Hunted dp-3

by Rebecca Zanetti

  Katie trudged into the elevator. “He’s a werewolf. Strong. I sensed him.” Now she could sense beasts. Though she wasn’t one of them.

  She wasn’t anything.

  Chapter 24

  Moira stretched her neck, limping into Conn’s quarters. The door shut behind her. The living room sofa whispered an invitation for her to sit and watch one of the many movies stacked on the shelves built into the walls. Squinting, she studied the titles. My Freckled Pony. Springtime Puppies go to Hollywood. The Pink Fairy. Apparently Janie and Uncle Conn spent time together watching movies.

  There were also adult comedies and dramas on a higher shelf. Before choosing, she took a closer look around. The man had built a pretty cage.

  Dage had been right. Beating the heck out of a punching bag had put things in perspective. She didn’t belong in a cage. Conn would have to see her abilities, and her need to fight.

  She eased toward the small kitchen to grab a sports drink. The king hoarded his like gold and wouldn’t share after their time in the gym. Not like she couldn’t find him another grape drink somewhere as a replacement—if he had shared.

  The fridge was disorganized. Quick movements had the shelves righted in no time by color and size. She grabbed an apple juice from the refrigerator and turned, her heart dropping at the warrior standing in the doorway to the sleeping quarters. “Conn.”

  He lounged against the doorframe, loose sweats perched low on masculine hips, his chest bare and covered in bruises. But no open wounds. Broad hands finger-combed his wet hair away from his face, allowing the ends to almost reach his shoulders. She liked that he’d grown it out ... the bad-boy look fit him well. “Moira.”

  She cleared her throat. The brand on her hip warmed. “So, uh, how are you feeling?”

  His chin lowered, his focus absolute. On her. He shoved off from the wall. She gulped a swallow. Heat flushed through her, in direct contrast to the chill at her back. Her mouth opened, but nothing emerged.

  Smooth, slow, he prowled into the kitchen. She’d seen many animals, many warriors. Not one came close to Connlan Kayrs. In grace or menace.

  Her muscles tensed ... adrenaline slid inside her veins like heated honey. Her panties soaked. Invisible bonds tied her in place, trapping her in his hypnotic hold.

  He drew in oxygen, his nostrils flaring, a dark flush spiraling across his high cheekbones. “I can smell you. Lilacs and woman.” Then he was within touching distance.

  Her lungs grew heavy. The air thickened. She opened her eyes wide, allowing more light and range of view to reach her brain—like any prey facing a predator. “I can smell you, too.” Male. Her chest rose slowly, visibly as she tried to force air inside.

  He cocked his head to the side, placed his index finger against her neck to run down and across one diamond-hard nipple. Her knees weakened. He licked his lips. “I never had much self-control in the kitchen.” His smile flashed, his gaze on her breasts. “Whatever smells so good, I need a taste.”

  She swallowed. Loudly. “Ah ...”

  His lids lowered to half-mast. He glanced behind her to the organized shelves. “What is up with the obsessive food organization?”

  The quiet question hinted at an intimacy she wanted to avoid.

  She shrugged. “When I was little, I ate a bunch of Aunt Viv’s prunes that had been altered to look like plums. My sisters knew and didn’t tell me what they were. They acted like prunes, though. I was so sick.” Oh, but she’d gotten her revenge on Darcy. Knowing what natural herbs could cause hives had come in very handy. “So I learned to organize by color and size so it didn’t happen again.”

  “Ah.” He tugged her forward, shutting the door before pushing her back against the smooth surface. Both hands went to her waist, smoothing under her shirt, sliding up to cup her breasts. Fire licked along her skin. Nothing in the world could’ve kept her from pressing forward, filling his palms and allowing shards of pleasure to shoot to her core. Her head fell back against the stainless steel.

  “I love a good snack in the afternoon.” He stepped into her, his mouth dropping to nuzzle the hollow of her neck. “I think I’ll start my snack here.” Low, slumbering, his voice vibrated against her flesh.

  One strong thigh slid between her legs, sliding up, forcing her to ride him. Her moan rose to a plea. “Conn—”

  Like the curtain in a theatre, he s raised her shirt and sports bra up over her head. “We’ve never gone slow, Moira.”

