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“Close your mouth, Chelsea,” Liza ordered irritably as she pushed at Stygian again. “He’ll let me go or I’m going to see how much damage I can do when I start driving my knee into certain parts of his body.” She shot him a decidedly threatening look with a tight smile as she tensed her knee in preparation.
His lashes lowered again, that wicked “fuck you” look spearing straight to her core and clenching her womb in an exquisite need that nearly stole her breath.
She was going to leave with him. Liza knew she was.
She was simply too weak, and she wanted to be close to him, wanted to tempt her own destruction too desperately.
Emotional suicide.
That was what it was, emotional suicide, and she was helpless against the voice whispering inside herself to just go for it. To take it. To tempt fate. To tempt destruction.
To tempt a Breed.
“I’m going out for the morning, Chel,” she told her friend as her gaze locked with Stygian’s once again. “I’ll have my phone on me if you need me.”
If Cullen called and plans changed or if Ashley, Emma, Chimera and Shiloh decided to arrive earlier than normal.
But would either of those things really matter?
Because it was the job of the Navajo Breed Underground Network to find her first, and to offer her asylum.
That was her job, and if this Breed had information about how to find the two women and the Bengal Breed they were searching for, then perhaps it would help her to find them first.
“You’re going with him?” Wide-eyed and a little too amused to suit her, Chelsea asked the question with artful innocence. “On the back of a motorcycle?”
Yeah, Liza could clearly understand her friend’s confusion. Liza had always refused to ride in even a convertible because of the accident she’d been in as a teenager.
She’d almost been a wild child, she and Cl
aire both. The first time they had slipped out and taken Joe Martinez’s car for a joy ride had been their last, though. Being a wild child was stopped short when Claire lost control of the car and went careening over a desert cliff, nearly killing both of them.
A motorcycle had always been out of the question.
Until Stygian.
“I’ll change clothes.” Giving him one last look, Liza turned and left the room, wondering rather desperately if she had somehow lost her mind.
Stygian watched her go, a smile wanting to tug at his lips as Chelsea eyed him warily.
He could sense the questions she wanted to ask, and he sensed her hesitation.
“Liza doesn’t ride motorcycles.” Propping her hand on her hip, she frowned up at him.
“It appears she’s in an adventurous mood today then.” He could sense that about her, her need to reach out and do more, to live dangerously.
There was a courage inside her that she didn’t allow the world to see. The only ones who saw it were the team she worked with in the Navajo Underground.
He knew of the Underground. Jonas knew of the Underground.
The organization had, and on occasion still did, rescue Breeds from high-level Genetics Council labs and advanced security experimental facilities for more than a century now.
That was about the extent of the information they had. Despite the Breeds the Bureau had in place to investigate the organization and identify its members, so far the only suspected member was Liza. And only because it had been painfully obvious that she was doing more than taking a nice little run when John Malcolm had moved in on her.
“She’s not in an adventurous mood,” Chelsea shrugged as she leaned against the door frame. “You’re bewitching her, just like Malachi Morgan did with my sister. Breeds should be shot for stealing a woman’s will and common sense as you do.”
That was pretty much why the Alphas refused to verify the tabloid rumors of mating heat.
That was exactly how it would be seen—as a form of rape or mesmerism.
