He was a shifter, he was her mate, and he was the man she adored. She'd follow him to the gates of hell if she had to. No matter what life threw at them, nothing could change that.
Not even B*E*A*S*T*.
Epilogue
The grainy photographs were spread out on the mahogany conference table. The fifteen plush chairs gathered around the table were each occupied, and all eyes were on the pacing form of Clive Covington. Back and forth he walked the length of the table, rubbing his face, visibly irritated. Three men were pictured in the photographs—two of them holding B*E*A*S*T* issued machine guns.
"I want to know their names,” Clive said, finally coming to rest at the head of the table and leaning over it on both hands. “Who the hell has the balls to infiltrate my facility?"
"We know for sure the first one is Noah Carpenter,” Dr. Lucian Carver said. “The man who went missing not too long ago. The second man is Wade McAllister, the man we drugged to keep his old memories suppressed. The third man we'll have to work on identifying.” He pointed at the picture of the mystery man.
"I know who it is,” offered another man sitting on the other side of the table. His arm was in a sling and various cuts and bruises were clearly evident on his face, and his expression was set in stone.
"Do enlighten us,” Clive demanded, turning his fiery eyes on one of the only two shifters allowed in the room.
Sean Ross cleared his throat. “His name is Rogan. Rogan Wolfe."
Dr. Carver sat up straight. “The same man we pitted against you months ago?"
Sean growled low in his throat as he turned his gaze upon the scientist with a sneer. “The very same."
Dr. Carver looked flustered.
"And he can become a...?” Clive let the sentence hang, again glancing around the table.
"A wolf,” Sean replied. “I suppose your scientist goons have a sense of humor after all."
Clive sighed and took a seat, lifting the photos to his eyes for the hundredth time. “I want them found. I want all the shifters found. If word leaks out that these men have gotten loose, not to mention what they can become, then we're in deep shit."
"If you don't mind me saying,” Dr. Carver piped up, “we're already in deep shit. There is no way in hell these escaped shifters are going to simply let us recapture them. And it's obvious that our mind-wiping technology needs some tweaking."
Clive hit the table hard with his closed fist, making everyone present jump in their seats. “You think?” he bellowed, standing up so violently that his chair fell back on the floor. “Christ, what the hell am I going to tell the others?"
Brett Walker raised his hand, the other shifter allowed in the meeting. He was a cheetah, and a particularly nasty one at that.
"If I wanted a bodyguard's opinion, I would have asked for it!” Clive raged, his eyes shooting sparks.
Brett pursed his lips and stared back at the furious benefactor. “You'll have to kill them,” he said quietly, steepling his fingers.
"Excuse me?” Dr. Carver said.
"Kill them,” Brett said again, raising his brow. “It's the only way."
"Do you know how much each of you COST?” Clive yelled. “Are you aware of how much money went into funding this project? Well, do you?” Clive was at his wit's end, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair so painfully that he winced.
"I have absolutely no idea, sir,” Brett said, clearly mocking him. “But if you want to contain the problem without a giant mess on your hands, then you'll have to kill them all."
Dr. Carver took off his spectacles and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I hate to say it, Senator, but I think he's right."
"You have got to be shitting me!” Clive yelled, throwing up his hands. When he looked at the grave faces of the other scientists and benefactors sitting at the table, he calmly straightened his chair and sat back down, ripping off his silk tie and throwing it across the length of the table. “We have to start over from scratch—is that what you're telling me?"
"We might be able to tranquilize some of the men,” Dr. Carver said, shrugging. “Get them back and try reprogramming them again. But the others..."
"Will have to be killed,” Sean finished for him.
"I want these three dead for certain. DEAD!” Clive picked up the photos, and they soon followed his tie across the table. “I have no doubt that they cannot be redeemed. They stormed my compound and killed my best shifter! I will not ignore that. They must be eliminated."
"Leave the wolf to me,” Sean said, his eyes flashing. “He and I have a score to settle. Nothing will bring me greater pleasure than to kill him."
Clive rubbed his eyes and sighed, but he nodded at Sean.
"Sean will be successful,” Dr. Carver said. “When we pitted him against Rogan, Sean was only a few hits away from killing him. A wolf simply cannot stand against a Kodiak grizzly."
"You'd better be right, Lucian,” Clive said, cradling his head in his hands.
"Don't worry yourself, Senator,” Sean said with a wicked grin. “I'll kill him nice and slow for you, and I'll enjoy every moment of it."
"Yes, you will,” Clive said, raising his eyes to the shifter's. “Because if you fail, then I'll be feasting on your remains.” He stood up and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
* * * *
Sean sat in his chair and smiled as he watched the doors reverberate from Clive's violent exit. Finally he was going to have his revenge on the wolf that had almost gotten the better of him. Oh, Dr. Carver liked to exaggerate, making it sound as if the fight had been in his favor, but Sean knew better. Rogan Wolfe was a sneaky bastard, and Sean was only too happy to put him out of his misery.
Picking up one of the pictures Clive had thrown down the table, a silent satisfaction swept over Sean as he stared at the blurry image of Rogan's face. After his successful brawl with the other traitorous shifters in the hallway, he'd gone back to the control room and seen for himself the file Rogan had opened on B*E*A*S*T*'s mainframe computer. He knew exactly where he was headed.
Back to Alaska. Back to his wife.
Now that Sean had seen for himself that he could take on four powerful shifters by himself, he knew he wouldn't have any problem killing that damned wolf. He crumpled the picture in his hand, crushing it in his iron grip.
"I'm coming for you, Wolfe,” he said under his breath. “And your pretty wife."
Sean chuckled to himself as he too stood and left the conference room. He had to be well-rested if he was going to find Rogan. No doubt, tomorrow would be a long day.
About Rebecca
Rebecca Goings's first love is historical romance. But she's also been known to write a few contemporaries as well. Becoming a writer has been her life's goal, and she's finally living her dream. Rebecca resides in Portland, Oregon with her husband Jim, and four rugrats (whom she home-schools). She fell in love with Oregon at the age of sixteen, and was able to convince her husband to move there after six LONG years in Los Angeles. She doesn't anticipate ever leaving. Rebecca is never at a loss for book plots, and hopes to be around for a very long time.
Other Titles By Rebecca:
In Your Arms
On Eagle's Wings
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