Bengal's Heart

by Leigh, Lora

  Silence filled the house as the scent of fear and sadness seeped from the building. As though they were mourning him.

  “He’s okay.” Danna was fighting to believe that. Cabal could hear it in her voice. “He has to be okay, Myron.”

  Myron didn’t say anything for long moments.

  “Have you called Walt?” Danna finally asked. “I couldn’t reach him earlier.”

  “He wasn’t answering,” Myron stated. “And he has David. If Walt and David are missing, then the rest of the Dozen could have figured out that he’s still alive. If they have, then he’s screwed.”

  Cabal snarled silently, gripped the doorknob and in one smooth motion opened the door and stepped into the sheriff’s kitchen.

  He had his weapon on them even as Danna reached for hers.

  “Now, we don’t want to do that, Sheriff,” he drawled as he watched both of them pale.

  He knew what they saw. The stripe across his face, and the other stripes now running down his body. The markings of his genetics that only surfaced when the animal inside him rose to the fore. When a killing fury was on him. And there was a need for blood now. A need to kill.

  Danna eased her hand back from her weapon as Cabal stepped forward and jerked it from its holster.

  “So Banks is alive?” He stepped back. “And good ole Walt is taking care of him.” He eyed them both with a hard smile. “Where has he been hiding him?”

  Danna and Myron glanced at each other, fear thick in their scents and their expressions.

  “Come on now, let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum. I’d hate to have to hurt one of you.”

  Danna shook her head. “He doesn’t have your mate, Cabal. We would have known if he did. Rick was insistent that he wouldn’t strike at her. She was just here to distract you.”

  “Consider me distracted.” He smiled thinly. “Now, where is Walt’s cabin? Don’t make me go looking for it. You wouldn’t like the consequences and neither would they.”

  “Cabal, we weren’t involved in this.” Danna’s voice broke with fear and nerves. “This wasn’t planned.”

  He lifted his lip in a curl of anger, revealing the canines at one side of his mouth. The stripes on his face darkened with his rage, only barely contained.

  “Do you want to die today, Sheriff?” he asked her before he turned to Myron. “Do you want to see your daughters grow up and have children of their own? I could make certain you don’t live to see that if you prefer.”

  He would make certain of it. He’d stood back and denied his mate for too many years. Out of arrogance, out of stubbornness, for whatever reason. Now that he had claimed her, he wasn’t willing to lose her. Not for any reason. Especially not a rogue Breed’s hunger for vengeance.

  He turned his head, staring around the house, inhaling slowly. He could barely detect that hint of cinnamon in the sherrif’s house now. The same scent that had caught his senses before when he had been here. The same scent he had detected in the air during Cassa’s kidnapping.

  “Who is Rick?” He turned back to the sheriff, the name filtering through his mind for possible Breeds that he could identify.

  Danna inhaled swiftly at the name, perhaps only now realizing she had used it. She shook her head slowly, her eyes sheen ing with tears.

  “Rick,” he mused, a picture flashing before his mind. A picture found on the bank of the river where Cash Winslow had died. A picture of a Breed who should have been dead.

  “Patrick Wallace?” His eyes narrowed on the sudden dilation of her pupils. She wasn’t trained to lie. She was good. Damned good. But still an amateur. Easily read and easily deceived. “Where is he, since it’s obvious he’s no longer dead?”

  Danna stared back at him levelly. “Patrick Wallace died twenty-two years ago.”

  Cabal tilted his head and stared at her before straightening and roaring back in her face in rage. “Where is he?”

  He could sense the lie. He knew a liar when he sensed one.

  “Oh God.” Terror raced through her; the stench of it was nearly overwhelming.

  “Get back, Danna.” Myron pushed in front of her, using his own body to shield her as Cabal advanced on them. “Look, Cabal, we don’t know shit!” he yelled back. “Whatever the hell happened to your mate, we don’t know shit about it. We don’t know where Walt has Banks, and we don’t know where Rick’s at.”

  “Who is Rick?” he snarled in Myron’s face.

