by Lora Leigh
"Aye, I agree, lass." He rose from the bed, tall, powerful, his muscular body darkly tanned and ripped with lean muscle. "And disbelief and suspicion are all you know. I can't blame you for it, but I can ask you to look at what I say with an open mind."
"I lost my open mind ten years ago," she informed him, her fists clenching in the sheet as she fought with herself and became angrier each minute that she ached to believe in him.
She didn't believe in anyone. She couldn't believe in anyone.
The look he gave her was filled with pity. "And that's too bad, lass. Because sometimes, an open mind is all we have to keep our hearts open."
This time, her smile was mocking and bitter. "An open heart as well? Is that what you're counting on? No, Styx, I don't have a heart. It was cut out of my chest the last time a lover died and a friend paid for what others wanted from me. Breeds, Council. It doesn't matter which, I had nothing for either of you."
She turned and walked slowly to the bathroom, then to the shower.
She couldn't afford to have a heart, and if she did, she couldn't afford to allow Styx into it.
One thing was for damned sure though, if she didn't get the hell out of Haven, then she would end up losing what she claimed she didn't have, and trusting the very people she swore she would never trust.
If she didn't get out of Haven, she was going to fall in love with her Breed.
CHAPTER 14
"Come on, you're going to dinner wi' me." Styx stood in the bedroom as Storme walked from the shower later the next evening, his arms crossed over his chest as he stared back at her impassively.
The past twenty-four hours hadn't been easy ones for her. A sense of impending doom, of disaster, had settled over her, warning her it was time to go.
Over the years she had developed an uncanny sense of danger, a premonition of coming disaster, and that self-preservation instinct was riding her hard to run.
"I'm not hungry." Tightening her fingers on the towel, she stared back at him with a sense of trepidation. She couldn't leave the house, not yet. Not until she had a plan in place and an idea where to run.
Each time she had moved for the back door since the evening before, she had felt a bull's-eye painted on her chest. When Styx had walked from the house, she could have sworn she saw it painted on him as well.
And it scared her. It scared her more than her own emotions scared her, and those emotions made her damned nervous.
"Too bad." He shrugged, as though it didn't matter. "Get dressed, lass. I've grown weary of your stubbornness now. You're going with me."
Storme's lips tightened. "You don't want to force this, Styx. I'll only embarrass you."
A red brow arched in mockery as his blue eyes gleamed with confident arrogance. An arrogance she hadn't really glimpsed until now. That look had her stomach clenching, her pussy creaming, and something softening in her chest that shouldn't be softening.
Had she been so busy surviving that she had missed out on more than she had ever imagined? Was she only a woman who could sense danger, but had no idea what her own emotions were? All she had was the knowledge that it was time to run.
"Then I'll only embarrass you back by turning you over my knee and paddling that cute little arse of yours," he informed her, his voice hard as she watched him, wishing things were different, wishing the past ten years hadn't been as they were. That she had learned what other women had learned by now. That she had deciphered her emotions as a teenager, like most women did. Instead of standing here wondering if he would truly paddle her for embarrassing him, and wondering why her butt cheeks were clenching as though it might be enjoyable.
Storme had a very bad feeling he wasn't joking about the spanking, just as she had a feeling he might have scented the sudden rush of excitement that heated her clit and the inner depths of her pussy.
There was a strange look in his eyes. One of pure male determination and male lust, and that look was frankly terrifying to some hidden, feminine part of her psyche. That look had warning signals flaring in her brain that were nearly as imperative as the self-preservation instinct urging her to run.
"I'm not much of a social person, Styx. Besides, I get damned tired of watching you and Cassandra Sinclair fawn all over each other," she informed him as she dropped the towel and padded to the small dresser where he had deposited what appeared to be some rather sinful underclothes earlier. New ones. She loved new under pretties. She'd been forced to stop wearing them years ago because she just couldn't afford them. But these, damn, she couldn't resist.
Pulling the drawer open, she lifted a pair of violet silk panties from inside and paired them with the matching silk camisole.
Pulling the underclothes on, she ignored the hunger that tightened his face, or she tried to. There was no way to halt the slick dampness that eased from her sex, or the hardening of her nipples that pressed against the cool silk.
When she felt his fingers curling around her upper arm to turn her to face him, she also felt the weakness that suffused her, the feminine sexual submission that flooded her entire being.
If sexual submission threatened to overwhelm her, then male sexual dominance burned in him. His expression was tight with it, his entire body tense, aroused as he faced her.
"Tonight is a very important celebration," he growled down at her. "You will dress as you would dress to celebrate a friend's special night. You will be polite, and by God, Storme, you will stand at my side as my woman, or I promise you, it will be something we'll both regret."
"What's going on, Styx?" Her voice trembled, an indication even to herself that she had no idea how to handle this situation, or the relationship developing between them.
