Bengal's Heart

by Leigh, Lora

  Forcing back the pain didn’t always work. It was always there, always spearing the soul like a poison-tipped sword as the voice weakened and became hoarse.

  Alonzo swallowed; a whimper nearly left his throat.

  “You’ll never get away with it.” Terror was thick in the mountains once more, but this time, it wasn’t a Breed’s terror. It was just a human’s. A human of no worth.

  “Perhaps getting away with it isn’t my aim.”

  “You’ll destroy the Breeds,” Alonzo charged furiously as he began to back away. “My death won’t go unnoticed.”

  “They don’t even know who I am, why should I care about them?” It was a hiss of fury, of hatred. “Let them deal with it however they will. You are no longer an equation in their battle.”

  He stumbled, then righted himself. His eyes widened. His face went white.

  “You don’t want to do this.”

  “I did the others. The doctor, the lawyer, the sheriff and the mayor, the police officer.” The words were a sigh of pleasure, almost of ecstasy. “It was good, Alonzo. I tasted their fear, I feasted on their blood. And it was good.”

  He froze. Like a deer caught in the brilliant rays of a headlight.

  “You,” he breathed. “You’re the one that killed them.”

  A chuckle filled the night. The last Breed they could have suspected. It was perfect. It was just perfect revenge. Just a study in exacting revenge.

  “It was I.” It was a soul stained with blood, with death, with the need for more. “And now it’s your turn.”

  His head shook. His body shook. What was the saying? Like a bowlful of Jell-O? It wiggled and trembled and swayed with terror.

  “You can’t do this,” Alonzo wheezed.

  Canines flashed again. Sharp, extended. Prepared.

  “Good-bye, you little motherfucker. May you burn in hell.”

  He turned to run, but there was really no place to run. His screams tore through the night, but there was no one there to care. The gurgle of death, the spurt of blood, the sound of flesh ripping open was a symphony that filled the soul, as the taste of tainted blood touched the tongue.

  It had begun here. In these mountains. The dream of freedom had turned to horror. Pain and death and the knowledge that there was no true life, no true freedom. There was this though. The taste of blood. The feel of a diseased soul leaving the body, and the sound of a scream of triumph as life slowly gave its last gasping attempt to survive before succumbing to death.

  Alonzo had once sought a Breed known for her killing abilities. She had been called Death. But she hadn’t been Death. She had been living, breathing. She had a soul, a mate and a life. That wasn’t true death. Death had no soul. It had no mate. It had no life. True death had no dreams and no heart.

  Crouched over Alonzo’s lifeless body, tasting his blood, feeling it like warm silk flowing through fingers that knew only cold, knew only pain. This was Death.

  And Death screamed in triumph rather than pain. Death howled in pleasure rather than horror.

  Or was it all the same?

  NEW YORK CITY

  The email arrived after midnight. Cassa Hawkins stared at the pictures in the file and tried once again, without hope, to use the tracking program she’d installed to track the origin of the email.

  User location unknown. The answer was always the same, but this file, just like the others that had come in the past few weeks, held blood and horror. They were emails she knew the Bureau of Breed Affairs was tracking as well, straight from her damned computer. Her tech person still couldn’t figure out exactly how they were doing it, but she knew they were. Jonas Wyatt, the Bureau’s director, had been quite clear when he had called the day before and warned her to stay out of Breed business.

  Cassa stared at the photos. The violence in them sickened her, causing her to swallow tightly to hold back the bile that would have risen in her throat.

  She should call Cabal, or at the very least Jonas, she thought. She should do something more than the attempts she had been making to track the emails and the locations of the deaths.

  Unlike the others, this email contained at least the location of the murder. The killer had even been nice enough—she snorted at the idea—to send a detailed map of where the body could be found, as well as a letter.

  Good evening to you, Ms. Hawkins. You will find enclosed the proof of H. R. Alonzo’s execution, completed on this day, just after midnight.

