AllFreeNovel
Share Us
She was pure and certain destruction if he wasn’t extremely careful.
No one had accused him of being careful in years, though, and he saw no reason to give them cause to do so now. He was what they had created. If they didn’t like it, then they had only themselves to blame.
Breeds were created to be master manipulators, tacticians, guerrilla fighters and highly tactile lovers. Graeme was all those, yet, in his creation they’d somehow missed the fact that they’d created a Breed whose aptitude in their scientific deviations far exceeded their own. He’d taken what had been done in Brandenmore’s research center, watched, manipulated the scientists and techs and, in the end, had almost run the labs himself.
Until Brandenmore had brought in a new head researcher and geneticist. One who had somehow sensed the hold one Bengal male had over everyone there.
Good ol’ Dr. Bennett. Skinny-assed bastard.
Rubbing at his chest, he remembered the feel of Bennett’s fingers wrapped around his beating heart as he gave the soldiers their orders to find “the girl.”
The girl.
He focused his gaze on her once again.
She was the girl. The one who had forced her blood into his veins and allowed the madness to overtake him. That madness had then given birth to the monster as a scientist ordered her recapture with the express intention of lifting her beating heart from her chest as well.
Bennett hadn’t held a beating heart for five years, even his own, and he never would again. Graeme had ripped that organ from Bennett’s chest. Digging his claw-tipped fingers through flesh and cartilage, he’d gripped the pulsing flesh and, as the good doctor watched in helpless horror, ripped it from him.
That memory was one of the best he possessed, though the night it had occurred, when he’d gone t
hrough the labs on a killing spree that left few within them alive, was often hazy.
The monster he’d become that night had been a final, welcome relief. Because that creature had no mercy, no regrets or recriminations. He was pure superior intelligence and primal instinct.
When the monster retreated and the Breed found a measure of sanity, there she had been, the cat that had begun his downfall. And the knowledge that she would always be his downfall.
Gripping the sheet covering her, Graeme eased it slowly down her body, his lips quirking as the frown deepened at her brow.
She should have already awakened.
Were he a Council soldier or Breed, then she would have already been dead. Or raped. Possibly both. Probably both.
But then, no doubt she would have awakened before a threat made it to her bedroom. He’d watched her over the months and he knew her instincts were damned good. The Breed instincts maturing inside her kept her on her toes.
And apparently, trusted him far too well; otherwise she would be clawing rather than stretching sensually beneath his gaze as the sheet cleared her body.
She could have worn one of those sexy nightgowns she owned, he thought in regret at the sight of the loose, sleeveless top and snug cotton pants she slept in. She even wore socks.
A grimace pulled at his lips. He’d have much preferred the sexy nightie, dammit.
Easing back from the bed and moving to the chair she’d placed next to the open balcony doors, he slouched back in the comfortable seat and just stared at her. He let his gaze caress her from her delicate face along the slender column of her neck to the rise of her breasts beneath the thin top.
Nice breasts. A perfect handful and his fingers ached to cup them, stroke them.
The many ways he could amuse himself with those lush, peaked curves tempted the control he exerted over his lusts. He wasn’t accustomed to restraining himself. Whether it be his need for sex or for blood, patience was used only when it made the game more exciting.
Restraining himself would definitely make this game more exciting. So far, maneuvering her into place, pulling the pieces into play and beginning this particular game had called upon more patience than even he had imagined he possessed. The question was, could he maintain it?
Focusing his gaze on her, he let his senses connect with the always alert part of her genetics that marked her as his and called her from sleep. Connecting with her inherent senses had always been particularly easy. Too easy.
• • •
Cat didn’t come awake slowly.
Her eyes snapped open, aware of the presence even before she’d awakened. Furious that her sleeping senses hadn’t awakened her sooner. Could they have warned her first? Hell no. She had to wait until he commanded her to wake up.
“So the cat’s awake.” The growl came from the far corner of the bedroom, directly across from the large bed. Slouched in the chair she’d positioned there for him, just to the side of the opened balcony doors, he watched her like the very dangerous feline he was.
