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She was dressed as he finished locating the small black leather weapons bag he had hidden in the back of her closet. Jerking it open, he quickly strapped on a handgun at his side and ankle, then within seconds had the powerful automatic rifle he carried with him, assembled and ready to fire.
Who the hell thought they could sneak up on him like this? In broad daylight?
It was either a moron or a man or Breed who thought he was better, smarter, and brighter than a lion Breed covert enforcer.
There was no mistaking the alarm still vibrating at his waist, though, a clear indication that someone was coming into the rear of the property Kita owned.
Another enforcer would have recognized the signs as well as the electronic traps laid and announced his presence. Jonas already suspected Kita was Creed’s mate; he’d surely know better than to try such a stunt. Especially on Creed.
After pulling on a lightweight advanced-design jacket, Creed grabbed the extra one he carried with him and threw it to Kita with an order to put it on. He then slung the heavy leather pack of ammo over his back and the strap of the weapon over his shoulder.
Taking her hand as she jerked the jacket on, he was moving through the house toward the front door, his senses on alert, screaming in warning.
Behind him, he could sense Kita’s fear, but overlaying it was the scent of her determination and her trust.
“Who knew you were here?” It was a question he should have asked days ago, damn it.
“No one. I just ran. I didn’t tell anyone where I was going.”
Moving quickly through the silent kitchen, he threw open the door to the garage and pulled her inside. The motorcycle was their best bet, not as protected as a vehicle, but . . .
He came to a hard stop.
They were there. Their scents were neutralized, blocked, expressions hard, eyes flat and filled with danger. And standing behind them was the specter of death that had haunted the Breeds for as long as they could remember.
“Uncle Phillip?” Uncertainty and rising fear filled Kita’s voice as she stared at the much, much younger version of the uncle she had known.
Damn! Creed stared at the man, hiding his shock as he assessed how many decades the age regression had taken from Phillip Brandenmore. He looked as fit, as formidable as he had in his early forties, his face once again dark and roughly handsome, his brown eyes free of the dimness age had brought.
His dark brown hair was once again thick and sporting only a bit of gray at the temples, while his shoulders were broad, his chest muscular. As though his body hadn’t forgotten its former shape, strength, and power, and had easily returned to it.
Kita moved to slip to his side before Creed tightened his fingers on her wrist in warning.
She stilled just that fast.
He could smell her fear, though, as well as her uncertainty.
Phillip Brandenmore smiled. Perfect, straight white teeth had replaced the aged, darkened ones Creed remembered from his last visit to Sanctuary, just after Brandenmore had been captured.
The shock Kita was feeling scented the air as Creed kept a careful eye on the men flanking Brandenmore and the weapons trained on Kita and himself. He paid especially close attention to the woman on his far right, knowing when he killed her, there would be hell to pay.
“Creed Raines, lion Breed enforcer,” Brandenmore drawled as he moved in line with the mercenaries that had obviously broken him out of Sanctuary’s cells. “Breed, you have balls to think you can kidnap my niece, fuck her, and not pay for it. She’s too damned good for the likes of a fucking animal.” His gaze flicked to Kita, and for a second, the
smallest second, Creed could have sworn something painful, something filled with regret flickered in Brandenmore’s eyes.
Could he get to his weapon in time? Could he throw Kita to the side and actually do any damage before they managed to hurt her?
His gaze went over the men once more. He shouldn’t have felt disbelief at seeing them there, but damn if he had expected this. When he stared back at the woman, the commander these men followed, he was almost brought up short again by the small pendant she wore outside her T-shirt.
His attention returned to Brandenmore.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, his fingers tightening once more on Kita’s wrist to hold her in place.
“I came for my niece,” he snapped. “Wyatt thinks he’s so damned smart. So damned careful,” he sneered. “I heard him, just as I heard his plans to turn Kita Claire into a fucking breeder for one of his Breeds. A Breed that had managed to gain her trust.”
Kita stiffened, her harshly indrawn breath attesting to her shock, and he feared, her belief in what Brandenmore was saying or what she was seeing.
An uncle from the past, not the present. A man who now stared at her with reptilian eyes, a sneer on his lips when his attention turned to Creed.