  “Patrick Wallace,” he answered truthfully. “But in the labs he was known as Azrael.”

  Cabal almost blinked back at him in surprise and in shock. Azrael had killed himself, six other Breeds and an entire lab of soldiers and scientists more than thirty years ago. He had been created in a hellhole in Libya. His Lion genetics were crossed with the genetics of a young woman rumored to be a descendant of an ancient, bloody pharaoh.

  Each DNA sequencing that had gone into the creation of Azrael had been precise. Nothing had been left to chance. He was their prize. He had become their death. And it was believed he had become his own death due to feral fever.

  “Azrael,” Cabal murmured. He had been a legend among the Breeds when he lived. There had been no Breed bloodier, or more merciless, than he.

  Eyeing them both for long moments, he reached out first to jerk Myron’s sat phone from its belt clip, before pushing past him and taking Danna’s.

  Opening the call log, he shook his head and muttered. “Amateurs.”

  The numbers were clearly displayed, giving him all he needed.

  Tucking the phones into the narrow pocket on his mission pants, he smiled coldly. “It’s been a nice visit, but it’s time for me to go now.”

  He had no compunction about knocking them both out. It was that or kill them, and the need to kill was already rising hard and fast within him.

  After making sure they were unconscious, he pulled two pressure syringes from his pack and a vial of sedative. They needed to stay out for a while. He didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with the interference they would cause.

  Using the sheriff’s restraints, he secured them by the wrists and ankles and left them lying on the kitchen floor. If either of them had an ounce of intelligence, then it wouldn’t take them long to get free. But it would give him enough time to do what he had to do. They were going to nap for a while anyway.

  Cabal reengaged the comm link as he left the house, and pulled the sat phones free again as he hit the secure line to Jonas’s link.

  “I’m going to kill you when I find you,” Jonas promised with lethal deliberation.

  “You have a bigger problem. Azrael is alive.”

  There was a long silence, dark and dangerous, across the link.

  “That’s not possible,” Jonas finally answered, his voice cold. “His DNA was identified at the scene.”

  “You said yourself when we found Alonzo that these kills reminded you of Azrael,” Cabal reminded him. “That’s because they are his kills. I suspect the six Breeds he led are here with him as well. You need to get an accounting of your Breeds, Director. All kinds of problems are beginning to crop up here,” he finished sarcastically.

  “It’s not Azrael.” Jonas denied it again. “He’s dead, Cabal. Whoever this is is just doing a damned good job of impersonating him. Do you have anything else?”

  Cabal shook his head. Jonas didn’t want to admit Azrael was out there, simply because there would be no controlling that particular Breed.

  “I guess giving you the sat phone number I have for our god of death would be a bad idea then,” he drawled. “I was hoping you could trace it, but I think I can handle that little chore now.”

  “Don’t make me kill you painfully, Cabal,” Jonas warned him, and it wasn’t an idle threat.

  There would be payment for literally going rogue on the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs. That wasn’t usually a wise move. However, in this case, it had been Cabal’s only possible move.

  “Sorry, Director. Some things ar
e more important than the bottom line.” He disconnected the link as he mulled over Jonas’s insistence that Azrael was indeed dead. The director should have learned by now that nothing was definite where Breeds were concerned.

  There had been too many Breeds that were believed dead but had turned up alive in the past few years. It wouldn’t surprise Cabal in the least to learn that Azrael was indeed still alive.

  Moving away from the sheriff’s house, he pulled one of the small remote sat detectors from his pack and plugged the sat phone into it. Pulling up the numbers once again, he chose the one he figured was most likely the rogue he was searching for. The number dialed the most often.

  Tucking the unit back into the leather holder, he loped through the forest to the area where he’d stored his rifle and larger pack before entering the cabin. He should have the location he was searching for soon. Once he had that, he would have his mate’s kidnapper.

  His muscles were tense, and rage still thundered through his blood as he fought to hold on to his much needed control. Now wasn’t the time to let the animal free, to allow the killer to hunt. The man had to keep a measure of control for the time being. Until his mate was safe. Then the animal could have his vengeance.

