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He was her mate, but even more importantly, she was his. Finally, that lost, empty place inside her was gone.
Now she just had to deal with today’s tests, and hopefully, she would get out of the labs without having to deal with the stench of the decay Jonas was housing there.
Phillip Brandenmore. The pharmaceutical research giant that had been suspected of using Breeds for over fifty years in his research for many of his more lucrative drugs. A man who had been aligned with the Genetics Council from birth, taking over his father’s position within it and funding it as well as using the Breeds as guinea pigs.
And now karma was a bitch. He may have what he had searched for most of his life, but he sure as hell wasn’t enjoying it. He was a hell of a lot younger than he was supposed to be, and he was completely insane. His health was perfect, but his mind was slowly turning to mush.
And it was no more than he deserved, though, the thought of anyone suffering as she’d heard he suffered was a horrendous thought to her. Still, she knew he had been the cause of so many Breeds suffering. So many he had murdered in the name of science, destroyed for his own personal gain and used simply because he could use them.
The reports of his death had been no more than a lie Jonas Wyatt had perpetuated to allow him to keep the man in the cells beneath Sanctuary, but after what she had seen, she couldn’t imagine anyone blaming him for it.
Brandenmore was a fruitcake. Even worse, he was a very dangerous fruitcake.
“Ely’s been really busy this afternoon,” said the Lioness that escorted her to the examination room, watching curiously as Mica took her seat on the gurney. “She’s currently arguing with Jonas over security protocols.” An almost shy smile tugged at the gamine-like features of the enforcer as she brushed back a stray strand of auburn hair from the braid it was confined in. “Sometimes even Dr. Ely wins.”
“I have no doubt.” Mica gave a small laugh of acknowledgment.
Ely was as stubborn as any Breed male, especially when it came to running her labs and her research.
“I have to leave then.” The enforcer sighed. “I still have rounds to make and then I’ll be back.”
Mica gave a quick nod, then sat silently on the gurney as she waited. She saw several of the cameras on the walls above her, no doubt recording every breath she took and her temperature; they would be reading her thoughts if Jonas Wyatt could get the cameras to actually do it.
“Well, did Dr. Ely know you were coming?”
Mica swung around, terror racing through her at the sound of Brandenmore’s rough voice penetrating the room and scraping across the senses.
She came off the gurney, nearly stumbling and falling to the floor before catching herself in a crouch instead.
She stared around the room, eyes wide, her heart racing in her chest as she fought against the overwhelming fear of facing him again.
Mica knew that the only reason she had survived her last encounter with him had been the Breeds surrounding them at the time. There were no Breeds now. There was just Mica and whatever weapon she might be able to find.
“I believe I might even be able to smell your fear,” the voice commented as a section of wall slid open across from her. “I like that scent, Mica. It smells especially good on you, little girl. Sweet and subtle.”
Mica stared at the glass-enclosed cell in surprise. She had never seen where the Breeds kept their prisoners they were rumored to have. She had only known that they did indeed keep them. And now, s
he knew what their quarters looked like.
A twelve-by-twelve cell with white walls, a narrow bed, a vid- and halo-screen high on the wall and a partially enclosed shower on the other end.
Pretty swanky compared to the filthy cells and open toilets the Breeds were forced to use in most of the labs they were kept in. Few of them had had any conveniences outside of a mat or mattress to sleep on until they were old enough to put their training into use. Then, and only then, were they given decent sleeping areas or food in exchange for the services, or the killings, they were required to provide. And in the cases of those Brandenmore targeted, they had known nothing but the agony and horror of being nothing more than research projects.
Slowly, Mica eased up from the crouch and stared back at him in fascination. She knew for a damned fact he was more than eighty years old. But he looked no older than his early thirties, and if not for the evil glowing in his eyes, he wouldn’t have been bad looking. But that evil was there. In his gaze, in his expression, in the very air around him as they stared at each other across the distance.
Phillip Brandenmore shook his head somberly. “I can’t believe I had you in my grip and allowed you to live.” He sighed in regret. “Your life is one of those that’s considered to be one of importance among the Wolves. You do know there was a price on your head by the Breed’s enemies, right?”
“So I’ve been told,” Mica answered as she watched Brandenmore shove his hands into the pockets of the overly large pants he wore while his shirt seemed to hang on his well-muscled shoulders.
His smile was cunning and filled with sinister delight. “I helped put it there, you know. As the freak’s favorite friend, you would be invaluable. What would she do to protect you?”
Mica knew the answer to that. Cassie would kill to save her, or she would die for her. The same as Mica would do for Cassie. There was no other option. They were too close to ever allow the other to be harmed if they could stop it.
Mica didn’t tell Brandenmore that though, she just stared back at him silently, almost fascinated with the monster he had become and the fact that she was facing him.
“Excuse me for not dressing in my finest,” he said, excusing himself drolly. “But then again, I guess this can be called my finest, can’t it?” He leaned his shoulder against the glass, a dark brown eyebrow arching as he stared at her arrogantly. “Well, aren’t you going to talk? Don’t you think I get sick of listening to these pissant little Breeds? I’d like to talk to a human for once. Someone with more personality than a cat or a dog.”
Mica wanted nothing more than to leave to escape the vile sense of evil he filled a room with. He was a bastard and he knew it. Hell, he reveled in it.
