by Lora Leigh
And they seemed to accept him and his ability to protect her. Most men would have been hesitant. Thankfully, the prejudices against the Breeds were absent in the Mason family, due to the fact that her three brothers had been instrumental in the rescues of many of the Breed captives.
He pulled her to him then, his chest tightening at the memory of Creighton’s gun caressing her temple, the bullet much too close to extinguishing the fire that warmed everyone she touched. How could he endure life without her now?
“You didn’t have to fight them.” She leaned against him, her slender body flowing easily against him as he lifted her to straddle his lap, his arms wrapping tight around her back as his lips lowered to the mark he had left on her shoulder. “I had them under control.”
“You had them in cardiac arrest,” he sighed. “Your poor father will never be the same.”
Lyle Mason, the father in question, had been most determined to take his daughter home, to wrap her in the protection he felt only he could provide. He had been a man tormented with thoughts of losing the daughter he so obviously adored.
Not that Tarek understood the family dynamics, but he understood the need to protect, the need to love the tiny woman he held in his arms. She was his light. His world. She could be nothing less to anyone who loved her.
He pressed her tighter against him, feeling her rock against the erection straining beneath his soft pants, dampening the material with the damp heat of her pussy.
She wasn’t wearing panties beneath her gown. His hands smoothed down the material until he caught the hem and lifted it, his hands gripping her smooth, bare ass.
A moan locked in his throat at the feel of her sliding against him, her breathing deepening, the scent of her heat filling the room.
“Don’t leave me, Lyra.” He couldn’t stop the words from slipping past his lips as he held on to her, lifting her, laying her back to the bed as he rose above her.
“I have no intention of leaving you, Tarek.” Her eyes were glowing with emotion, with hunger. “I told you, I love you. And I don’t say that lightly. Not to anyone.”
He touched her cheek, his throat tightening as he fought past the confusion, the disbelief that this woman could love him. That God, in all His bountiful mercy, had finally adopted him and given him this gift he never thought he could have. Something, someone, to always call his own.
“The next time you start a fight with your brothers, I will spank you, though,” he growled as her head raised, her lips finding the hardened nub of his nipple as she nipped at it playfully.
“Sounds like fun. How many fights are we talking about before I get my just desserts?”
He moaned as her fingernails raked down his abdomen before her fingers hooked in the waistband of his sweatpants and began to lower them slowly.
“You are a hellion,” he breathed out roughly as he moved from the bed and stripped quickly.
Her gown went flying past him as he shucked his pants. When he straightened, there she was, on her hands and knees, her tongue reaching out to lick the bulging head of his cock.
Her black hair fanned around her face, her blue eyes glowing with emotion and hunger. They were as brilliant as the brightest, purest sapphire, and more precious than gold to him.
Her pink little tongue flickered over the crest of his erection again, leaving a trail of fire around the sensitive hood as he tensed at the pleasure shooting from his cock to every other nerve ending in his body. He didn’t think pleasure could get any better—until her lips parted, her heated mouth opening to accept the head of his cock into the damp depths.
Tarek watched as the flushed, straining crest of his erection disappeared between her lips, her tongue stroking the underside with such incredible pleasure he wondered if he could bear it.
His hands tangled in her hair, clenching tight as a strangled growl filled his chest, escaping his lips as she began to suck him with hungry abandon.
Her movements were hesitant, innocent.
She was killing him.
She stared up at him, laughter and arousal gleaming in her gaze as her tongue stroked, her mouth drawing on him, her wicked hand moving slowly up his thigh until she cupped his balls with silken fingers and destructive pleasure.
“Brat,” he groaned, fighting for breath. For control.
His tongue was throbbing like a toothache, the need to spill the excess hormone into her mouth making him wild. He could taste the spice, feel its effect on him, feel his cock tightening further, the need to release becoming a near-agonizing pleasure.
And still her mouth moved on him. Slow, delicate licks, deep, drawing caresses until a purely animalistic growl erupted from him.
Tarek tightened his hands in her hair, pulling her back as he felt the pulse of the barb just beneath the hood of his cock.
“Enough.”
“Hmm. I’m hungry.” She licked her lips sensually, full, swollen lips. “Maybe I want more.”
She laughed, a low, sweet sound, as he pushed her back to the bed, spreading her thighs as he lowered his shoulders between them.
There was no time for preliminaries. He had to taste her. Sample the delicate liquid silk of her pussy before he went insane. Or kissed her.
If he kissed her, there would be no waiting. He was riding too close to the edge, her own hunger rising so quickly the scent of it was going to his head.
“I’m going to eat you up,” he groaned a second before licking through the bare, syrup-laden silk of her intimate folds. “Every inch of you, Lyra. Until the taste of you permeates every fiber of my senses.”
She breathed in roughly, the flesh of her tummy convulsing as he watched it with narrowed eyes. He could see so much there. Each ripple of creamy flesh corresponding with the level of her arousal.
His tongue circled her clit before he drew it between his lips, watching as her stomach seemed to convulse. As he suckled at her, he moved his fingers to the drenched folds of her pussy, opening her farther until he could work a finger inside the hot depths.