  God help all of them if Cassa had been harmed. There would be no force on earth that could save any of them. Danna Lacey, Myron, Azrael or whoever the hell he was—it wouldn’t matter. If Cassa was harmed, then Cabal had no reason to live.

  He almost paused at that thought. Living had always been the one hunger that had gotten him through the hellish existence of the labs. Nothing had mattered but survival. When most of his pride had died, when he had realized there was no way to save them, even then, survival had been paramount.

  It was humbling to realize that if Cassa didn’t live, didn’t breathe in his world, then he didn’t want to be a part of it.

  He paused, breathed in hard and deep and fought back the emotion clawing at his chest, at his throat. God help him, just to smell her scent, to hear her voice, to know she lived . . .

  He couldn’t bear the not knowing. Wondering if she was suffering. If Azrael lived, then he was the one Breed that wouldn’t care if she suffered. If he had deemed her a threat, or a pawn in this game, then he wouldn’t care if she hurt, if she cried. If she was innocent. Nothing would matter but the plan he had in store for her.

  If that were the case, then nothing would matter to Cabal but his blood. Azrael might be the god of death, but Cabal would ensure he died.

  As he reached the store of supplies he had stashed for the visit to the sheriff’s home, he felt the muted vibration of the tracking unit in its pack against his thigh. He smiled, a cold, hard curl of his lips, and drew the device out.

  And there it was. The location of the sat phone he was searching for. And, he prayed, the location of his mate.

  ◆ CHAPTER 25 ◆

  “Rick, I can’t reach Danna or Myron on their sats.” Walt moved back into the kitchen a few hours later, a frown creasing his brow. “They were calling every few minutes, then it just stopped. I can’t reach them now.”

  Patrick turned from the open window above the sink, his gaze going immediately to Cassa, his eyes turning hard and cold.

  “Keith.” He turned to the Breed that waited silently at the other side of the room. “Contact Rand and Jason. Have them check on it.”

  Keith nodded before pulling free the sat phone and making the call. His voice was low as he spoke, filled with pauses, but little expression on his face.

  “I’ll let him know,” he finally said before turning to Patrick. “They’re under surveillance,” he reported. “Do you still want them to continue?”

  Patrick looked at her again, as though it were her fault or she could do something about it. Finally, he nodded slowly. “Continue and report back to me.”

  Keith relayed the order before disconnecting and storing the small phone in his jeans pocket.

  “If he’s hurt them, you’ll hurt,” he stated coldly. “He knew that before he laid hands on them.”

  “If your mate was taken, what would you do?” she asked him. “Who would you hurt? They knew the risk when they helped you in this.”

  “And he knows the risks in striking against them.” He lifted his shoulders heavily. “So be it.”

  So be it.

  Cassa shook her head at the statement. This was the part of the Breed world that she didn’t always understand. Though she knew she should by now. In some ways it wasn’t that dissimilar to the human psychology, and yet in others, they were poles apart.

  She was a pawn between Patrick Wallace and Cabal whether she wanted to be or not. She was insurance that Cabal wouldn’t strike out against his friends, as well as insurance that he would stay suitably occupied while Patrick killed again.

  “Once Douglas is dead and you’ve found your son, what then?” she asked him. “What’s left, Patrick?”

  He didn’t answer her immediately, but she saw the stiffening of his shoulders, knew he’d heard her and that the question had impacted.

  “There are four more,” he finally answered. “If Jonas doesn’t kill me, then I’ll finish the job.”

  “Jonas?” She stared back at him in surprise. “Jonas is the one you have to worry about killing you?”

  “Jonas is the only one capable of killing me,” he informed her with mild amusement. “Your Bengal is good, Ms. Hawkins; he’s damned good. But he’s not a primal Bengal. He’s a recessed Bengal.”

  “Really?” The question was mockingly phrased. “So there are two different kind of Bengals?” That was news to her.

