by Lora Leigh
She would have to fix the truck. It was more dependable than the car, and would get her further. Unfortunately, like the car, it wasn’t in the best of shape.
But it could be fixed. And she’d better fix it damned soon, because sure as hell her father wouldn’t wait long before trying to sell her to the highest bidder.
She shuddered in fear.
“Why did you do this, Taber?” she whispered with bleak sorrow into the empty living room, her empty heart.
She had been alone almost since the day Dayan had handed her the letter Taber had sent her. At first, she had tried to date, determined to get over the one man she had always dreamed of loving. But she had learned quickly that her body would never accept the touch of another man, and her heart ached for what she knew she couldn’t have.
But at times like this, when she desperately needed a shoulder to cry on, being alone really sucked.
Chapter Two
Roni stared into the guts and glory of the pickup truck she was working on hours later and sighed wearily as she finally admitted failure. It just wasn’t going to get fixed today, no matter how badly she wanted it done. And time was running out.
The ever-present trembling in her hands, the ache in the pit of her stomach, were too severe, and the fear washing through her mind did little to allow her the concentration she needed to fix the stubborn vehicle. Her father wouldn’t wait long before he made his move. When he did, her life wouldn’t be worth spit.
But if she didn’t control the effects of what Taber had done to her, then she was in more trouble than she needed anyway.
It was getting worse, the weakness that assailed her, accompanied by an arousal that came just short of painful. This was one of the more severe spells that she had suffered over the past months, and the knowledge of where it stemmed from terrified her.
She lowered her head wearily as she braced her arms on the front of the vehicle and shook her head. She wanted to run, to hide. She wanted to return to a time when she could dream and find comfort in those dreams, but reality refused to allow her the vacation she needed.
There was no escaping the news stories, no escaping the truth that had exploded across the world. Roni had tried to bury herself in work rather than become glued to the television screen, as many others were. Or worse yet, being interviewed by many of the television crews that had invaded the small town of Sandy Hook, Kentucky. She had ignored it, until her father had forced the truth on her.
Thankfully, so far, she had managed to avoid the intrepid reporters and suspicious journalists. There were plenty of others more than willing to talk, though, and those interviews aired several times a day. As though the world couldn’t get enough of this newest sensation.
Project Alpha. The creation of a special army designed to fight, to kill. Part animal, instinctive in their fighting responses and in their savagery. Rumor and innuendo hinted that the animal genetics they possessed went much deeper than just surface awareness or their incredible fighting skills. It had been hinted that the sex drive of the creatures was in question as well.
Leaks among the scientists that had tested the five Breeds and Callan Lyons’ wife, Merinus Tyler, hinted at a hormonal infection, a biological “marking” that had bound Merinus to the fierce Callan.
Roni trembled as she remembered the news story, her hand moving instinctively to her own neck, her own “bruise.” It didn’t matter that the Breeds were firmly denying this, that many in the scientific field were scoffing at it. She knew it was the truth. She knew because she carried Taber’s mark; suffered, often painfully, with an arousal that couldn’t be dimmed no matter what she tried. And yet couldn’t be assuaged by another, either.
In the fifteen months since the stolen moments she had shared with him outside the garage, she had been unable to allow any other man to touch her. The very thought of being with anyone besides Taber made her ill.
She dropped the wrench she was using in the lip of the truck’s frame and jumped off the plastic crate she used for the extra height to reach the motor.
Anger spread through her system; helpless, searing anger in the face of the truths she was learning. He had touched her knowing what he would do to her.
Knowing he was marking her, binding her to him in a way she would never escape, and then he had just walked away from her as though it had never happened.
Had she taken him seriously? “Of course not,” she grunted. Hell, no. Why would she do something like that? She slammed the hood closed before turning and stalking furiously back into the house.
This had to stop. She had been shaking with anger, with emotions she didn’t want to deal with ever since the first news report hit the air. This deep, overwhelming feeling of betrayal was worse than the constant arousal she couldn’t seem to rid herself of, the irritation if anyone touched her, the mood swings that often plagued her.
She washed quickly, changing into clean jeans and a light blouse before grabbing her car keys and purse and heading back outside to her car. She needed to buy groceries and maybe a set of spark plugs for that stupid truck. And she needed to forget about Taber, whether it was what her body wanted or not.
The drive into Sandy Hook took less than twenty minutes; getting through town took longer. Tourism had boomed, but it wasn’t the gorge they had come to see, it was the town and the gossip they were after.
“Home of the Breeds,” proclaimed a sign outside the county limits in every direction. Several new motels were being built and signs outside larger homes advertised rooms for rent. They were even organizing freaking tours into the gorge and cliffs where it was known Callan and his family often hunted and hid.
New lies were being created daily for the hundreds of visitors that were flocking to the small town. Callan hid here, stayed there, he or one of his brothers was involved with this woman or that one. Thankfully, her name hadn’t come up yet as far as she knew.
She prayed it never did.
