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He had never loved her, she thought sadly. Otherwise, the heat wouldn’t have receded from him, and he could have never taken another woman.
She shook her head at another pang of betrayal and couldn’t manage even to work up the anger against it. But as she stepped into the house, she couldn’t help the sense of complete and total isolation that swept through her. Her mate wasn’t really her mate, and the brother she had loved so dearly had betrayed her in ways she couldn’t comprehend.
She could understand Seth’s reaction to the renewed heat, and even his inability to love her. But Callan—she couldn’t accept what Callan and Jonas had done. And accepting that Seth had seen that disc and walked away had been one of the hardest things she had ever done.
He had walked away when he should have fought for her. She would have fought for him. Through hell or high water, Coyotes or a brigade of Council soldiers, she would have fought for him. Just as she was fighting for him now.
She was unaware of the fragile, broken sound of pain that left her lips at that thought. But there was someone that heard the sound as it drifted along the breeze. Eyes narrowed, lips tightened.
As she moved into the house, he lowered the gun sight and blew out a silent breath, too soft for even the earth itself to feel.
If he wasn’t watching, waiting, if he wasn’t the shadow drifting around the Lawrence
Estate, he would have shaken his head at the sound of the broken child. It was a sound he had heard many times, and it still had the power to effect him.
As he watched, a lone figure stepped out from an upper room. Dressed in snug jeans, her cropped shirt conforming to full young breasts, her flat belly glistening in the morning light as long, pitch black curls whipped in the wind.
Her scent carried to him, and his eyes narrowed. She was and yet she wasn’t. The fabled half-breed, sought after by every Council scientist in existence and rumored to be psychic. The bounty on her head was horrifically high. A man could live three lifetimes on the money to be had in securing this one, tiny young woman.
And she was tiny. Fragile in appearance, but he sensed the strength in her, the steel core of determination and stubborn resolve that filled her.
And he felt something more. He felt the dark sensual side of his nature as it gave a curious, heated stretch.
And she was staring right at him. Dark brows were creased into a frown, her lips parting as something akin to fear flashed across her expression.
And a muted cry slipped past her lips. One of fear.
A second later, Dash Sinclair whipped past the doorway, his large body blocking sight of her as he swept her against his chest, sheltered her and rushed her back into the house.
He tilted his head and watched curiously. There were many players here, many targets with bounties on their heads higher than the income of some nations. All in one place.
He smiled, a tight, hard smile that kept his canines hidden, kept the sun from flashing against them. He sniffed the breeze and closed his eyes at the smell of sweetness, of innocence only subtly marred by feminine fear.
That girl had every right to feel fear. She was marked as no other Breed in existence was marked. Sought after, searched for, the bounty paid only if she was delivered alive and with her virginity intact.
She was a weakness he was surprised other Breeds hadn’t already disposed of. Of course it was said her father, Dash Sinclair, protected her ruthlessly.
Interesting. Very interesting, he thought. And intriguing.
He couldn’t afford to be intrigued at the moment.
He placed his eye against the site of his weapon once again and resumed his scan. His target was here; he just had to find him.
Dawn stepped back into the house and tried to shake off the vague, discomfited feeling she couldn’t make sense of. Only to have it return tenfold as the refrigerator door closed and Jason Phelps grinned at her from across the room.
“Things are getting bloody around here.” He snapped open the top of a beer. “Uncle Brian, one of Seth’s board members, is having an aneurysm over old man Breyer’s death. Can’t figure out what the hell he was doing in Lawrence’s suite.”
Dawn’s eyes narrowed at the certainty that he was fishing for information from the dumb little female Breed. Her hand rested on the grip of her weapon within its holster.
“I’m sure we’ll find out,” she told him. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Why don’t you like me?” He lifted the beer and took a long drink.
Dawn watched his throat convulse as he swallowed, and she had to shake away the need to see blood there. The heat was affecting her mind, there was no doubt. She had never felt so bloodthirsty, so close to violence.
“I don’t dislike you, Mr. Phelps.” She disliked most men. It was a part of her, as natural now as the color of her hair and eyes. It couldn’t be changed, only temporarily hidden.
“I wish you liked me.” He shook his head as a charming male pout crossed his lips. But it was his eyes she watched, not that there was anything different about his eyes. A little bloodshot, a little amused.
