell Leo and Dane Vanderale. Not that Dane had much of a scent to him; it was always carefully disguised. But there was the barest familial scent, which Jonas could never have mistaken.
He'd waited, restrained the animal clawing at his insides with brutal, bruising strength to be free. He'd held on to his control, fought the rage, until the others were in place.
The smell of Brandenmore's lies mingled with those of the Breeds. He was a monster. Jonas had no idea what he had planned for Amber, but it wasn't the existence he had described. Amber would know nothing but pain. If reports were correct concerning the rumors of some of the experiments conducted by the man over the years, she would be lucky to live weeks, let alone into adulthood.
"I'll even pacify your mate as best I can." Brandenmore was smiling, his beady eyes filled with malice cloaked by sincerity.
The man should have been an actor. He would have won an Oscar.
"I'll send photos, keep her updated on the kid's progress. Maybe even phone calls for a while." He smiled benevolently toward Rachel.
Horror was pouring from her. Tears stained her pale cheeks; rage ate at her. She was in control. She had, like Jonas, managed to restrain the need to kill.
His hand tightened on her wrist, his fingers stroking a pattern of warning across her flesh until he felt her tense, felt the moment she realized the pad of his finger was carefully outlining the letters to a very short message. Be ready.
She was already ready. He felt it. The way she held herself, the sudden smell of the rage solidifying inside her as he tensed and prepared to move.
He glanced to the window, saw the vague outline of a dark hand. Five fingers. Four. Three. Two . . . ONE.
"Down!" He took her to the floor as the window behind the bodyguard Svenson's head shattered and laser fire began to fill the room. It took only a breath to watch blood erupt from the younger man's chest and head, to see his eyes widen and smell the scent of death as it began to fill the room.
Jerking Rachel to the relative safety beneath a heavy coffee table, he went for Brandenmore. Svenson was laid out on the floor, blood staining his hair as Devon Marshal lay on his stomach, his shoulder covered in blood. Brandenmore crawled across the floor at a far quicker pace than Jonas would have expected from a man his age.
Springing ahead of the old man, Jonas caught him by his shoulder, his claws ripping into flesh far more resilient than it should have been, into muscle more powerful than he could have guessed.
But he was still human, and no match for the Breed genetics Jonas possessed.
Jerking him to his feet, Jonas flung Brandenmore to the wall hard enough to daze him before gripping a handful of hair and jerking him back again, placing the older man in front of him.
Alpha Team One and Ghost Team had ended the danger to Rachel's life in seconds. Merciless, quick and efficient. The chilly night air swirled through the room, the scent of blood and death mixed with that of wood smoke, terror and pain as he forced the old man to face the night's work.
"It's over," he yelled, forcing Brandenmore to stare at the results of the sudden Breed attack.
His bodyguards were dead. Blood spilled from their bodies as they lay on the floor, their gazes empty and staring into nothingness.
"It's not over."
Jonas jerked his head to the side to see Devon holding Rachel by her hair, his grip harsh, jerking her head back as the point of a laser pistol lay against her vulnerable head. The younger man looked dazed, furious. The scent of his blood was heavy in the room, as was the smell of his fury and fear.
Jonas froze. The Breeds rising slowly from the floor stared at the scene as though in emotionless interest, but he could smell their sudden intent, could feel them weighing possibilities and considering options.
Rachel was the director's mate. Without her, Jonas didn't know if he could function. His men didn't know if he could function. If she died, there would be no rage as great as what he would feel, forever. Until he killed himself or someone did him a favor and killed him.
"I want that little bastard." Devon pushed her toward the door, his eyes gleaming with hatred as he stared at Jonas. "Let him go. The little bitch is nothing but an embarrassment. There can be no heir to the Marshal fortune, who isn't a Marshal."
And no one considered Amber a Marshal.
There were few options.
"The mother has to live." Brandenmore's voice was soft, so soft. "She will breed a legacy to science."