She jerked against him, her hips writhing, pressing closer to the penetration as her creamy juices began to flow.
“Oh God, Tarek, you’re making me crazy,” she cried out desperately, her vagina rippling around his finger. “Stop torturing me like this.”
He hummed his pleasure of her taste. Sweet. Addictive. He pushed her closer to the edge of her release, his finger thrusting deeply inside her, caressing the responsive depths as she lifted to him.
“Tease.” Her rough accusation was thick with her pleasure. “Fuck me, Tarek. Don’t make me have to kill you.”
He would have smiled if he weren’t so consumed by the hunger for her.
“Tarek …” Her half-scream was followed by the tightening of her pussy around his finger, her tummy tightening. “You’ll pay for this.” Her knees bent, her feet pressing into the mattress as she lifted closer. “I swear I’ll make you pay …”
He gave her what she needed. Adding another finger to the snug depths of her cunt, he began to pump them inside her using his lips, his tongue, the suction of his mouth to drive her higher, to send her into fragmented explosions of ecstasy.
She arched to him, crying out his name as he quickly rose above her, lifting her, pressing his cock into the convulsing tissue of her pussy as he gritted his teeth against the pleasure.
She was so tight. So hot.
Liquid silk. Lava-hot cream.
He gripped her hip with one hand, lowering his weight to the elbow of his opposite arm as he felt her legs wrap around him.
Her pussy flexed around him, tiny flutters of sensation, tight, rippling caresses washing over his erection as he worked it into her, first short, desperate thrusts and then hard lunges as he began to fuck her with all the strength and desperation of the hunger surging inside him.
His lips lowered to hers, his tongue spearing into her mouth as she moved beneath him, opening for him, taking him with strangled screams and ever-tightening ripples of her resp
onsive pussy.
She was ecstasy. She was life.
The tempo of his thrusts increased as the hormone surged from his tongue to her system, heating them both further, sending them rushing headlong into orgasm.
As he felt his release tightening his balls, the extension beneath the hood of his cock began to engorge, becoming firmly, heatedly erect and locking him tight inside.
Violent shudders shook her as her arms tightened around his neck, her head turning as his lips unerringly found the mark that branded her as his mate as he began to flood her with his semen.
Shocking, violent pleasure. A bonding unlike anything he could have known. And Lyra. Always Lyra. The center of his life.
“Oh God. Tell me that barb thing does not go away with the heat,” she gasped when they found the sanity to breathe. “I wouldn’t be pleased.”
“I guess you’d have to hurt me?” He chuckled weakly as he rolled to his side, pulling her against his chest as he sighed in contentment.
“I’d have to hurt you bad.” She sighed.
“But you’d still love me.” She’d better.
“I’ll always love you.” She nipped at his chest before leaning her head back to smile up at him mistily. “Always, Tarek. You might not be the boy next door, but the Breed works much better.”
Their laughter was soft, content. His soul was fulfilled.
He wasn’t completely human. But neither was he an animal. He was a Breed, a Breed who had found his mate, and his life.
IN A
WOLF’S EMBRACE
• • •
• FOREWORD •
They were created, they weren’t born. They were trained, they weren’t raised.
They were taught to kill, and now they’ll use their training to ensure their freedom.
They are Breeds. Genetically altered with the DNA of the predators of the earth. The wolf, the lion, the cougar, the Bengal; the killers of the world. They were to be the army of a fanatical society intent on building their own personal army.
Until the world learned of their existence. Until the council lost control of their creations, and their creations began to change the world.
Now, they’re loose. Banding together, creating their own communities, their own society, and their own safety, and fighting to hide the one secret that could see them destroyed.
The secret of mating heat. The chemical, biological, the emotional reaction of one Breed to the man or woman meant to be his or hers forever. A reaction that binds physically. A reaction that alters more than just the physical responses or heightens the sensuality. Nature has turned mating heat into the Breeds’ Achilles’ Heel. It’s their strength, and yet their weakness. And Mother Nature isn’t finished playing yet.
Man has attempted to mess with her creations. Now, she’s going to show man exactly how she can refine them.
Killers will become lovers, lawyers, statesmen, and heroes. And through it all, they will cleave to one mate, one heart, and create a dynasty.
I dreamed of a man, lost, broken, and alone.
I dreamed of a woman, disillusioned, weeping,
and forced to roam.
I dreamed of a child, cold, hungry, and without a home.
A wolf cried out.
A lion roared.
And the lonely eagle screamed upon the winds,
where he soared.
And in a dream, a story was born.
Thank God for the dreams.
• CHAPTER 1 •
NEW YORK CITY
DUBBREE SUITES HOTEL
2023
Two assassinations in one month, each tied to known or suspected Genetics Council members. It was going to be a public relations nightmare for the Feline Breed contingent of the species.
First General Cyrus Tallant. Of course, his assassination had been laid at the feet of the Genetics Council upper-level members. As would this one be. After all, Dr. Benedikt Adolf Albrecht was under just as much, if not more, suspicion of being aligned with the shadowy twelve-member directorate of the council.
