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She turned on the man, her gaze going over him. “Were you considered defective in your lab, soldier?”
“No, Coya.” His voice hardened, a deadly growl reflecting in it. “I was considered a class one stealth and exterminating specialist.”
“Then here’s your chance to earn your bar as an enforcer,” she retorted. “You got lucky tonight, soldier.”
“Yes, Coya.” He straightened. “I’ll get that information together now.”
“Emma, I don’t have my communications set,” Anya reminded the other woman as she turned back to the window that looked in on the medical room.
“It’s coming, Coya,” Emma promised her, then paused. “Our alpha is fine. No matter what.”
“Of course he’s fine, and he’s going to be growling and snarling and tasting blood when he stomps into this mountain. Get on the radio, get me that communications set now. Tell those boys in Communications they better be anticipating every shred of information he’s going to need before he gets here. If I hear again that the information needed to defend this mountain isn’t available to him the minute he’s ready for it, then heads are going to roll.”
During the last attack, she knew, Del-Rey had spent hours getting much needed information together because Communications and Security had been so surprised by the attack that they had been scrambling to figure out what was going on.
“I should be in Communications,” she decided. “Keep a soldier here. I want reports sent in on that stubborn Breed’s status every five minutes. And if she tries to pull her usual get-up-and-fight bullshit, then have her sedated.”
She turned and headed along the passageway as the other Breeds watched her assessingly. This was her first time as second-in-command while Del-Rey was considered on base.
Coyote Breeds had a love-hate conflict in regards to their coya sometimes. She didn’t reside in their mountain while their alpha was there. They had felt deserted by their leader’s other half, and Del-Rey’s original team felt as though she had deserted their alpha.
Now Emma almost smiled. She, Sharone and Ashley had done well. Eight months. In only eight months Anya was automatically taking her place as Del-Rey’s second-in-command and his mate.
“Call up to Communications and have them ready for her,” Emma ordered the soldier. “Make certain she has a cup of coffee or she’s going to crash and burn on us the way she’s using adrenaline at the moment. I also want the doctor standing by for hormonal injections if needed. That adrenaline crash sometimes retriggers the heat.”
And Anya could get pissy if she went into heat without warning. Not to mention the fact that Del-Rey would have all their heads if Anya ended up in pain again.
The soldier nodded and made the calls as they stepped into the elevator and made the descent into the well-protected communications center.
She glanced at Anya. Her coya’s shoulders were straight, her head held high, sapphire eyes glittering in her pale face. And for the first time, Emma noticed the little sprinkling of freckles across Anya’s nose.
“He’s fine,” she murmured again.
“Of course he’s fine,” Anya snapped. “Have Medical be prepared just in case. And tell me again why the hell we don’t have our own operating rooms and surgeon in-house.” She turned and glared at Emma.
Emma shrugged. She knew the answer; Anya knew the answer. “Dr. Armani . . .” was their designated specialist.
“Is a Wolf Breed specialist,” Anya snapped. “I’ve had enough of this.”
“Hard to get a surgeon to perform surgery when he’s dead,” Emma reminded her.
She remembered. Just as she knew there were at least two Coyote specialists well adept in surgery, Coyote genetics and general Breed medicine that would be well able to treat them.
Anya pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders and turned to stare at the Breeds watching her curiously.
They were hardened killers. But standing there, they were staring at her as though she represented more than a pretty face or a singular title she had refused to acknowledge outside the most basic of duties.
She let her gaze connect with one of the olive green-garbed soldiers. Her gaze flickered over the plain military uniform he wore. Wolves and Felines both had a uniform for each designation of their forces. Something else Del-Rey hadn’t been able to take care of.
“Find me some damned jeans,” Anya muttered as the doors opened and they swept into the huge communications network set up underground. “This dress sucks.”
CHAPTER 11
If there was a bone or muscle that didn’t hurt in his body, then Del-Rey couldn’t find it. Brim did a rough stitch on the laceration on his arm after he managed to reset the dislocated shoulder.
Blood fury had raged, though, the second the all-terrain went flying through the air. Jumping from it, they had moved in on the position of the men attempting to ambush the Breed limos.
They’d run like rats, but humans were no match for the Breeds’ night senses and tracking abilities. They’d captured five of the bastards; one had died as he fired a bullet that managed to lodge in Del-Rey’s other shoulder.
