by Laura Wright
Angel leaned forward, his dark eyes glowing with a golden light.
“Inside?”
“It’s a voice, but not a voice,” Willa reluctantly admitted. “It shows me pictures.”
Indy placed her hand on Willa’s leg, prepared to shoot the dart if Angel mocked the child’s fearful confession.
Of course he didn’t. Instead he leaned even closer to the child, his beautiful face intent as he studied Willa.
“Do you remember the pictures?” he asked.
Willa gave a hesitant nod. “Sometimes I’m lying in the sun surrounded by plants. And sometimes I’m running so fast it tickles my ears. And sometimes—” Once again her words broke off, an embarrassed color staining her cheeks.
“Go on, little one,” Angel insisted.
“Sometimes I’m biting the bad men who hurt me,” Willa confessed in a breathless rush.
Angel flashed a reassuring smile, his fingers brushing through her pale curls.
“You did very good, Willa,” he praised as he straightened.
Indy gave the girl’s leg a soft squeeze. “She’s a good kitten, aren’t you?”
“Cat,” Angel breathed.
Indy sent him a frown. “What?”
His features hardened with a grim determination. “We need to talk.”
Oh…shit.
Indy’s heart plummeted as she easily read his concern. He’d been able to sense something about Willa. Something that wasn’t good.
“Okay,” she muttered, pasting a smile to her lips as she moved to place a soft kiss on Willa’s forehead. “I’ll send Nadia in to help you with your bath.”
Willa’s gaze clung to Angel. “Will you come back to visit?”
Angel gave a slow, solemn dip of his head. “I would be honored to visit again.”
Sensing she’d earned yet another conquest, Willa gave a bat of her long lashes.
“With cookies?”
Angel tilted back his head as he released a burst of laughter. Indy’s breath lodged painfully in her lungs, her entire body going up in flames at the sight of his genuine amusement.
Yeesh. He was gorgeous when he was broody. And when he was mad. And when he was ready to wring her throat.
But he was devastating as his eyes sparkled with wicked humor and his lips parted to reveal snowy white teeth. Teeth she suddenly wanted to feel nibbling at her flesh, stirring the passions she hadn’t even known she possessed.
She shuddered, deeply relieved he was still concentrating on Willa.
“You’re going to be a very dangerous female, little one,” he assured her.
Willa gave a proud nod. “Just like Indy.”
The dark eyes slid in her direction, lingering on her flushed face with an intensity that made her mouth go dry.
“Yes, just like Indy,” he murmured.
She flattened her lips, fiercely trying to pretend her stomach wasn’t fluttering as a surge of tingling excitement exploded through her.
Dammit. She brought this male here to help Willa, not to stir up sensations that were better left unstirred.
“Let’s go,” she ordered in abrupt tones, not surprised when he sent her a taunting glance.
A part of her suspected that she wasn’t nearly as in control of the situation as he was allowing her to believe. A suspicion that only deepened as he prowled next to her, his graceful movements doing nothing to hide the power beneath his pretense of civilization.
Beneath the expensive clothing and polished air of a professional lurked a primitive hunter just waiting for his opportunity to pounce.
Reaching the hallway, she paused for the dark-haired Nadia to dart past them, her head bent to hide her face. Then, closing the door to the nurse’s office, she forced herself to ask the question that she dreaded.
“Do you know what’s wrong with her?”
Angel didn’t hesitate. “She needs to go to the Wildlands.”
Indy stiffened. Okay. That was the last thing she expected. As far as she knew, no humans had ever been invited into the secluded bayous the Pantera called home.
“Why?”
He glanced toward the closed door. “The magic there is the only thing that will heal her.”
Indy parted her lips only to snap them shut as she abruptly realized what he was doing. Sharp-edged disappointment lanced through her. Not just because of Willa. But because…
She grimaced, silently admitting the truth.
Over the past hour she’d started to hope he would forget…well, everything. That he’d been shot, kidnapped, and held captive. She wanted him to want to help Willa. Unfair? Yeah. But after spending a lifetime dealing with ruthless villains, she wanted a hero.
“Shit. I should have known you would try to play me,” she muttered, shaking her head in disgust. “I always heard the Pantera were only concerned with their own people and the hell with the rest of us, but I didn’t think you would be so selfish you’d put your needs above that of a sick little girl.”
Without warning he was bending down until their noses were nearly touching, the air snapping with the force of his anger.
“Don’t presume for a second that you know me or my people, female,” he snarled. “You asked me to help Willa and I told you what you need to do.”
She wanted to back away. Standing so close she could sense his cat lurking just beneath the surface, its hunger almost palpable. It made the hair rise on the back of her neck.
Indy, however, grimly stood her ground.
She didn’t have much in this world, but the one thing she had in spades was courage.
Or, as Karen would call it, bull-headed stubbornness.
“And your prescription is the Wildlands?” She gave a sharp laugh. “The one place you’re certain to escape while the rest of us get turned into cat food?”