He stared at her as though a question plagued him, a suspicion he couldn't fully release.
"I know when to behave myself," she assured him mockingly. "But it rather helps if I'm given the truth of a situation I'm about to enter into."
His lips tightened for long moments. "Do you want to avoid Breed Law for a little while longer, Storme?"
Breed Law. Storme stared back at him as her heart seemed to drop to the pit of her stomach. She couldn't afford to face Breed Law and she knew it. The years she had spent speaking out against the Breeds would only come back to haunt her.
"I haven't committed a crime against Breed Law since coming here." She swallowed tightly. "I make certain of it. I didn't even seriously try to escape last week. I don't leave the cabin, I don't socialize ..."
"And you're holding information vital to a member of the Breed Ruling Cabinet," he reminded her. "Information you're refusing to hand over. Very carefully placed, very subtly written in the public laws, but clearly spelled out in the Breed version, such an act committed by Breed, human, a member of Haven or Sanctuary or not, is an offense against Breed Law."
She hadn't considered that. She remembered now listening during several pure blood society meetings as Breed laws, the public ones, were discussed. That particular law had come into question as the members of that society had tried to define it. There had been no other way to understand it other than as Styx just explained it.
"Okay, so I want to avoid Breed Law a bit longer," she stated with an attempt at flippancy. "What do I have to do?"
"Just as I said." He released her as though her flesh burned. "Stay at my side and at least try to pretend that you consider yourself my woman. That's the only way I can protect you at the moment."
His woman.
God, what would it mean to be his woman? To bask in the security of his hold each night, to live the life he lived, to soak in the peace and camaraderie she witnessed in the courtyard each night.
But she wasn't his woman, and as she stared back at him, another memory of the discussions over Breed Law surfaced. A discreetly worded law concerning Breed wives or lovers. Something to the effect that should a Breed take a wife or husband who had committed crimes against Breed Law, then the crimes committed would be erased unless the individual broke Breed Law after
the "joining." Not the marriage, but the "joining."
So, essentially, becoming a Breed's lover, partner or wife, was a "get out of jail free" card. Which made no sense whatsoever, but whatever, she could go along with that for a while.
"Fine." She shrugged, though that memory had the power to only intensify the feeling of impending doom she couldn't shake. "But I still don't understand why my presence is so required."
"The nature of the celebration," he informed her. "To allow your guards to attend the celebration, you must be there as well."
"Ah." She nodded, her tone sarcastic. "It all makes sense now. Fine, Styx, I'll be there and I'll be a good girl, just for you."
And she would try desperately to make sense of the emotions, the fears and all the assorted needs that were suddenly rising inside her as she attempted to figure out where the sense of danger was coming from.
"I simply can't see you as being a good girl," he grunted. "But I'll settle for polite non-interference."
"Polite non-interference I can handle," she assured him with a patently false smile. "Polite interference is so much more fun though. Are you sure you wouldn't prefer that? I could really liven your party up, Wolf."
Polite interference was her motto where the Breeds were concerned. Or at least, it had been before her arrival at Haven.
His head tilted to the side as though he were considering the option. Slowly, his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes narrowed on her.
"I would remember one thing, Sugar," he drawled, his voice a rasped, husky croon of invitation. "I know how to tame that little wild streak you enjoy allowing free occasionally."
He was teasing her back. Somehow, he had figured out that beneath the anger and the fear lay a small, untapped reservoir of teasing amusement. She rarely had the opportunity to share it, or to enjoy it, but the thought of playing, just for a few moments, with Styx was too exciting to resist.
It was a spur-of-the-moment pleasure. An opportunity to save a memory, because she knew the time was going to come, very soon, when she would have to run from him. When staying here would become such a hazard, not just for her, but for him as well, that she would have no option but to escape.
"I wouldn't say you tame it," she murmured, holding back her smile as she pulled a pair of jeans from the dresser and paired them with a violet tank top with thin straps.
"I would say I definitely tame it," he assured her as she adjusted the tank top over the camisole before taking a seat on the bed and pulling on socks. "Maybe you simply exhaust it for a minute?"
She shouldn't be doing this. That sudden thought blazed through her mind as his low, deep chuckle stroked across her senses. They had barely spoken since the night before. He'd held her in his arms as she slept, his head tucked above her as he pulled her back against his chest.
He'd been up and out of there before she awoke, and he'd been gone most of the day. And instead of remaining angry, instead of holding to her promise to herself to remain aloof, instead she was flirting with him.
"Just for a minute?" he teased her.
"Maybe two." She adjusted the socks on her feet then pulled the low, lace-up boots from beneath the bed and pushed them on.
She had sneakers. She had a single pair of nice sandals, but it was the boots she was reaching for.
