by Lora Leigh
Her clothes as well as his.
Shaking her head at her own feeling of failure, she hurriedly dressed before picking up the pack she carried as a purse and leaving the cabin.
The walk was going to suck, but it wouldn’t suck near as bad as staying here and staring into his eyes, knowing that nothing she did, no matter how much she loved him, would ever make up for what her ex-husband had done. Or for how much he blamed her for the chance that Douglas had had to deceive the Breeds.
The air was chilled, the late winter weather moving in hard on the mountains as the temperature began to drop. It would be a long, cold walk back to town. But it couldn’t be any longer, or any colder, than the past that stretched out behind her.
◆ CHAPTER 17 ◆
He followed her. Cassa had expected it. He was her mate. He was her hormonal, biological match. She would have snorted at that thought if she weren’t so pissed off at him.
The walk back to town was a chilly one, but it gave her a chance to think, a chance to put things in perspective a bit more than she had already. Not that she had anything worked out, because she didn’t.
When he pulled up next to her and the passenger door of the Raider slid open, she turned, looked at him for a long moment, then slammed the door closed.
She was here for a story; she wasn’t here to be psychoanalyzed by a Bengal that had no idea the torment she had lived through because of his suffering. And she wasn’t here to fight for the heart of a man who obviously didn’t want to open his heart to her.
When she hit town, her legs were burning, her anger was building. She was nearing the entrance to the Kanawha Falls when a wicked, powerful black Harley pulled in from the parking lot and drew to a stop.
Dog.
His smirk was mocking, amused, as he glanced from her to the Raider.
“Want a ride?” he asked.
“I won’t ride with him, why would I ride with you?” she snapped.
“Maybe because I’ll give you answers, and he’d die and go to hell first?” he asked as she drew to a stop a second before Cabal did.
“Better hurry, here he comes,” Dog laughed as the Raider drew to a quick stop.
Cassa pushed aside her misgivings about Dog, jumped on the back of the Harley and crossed her fingers with a prayer that she’d survive the ride.
Dog wouldn’t hurt her so blatantly, she told herself, as she heard Cabal’s vicious curse behind her and Dog roared off.
“Answers,” she bit out furiously. “As you said, we don’t have much time.”
“You’ve been fucking up, Ms. Hawkins,” he called back to her as she gripped the leather jacket he wore rather than wrapping her arms around him. She couldn’t bear the thought of embracing him.
“No kidding,” she said tersely. “Now tell me something I don’t know.”
Dog took the curves through the little town faster than she would have liked. The motorcycle vibrated and hummed like a powerful beast between her thighs and reminded her of the fact that she shouldn’t be here, not like this, not with this Breed.
“Something you don’t know?” he called back. “Something you don’t know, Ms. Hawkins, is the same thing that your Bengal is figuring out.”
“Just keep me in suspense, why don’t you?” she called back as they neared the inn. “And if you don’t mind, don’t pass up my lodging.”
His big body vibrated with a chuckle as he turned into the inn’s parking lot, pulled around and parked close to the entrance, as Cabal pulled in behind them.
“Ask him why the killer contacted you, Ms. Hawkins,” Dog suggested as she slid off the motorcycle. “Because he knows why you’re here.”
His statement had her stopping and staring back at him, her eyes narrowing, aware that Cabal was jumping from the Raider and moving toward them.
“Why?” she snapped.
“Because Watts was part of the Dozen, Cassa. He was part of it, and he’s the one the killer wants.”
With that surprising statement, Dog gunned the motor on the Harley and shot out of his parking space a second ahead of Cabal reaching them.
Cassa stared up at her mate, shock resounding through her as she saw the suspicion in his eyes, the knowledge. It was there, in the brilliant pinpoints of amber that gazed back at her. He had a piece of the puzzle that she should have had. He’d known something that important, and he hadn’t told her.
“What would make your rogue killer think I can bring Douglas back from the dead? Or does he just think I should continue paying for his crimes?” Her voice was hoarse with tears she refused to shed, with an anger she refused to let free.
“Fuck!” The muttered curse was a testament to the rare honesty Dog had become afflicted with.
A part of her had hoped it was a lie, that the Coyote Breed didn’t know what he was talking about. Dog wasn’t known for his loyalty to the Breed community, quite the contrary. He was known for working with their enemies. In his own way of course. Rumor in the past year was that even Dog’s handler wasn’t always certain which side he was playing on.