Matthias Slaughter knew Albrecht was more than just aligned. Albrecht was an actual member of the council directorate. He was also the director of training. It was his, his father’s, and his father’s before him, legacy to the hellish existence the Breeds had endured in the labs.
The Breed species hadn’t been lucky enough to be born. No, nature hadn’t, in all her insight and mercy, thrown a genetic kink in the works of an everyday human. Quite the contrary. In one of her rare fits of humor, she had decided instead to work with what man had created. What monsters such as Albrecht had pieced together. With their genius in genetic engineering and the past atrocities of their forefathers, the council had managed to create the human and animal species they had envisioned as their own personal army. An army that would be the muscle behind their quest for power.
How nature must have chuckled over that one.
Matthias imagined over the years that he had heard a giggle or two from her as well.
Physically, mentally, genetically, the Breeds were everything the council had hoped for, paid for, killed for. Psychologically, they fell far short of the mark. Like their natural cousins, the predators of the earth, the Breeds worshipped freedom, and they worshipped their own honor.
Many had died remaining true to that inner code, an ideal rather than a set of rules. An instinctive hunger and drive to attain the freedom their wild cousins knew.
They were animals in men’s bodies. Primal, savage, predatory. And intelligent.
That intelligence had been the downfall of the council’s plans. And it found him here now, more than a century after the first Breed had drawn his first breath.
The technical wizardry of another Breed enforcer was ensuring that the security cameras didn’t record Matthias’s entrance or later his exit. It was ensuring that the council itself was blamed for this death, as well as the generals before him.
The council must be cleaning house.
Matthias grinned at the headlines he imagined. The grin was quickly gone, as the sound of the penthouse’s double doors opening had him waiting expectantly.
He didn’t tense. Not so much as breath disturbed the air, as he inhaled carefully. Albrecht was known to travel with several bodyguards, though tonight, as they had every night during this short stay in New York, Albrecht’s bodyguards were heard entering their separate room farther down the hall.
Excellent. Albrecht was known to depend on the Dubbree Hotel’s security. Arrogant bastard. He thought his position protected him. That his genius in genetics and his fortune in pharmaceuticals could possibly shield him from retribution. But he had always flaunted security. Just for the hell of it. After all, who would dare attempt to harm him?
“Cretins.” The heavy German accent had Matthias’s lip curling to reveal the wicked canines at the side of his mouth.
Benedikt Adolf Albrecht wasn’t well known for his respect toward his bodyguards.
Lights flared in the entryway, the doors closed, Matthias waited.
His prey was a creature of organized habits. Albrecht believed an organized mind was a stable mind. That could explain the accusations Matthias regularly received in regards to his own sanity. Or lack thereof.
He waited patiently in the darkened living room. The bar sat across from him. Albrecht would go there first.
And just like clockwork, the low lamps flared to life, all but the two that sat near Matthias, and Albrecht moved slowly toward the bar.
Albrecht looked like a cadaver. Tall, skinny, thin gray hair lying close to his scalp, and pale, almost bleached flesh. He stalked to the bar, as Matthias lifted his weapon from his lap.
Ice clinked in the glass, liquor splashed into it. Matthias aimed, pulled the trigger, and watched the back of Albrecht’s head crack from the bullet. A second later the council member fell over the bar. Crystal carafes rolled, broke, scattering glass and the scent of liquor. But even that couldn’t drown out the sound of horror
from the entrance.
A woman’s shocked gasp, the scent of fear—and of recognition. For the first time in his thirty years of life, Matthias felt regret, and a tinge of sadness. Because he knew his own fate had just been decided.
Matthias turned to his side, a snarl on his face, a growl in his voice.
“Goddamnit, Grace.”
Static crackled in the communications link at Matthias’s ear.
“Get her out of there, Matthias. I can control the security monitors for five minutes, tops. Use the stairs, proceed to the ground floor. Lawe will be waiting with the van at the exit.”
Matthias was moving, even as Jonas barked the orders into the receiver at his ear. He was across the room before the slender, doelike figure of Dubbree’s assistant manager, Grace Anderson, could run.
Her lips were opening, her lungs filling. Before the scream could leave her throat, his hand was over her lips and nose, his other arm jerking her against his chest, compressing her lungs and causing instant unconsciousness.
He slung her over his shoulder and strode quickly from the suite, pausing a precious second to make certain her prints didn’t show anywhere on the doors, and securing the locks before moving down the hall.
He picked up the sounds of the bodyguards in the next room, the television they were watching, someone was showering. He strode by the door, slipped down the stairwell, and began taking the steps at a quick run.
Grace’s weight was slight, her scent wrapping around him like silken regret. She shouldn’t have been here. He had watched her get into her car and move into the traffic that congested Manhattan that afternoon. She was supposed to be on her way out of town, on vacation, leaving the city for the peace and relaxation of the mountains.
She wasn’t supposed to be here. And she wasn’t supposed to be anywhere near Albrecht.
The assistant manager of the exclusive hotel had earned herself a well-deserved break from the city. She had laughed with him about it and invited him to join her when his business in town was completed. Sun and fun, clear streams and lots of trees, she had teased. And he had promised her, first thing in the morning, he would follow her.