"You should smile more often, Storme," he stated as she lost the curve of her lips and stared down at the boots. "I sense a woman that longs to live rather than survive, yet if I let you walk out the gates of Haven today, then once clear of them you would run harder and faster than ever before."
She laced up her boots, wishing she hadn't allowed him to see that loss of amusement. But he would have known, she reminded herself. He could sense it, smell it. He likely knew her body better than she knew it herself.
"I take my amusement where I can," she assured him as she finished lacing her boots and rose to her feet. "So tell me, when am I required to attend your little celebration this evening?"
She should have ignored his gaze. She should have never allowed him to gaze so intently into her eyes. Before she could stop him, his gaze had hers though, the sea blue snaring her, mesmerizing her as his hand lifted to cup her cheek.
"Tell me what to do, Storme," he stated as he ignored her question. "Tell me how to gain your trust."
She came to her feet, feeling a moment's regret as his hand fell to his side.
"Now, that would just be too easy," she told him flippantly. "A girl has to maintain a little mystery, you know."
The ring was suddenly like a heavy weight on her finger now. For the first time since her father had pushed it on, Storme wanted to take it off.
It was no longer a reminder of her father, it was now a reminder of everything she didn't have, and everything she wouldn't have in her life.
"A little mystery, or as much resentment as possible?" he asked and sighed.
"Hey, whichever works at the moment," she assured him as she grabbed the heavy weight of her backpack and headed for the kitchen.
"You won't need the bag," he assured her.
"My bag goes where I go," she told him firmly. "If it stays, I stay."
"Why? What's in it, Storme, that you feel you have to have?"
For a second, her gaze flickered with a vulnerability he hadn't expected.
"You never know what can happen, Styx," she finally stated, the edge of discomfort in her voice reflecting in her scent.
Styx realized that her statement, that one never knew what could happen, was far too true in her life. For ten years she had never known where safety lay, or if the next day would be her last.
Styx watched her back as she disappeared out of the bedroom, and he breathed out a heavy sigh.
The backpack was a symbol of security, perhaps. As she had said, she was never seen without it. But that didn't mean she would need it here in Haven. There were no longer any weapons in it, and there was nothing that would indicate the data chip was hidden there.
The backpack and its contents had been scanned, run through an x-ray and every conceivable electronic imaging device that would have revealed the data chip.
There was nothing hidden there, he was willing to bet his ass on it. Nothing but her need to ensure that no matter what happened, she was prepared. He could live with that.
Shaking his head at the wonder and the confusion this woman brought to his life, Styx followed behind her to the kitchen and watched as she poured herself a cup of coffee.
The backpack rested on a kitchen chair, the faded olive green canvas nicked and frayed in places. For a moment, he was damned jealous of the pack's importance in her life. She held on to it as a talisman of some kind. The way he wished she would accept him into her life. Perhaps then the torturous arousal burning in his cock and balls would stop driving him insane. The mating knot refused to swell and release the hormone-rich semen that would begin the full mating process.
As Styx moved to the long drawer at the side of the ceramic sink and pulled it open, he wondered at the jokes nature seemed to enjoy playing on the Breeds.
He grabbed a milk chocolate bar from the drawer and opened it and as he watched her sip at her coffee, he took a bite of the smooth, rich sweet.
Damn, he loved chocolate, but he'd give it up easily if it meant having Storme as he needed her.
"That has to be the third bar of chocolate I've seen you eat in the past three days." She stared at the chocolate with a hint of jealousy.
"It's actually most likely the twelfth or better," he drawled, allowing the smooth edge of the brogue back into his voice.
She reacted to it instantly. The soft edge of liquid heat wafted from her, tempting his senses and making his cock throb harder. Damn, at this rate, the pigs might overcook while he satisfied a far different hunger.
"Twelve?" Her gaze flicked to the chocolate bar again as he parted his lips for another bite.
"At least." He nodded. "I'm rather fond of the sweet."
"You're going to get fat,"
she muttered, her gaze flicking to his stomach.
Styx grinned. "Breeds have a very high metabolism, lass. It burns off near as fast as I eat it."
Yep, that was pure envy that lit her green eyes. She wanted the chocolate.
Stepping closer, he moved his hand to allow the chocolate to glance off her lips. The smear of the dark sweet was immediately collected by her little pink tongue.
"Do ye want a bit, lass?" he asked, teasing her again, brushing the soft chocolate against her lips once more. "I've no problem sharin' my chocolate wi' ya."
The soft scent of arousal peaked in her delicate body. Her tongue collected the taste before it seemed she had to force herself to step back from it.
"A minute on the lips, a lifetime on the hips," she sighed. "Normal people don't burn the fat that fast."
"Aye, being a Breed has its advantages, I must say, love." He finished off the treat before smacking his lips in pleasure. "Doesn't taste near as luscious as your sweet pussy, but it will do."