  Her eyes eased open. The dark desire on his face made her gasp. Then crave. Slow wasn’t how she wanted him. Too dangerous. She grabbed his head, yanking it down to hers and nipping his bottom lip. His hands tightened their hold.

  He levered back, pinning her nipples between thumb and forefingers. “I said slow. Release my hair.”

  She clutched harder, narrowing her gaze.

  He pinched.

  Pain shot straight to her clit. She gasped, her hold loosening.

  His eyes darkened. “Let. Go. Moira.” Slightly, imperceptibly, his hold tightened on her swollen nipples. When she didn’t comply, he increased the pressure.

  With a moan, she untangled her fingers, dropping her hands to her sides. He held her captive, confused. She didn’t know whether to jerk back ... or ask for more.

  “Oh, baby girl, the things I’m going to teach you.” Keeping her gaze, he rolled her nipples, tightening his hold until she nearly panted. His slow smile promised something dark. Something forbidden. Something she wanted.

  Warmth from his mouth quickly replaced his fingers, suckling her right breast. A mewling filled her head. She bit her lip to stop the sound. He chuckled, the vibrations nearly sending her over the edge. So much wet heat engulfed her smarting nipple she rubbed against his thigh, seeking something.

  His leg deserted her. “Not yet.” Dropping to his knees, he tugged off her sweats and thong. “Ah. So pretty.” Slowly, way too slowly, he inched forward, planting one gentle kiss on her mound.

  Her hips jerked as if she’d been electrocuted. Desire splintered into a thousand pieces to shoot through her body. Her hands dropped to clutch the top of his shoulders, her head rested against the cool appliance. Clever fingers parted her, and his tongue went to work. Fast, soft, devastating, he kept her on the edge until the only thing that existed was his mouth. Until two fingers entered her, searching, stretching. He found the hidden bundle of nerves ... and the universe exploded.

  She rode his fingers, pressed against his mouth, and cried out his name. The pleasure filled her so completely reality became a dream. With a sigh, she came down, her entire body having the strength of a drunken fairy. Conn gave one last kiss across the marking on her hip and stood.

  He yanked off his sweats. Strong hands grabbed her butt, lifting her. She wrapped her legs around his hips. A step forward and he impaled her.

  The cool fridge supported her back while he began to thrust. She grasped his chest. “Are you strong enough to do this?” A spiraling deep inside threatened to steal her concentration.

  “Yes.” His fangs dropped low. With a quick strike, he claimed her neck.

  His moan outdid hers as blood flowed between them, healing and strong. She could feel the change in him, like a lit fuse sparking through his veins to heal. A dam broke dead center of her chest. A concrete barrier inside her, designed to keep the floodwaters back ... crumbled from the force of emotion hurtling from him.

  His hips thrust harder, taking her higher. She clung on, desperate to jump into the abyss. The slap of flesh against flesh drowned out their harsh breathing.

  Sensation wrapped around her, all emotion, all intent. His entire body vibrated against her. Trapping her. His fangs withdrew. Rough, his tongue laved the wound. She tilted her head to allow for better access.

  He bit.

  The orgasm ripped through her, shutting down her brain. Pleasure, pain, and so much sensation commingled until she could only hold on, chanting his name. His speed increased, along with his strength. He released her neck. With
a growl, feeling like love against her skin, and resonating like ownership in her heart, he came.

  Chapter 25

  It had taken all night. Although underground at headquarters, Kalin could sense the sun rising in the sky above. So dangerous. So tempting.

  He stepped out of the shower, kicking his clothes to the side. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he frowned at the long line of scratches down his torso. Peggy’s attack had surprised him. The girl had more fight in her than he’d hoped. Not that her spirit had done her any good.

  He lumbered down the hall to his bedroom, stopping short at the leader sitting in a reading chair. “Franco.”

  Franco nodded, tossing aside the worn copy of Machiavelli’s The Art of War. “I take it your trip to Omaha went well?”

