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Ten years he had fought the mating heat. Ten years and he had given up on Dawn ever coming to him. Now she was here, and he swore, no matter what it took, he would hold her here.
Dawn slept. She slept harder than she could remember sleeping in her entire life. Sheltered in Seth’s strong arms, tucked close against his chest, she felt safe. Secure. She could sleep now, knowing he would hold back the night. And she slept deeper. So deep that the protective layers she had built in her mind to hold the past at bay weakened. Relaxed.
Suddenly, she wasn’t in Seth’s arms any longer, but standing amid the glare of bright lights and a cold that chilled her to her bones.
I’m frightened.
She turned and stared at the child that uttered the words. She was almost insubstantial. Almost a ghost. She was huddled in the corner of the cage, naked, her long hair covering most of her body, her brown eyes stark and blind with pain.
It wasn’t just a child. Dawn knew who it was. It was her. The child she had forced herself to forget, forced herself to bury as deeply as possible.
As she stared at her, she felt betrayed. A betrayal that cut deeper than Callan showing Seth those images. It cut deeper than any betrayal she could remember, and she couldn’t place its source. Refused to search for the source of that pain.
She shook her head. She wasn’t here. It was just a dream. That was all. She was with Seth. He was holding her. Even as the nightmare images coalesced, she could feel his arms around her, the warmth of them, the safety, even though she could no longer see him.
Dawn looked around and felt terror chill her soul again. She was no longer someplace safe. She was no longer seeing shadows or darkened shapes. She didn’t sense an enclosure, she felt it. She saw it.
The underground labs of the New Mexico facility that Callan had rescued them from. But this wasn’t the rubble left after the escape and the explosions. This was the lab, fully functional, the monitors beeping, the computer screens showing the cages and cells. And the cages. The cages that held the children when they were unruly or when they were insane from the pain of the experiments conducted on their young bodies.
“I don’t want to be here,” she whispered, feeling the words lock in her throat.
“Don’t bother praying,” the child whispered. “If you pray, they get mean. And He doesn’t listen anyway. You know He doesn’t.”
“Then don’t pray,” she warned her, furious. “Keep your damn mouth shut.”
Dawn was angry with the child and she wasn’t certain why. Why would the kid want to pray? Why call out to a God that didn’t listen, that didn’t protect the Breeds? He hadn’t created them, why should He care if they lived or died? If they survived or lived without nightmares?
The little Breed female laid her head against the bars of the cage, dejection and hopelessness surrounding her as Dawn felt her chest clench with pain. She moved closer. She wanted to com
fort her, even though she knew there was no comfort she could give. She was a step closer when the girl’s eyes opened again.
“Did you see his eyes?” she whispered. “I looked as he hurt me. At his eyes. Just at his eyes. I want to remember them forever so you can rip his throat out. Remember his eyes. Remember, Dawn, we’re going to kill him dead. We’re going to tear out his throat and bathe in his blood. We swore it. Remember that, we swore it.” Agonizing pain, a brutal, animalistic growl of rage and helplessness, filled the room as the words slammed into her.
Dawn jerked back. She remembered that vow. As that knowledge tore through her brain, light and color, the ground beneath her and the world around her, shifted in a dizzying array.
Suddenly, she was being restrained, cruel hands gripping her arms and legs as she fought and bucked. Her eyes jerked around, staring at the dark shapes. They wore black masks, black shirts. They were hiding themselves, but she could see their eyes. She could see them and she could smell them and she was going to kill them.
She bared her teeth and snarled, enraged, the animal inside her tearing at her mind with vicious claws as it sought escape.
“I smell you,” she screamed. “I smell you. I see your eyes. You’ll die. I’ll kill you.”
She was screaming at one. Just one. As he moved between thighs that were restrained by steel. His lips curled into a smile as he worked his pants loose. And she stared into his eyes.
“I’ll kill you.” Demented, enraged, a haze of bloodred fury filled her senses as he came over her and she knew the pain he would bring to her. Not just to her body, but to the soul they said Breeds didn’t have.
“You’ll have to find me first.”
A second later she began to pray. Fear filled her, dark and oily, sliding over her senses as she felt that first touch.
“Oh God. God save me…God save me…”
“God doesn’t care.” His smile was cold, triumphant. “When are you going to accept that? God doesn’t care about what isn’t His. You’re not His. You’re ours—”
She came awake. Her eyes jerked open, staring into the enraged, agonized gaze of the man she loved more than her own life.
“Wake up, damn you!” He shook her shoulders, his face tight, savagely hewn, his eyes tormented as she stared back at him.
Her body was stiff, the fragmented memories of the dream almost, just almost, receded. She could almost remember. She could still taste her own fear, hear her own prayers and the answer she had been given.
