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“He told me I was the apple of my mother’s eye.” She clicked, and there, the message showed up, a request for the password. “Type in a password that has been found on any other file, and this is what you get.” She typed in one of the more well known passwords the Breeds had uncovered.
A series of hidden files came up documenting the life and death of Kita’s mother. Canceling those, she tried again.
“Type in the right password, Fountain of Youth, and you get the files you were looking for.”
And there they were. Labeled by date as well as Breed. Hundreds of files hidden on a hard drive so minute it had been overlooked, because it had never been done before.
It was their last hope to learn what Brandenmore had done to the infant, Amber Broen. If the answers weren’t here, then they faced a future of losing her, as they were losing Brandenmore, if the serum reacted the same as she became older.
He watched as she carefully copied each file to the epad Jonas had given him before disconnecting the frame and laying it carefully on top of the electronic pad used to connect enforcers with the bureau when needed.
Creed sent a carefully worded, encrypted message to Jonas to pick up the package, then lifted his mate from the computer and turned her to face him.
As he suspected, tears whispered down her cheeks. They were tears of regret, of acceptance. There was no longer any denial left inside her, no illusion of anything good left within her uncle.
“He loved you,” Creed whispered. He was convinced of that. “Your uncle loved you and your mother, Kita. Loved you so much that the need to protect you from her fate drove him to the lengths he went to.”
She nodded before laying her forehead against his chest, her breathing hitched from the sobs she tried to hold inside.
“There was no life more important to him than the life of the daughter his sister loved more than anything on this earth.”
During one of the few coherent moments Brandenmore had had over the weeks, that information had come out. It was easy to kill, he had screamed, sobbed. Easy to torture, to maim and to destroy if it meant finding the secret of the fountain of youth. An elixir that halted aging, that cured all diseases, that could save his sister from death. And later, nothing had mattered but saving his niece from the same fate.
The experiments had begun the month Brandenmore had learned his sister had one of the few incurable cancers that still existed. Remission was possible, but the doctors had warned her family it would never last for long.
He’d accepted an offer the Genetics Council had made him that week and begun his research. For massive amounts of money he was given the Breeds needed, then the few mated couples he had been able to acquire. From there, it had snowballed and a monster had been born.
Then, he had learned he had the same cancer, years before his sister had died. Not the niece, but the brother was to be cursed with that fate. It had been more than Phillip Brandenmore could bear.
“He was selfish,” she whispered. “A monster is born, Creed, they’re not created. He was born a monster.”
Unfortunately, Creed agreed with her.
The pain of realization was a strike of agony slashing at him as it tore through her.
As she lifted her head, his head bent, his lips slanting over hers, the need to replace that agony
with pleasure driving him to kiss her with a strength and hunger he hadn’t felt since that first kiss.
Her kiss flamed beneath his lips. Arching against him, she twined her arms around his neck, a low moan of need passing her lips as he picked her up in his arms and bore her back to the bed.
Her gown was removed easily. The soft cotton pants he wore pushed from his hips and down his legs with little thought to care.
Thick and heavy, his cock pressed against her lower stomach, throbbing, demanding the heat he sensed rising between her thighs.
Riding him as hard as the need for that pleasure was the need for her kiss though. Not just because of the mating heat that would intensify, or the pleasure he gained from that as well. It was a comfort mixed with a fiery hunger. It was an intimate dance of lips and tongues stroking against each other, loving, caressing as the taste of cinnamon and need filled both their senses.
Creed let his hands stroke up her back, then down. They feathered over her hips, returned to her spine, the sensitive pads experiencing the silken heat of her flesh as she moved against him, stroking fire over his dick as the warmth of her belly stroked across it.
Soft fingers stroked his neck, his shoulders as the kiss began to heat, to become hungrier, more intimate, more desperate.
Forcing his hands from the soft caresses he was delivering to her back, Creed lifted her gently and placed her in the bed before coming over her, a growl vibrating in his chest as he slid between her thighs, pressing them wide with his knees as his lips covered hers once again.
He wanted so much. He wanted every taste of her, each soft inch of flesh stroked with his tongue.
The need rolling furiously within him wouldn’t allow that time. Later perhaps, he thought as his lips moved down her neck, laying a trail of kisses along the slender column as he moved inexorably to the swollen rise of her breasts.
Tight, hard nipples drew him. The taste of them, a banquet of sweet heat as he rolled one against his tongue before pulling it into his mouth.