  “Yes. Very.” Kalin dropped the towel, reaching to tug on some sweats. Nudity had never concerned him overmuch. “We flew low and didn’t file a flight plan, so there will be no record of the trip.”

  Franco’s silver eyebrows rose over his deep purple eyes. “I see you got rid of the black polish and lipstick.”

  “I’m out of that phase.” Kalin shrugged. No more pretending to be human. The species was prey for a reason.

  “So, there won’t be any repercussions from your journey?” Franco’s stark white face tightened.

  Kalin couldn’t wait until he ruled the world and didn’t have to hide. “No. The girl was from here, which is why I waited until she reached Nebraska. I took her at the airport, and believe me, no one saw.” The surprised look on her face had been priceless. And when she’d met the real him, well now. “She had a rather high tolerance for pain.” Impressed the hell out of him. For nearly two seconds he’d considered keeping her.

  Franco rolled his eyes, standing and strolling for the door. “I’ll monitor the Omaha news just in case. When will she be found?”

  “Soon.” He’d dumped her behind a nightclub near the garbage. Where she deserved.

  Silly girl giving up the life he could’ve given her. He’d like to go after that loser Joe, but would have to wait. Coincidence wasn’t his friend. Joe’s turn would come, and with it enough pain to make the sadness still lingering in Kalin’s solar plexus fade away.

  The laptop dinged on the sturdy desk he’d taken from a woman in Georgia the year before. She’d even tasted like peaches, crying in a thick accent. Kalin sauntered forward, clicking keys. “Erik is calling. They put him through to here.”

  Franco strode toward the computer. “Bring him up.”

  Erik filled the screen, his curly red hair sticking out in every direction. “Where’s my witch?”

  “Nice to see you too, brother.” Franco clasped both hands behind his back. “We don’t have a witch yet. Why don’t you get your own?”

  Crimson eyes flashed.

  Kalin swallowed. Sure, his people had odd colors. But red hair and red eyes? The guy even creeped him out. “I’ll go get you a witch, Erik.” He’d never taken a witch. Might be a decent challenge for him.

  Erik clicked his tongue loudly. “How nice of you, Kalin.”

  “No.” Franco pressed a heavy hand down on Kalin’s shoulder. “We’ll find you a witch. What about your misgivings?” Low, rolling, Franco’s tone issued threat.

  Kalin stiffened, glancing from Franco to his brother. “What misgivings?”

  Erik straightened his lab coat, tucking a silver pen into the breast pocket. “Any airborne virus will affect all mates, even our own. I merely noted we need an inoculation before we mutate the virus to mass contaminate—which is still far in the future ... and taking longer since you can’t seem to acquire a witch.”

  “Why Erik. I had no idea you thought to find yourself a mate.” Franco curled his lip, condescension dripping from each word.

  Kalin shrugged the hand off his shoulder. He’d heard the rumors about Erik and didn’t give a damn. The guy could like men, goats, or monkeys for all he cared, so long as he did his job. “How is it going with the captured shifters?”

  “Well.” Erik glared at his brother and leaned to the side, flipping open a manila folder. “After infecting several felines at the colloquium last year, we kidnapped a few wolf shifters and have injected them. The females react faster than the males, as we suspected.”

  Figured. A virus equaled weakness. Of course the females succumbed first. “Any luck with enslaving them?” Kalin asked.

  “Not yet.” Erik squinted, frowning. “The virus takes them down to werewolf form, but with more of a ... backbone ... so to speak, than a normal human werewolf.” He cleared his throat, tossing aside the folder. “Keep in mind, gentlemen, these constitute our first trials with the virus. The plan is long term.”

  Maybe that part of the plan would take a while. In fact, every psychic vibe Kalin had inherited from his deceased mother bellowed that nothing would happen until Janie came of age. Janie was truly the catalyst for the future, and he didn’t need their oracles spouting predictions to know that fact. For now, other concerns occupied his mind. “What about the gene manipulation therapy?”

  “We’re researching several viable solutions.” Erik nodded to someone off camera. “Your I.Q. is too high to measure, Kalin. Why don’t you put that big brain to work and come help me with the research?”