“Yes, fuck,” she stated with cold emphasis on the curse. “Fuck all of it, Cabal.”
Turning, she stalked away from the Bengal, ignoring the need just for his touch. It wasn’t sexual this time, and it should have been. Mating heat was reputed to always be sexual.
No, the need twisting inside her now was a need for his touch, for his hold. A need to curl against him and, for once in too many years, just heal a little.
She’d been alone since her parents’ deaths, twelve years before. On the heels of that had been her marriage. Douglas had moved in, taken over and slowly destroyed the self-confidence Cassa had had within herself.
How easy she had been, she thought as she pushed into her room and tossed her pack on the nearby table. She had thought she loved him when she married him, but as the months went by, she realized it had been her grief that had had her leaning on him.
By then, it had been too late. Douglas had integrated himself into her life and had already begun sowing the seeds of her destruction.
She cursed her own ignorance with him. She’d been cursing it for eleven years now. She had made the mistake in trusting him, and she was still paying the price for it.
Sometimes she wondered if she would continue paying until the last breath she took. And beyond.
Death watched the light flicker on in the room at the inn. How warm and inviting it looked from the opposite bank of the river. How many memories it brought back.
Too many memories. They were stacked from one end of the mind to the other, flickering across the imagination as pain ripped through a soul that had felt shattered for too many years.
Valentine’s night. It had all happened then. Another anniversary was moving in quickly. Another year without a mate that had brightened every corner of a life that had been dark before that mating.
Death rubbed at arms that were still sensitive, that still ached for touch. There wasn’t a cell that didn’t miss the presence of the mate. It was like a disease, a steadily building fever that eventually destroyed the mind.
It never ended.
Once there had been warmth, laughter. There had been a place to belong. None of that existed now. There was no longer that place to belong or those arms to be held by. There was no longer the kiss that was needed to still the hunger that never stopped growing, never stopped tormenting or torturing the body or the mind.
It had created Death. This horrifying, gnawing emptiness that never went away. That never eased. The agony never eased, it never went away. It pulsed and echoed through the spirit until insanity would be a relief.
Many would think it was insanity now. It wasn’t. Insanity was the inability to accept that what one did was wrong. Death was very well aware there was nothing right here. It was simply justice. And justice was all that mattered for the lives that had been taken. For the lives that could never be returned.
“You were once a handsome man.” Death turned
and stared at the bound, gagged victim who lay at the edge of the water.
His eyes were narrowed and filled with loathing. Filled with fury.
A smile crossed Death’s lips. It was a brutal smile. One that flashed with razor-sharp teeth and intent.
Yes, Cash Winslow, a former CIA agent. He had once been a very handsome man. Tall and fit, his hair dark and silky, his eyes deceptively friendly. Once he had been someone Death had trusted. Trusted and been betrayed by.
“I remember that fishing trip we went on,” Death said quietly, looking at the man Cash Winslow had aged into. “Do you remember?”
There were muffled sounds of rage behind the duct tape that covered his mouth.
“I caught the bigger fish. That big ole catfish. You ate with us, planned with us. We ate that big ole fish, tough as he was.” And they had laughed, planned for Breed freedom and lives that were far different from the danger they had faced then.
Death turned back to Cash then, stared into those eyes. Those deceptive, lying eyes.
“You betrayed us all.”
The chill from the river wrapped around a body that had been far colder than this on many nights. Nights when blankets didn’t ease the chill, when even the memories couldn’t warm the ice growing inside.
Death tapped gloved fingers against Winslow’s forehead. His hair was gray now. He was a little over sixy. Aging. He wasn’t as quick as he used to be, nor was he as intuitive. It had paid to allow time to pass before exacting revenge. The victims weren’t nearly as agile as they used to be.
“I remember how close you were with so many of them,” Death sighed painfully. “All of us.”
Muttered sounds came from beneath the tape as Cash struggled desperately. It was pathetic really. He had once been fit and hard, muscular and rather handsome. He was now just a paunchy, overweight, balding old man. With a fishing line around his neck.
He had been bait once before. He had drawn them to the Coyote Breed that had supposedly escaped and needed help over the mountain.
“You came to us. You swore he was a victim, you argued for his freedom and his safety. And you were our friend, we believed in you.”
Standing straight and tall, Death stared down at Winslow with a heavy, broken soul.
“We believed in you.”
There was no more time to waste. Gripping him beneath the shoulders, it was no hardship to lift him and scoot him the small distance to the edge of the river, to the boulders several feet away.