“I don’t have to escape.” His voice was filled with a ruthless assurance that sent a chill down her spine. “I can promise you that a dozen Hunters are already searching for me. I give you one hour, maybe two, before they pick up my trail.”
Indy unconsciously licked her lips. He sounded so certain.
“You don’t scare me,” she forced herself to mutter.
A dangerous smile curved his lips. “Then you’re a fool. My brothers won’t stop until they have me back.” He paused, his gaze taking a slow, thorough survey of her rigid body as he moved to tower over her. “And then you’ll be all mine, honey.”
An intoxicating musk laced the air, clouding her mind with all sorts of sinful thoughts. Thoughts that included tilting her head to press her lips against the tempting fullness of his mouth. And ripping off that soft cashmere sweater so she could nibble a path down his chest. And running her fingers through the silken platinum of his hair.
Almost as if sensing the treacherous ache that was spreading through her body, Angel moved forward, easily herding her against the dented lockers that lined the hallway.
Her heart thundered, but it wasn’t from fear.
Desperate to regain command of the situation, Indy lifted her hand and jabbed him with the tip of the dart gun.
“Back off,” she rasped.
He pushed forward, trapping her with the heavy strength of his body.
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, lowering his head to stroke a rough tongue down the line of her jaw. He chuckled when he felt her tremble at the tiny shocks of pleasure racing through her. “When I make you my cat food I’ll do enough licking up and down this delectable body, you won’t mind at all when I start feasting on you.” He nipped the lobe of her ear. “In fact, you’ll be begging.”
***
Six blocks from the abandoned school, Stanton Locke entered the small, private house that was guarded by layers of security. Not that many people would be interested in the plain, three-story brick house in the quiet neighborhood.
Set back from the tree-lined street, it had a high hedge and sturdy gate that prevented the casual pedestrian from getting more than a brief glance of the covered por
ch.
Laying his hand on the palm scanner that was hidden next to the door, Stanton Locke waited for alarms to disengage before entering the shadowed foyer.
He was a tall man with a lean, distinguished face and brilliant blue eyes. Currently his dark hair was pulled into a short tail at his nape and his slender form attired in a smoke-gray Gucci suit.
At a glance, most people assumed he was a wealthy businessman who had been born to a family of privilege and graduated from Oxford or Yale. Few would ever suspect that he’d been born in the gutters of London. Or that he now was in charge of a vast criminal underworld.
Climbing the steps to the porch, Stanton nodded toward the guard who was seated next to the window overlooking the front yard and stepped into the living room.
An empty living room.
He grimaced. No big surprise. The woman he was seeking rarely watched TV or lounged on the deeply cushioned couches he’d personally picked out for her comfort. She also ignored the kitchen he’d had remodeled in the hope she would enjoy cooking.
Instead Chelsea spent the bulk of her time in the library, hiding from the world in the same way she used to hide behind her science.
That’s how they met, in fact.
She was a brilliant genetic researcher who’d worked at Haymore Center until she’d developed cold feet and tried to quit. Unfortunately for her, Stanton’s master didn’t accept resignations. Once you were included in the inner circle it was a lifetime commitment.
The only way out was death.
Stanton had been ordered to oversee her termination, but for the first time since his master had rescued him from the streets, Stanton had deliberately disobeyed a direct command. There was no way in hell he was hurting Chelsea.
Instead he’d whisked her to this house to keep her hidden from those who would destroy her just to gain an advantage with the master.
Not that she’d appreciated his efforts, he wryly acknowledged, climbing the staircase to the third floor that’d been converted to a massive library. He entered the room that was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves on three walls, with one wall dominated by a dormer window that overlooked the garden in the back.
The ceiling was lofted with open beams that gave the illusion of space, along with light ivory carpeting on the wooden planks.
Moving forward, he at last spotted Chelsea curled in a leather wingback chair near the window.
The early morning sunlight danced over the crimson flames in her long red hair and emphasized the pale ivory of her skin. At his entrance she lifted her head from the book that was opened on her lap, her pale green eyes watching his approach with an unreadable expression.
At the same time, her hair slid away from her face, revealing the scarred flesh that ran from mid-cheek down the side of her throat. The terrible burn that had happened when she was in a fire as a teenager was a jarring contrast to the perfection of her beauty, but unlike Chelsea, Stanton had never thought of it as ugly. To him it was a badge of courage for what she’d suffered.
“I thought you left New Orleans with the Pantera,” she said, her voice cold.
Stanton flinched. Once her voice had been laced with a warmth and tenderness that only occurred between lovers.
“I did.” His own voice held a British accent he’d honed until it sounded as if he’d attended a posh boarding school.
“Ah…” A mocking resignation settled around her. “Now that you have Hiss safely hidden away, I assume you came back to tidy up loose ends?”
Pain lanced through him, his gaze greedily skimming down her slender body that was attired in casual slacks and a cream cardigan. Once he would have crossed the room and scooped her up in his arms. She would have giggled as he carried her to the leather couch in the corner and kissed her into hot, willing submission.
“In a manner of speaking,” he muttered. In truth, he didn’t have one damned reason to be in New Orleans. The businesses attached to his name had all been torched and the prisoners moved to a new location.