  Being stuck underground in some lab sounded like hell. “I need to keep training. My talents lie in battle.” A fact Kalin had learned early. The need to hit and destroy sometimes turned his blood on fire. Hunting and stalking his prey calmed him so he could at least get some sleep. “My father’s sword adorns the wall above my bed.” Sharp, deadly, and shining in the meager light, the weapon would someday take off Talen Kayrs’ head. Kalin even slumbered under the mantle of death.

  “So long as you’re keeping up your studies while learning how to hit things, I’ll keep up the research on light manipulation therapy.” Erik rolled his eyes. “Why you’re in such a hurry to venture into the sun, I’ll never know. I have to go.” Without another word, the screen went dark.

  “Kalin.” Franco kept his gaze on the dead screen. “My brother might be a genius, but never forget he’s weak.”

  “Of course.” Kalin doubted being gay led to weakness. “Though whether or not he mates is of no concern to me.”

  “My concerns are broader than his sickness.” Franco pivoted, heading for the door. “Erik enjoys philosophy and believes himself a modern intellectual. Always watch the smart ones.” Franco paused at the doorway. “It’s good to have you back.” Then he headed down the hallway.

  Kalin’s gaze shifted to the wall of Peggy’s pictures. “It’s good to be back.” Reaching for the center photograph, he ripped it in two. She’d confused him, a fact she’d paid dearly for. “Even sobbing, begging for your life, you were pretty.”

  With a sigh, he reached for the rest of the pictures. They no longer belonged.

  Chapter 26

  “You cut his head off.” Conn scratched his chin, his gaze on the still form of the dead werewolf. The very dead werewolf.

  Dage had placed the head near the body on the gurney of the autopsy room before fetching his mate. He stood next to her now, handing her a wickedly sharp syringe. She took it in her blue-gloved hands, inserting the needle into the beast’s arm.

  Jordan shrugged, his stance set against the concrete floor. A long, jagged scratch marred the right side of his face. Apparently it had been quite the fight. “Talen decapitated him, I didn’t. Katie sensed him. She knew he was there, said when the beast died, something moved through her.”

  Conn fought a chill at the words.

  Maybe the coldness came from the autopsy room they’d set up in anticipation of catching a were. The monster sprawled across the slab, coarse black hair covering every surface. Its snout appeared narrower than usual, not quite canine. Defined muscles lay under the heavy fur, showing he’d once had power.

  Conn glanced at Emma as she drew blood from the animal’s hairy arm. “How soon will you get the results?”

 
She stood, tapping the deep red blood in the syringe. “With the new equipment Kane tweaked, we should have an answer in a few hours.” She frowned, her blue eyes sparking. “If we shared the technological advances with humans, several diseases might be cured.” Tossing her hair over her lab coat with a shake of her head, she aimed for the door. “Something we’ll discuss in detail once I determine whether this werewolf began as a human or a shifter.”

  Dage prowled after her. “I look forward to the discussion, love.” Tipping his head back to take a deep gulp of his ever-present grape energy drink, he glanced over his shoulder. “Conn, Talen wants to meet in the third-floor conference room in fifteen minutes. You, too, Jordan.” His footsteps echoed down the hallway.

  Jordan nodded. Fierce brown eyes flicked toward the werewolf’s head. “He wanted Katie. He sensed Katie.” It had guaranteed the beast would lose his head.

  Every once in a while Conn forgot about the killer lurking behind Jordan’s easy smile. “The werewolf put up a good fight.” Dage had reported it as an intelligent fight, different from a normal one.

  “Yes.” Jordan glanced down, frowning at a long gash across his knuckles. He stretched his hand, opening and closing his fingers, allowing claws to emerge. “I haven’t apologized for what happened with Marcus. My people, my fault.”

  “No.” Conn’s fangs emerged, pricking his lip to draw blood. “They caught me. My head wasn’t in the game ... for obvious reasons.” A snarl wanted loose and he shoved it down, taking control of the beast inside him for the moment. He was better than the decapitated monster sprawled on the table. He could think and plan.

  “Women.” Jordan’s claws retracted, his mellow tone belied by the frozen fury on his face—powerful and animalistic, even in human form. “What are you going to do with yours?”