by Lora Leigh
Veronica Andrews. Daughter of Reginald and Margaret Andrews. His soul screamed out in protest. She was nothing to the bastard who had betrayed him. She was his. His child. The last connection he had to the woman who had completed his soul. The woman who had run in horror from the crimes she believed he had committed.
His daughter. He fought back his tears, his grief. She looked so much like her mother. The same gentle curve of her brow, the dark blue eyes, the curve of her cheek. The fear that whitened her face . . .
The reporters were like a pack of animals as they molested her. Tearing at her clothes. Yelling at her. He watched the taped report, fury churning in his chest.
“Get their names.” He didn’t look at his son. Seth would take care of everything. He would know what to do now.
Aaron’s jaw clenched as he fought the rage building inside him. The mark on her neck was an abomination. Unnatural. For months, despite Seth’s neutral stand on the Breeds, Aaron had been funneling money into the attempted destruction of the animals. As he watched the news reports closer, saw the brief interview that came later—after the small wedding ceremony between his daughter and her pet—he wearily acknowledged such support would have to end. If she was happy.
He frowned. What if she wasn’t? What if, somehow, she had been forced into this?
If she had, he could bring her home. He could care for her. Give her all the things he had been unable to give her throughout her life. He could be her father.
That was it, he thought, hope rising within him. Seth could do this. Of course, Aaron knew he would have to convince his son to do this his way. Seth was too direct, too damned honest. There were days he would have suspected that boy was sired by another, if it weren’t for the fact he looked so damned much like Aaron.
The same dark brown hair and steel gray eyes. The same patrician features. It was like looking into the mirror of the past when he looked at his son. But he was a good boy, Aaron reminded himself. Strong. Tough. He was big enough and smart enough to get what he wanted, when he wanted it. He didn’t have to cheat.
Not like his dad had.
“You can’t tell her.” Aaron turned to Seth now, seeing the hard purpose that lined his son’s face. “Promise me, Seth. I swear, if you don’t tell her the truth, I’ll never deceive you again.”
A cynical smile crossed Seth’s face, though he didn’t look over at his father.
He was staring at the television. Another of the rare interviews with the full Pride.
“You’ll always lie to me, Aaron.” Seth shrugged his broad shoulders in resignation.
Aaron winced. He hadn’t called him “Dad” in so long, Aaron had forgotten the sound of it.
“You can’t tell her, Seth.” Grief whipped at his heart. If Seth told her the truth, she would never forgive him. Never call him “Dad.”
Seth sighed deeply. “I won’t tell her.”
“We’ll have to be careful,” Aaron warned him. “We’ll have to watch things first. Let your boys check it out good. Real good. Make sure she’s happy.”
Seth did glance at him then, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully.
“We can stay in that town.” Aaron gestured to the television report.
“I can get the answers . . . ”
“Please, Seth.” Aaron put everything he had into the plea. “I swear, I won’t do anything. Just let me be sure. Just this one time. Let me be sure, my way.”
Seth watched him closely. Aaron was more than aware of what his son saw. The old man, broken, wheelchair-bound, slowly dying. And he was dying. He was paying for his sins in the worst possible way. A slow, painful death. Aaron knew it, and he wasn’t above using it. He wondered where Seth had found that wide streak of honor Aaron had cursed him for.
Seth wiped his hand over his face tiredly. “We’ll see, Aaron. We’ll see.”
He would weaken. Aaron sat back in his wheelchair, turning back to the report, his heart clenching. Pretty Veronica. His daughter. His sweet, perfect little girl. She’ll be home soon, he promised himself. Very, very soon.
Epilogue
Sherra watched Kane broodingly, unable to keep her eyes from him, unable to continue to deny what her body had been telling her for months. She was going into heat. She could feel the tiny fingers of need clawing at her flesh, demanding that she give in to the instinct to breed. Demanding that she go to the man who had made her his woman, his mate, over a decade before.
God, had it really been that long? Over eleven years. Eleven long, torturous years she had suffered for that one night, for the fanatical plans of a brother who had been born as twisted and demented as his creators. Suffered for a man who had never loved her. Had never truly needed her. If he had done either, then perhaps, just perhaps, so many other things would not have happened.
Sherra. Baby. Yes. Ah hell, yes baby, let me in . . .
The remembered words were like a knife sinking into her soul. And yet the more she fought the memories, the more vivid they became.
Kane Tyler. Tall, strong, his very presence had been enough to take her breath back then, to fill her with a desire so strong it had nearly overwhelmed her. His touch had seared her senses, his kiss . . .
She whimpered.
She wouldn’t remember the kiss. Wouldn’t remember how her heart had clenched at the stroke of his tongue.
A shiver worked over her body as she jerked to her feet, forcing herself away from the window, away from the sight of Kane moving with confident, arrogant power across the yard.
How much longer would Merinus hold her secret, she wondered as she pushed her fingers through the long fall of hair that fell forward over her face. How much longer before the sister informed the brother about the child he had lost all those years ago? The child that had been murdered while still in her womb?