By the time she pulled into the auto parts store, Roni was irritated and running low on patience, which she never had in great supply to begin with. She felt like snarling as she managed to work her way to the parts counter and purchased what she needed for the truck.
“Here you go, Roni.” Harried and appearing nearly as frustrated as she was, John O’Brien handed her the small plastic bag and her change as he glanced behind her and snapped out angrily, “Damned news vans are blocking my parking lot again. Stupid asses.”
Roni glanced over her shoulder to the large windows that looked out on the parking lot. Sure enough, two vans were blocking the driveway as several journalists milled about talking to customers who had left the store. She felt her heart jump in her chest, her palms moistening with fear.
She checked the collar of her shirt to be certain it hid the mark on her shoulder. She sure as hell didn’t need anyone to see it now.
“Yeah, they’re a nuisance, all right.” She shot John a commiserating smile. “Let’s hope they let me out of here soon. I wanted to fix that truck by nightfall.”
She wanted to get the hell out of here and hide. Being in such close proximity to the vultures ready and eager for the latest news sensation was nearly too much for her nerves. Especially knowing her father.
She lowered her head as she pushed through the exit, heading to the car she had parked on the lower end of the lot. She didn’t want her face caught by a roving camera’s eyes, or have one of those stupid microphones pushed under her nose . . .
“There she is!” The shout rang out as she headed along the side of the building.
Roni had a second to feel a surge of sympathy for whoever they were targeting before she was grabbed from behind and jerked around, the collar to her shirt pulled aside with such force it ripped.
Terror surged through her like a tidal wave as hard hands held her. Faces flashed before her eyes, and the microphone was shoved in her face.
“Who’s your mate, Veronica?” The fanatical eyes of a hungry journalist met hers as she
fought to tear herself free. “Who marked you? Are you in heat? Have you been tested?”
She screamed out in fury as her flesh protested the grip on her arms, the sweaty male bodies surrounding her. She dropped the bag and her purse as she began to claw, to fight.
“Tell us, Veronica, who is he? And what’s it like to be mated to an animal?”
Fractured voices, raised in both protest and demand, echoed around her as she kicked out at the journalists, clawed at the hands holding her, fighting desperately to be free, to escape.
She was unaware she was crying, unaware of the camera catching every whimper, each hoarse scream that echoed around her. Her vision was dazed, blurred by fear and fury and the overwhelming instinct to fight.
Roni heard the material of her shirt ripping as she finally tore free of the rough hands holding her. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t look back, she just ran.
She didn’t know in which direction she was moving, didn’t know where to go, who to run to. Her only thought was escape.
“Roni.” John O’Brien’s voice ripped through the panic as she passed the side of the store. “The truck. Back here.” He waved her over frantically, his face pale, his light blue eyes glittering with fury. “Son of a bitch leeching reporters. Come on.”
The crowd was surging behind them as he threw open the door to the parts truck and she jumped inside. She pulled the panel shut, locking it as several cameras and microphones were thrust against the windows.
The heavy truck jerked as John slammed it in gear, lurched and began moving forward as reporters and hungry curiosity seekers attempted to block it.
“I’ll run over your damned asses,” John yelled out, his usually pale face flushed with anger, his red hair standing on end as he swiped his fingers through it and pressed his foot to the gas.
They bumped over a curb, tore through several yards and a pristine fence that enclosed the insurance offices.
“Son of a bitch, there goes my policy,” John cursed, though excitement sizzled in his voice as he took a narrow alley, the truck increasing in speed, tires screaming as he turned on to one of the back roads that led out of town. “You okay?”
She stared back at him, confused, shaking, her stomach rioting with fear as she blinked at him. What the hell had happened? Her skin was still burning from the unfamiliar touches of the men who had held her, protesting the contact, screaming out for Taber.
She shook her head, fighting for a semblance of control. Dear God. They knew.
Reginald had wasted no time at all in selling her out, she thought.
“Take me home.” She winced at the hoarse sound of her voice, the pain that was reflected in it. “I need to go home.”
“They’ll be waiting there, Roni,” he told her softly as the truck’s motor surged, pushing the vehicle up a steep road that wound around the cliffs outside town. “You need to hide for a while, figure out what you’re gonna do.”
“Going to do?” she whispered brokenly as she rubbed at her arms, trying to free her flesh of the remembered feel of another’s touch.
Dear God, what was she going to do? Her father had moved faster than she expected. He had to have already sold her out before showing up at the house.
She couldn’t go home. John was right. They would find her there. They would invade the house. There was no way she could hide from them. But what else was left?
“I know a place,” John finally sighed. “You’ll be safe there for a while, if they don’t catch up with us before we get there. Everything’s going to be okay, Roni, at least until we can contact Callan. And you know you have to contact him.”
He flashed her a hard, demanding look. His eyes still gleamed with the rush of the chase, adrenaline glittering in his gaze.
No, it wasn’t Callan she had to call, Roni thought. It wasn’t his fault. It was Taber’s and by God, Taber would pay. Her hands clenched as fury surged through her, nearly as hot as the arousal that often left her weak and helpless. If she managed to get her hands on him she would kill him. And her senseless, mercenary father would be the next one to go.
