“Leave it,” Gideon growled, and she swore the stripes across his face weren’t as dark as they had been when she’d gotten her first glimpse of him. “I know what to do. Get these women the hell out of here and I’ll take care of it. Just get the scent of their pain the fuck away from me.”
Turning, he stalked to the far end of the cavern, crossed his arms over his chest and waited.
“Let’s go,” Rule decided, obviously more than willing to take him up on his offer. “I’ve had enough of that bastard’s stink for the night.”
Lawe lifted Thea into his arms as he and Diane moved toward the entrance of the cavern. Rule’s arm went around Gypsy, pulling her to his side and following quickly.
Jonas could never know about this, she knew. It was the deal Rule had made with the devil nine years before, the first time he betrayed his friend when he’d identified the Bengal Judd and struck a bargain. What was one more, he’d breathed out roughly after Gideon’s message had come through hours before. After all, the files the Bengal had left Jonas had given them everything they needed to ensure Amber’s health. She would live. Something she wouldn’t have done if it hadn’t been for Brandenmore.
Who could have known Amber had been only weeks away from being diagnosed with the same virulent leukemia that had nearly killed one of the young women Jonas had searched for, Honor Roberts?
But Brandenmore had taken the proof of it. Vials of blood he’d taken from the baby before giving her that first injection held the proof. Blood samples Gideon had left with the files, along with records of his own tests on it.
Her age, the disease and a small chromosome Gideon had identified and notated, and an observation he’d left that it needed to be studied, were the reasons the serum hadn’t killed the baby but would kill an adult every time.
The reason why Amber was slowly becoming a Breed as well.
...
Speeding away from the cavern and back to the hotel, she sat still, silent, a restlessness gripping her now that it was over. A restlessness she had no idea how to identify. She’d never felt it before. Never known it existed.
But it burned in her chest, wrapped around her heart, and urged her to . . .
She stared into the desert, closed her eyes and wondered how in the hell she was possibly going to be able to do it.
CHAPTER 31
Genetics were a bitch, especially Breed genetics.
Rule sat in the shadows of the bar that night, tapping his fingers against the small round table where he sat and grimacing at the low growl rumbling in his throat.
Gypsy was with her family again. Her parents, and then her sister, she’d stated. She had decisions to make. He had a feeling those decisions affected him more than she was letting on.
She was his fucking mate. What the hell was the problem here? It wasn’t like there was divorce. She couldn’t run and never see him again.
And she wanted him. The sweet smell of her pussy had tempted him to convince her to wait to deal with her family. The heat building in her, in him, tempted him to claim what was his and just fucking tell her how it was going to be.
That wouldn’t work with Gypsy, though, he thought with a sigh. Order her, and she’d do the exact opposite. In those precious moments he’d spent buried so deep inside her soul that there was no beginning, no end between them, he’d learned quite a bit about his stubborn, determined mate.
He’d learned enough to know that the distance she’d put between them could only mean one of two things. Either she was deciding how to accept a future with him, or she was deciding how to throw him out of her life.
He realized he was growling again, that low dangerous rumble building in his chest.
Son-of-a-bitch Lion genes. The bastard inside him was pissed and wouldn’t just let it go any more than Rule was willing to let his mate go. Unfortunately, the beast inside him was snapping at the man Rule was, enraged with him for giving their mate the time she needed.
He almost rolled his eyes at the thought. As though they were fucking separate entities or something.
The irritation building in the animal sent an overwhelming urge inside Rule to pace, to satisfy the clawing restlessness.
To find Gypsy.
To fill their kiss with the taste of peppermint and chocolate that the mating hormone seemed infused with—no wonder he hadn’t recognized the minute amount that had slipped from the glands as he chased her.
His lip lifted, a snarl almost sounding in his throat again.
Damn you, settle the fuck down.
Directing the fierce order to the animal crouched and ready to spring, he was on the verge of snarling himself.
Don’t even think about it.
That involuntary, muted growl rumbled in his chest as his instincts snapped at him again, like sharp teeth raking his mind.
He could feel each instinct as though it were an alternate personality, sharing with him the irritation and restlessness burning inside it.
He’d never bothered to ask other Breeds if they could sense their animal in such a way. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d get the answer he wanted to hear, and in this case, he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept any other answer.
Intelligent. Cunning. Sometimes enraged. Always restless.
Where Gypsy was concerned, just damned pissed and eager to get back to her.
The animal was ready to pace at this point, or fight. A fight would feel damned good. Fists bunched and slamming into flesh, enraged roars echoing around him.
Hell. The fight would just alleviate the burning aggravation of being locked out of his mate’s senses. How the fuck had she managed to do that anyway?
Rubbing his tongue against his teeth to ease the irritation in the small, swollen glands, Rule grimaced as he realized he was only torturing himself. After all, each time the glands were stroked, more of the mating hormone spilled.
Hormonal Mating Glands.
He wanted to snort at the title as he slouched back in his seat once again and lifted the beer in front of him to his lips. Tilting the bottle, he relished the chill bite of bitterness as it raced over his taste buds, wishing its effects would sedate the animal that suddenly wanted to snarl in displeasure.
What the hell do you think you want? he thought with a snap of anger, wondering at his own sanity as he attempted to push back the irritated presence.
A growl rumbled in his chest, bringing an immediate scowl to his face as he glared into the dimly lit bar he’d entered about four beers ago.
Go back to sleep, why don’tcha? he ordered the creature. That’s what you fucking get for playing “Jonas” games with me for nine fucking years.
Manipulating, calculating sons of bitches. It bit his ass to imagine a creature smart enough to fucking hide what it was doing in his subconscious from him. As though the animal genetics were separate. What the fuck was up with that?
He looked at the beer. How many had he had again?
One too many, he was starting to believe.
Another rumble burred just beneath his breath.
A sound of irritation and impatience.
Shut the fuck up before I go hunt those pills Merc took so he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit!
For years, Mercury Warrant, one of their most primal Lion Breeds, had been forced to take daily medication to hold back the last phase of Breed insanity known as feral fever.
Those drugs had kept his animal instincts in check in such a way that it was like putting the animal inside him into a deep, cold sleep.
He almost gave a rather insane bark of laughter as the highly advanced Lion genetics suddenly stilled as though surprised by the threat. He had the sudden, vague impression of the animal lurking inside him sitting back on its haunches and glaring at him uncertainly, as though debating whether he would actually carry out the threat.