Her hand moved to her abdomen, running over it with a ghost’s touch as her womb rippled in need. How often had she dreamed of what that child could have been?
Dreamed of a precocious son with his father’s deep blue eyes, or a daughter with his long black hair. A child that would have been the best of both of them.
Sherra fought back her tears, fought back all the useless dreams, the hopes that had once filled her. Life had taught her that there was no chance to redeem the past. No sense in regretting what could not be undone.
I love you, Sherra . . . His words whispered through her mind. I’ll be back, baby, I swear it. I’ll be back, and I’ll bring help . . .
But he had never returned. He had never come back for her.
The scientists had been ecstatic to learn she was breeding. Every precaution had been taken to insure the life of the child. Every precaution except that of a mind bent on death. Her baby’s death.
The whimper that echoed around her couldn’t be hers, she assured herself. She had cried for that lost child years before. Cried until her soul bled out with the salty moisture of her pain. Cried until there had been nothing left inside her heart but an empty shell. Until Kane had returned. And with him, so had the memories she had fought so desperately.
Ahh, Sherra. Yes, baby. So tight. So hot and tight.
Her pussy tightened convulsively as she remembered the feel of his cock pushing inside. He had watched. She remembered that. Watched as every inch of his powerful erection sank into the burning depths of her hairless cunt. He had been fascinated by that lack of hair. Had loved licking the plump lips, feeling her juices slide against his tongue.
“Stop,” she whispered, her fingers pushing into her hair, gripping it, hoping the pain would tear through the veil of heartache.
They had had only one night. Only eight stolen hours during a time when he was supposed to be training her. He had trained her, but not in the lessons he had been ordered to deliver. He had trained her to his cock instead. Trained her to his kiss, to the touch of his hands. Trained her to love, and then later, to hate. She couldn’t seem to rid herself of the hatred, no matter the fact that he had been as powerless as she.
God, yes. Suck my cock, baby. Yes, Sherra, oh hell, oh hell . . . He had tried to pull back, to keep from spilling his seed into her mouth but she had been desperate for the taste of his essence. Desperate to know every facet of the act they were engaged in.
She licked her lips at the remembered taste.
“When are you going to tell him?” Merc stood at the doorway of the office, staring back at her with bitter, hollow eyes. He knew, she thought, knew well the pain of losing all that mattered in his life.
“Who said I was going to?” There was no hiding from the fact that he knew she was in heat. Hell, they all knew. Her scent was only undetectable by Kane. Only he was unaware of what her body was going through.
“You can’t hide it from him forever. He’s not a fool.” He shook his head as he crossed his arms over his powerful chest. “It’s time to let go of the past, Sherra.”
She snarled. “Fine advice for you to be giving,” she snapped. “When you’re strong enough to accept your own past, Mercury, then you can bitch at me for not accepting mine.”
It was a low blow. Sherra shook her head as she groaned in misery.
“Merc, I’m sorry.”
He signed wearily. “No more than the truth. But you have a chance now, Sherra. Your mate still lives. And he’s more than ready to ease the pain beginning to build within you. Why fight it? Don’t you deserve more than this?”
“Do any of us?” she whispered. “I can’t, Merc. I can’t.” She couldn’t face losing another child. She couldn’t face losing Kane all over again. “Too many years, too much anger.”
“He’s your man,” he said simply. “Soon, he won’t take no for an answer. What will you do then? What will you do when he learns the truth you’ve hidden from him since he found you?”
A tired, bitter smile crossed her lips. “I don’t know,” she sighed bleakly. “I just don’t know. And maybe that’s the part that terrifies me. I don’t know if I can face his punishment.”
Merc shook his head slowly. “Start counting the days, Sherra. Because soon, very soon, there won’t be any more hiding. He’ll know and when he does, he’ll show you why he’s your man. Maybe then you’ll realize the futility in fighting.”
He turned and left the room, and in that moment, she realized how right he was.
Soon, she wouldn’t be able to hide her needs. They would invade every cell of her body, rendering her helpless and in such heat, she’d be screaming for relief.
She knew. She knew because it was a cycle. Every year. Every long, wasted year she had been apart from him she had suffered. Suffered until death had seemed the only viable alternative. Suffered until she had cursed him, hated him and finally in a last desperate move had assured herself and nature that no child would ever come of her body. She had tricked Doc into sterilizing her and destroying forever a chance at the child and the man stolen from her. She had done the unthinkable. And now, she would suffer more. As always. Alone.
About the author:
Lora Leigh often describes herself as a slightly paranoid, little bit delusional, all too romantic, forever optimistic romance writer. There are layers to life, she believes, shades of gray and shades of black or white. You have to find out why, not see what. Those layers are always shifting, always moving, and always revealing layers you never knew waited below. There are always things you don’t know and don’t see. And love doesn’t always do what we think it should – It isn’t just words to her, but a belief that guides all her interactions, as well as her stories and her characters.