All but one.
This one…
Perhaps sensing his unease, Chelsea put aside the book, lifting her chin as he stepped forward.
“Will you at least make it quick?”
He frowned at her odd words. “Make what quick?”
“My death.”
He sucked in a shocked breath, feeling as if he’d been punched in the gut. Was this truly what they’d come to?
That she could believe he would ever hurt her?
“I’m not going to kill you,” he rasped.
She shrugged, slowly rising to her feet. “I’m a loose end. What else are you going to do with me?”
He scowled, deeply offended by her accusation. Had he ever done anything but try to protect her? Even when he knew he risked his own life to keep her hidden.
“How can you ask me that question?” he demanded.
“Don’t pretend to be offended, Locke,” Chelsea taunted, giving a toss of her head. “We both know you have no morals.” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile as her hand reached up to touch her scarred features. “Of course, people in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones. I allowed my own vanity to lead me down the pathway to hell.”
He crossed the floor, grabbing her hands in a tight grip.
Chelsea had agreed to help with the Pantera project in hopes that the healing properties of their blood would erase the scars that marred her face. Unfortunately, she didn’t realize she was making a deal with the devil until too late.
“None of it was what I wanted.”
Her lips twisted. “Of course it was.”
“No. I’ve only done what was asked of me,” he insisted in harsh tones.
“Don’t…” She pulled her hands free, glaring at him with blatant censure. “At least be honest about your lack of conscience. You’ve killed and tortured and held innocents captive for your own gain.”
Stanton grimaced. Okay. He couldn’t deny her accusation. He might not be the one ultimately in charge, but he was far from innocent.
“You’re right. I sold my soul.” His jaw tightened. “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t had regrets.”
Chelsea heaved a sigh, her expression softening with regret. “Too late.”
Stanton reached to lightly cup her scarred cheek. “Is it?”
“What?”
“Is it too late?”
She carefully inspected his taut features, searching for…something.
“Have you left your beloved master?” she at last demanded.
His heart fractured. It was the only thing she’d ever asked of him. And the one thing he could never give her.
“No. I can’t,” he muttered, wishing she could understand. “I owe him too much to walk away.”
Her lips flattened. It was an old argument that had torn them apart.
“What do you owe him?”
“I was starving in the street,” he said, leaving out the nastier parts of his childhood. Like the bastard who’d pimped him out from the age of five. And the younger brother he’d watched beaten to death by a local gang. “Without my master I would have died.”
She released an explosive breath, refusing to accept his belief that he owed his master his unwavering loyalty.
“Foster parents do that every day without expectation of their children becoming their devoted slaves.”
“He did more than save me,” he insisted, his thumb rubbing her full bottom lip. “He educated me and gave me a life of luxury.”
“And that’s so important to you?”
Her simple question squeezed the air from his lungs. Until Chelsea, everything had been easy.
His master told him what needed to be done, and he did it. No fuss. No muss.
He didn’t have to consider tedious things like right or wrong. Or the pain he was causing others.
“It was.” His fingers tightened on her cheek, an acute longing twisting his gut. “Now…”
“Now what?” she prompted when his words
trailed away.
“Now I fear my purpose in life was nothing more than an illusion.”
Her hand lifted to lie against his chest, the light touch sending jolts of pleasure through him.
“Locke?”
His lips twitched. He loved that she always called him by his last name. Even when she was wrapped in his arms.
“What am I going to do with you?” he muttered.
***
Angel considered himself a civilized male.
He might be Pantera, but he refused to be ruled by his primitive instincts. Instead he used cold logic to rule his life. Even his skill as a Healer was used in combination with hard science and human technology.
But pacing the cage he felt anything but civilized.
Maybe he should have listened to Raphael. When Angel had made a hurried call to the Wildlands, the older male had insisted he make his escape and wait for Parish and his Hunters to arrive so they could round up the strange collection of humans.
Angel, however, found himself unable to leave.
He was waiting for…what?
The question was churning through his mind when there was the sound of footsteps and a human male with tousled black hair and eyes that were puma gold stepped into the room. Angel instantly moved toward the door of the cage, his senses absorbing the male’s peculiar scent. He was human. But there was a distinct musk that was pure cat.
“Who are you?” Angel demanded.
“Tarin.” Warily crossing the room, the male bent down to shove a tray of food beneath the bars. “I brought you breakfast.”
Angel’s stomach rumbled. How long had it been since he’d eaten? Seven or eight hours?
His true hunger, however, wasn’t for food.
“Where’s Indy?” he sharply demanded.
In an effort to hide his nerves, Tarin wiped his hands down the front of his jeans that were nearly as threadbare as his New York Giants sweatshirt.
“She’s eating with Willa.”
His lips twisted. “Coward.”
Tarin frowned, misreading Angel’s annoyance that the female was trying to avoid him.
“I hope you won’t judge her too harshly.”
Angel narrowed his gaze. “I admire your loyalty, but what happens between Indy and myself is no one’s business.”