  He turned back to her then. “There are in every Breed species.” He lifted his hand, flexed his fingers, and Cassa felt her stomach almost heave as she watched claws extend and push out beneath the nails.

  “I’m a primal Lion Breed.” He smiled. “The skin on each side of the human nails is no more than cartilage. Beneath the nail is a claw. It’s really rather interesting, though damned confusing to the scientists as well as the few primals that exist. There’s no pain, but sometimes, if the claws aren’t exercised, there is some blood during retraction. All in all, it’s really quite amazing. Primal Lions have been noted to have that ability. It’s rumored that primal Bengals display their stripes, especially across their face during a hunt. The small hairs at the nape of their neck become thicker, their sense of smell sharper, their rage is like icy fury. I saw one killed in the lab before my escape. It fought with true fury. Took out several Coyote soldiers as well as trained pit bulls. It was an incredible sight.”

  It sounded terrifying to her. Cruel and horrible. And this man had called it an incredible sight.

  “But they don’t have the retractable claws?” she asked. She had seen Cabal’s stripes, she had sensed the animal he tried to hide.

  “They do.” He nodded. “All primal Feline Breeds have the retractable claws.”

  She turned away from him. Cabal didn’t have retractable claws, she knew that. At least, she didn’t think he did. She had to admit she hadn’t actually asked him about them.

  “Jonas is primal,” Patrick revealed. “Few realize this, and he definitely wouldn’t want the public to know. But he was created to breed. To be a stud for a new army.” He chuckled at that. “He was primal from birth.”

  “You know Jonas?” She turned back to him, searching his expression.

  Patrick shrugged. “I know of Jonas. I knew the rumors that circulated of his genetics, and I knew what the scientists were working on before I escaped myself. It wasn’t hard to figure out who and what he was once I began checking into it.”

  “You investigated Jonas before starting this. As well as Cabal,” she guessed.

  “I did.” He nodded. “As well as Rule Breaker and Lawe Justice.” He grinned at the names. “Even they aren’t quite what you would expect. Mordecai, that Coyote Jonas keeps on a leash, is more dangerous than he knows. Coyotes aren’t always forthcoming, you know, even to those they give their lo
yalty to.”

  She shook her head. “And you’re going to defeat them all?”

  “I don’t have to defeat them all,” he sighed. “I just have to get Watts. He’s probably in town by now. I wonder if he’ll ask about you. Do you think he’s forgotten about his lovely wife in the years Jonas has kept him imprisoned?”

  “No doubt,” she said, mocking him. “Especially considering the fact we weren’t really married.”

  “There was that.” He nodded. “At least you know where you stand with Cabal. No divorce. And the words ‘till death do us part’ take on a whole new meaning, wouldn’t you say? When your mate dies, a part of you dies with them.” There was an edge of bitterness there, one that didn’t belong with a man’s feelings toward his wife. Or his mate. There was almost a hatred, a cold, hard core of pure resentment.

  “Does innocent blood appeal to you, Patrick?” she asked him. “Is that why you don’t mind using an innocent in your games?”

  “There are no innocents,” he grunted as he turned back to the window, obviously assessing the breeze and the scents that flowed from the mountain. “And there’s no innocence. We just pretend there is.”

  Cassa parted her lips to argue that statement, but as she began to speak the sat phone at Patrick’s belt beeped imperatively.

  Pulling the phone free, he checked it, quirked his lips mockingly, then flipped it open. “Good evening, Douglas. How nice to hear from you.” He turned to Cassa, his brows lifting in surprise. “Actually, I do have her.” He paused. Listened. His expression darkened. “A trade? Very well. The information I want for your wife. Where would you like to meet?”

  For one horrifying moment she felt fear cascade inside her and felt any hope she had of surviving this diminish. He was going to trade her for information on his son. He was going to trade her to a man that they both knew would kill her. There was no way Douglas would allow her to survive.

  God, where was Cabal?

  Douglas Watts stared at the sat phone in his hand, then at the commander of the Coyote team that had broken him from the prison Jonas Wyatt and Cabal St. Laurents had kept him in for more than eleven years.