  Glen Ferris, West Virginia. It began here, Ms. Hawkins, and with God’s help, it will end here. You should know, the past never dies. As long as there is a memory, there is life. I hold the memories. I hold life. And I’ll take yet more.

  I’ve tasted their blood and now I hunger. I’ve warmed myself with their fear, and I’ve laughed in joy at their deaths. And there will be more.

  Six down.

  Six to go.

  Tell the world. There is no honor, there is no hope. I am what was created.

  Tell the world. Grief ripped through her chest at the thought. If she actually went on the air with a story showing a Breed kill, the consequences would be horrendous. The world, unstable as it was in its opinion of Breeds, would turn against the creations instantly.

  Their safety depended on the world believing in the justice and the honor that Breed Law demanded. It depended on the goodwill of citizens who were as fickle in their loyalties as they were in their trust.

  She pushed her fingers through her hair and swallowed back a curse before saving the file and encrypting it on her laptop. She couldn’t risk its discovery, not yet, not until she figured out exactly what was going on in Glen Ferris.

  The story involved more than just the deaths Jonas and Cabal had spoken of the night before. It involved much more than the Reverend H. R. Alonzo’s execution at the hands of the very creatures he preached as abominations and the scourge of God. This involved the preservation of an entire race of individuals fighting for survival.

  HR was executed just after midnight. She looked at the time on the laptop. It was just after one in the morning. One hour.

  She covered her face with her hands and blew out a hard breath. She couldn’t report this, not yet. But she couldn’t let it go either. She needed to know more.

  Jumping to her feet, Cassa jerked the silken robe from her shoulders and tossed it to the bed. She threw open the doors to her closet and pulled out jeans and a sweatshirt, before striding to her dresser for socks and underclothes.

  Glen Ferris, West Virginia, was perhaps a nine- to ten-hour drive. She could make it. She’d be dog tired by the time she got there, but she could do it.

  Twelve hours, she guessed, before she could even get started finding the location. And if the body were still there? The ramifications of what she was preparing to do began to flash through her mind.

  She dressed quickly, threw several outfits into a bag and grabbed an additional, already packed overnight bag from her closet. She shoved hiking boots into her bag as well as a pair of flat dressier shoes. She laced sneakers onto her feet, then grabbed her purse and cell phone.

  She was hitting speed dial as she packed her laptop.

  “Marv, it’s Cassa, wake the hell up,” she snapped into her news director’s answering machine. “I don’t have all night here.”

  She tapped her foot, waited until the machine beeped, then hung up and called back.

  “What the bloody fuck do you want, Hawkins?” Marv Rhi nard snarled with sleepy ill humor as he answered the phone.

  “I’m out on a story,” she told him as she zipped up the laptop bag, pulled the strap over her shoulder and headed for the door. “Have Shelley cover me. I’ll call you and let you know what’s going on as soon as I know.”

  “What’s the story?” Marv was definitely awake now.

  Cassa didn’t fly off on wild-goose chases, and he knew it. If she was dumping her airtime on her stand-in, then there was a reason, and usually a damned good reason.

  “I’m not su
re enough of the details yet, Marv,” she informed him as she locked the door and moved down the hall to the elevator. “I’m heading to Glen Ferris, West Virginia, now. I’ll call you once I’m there.”

  “It’s those damned Breeds.” Frustration filled Marv’s voice now. “Do you know those bastards are causing hell’s own mess from one end of the planet to another? There was a report last week that Wyatt threw some scientist into a volcano. I needed you in Hawaii to check that out.”

  “I’d love the vacation, Boss, but no go. The volcano thing is old news and lies at that.” Or so she hoped, though she doubted it. Jonas Wyatt would definitely go for the volcano if it was feasible. “This is bigger, if it pans out. I’ll let you know more as soon as I can.”

  Marv cursed again. “Fuck. I hate it when you do this. The viewers don’t like Shelley nearly as well.”

  “Well, they’ll have to suck it up or watch the competition. Tell Shelley to flash cleavage and maybe a little thigh while she’s reporting. Ratings will skyrocket.”