He struggled, but that was okay. The struggle was preferable. That meant there was still some life left in him. When he went under the water, he would suffer. He would know pain, for a few moments at least.
“The water is very cold. Cold enough that hypothermia will come fairly quickly. Which is really too bad. I was hoping to make you suffer just a while longer. I was hoping to taste your blood, but this is the wrong time for that, isn’t it?”
Blood would have been nice. Ripping his throat out would have been so much better than simply watching him drown. But his death needed to leave a message. Bait. There were many who would know what this meant. Many who would see the significance, but none who would know the answer.
“Loyalty,” Death whispered. “It’s repaid. Just as death is avenged. You killed us all.”
He was struggling, fighting. It wouldn’t do any good. There was only one place on the bank that he could reach safety, and she had that covered. He was going to die, and she was going to watch him die.
“You and Watts.” The hiss was filled with hatred, with the brutal need for blood. “You and Watts planned it. You executed it.”
A strong, hard kick to his back sent him tumbling into the water. The splash wasn’t nearly as satisfying as the sounds of screams when their throats came out, but it was better than watching him breathe. It was better than knowing he lived so much as a moment longer.
Gripping the line looped around Winslow’s neck, it was an easy matter to keep him in the deep pool of water chosen for his deathbed.
Wickedly sharp canines flashed in the night as a smile pulled at chilled, chapped lips. He was struggling, fighting the line, searching for a toehold, a way to draw in air, and there was no way to do so.
Tugging at the line, Death hummed a little melody and stared into the cloud-laden skies. It would snow by morning. The Breeds would find an icy corpse, and no trace of the murderer. That was the best way to kill. Without a trace. No DNA. No evidence, just the body to show the passing of life.
As Winslow’s struggles ceased and his body became a deadweight against the line, Death knelt on a boulder and stared into the murky water at the body below.
“Roses are red. Violets are blue. I remember, mate, and how I miss you.”
There were tears in the voice that whispered the words. Tears and grief. Had it truly been more than two decades since life had turned so dark and bleak? It hurt as though it had happened yesterday. An hour ago. It hurt until the agony was like an open, festering wound that refused to heal.
“I miss both of you.”
Death wiped at a face without tears. They had stopped falling so long ago.
Moving slowly, the fishing line was attached to a sturdy limb of a nearby tree, and on its end a photo was attached.
Let them make of this what they would.
Turning to stare into the well-lit window of the room Cassa Hawkins had taken, bleak eyes narrowed and rage built again.
She had mated that Bengal. Damn her. She had mated a Breed. That made it harder. It shouldn’t have. Death hadn’t thought it would. But it did. There was regret, but so little remorse.
A mate would have to be sacrificed. But so many had already been sacrificed, did another really matter? The end result was what mattered. The end result, and the death of those who had destroyed so much.
“Good-bye, Cash Winslow,” Death whispered with a feeling of relief. “Seven down. Four to go. And one to die again.”
◆ CHAPTER 18 ◆
Because Watts was part of the Dozen, Cassa. He was part of it, and he’s the one the killer wants.
Dog’s statement ran through Cassa’s mind through most of the night. Pacing the floor at the inn, she fought to understand why a rogue Breed would think she should pay for what Douglas had done so long ago.
He had been part of the Deadly Dozen. She pulled up the old, faded picture on her laptop and concentrated on the faces of the twelve men in poor focus. One face in particular had always caused her to pause, though she had never been certain why.
Now she knew why.
Douglas.
She squinted her eyes and stared closely at the face. It could easily be Douglas when he was younger. The same blunt, squarish features. The same narrow, almost cruel lips. He was much younger. At least ten to fifteen years younger than he had been when Cassa was married to him. He’d been several years older than her.
The murders during the Valentine’s night massacre had taken place eleven years before the revelation of the Breeds. About twenty-two years, Cassa surmised. Valentine’s night, no more than a few weeks from now, would be the twenty-second anniversary of that massacre.
“God, Douglas, what did you do?” she whispered as she closed out the picture before logging into the Bureau of Breed Affairs History section.
There were no stories on that night, nothing to shed any light on what had happened. The truth of that event would have to come from a local source. And she needed something more than the sheriff had given them.
Danna Lacey had been a part of the Breed freedom movement in Glen Ferris. She had been part of the group that had fought beside the Breeds and attempted to provide some measure of security to those who escaped there.