Chapter Three
Taber rolled his shoulders as the late spring rays of the sun speared through the window behind him, soaking through the cloth of his shirt and heating the flesh beneath. It was the next best thing to being outside, and all he could allow himself for the moment.
Being trapped within the confines of the mansion the Feline Pride now lived in shouldn’t have been considered a hardship. Spacious though it was, the walls seemed to close in on him, the confinement pricking at his mind, reminding him of things best left forgotten. And as always, when he sought to escape the memories of his creation and his time spent confined in labs, tested, poked and prodded, his thoughts went to her.
Deep blue eyes, skin as soft and silky as a dream, the heat of her arousal burning through his mind.
Roni. In the past few weeks, thoughts of her had been stronger than ever before.
His need for her was only growing rather than diminishing, as he thought it would. And that worried him.
He knew many of the details of Callan’s mating with Merinus. Knew the signs. He had carried those symptoms for over a year, just not as extreme, not as strong. But then, he hadn’t kissed his mate. He hadn’t allowed the potent hormone to release into her body in the same way.
If she was his mate, then she carried his mark. Not once in the months that had passed before his move from Sandy Hook had he been close enough to her to remember if the slight, never-healing wound marred the flesh of her shoulder.
Not that he would have been looking for it. But getting close to her had been impossible.
She didn’t talk to him. If she saw him coming she went the other way. If he caught her gaze then fury lit hers, sparkling with female ire as he tried to sort out the cause of her anger.
Hadn’t he honored her wish that he leave her be? He hadn’t called her, hadn’t visited her. He didn’t speak if he happened to pass her. What right did she have to be angry?
What right did he have to care?
Surely if he had marked her, some signs would be apparent. Hell, Merinus had been in such pain during the early phase of it that if Doc Martin hadn’t suspected its cause, they would have likely had to hospitalize her.
Roni hadn’t even been in to see a doctor.
Taber had always kept up with news on her. She had shown no unusual illnesses, nor had the records he had checked months before shown any hospitalizations.
She seemed completely unaffected by those moments he’d held her in his arms.
Yet his body ached for her. Ached in ways that left him frustrated and irritable, barely able to keep his mind on the job he should be doing, rather than worrying about the woman he wanted to do.
As he turned his gaze back to the printout in front of him, the office door burst open.
“Turn on the news.” Sherra rushed into the large office Callan and Taber shared within the mansion the Genetics Council had once owned. The one-hundred-fifty-acre estate in the mountains of Virginia had been deeded to the Feline Breeds, with Callan and Taber named as overseers for the time being until a Pride governorship could be formed. Which would be years down the road.
Taber looked up as Sherra snagged the television remote and turned on the large plasma screen television that hung from the opposite wall. Irritation flashed across his senses at the disturbance.
They had three reports of yet more Feline Breeds coming in, but even more disturbing were the reports of other various Breeds that had been created.
Tracking down the rumors and basing them in fact was a tedious process. Reading through the odd codes the Council soldiers used and the myriad transmissions they were catching was even harder. He didn’t have time for another news report.
The picture that flashed across the screen froze everything inside him, though.
The eager eyes and excited voice of the journalist chilled the blood in his veins. But the face of the woman had a
growl rumbling in his chest.
“Veronica Andrews, part time mechanic and accountant in Sandy Hook, also carries the mark of the creatures known as the Feline Breeds . . . ” Roni’s shirt was ripped, her voice hoarse as she cried out in pain and the camera locked onto the small, bruise-like mark that marred her shoulder.
Taber came slowly to his feet, shock resounding through his body as the events of that stolen day surged through his mind; his mouth on her flesh, his canines raking across the area as he suckled at the skin, his tongue laving it. The taste of her had gone to his head faster than liquor. Even now, fifteen months later, she haunted his senses.
“Miss Andrews, how does it feel to be mated to an animal?” Another reporter drowned out her cries as she clawed and kicked to be free. The eager, almost fanatic expressions of the reporters and onlookers sickened him.
The fear in her expression tightened into a coil of rage in his stomach. How dare they touch her? Hold her still for their barbaric displays?
He snarled silently, a promise of retribution searing through his brain.
It was one of the most horrific scenes Taber had ever witnessed in his life.
Veronica’s eyes were nearly black with shock and pain as rough hands tried to hold her still, pushing at her head to show the mark in stark relief as the journalist droned on about the supposed mating habits of the Breeds.
He drew slowly closer, his eyes centered on that mark . . . his mark, his woman. He felt his heart beating sluggishly, the blood boiling in his veins at the sight of hands—male hands—holding her still as she fought, bruising the delicate skin they gripped.
He was barely aware of the growls rumbling from his chest, stark and animalistic, as he watched.
“Let her go, you bastards!” A familiar male voice joined the melee as one of the employees of the auto parts store jerked back several of those holding her, slamming them into the wall behind him.