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“It’s just the hormone.” There was a sob in her voice that he hated to hear. Part pleasure, part pain. “It’s just the hormone.”
No, it wasn’t just the hormone, he knew that. It was so much more; he sensed it, felt it. She was his match, his mate; nature had only ensured that the stubborn human part of his genetics didn’t fuck up and walk away from her.
And he would have. He would have continued to run for as long as possible. He would have denied the animal’s insistence, because she fucked with his head, not just his arousal. And even worse, she fucked with his cold, icy heart.
“Fuck that damned hormone,” he snarled, wishing he could recall the words.
Clenching his teeth, he forced back words he refused to release. To say them was to mean them. To mean them was to accept that he needed more.
He couldn’t allow himself to need. To need invited weakness. It invited danger.
He would not allow himself to endanger her.
He wanted to fuck her, that was all. The hormone be damned, that didn’t make him fuck. It just made him want to fuck more, harder.
Holding tight to her, he moved his hips, rotated them, thrust and plunged inside the velvet grip of rapture. So much pleasure. It washed through him like a tidal wave, tearing past his consciousness, sinking into the animal that lurked inside him.
It roared in triumph. The sound slipped past his throat, mingled with her cry as he felt her tighten in orgasm. He felt her juices, sweet and hot, flow around the erection thrusting harder, faster inside her.
God save him, he was dying inside her.
He couldn’t hold back the pleasure or the need. He couldn’t hold back the victorious snarl, or the ecstatic groan as she bit his shoulder. It wasn’t a timid bite. Her sharp little teeth latched onto him and refused to let go.
He could feel the brutal ecstasy rushing over him now. His cock thickened, tightened. His balls drew up tight to the base of the steely shaft, and when he came, it was death. And it was rebirth.
The thumb-sized extension became erect beneath the head of his cock, thickened and distended, revealing the Feline Breed male barb and locking his cock inside her. His hips rotated, shifting until it was lodged comfortably, pleasurably. Then a throttled roar left his chest as his semen began to pump hard and deep inside her.
Each fierce spurt sent a surge of blistering electric sensation tearing up his spine, wrapping around his body. His muscles drew tight, his head lowered; his teeth locked into the mating mark at her shoulder as his tongue licked and stroked, spreading the hormone into the tiny bite. Marking her more, marking her deeper.
Sweet Cassa. His mate. His woman. She was the one thing in this world that he knew was his alone. The woman created for him. The one woman that could destroy him.
? CHAPTER 9 ?
Cassa was silent as Cabal carried her to the bed, tucked her in, then went to shower. She stared up at the ceiling for long moments, a frown on her face as she fought to work through her own feelings, her own emotions.
The sex was good. It was damned good. It was like flying, free-falling. But when it was over, it left a hollow little ache inside her chest that she couldn’t escape from.
Sighing heavily, she moved from the bed. What the hell did he expect her to do? Spend all her time in bed? She had work to do, and it was obvious she had her job cut out for her.
If the killer had contacted her, there was always the chance that he had, or could, contact another reporter. She needed to get her facts together and find the answers she was looking for if she was going to have her story ready.
After pulling on her robe, she moved to the laptop and the flash chip of information she’d hidden in her laptop bag. She inserted the small chip and pulled up the information, went over it once again.
Six men were dead, all with ties to Phillip Brandenmore and Horace Engalls, owners of the pharmaceutical and research company currently under indictment for illegal Breed research, conspiracy to murder and conspiracy to buy stolen medical and personnel files of unnamed Breeds. The two men shared a hunting cabin in the mountains of the Hawk’s Nest-Gauley Bridge area.
Cassa had confirmed Brandenmore and Engalls’s ties to the victims over the past weeks, after the anonymous emails had begun coming through with their bloody pictures attached.
Dr. Ryan Damron. Phillip Brandenmore’s father had paid Damron’s way through college and medical school. The forensic pathologist had at one time been under scrutiny for having worked with the Genetics Council that created the Breeds. He had been charged with performing autopsies on live Breeds. He had escaped Breed justice though, just as so many had during those first trials.
Officer Aaron Washington had been a New York City police officer of little rank or notoriety. His connection to Brandenmore and Engalls stemmed from off-duty work he had once done as a security guard for the pharmaceutical labs just outside New York City.
Attorney Elam March. He had been one of Brandenmore’s best friends in college.
The former Glen Ferris mayor David Banks had grown up in the area with Brandenmore and was known to have frequented Brandenmore’s mountain cabin often.
And finally, H. R. Alonzo, the great-grandson of one of the founders of the Genetics Council. He spoke out often against the Breeds and contributed heavily to organizations rumored to often strike out violently against them. There was little connection between him and the pharmaceutical and research giants though.
Staring at the screen of her laptop, Cassa frowned and hit another button, pulling up an outdated, grainy photograph that had been included in one of the files her anonymous source had sent her.