  Marv was likely foaming at the mouth, if the virulent string of curses she heard was any indication.

  “Look, I have to go,” she stated imperatively as the elevator doors opened in the lobby. “Shelley will do great. The stories are waiting on her, or you can rerun some of the older stories. Try the one about that Breed Mathias and the kid he and his wife adopted. That was an interesting piece.”

  The former Breed assassin and his wife had rescued an abandoned baby several months before and were now trying to adopt it.

  “God, you’re pissing me off,” Marv snapped. “Fine, I’ll go through the old footage and see what we can set Shelley up with. But this better be damned good, Cass. I better see blood at the very least.”

  Her stomach was still roiling at the thought of the blood she had seen. She didn’t think Marv really wanted to be a part of the massacre of the Breeds that would occur if that were shown.

  “I’ll see what kind of gore I can get you, Marv,” she promised as she entered the garage and headed for her car. “I’ll call soon. I promise.”

  “Better be damned soon or—” Cassa cut off the or else that usually followed. Marv was damned good with the threats and even better at yelling for hours on end if anyone was willing to listen to him.

  She tossed her bags into the trunk of her car before sliding into the driver’s seat and hitting the ignition. A ten-hour drive was going to suck. Too bad the news station didn’t have their own plane; she could have used the lift.

  Tossing the phone to the seat beside her, she roared from the parking garage and headed out of the city. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she fought to keep from speeding. She needed to be there now. She needed to find out what the hell was going on and why a Breed was now attempting to turn world opinion against them.

  It didn’t make sense. The Breeds could be merciless, she knew it, she had seen it firsthand. But never without reason. And though H. R. Alonzo no doubt deserved a bloody death, if even half of the charges the Breeds laid against him were true, still, there were courts and trials for a reason.

  Breed Law protected the Breeds against men like Alonzo. It was the reason the law had been written and was now the framework for justice at any time that Breeds were involved.

  The Bureau of Breed Affairs had been established to ensure that Breeds, as well as non-Breeds, followed those mandates, and that the creations man had made were preserved in both safety and freedom.

  For the most part, the world supported them, but if those pictures were flashed across the news screen without a damned good story in Breed favor to back them, then world sentiment would turn against them fast.

  She glanced at the cell phone as she pulled to a stop at a traffic light and debated calling Sanctuary. She could talk to Merinus and Callan; the pride leaders of the Felines would send a team to investigate, and they would assuredly give her the story. If Jonas Wyatt and Cabal didn’t poke their busy little noses into it, just as she knew they would.

  The deaths documented in the files she had received were the very ones Jonas and Cabal had been discussing the night before at Haven. Except, H. R. Alonzo hadn’t been on the list.

  Alonzo had been a thorn in the Breeds’ sides since they first revealed themselves. According to Cassa’s research, he was also most likely a part of the shadowy organization known as the Genetics Council, though she doubted he was part of the inner twelve.

  It was a story she was working on. Alonzo and several others who spoke out often against the Breeds were rumored to have ties to what was left of the Council. Most of the organization had been disbanded once the members themselves were revealed and convicted of having conspired to create, torture and murder the creations known as the Breeds.

  Now Alonzo was dead. Who else would die?

  Cassa breathed out roughly as she left the city, hit the interstate and sat back for the drive ahead. If she got there fast enough and managed to locate the area where Alonzo’s body was now lying, then she might have a chance to find a few of the answers she needed.

  Eleven years as a television investigative reporter had given her the experience; a knowledge of the Breeds was an additional bonus. Now she could only hope that she was the only one who had received that file. If she was lucky—and she was praying she would get lucky—then she might have something to bargain with when she was forced to call Wyatt.

  Her own pictures. She would need those. The file was good, but it wasn’t good enough. Pictures could be faked. Technology was amazing and still growing at a rapid pace. There was no way to prove those photos were, in fact, pictures of men who had died at the hands of a Breed.