She hadn’t been a part of the leadership though. She would have been too young. No, whoever had led those Breeds with Patrick Wallace would have to be much older now. Such as Walt.
In this little town there were so many secrets where the Breeds were concerned. The citizens that had been a
part of the movement had kept close vigilance on the Breeds, and the Breeds themselves had made certain they stayed hid in those days.
Even now, they stayed in the background.
Tapping her finger against the laptop for a second, Cassa pondered the best way to get the information she needed.
She would love to track Dog down for more questioning, but she had a feeling that wasn’t going to happen. Cabal was keeping a close eye on her, and meeting with another Breed would be just about impossible to accomplish.
Maybe.
She pulled her sat phone from the pocket of her jeans, flipped it open and keyed in a number.
“Mordecai.” The Coyote Breed presently affiliated with the Feline Breed compound, Sanctuary, answered on the first ring.
“I’m calling in a favor,” she stated.
Silence filled the line. She could almost feel the intractable Breed mulling over possibilities and wondering which favor she would call.
“You have a surplus,” he finally sighed. “Will it get me killed?”
She almost grinned at that. She couldn’t imagine Mordecai contemplating death, let alone worrying if it would affect him.
“I guess anything is possible,” she mused. “You backing out?”
He grunted at that. “Life’s too long sometimes anyway. Who do you want me to kill?”
“No one this week,” she promised.
Actually, she had never wanted him to kill anyone, he just always seemed so enthusiastic to do so.
“Too bad,” he muttered. “Go ahead.”
“I’m in Glen Ferris investigating the Valentine’s night massacre that occurred around twenty-two years ago. A dozen or so Breeds were murdered, along with mates. Do you know anything about that?”
Sometimes Breeds knew things. Information was carried between them, held close to their chests, but there if the right question was asked at the right time.
“Bits and pieces,” he answered. “Nothing that could help you, I’d imagine. A dozen or so as you said, some were mated, there was a rumor that there were unborn children murdered.”
“Dog is here. He knows something.”
Mordecai cursed. “Stay the fuck away from Dog, Cassa. He’s bad news.”
“Which side is he on?”
“His own side,” Mordecai grunted. “That’s where Dog has always been and where he will always be. If he’s in Glen Ferris fuckin’ in Cabal’s and Jonas’s business, then clear out.”
“I need to talk to him, Mordecai.”
And Mordecai owed her. She was the one who had tracked down the location of several Breeds that were taken from the labs where he was held, just before the rescues. She had found his natural brother and told no one but Mordecai of his location.
There were other favors the Coyote owed her for. Information she had given him when needed. Papers she had provided him that were illegal. A few small exchanges among friends.
“Bad news,” Mordecai muttered. “You are in the mood to get me killed this week.”
“You can arrange it,” she told him. “Contact him. He knows I’m here; he tried to talk to me once, but Cabal interrupted us.”
“And he’ll keep interrupting.”
“Not if Dog has my sat phone number. Not if someone gives it to him. I’ll take care of the rest.”
She had two of the pills left that she hadn’t given to Jonas. Just in case she needed them. She would use them if she had to. If Cabal forced her into it.
“Hell,” Mordecai cursed. “Contacting him directly isn’t exactly easy, sweetheart.”
“I have confidence in you.” Cassa moved back to the window and gazed across the river.
She almost smiled at the sight of the small fire on the opposite bank. A fisherman, no doubt, though it was damned cold to be fishing.
She frowned as the blaze flickered in shades of red and gold. It was close to the falls, where the water ran swifter, faster. An odd place, and an odd night, to be fishing the treacherous waters.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Mordecai finally sighed. “If he’s going to call, you’ll hear from him soon though. Dog’s not predictable. And you be damned careful.”
“As always, my friend,” she assured him. “When dealing with Breeds, one learns to be real damned careful.”
She almost laughed at his little grunt of acknowledgment. Flipping the phone closed, she slid it back into her jeans pocket and continued to watch the blaze in the distance for long seconds, as she tried to pinpoint why it bothered her.
She was drawn out of her reverie by the muted alarm on her laptop. The email alarm was set for one email address specifically.
That of a killer.
the killing himself, Jonas had attempted to intercept the email he had known she would receive. It hadn’t worked. The email had been delivered, and the program attached to it didn’t allow for remote corruption or deletion.
The rogue wanted her to know about this. He wanted her involved in this. She was a pawn in a very dangerous game, and he was growing sick of it.
“She’s been