Her face flamed, though not in embarrassment. The flush raced up her neck and across her face as the heat in the soft flesh between her thighs intensified.
Damn, he'd love to stretch her across the kitchen table and lap at the honey of her heat. Doing so would ensure the pigs were tough, however. It was nearly time to take them out. He could smell the meat cooking and knew he hadn't much time before they would begin pulling it from the ground.
"What time do we head out?" Despite her attempt to appear nonchalant, he could sense the excitement beginning to rise within her.
Each evening he'd sensed her regret at not joining the activities. He'd been reluctant to force her, until tonight. Tonight, he wanted her to see the warmth, the affection and sense of family that existed at Haven. The mating anniversaries reflected that full sense of joy that radiated through the community with a mating. With the knowledge that Breeds were evolving despite man's determination to destroy them. That some higher force had deemed them worthy and granted them the ability to be loved, to have children, to survive.
"You know, Storme, you could eat the chocolate. You could be a part of Haven. And here, ye could have friends and family," he stated without answering her question. "I think ye know well now that what ye believed as a child wasn't the truth. That what the pure blood societies teach is a far cry from what the Breeds truly are."
She turned away from him, inhaling deeply, quietly, as he felt that regret rushing through her again.
"What I believe isn't what's important," she finally stated.
"Storme, is that information worth having the Council soldiers torture you for it if they catch you?" he asked. "It's information gained by the experimentation and torture of Breeds. Beyond the fact that this information could save Jonas's stepdaughter's life, aren't the Breeds more entitled to that research than the Council?"
Storme breathed in roughly.
"I don't deny the Breeds' right to the research," she finally whispered.
"Then why do ye hold back, lass?" She hated the sound of disappointment in his tone, the chastisement, as though he couldn't understand why she would be so cruel.
It wasn't cruelty. She wished it were something so simple as that, so simple as merely being a bitch, or wanting to make the Breeds pay for what had happened to her family.
"It's complicated," she finally whispered, before realizing that for first time in ten years, she had admitted to having the data chip.
She should have been surprised, but she wasn't. Lying to Styx wasn't something she could make herself do any longer. Looking into his clear blue eyes, seeing his appearance, at least, of attempting to give her time, attempting to save her from Breed Law and from Jonas.
"What's so complicated, lass?" he asked her gently. "Tell me what demons I must fight. Tell me, Storme, how to help ye make your decision."
She felt her lips tremble. The conflict inside her was tearing at her, confusing her. She hated feeling this way. Hated having her loyalties torn and divided.
"Conquer the past." She turned back to him, her chest aching as she felt a sizzle of some sensation race over her flesh. As though her body ached for his touch. "Bring my father and my brother back so they can release me from the promise I made."
Her voice thickened as she felt moisture threaten to gather in her eyes. Her father and her brother were dead. How many times had her friend Gena told her that the dead wouldn't know what choices she made?
She didn't believe that. Sometimes she felt as though that promise chained her, locked her into a world that she would have given anything to escape.
"Your da said you would know the one he sent for the information?" Styx asked.
Storme nodded in reply. "No one came, Styx." Her breathing hitched as she fought against the pain that began to radiate inside her. "I waited for so many years. I even answered Jonas Wyatt's phone calls each time he reached my cell phone. I always answered the Council, I never refused to talk to the former friends of my father's when they managed to reach me. But no one ever had the words that would even make me suspect they could have been the one my father meant."
She watched as he moved slowly to her, his arms circling her shoulders to pull her against his chest.
Closing her eyes tightly, Storme fought against the need to cry, to shed the aching pain that seemed to build by the day.
"I wish I had the words for ye, lass," he whispered as she felt him kiss the top of her head. "I wish I could ease that conscience that seems to torture ye far into the night. Perhaps though, like your da, the one he thought would come to you may have died before he could complete his task. Remember, Storme, so many Breeds perished in the rescues. Perhaps the one to collect it was one of those Breeds."
And what should she say to that? In the past days as she sat in the cabin alone, she had considered it. She had fought to convince herself of it. The more she was with Styx, the less she cared if perhaps he was merely playing her, working her for the data chip.
This time at Haven had shown her that there could be peace. She could find a life somewhere. She could be safe. Without the data chip hampering her, there would be no reason to strike at her, would there?
Wrapped in his embrace now, she swore she could taste his kiss. That hint of cinnamon and chocolate she always tasted when they kissed. As his hands stroked over her back, her thighs tensed, her clit ached, and the need to have him take her almost overwhelmed her.
She hadn't wanted this. She hadn't wanted to need him, and that was what was happening. She wanted to hate him. She wanted to hate all Breeds, just as she had done for the past ten years. It made it easier to keep the promise she had given h