  Only Banks’s body hadn’t yet been found. Alonzo’s was a new addition, but she had no doubt that Jonas would ensure that his murder was covered up. Jonas was damned good like that. So good, a shiver of fear snaked up her back.

  But Jonas wasn’t the only one with a knack for doing whatever was needed to protect his people. Cabal was also slowly gaining that reputation. The playboy of the Breed society. The whore-mongering tomcat. He was also whispered to be one of the Bureau’s best silent assassins.

  He wasn’t an enforcer. He wasn’t even listed with the Breed registry. For a reason, she guessed. Breeds listed with the registry had to turn in blood and DNA samples. They couldn’t turn in fingerprints because those had been burned away in the labs.

  She knew what those labs were, the hell the Breeds had endured. If one was now taking vengeance, then God help her, she couldn’t blame him. But she knew that the rest of the world would do more than blame the Breed, they would turn on all of them.

  There was only one way to ensure that didn’t happen. She needed to know why. A face had to be put to the killer, a history. That was her job.

  Now she just prayed that Jonas, and most especially Cabal, wouldn’t catch her before she managed to do it. If they did, then she didn’t have a chance in hell.

  ◆ CHAPTER 3 ◆

  EIGHTEEN HOURS LATER

  Cassa was beginning to learn to hate the dark, and as she crashed down the mountain she was cursing her own lack of foresight in not having taken one of those nifty little scent blocker pills. Of course, she was on foot. The tangle of brambles and trees in this part of the forest was too thick for her Jeep to make it through.

  Slapping at the vines as she crashed through them, she cursed herself, the Breeds and whoever the bastards were chasing her down the mountain.

  She had a feeling that if they were Breeds, then they weren’t the friendly sort. She’d gotten an inkling when her attacker had jumped from a broken cliff above her position and snarled in a less than friendly manner.

  The curved canines were her first clue that she was in trouble. The Coyote Breeds had curved canines, and for the most part, if they were chasing her now, then they definitely were not the friendly sort.

  She heard a low, vicious growl behind her. The sound of it sent her heart rate spiking and her legs attempting to pump faste
r. She stumbled and rolled down a steep incline before gaining her feet once again.

  This was insane. Coming here at night rather than waiting until morning. She’d been too impatient. The trip to West Virginia had been a nightmare to begin with. A flat tire, then a traffic jam along the interstate that had lasted long enough for her to take a long nap, due to the tanker that had collided with a guardrail before slamming into the face of a mountain.

  She’d arrived in Glen Ferris just after dark and had taken the time to do nothing more than check into a hotel before setting her personal GPS with the coordinates that had been sent in the email. After dark.

  Her father had warned her before his death that she was going to end up racing into more trouble than she could get out of one of these days. She was certain she had finally met up with that day.

  “Nosy little bitch!” The snarl drew her up short as the body of a tall, muscular male Coyote Breed jumped in front of her, blocking her exit.

  Cassa let out a girly scream. A high-pitched, surprised scream that pierced her own eardrums before she skidded to the side, went down on one leg and slid past him.

  Oh God. Angels watch over her. Jesus, Mary or Joseph, whoever was listening to prayers tonight, just get her out of this one. Get her out of this and she promised she wouldn’t harass Marv for a week. No, make that a month. She’d fix coffee for him. She’d call her old biddie of an aunt, send her flowers or something. She would find some kind of good deed worthy of saving her skin.

  A low, dark laugh echoed behind her. “Run, little girl,” the wicked voice called out, the pitch low, the amusement in the tone sending fear snaking down her spine.

  She could feel her own breath laboring in her chest and wondered if this would be the last time she would feel it.

  “Did someone forget to post the ‘No Reporters’ sign?” A hard laugh sounded behind her again.

  God, they were playing with her. Coyotes were like cats playing with mice when it came to their victims. And like the mouse, she was running, running, running, and still they were thrashing behind her, shaking the brambles, crunching through the dead leaves and laughing with evil amusement.