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• CHAPTER 7 •
Like a bit of help?
He was kidding, right?
Damn him, she’d known he would gloat when the insanity took hold of him. He just had to show all that superior attitude before helping her off the damned floor and getting rid of the trash downstairs.
She’d call him an ass, but it didn’t apply.
Graeme had moved past the ass phase at fourteen, surpassed prick before he was fifteen and made maniac look like a picnic by the time he was seventeen. Now, at thirty-six and in the grip of a rage that was far beyond primal, he was simply asinine. Insane and asinine
Cat wanted to scream at him. She needed to curse him. If she managed to get out of this she was going to . . . what?
It wouldn’t exactly do her any good to tell Mommy on him, now, would it.
She didn’t have one.
Dammit.
The bastard moved lower, practically lying down on the carpet beside her so he could stare into her eyes.
So she could stare into his eyes.
A hard amber flecked with jungle green glittering like fire and obliterating both the pupil and the whites of his eyes stared back at her. Black stripes bisected his bronzed flesh, primal stripes, they were called. A Bengal’s primal marks would show up along his body from face to ankle. The sight of it would be completely sexy, she thought, irritated that she’d even considered such a thing.
He just stared at her for what seemed forever. He didn’t smirk, didn’t sneer, just stared back at her. She’d never known this part of him. She’d sensed it a few times at the research center, lurking beneath the killing rage, but it had never really emerged. And now that she was seeing it, she fully understood why his name could cause the Council’s scientists to tremble in fear. What had Dr. Foster created when he created this creature.
Graeme shook his head then, his expression one of mocking disapproval. “I’m so disappointed. I trained you better, little cat. Much better. What the hell happened?”
Disappointed? He was disappointed?
A heavy breath left his lips when she didn’t speak. But then, the asshole knew she couldn’t speak.
She hated him! Right now, she simply hated him.
“Come on, baby, let’s get you off the floor.” He finally lifted himself to a crouch beside her, his arms sliding beneath her to lift her against him.
She was boneless. Unable to stiffen, to speak or even to scream as the weight of her hand began settling in her wrist.
The agony was indescribable.
Reality receded just a bit. Everything flashed and exploded around her as the pain detonated along her nervous system, amplified by the paralytic and exploding over and over again through her senses.
For a second, Graeme froze. Then carefully, very carefully, as agonized, silent howls of shattering pain reverberated through her head, he slid one arm beneath her wrist to support it.
His eyes were locked on hers as he lifted her, watching her, and she wondered if he could see the pain there. If he could sense not just her but the animal inside her screaming in agony.
Oh God, it hurts. Oh God, G . . . mindlessly she cried out for him as she always had in the labs.
As she often did in her nightmares.
A hard growl, rife with rage, rumbled from the chest she was held against.
They’ll die for this, little cat, the words whispered through her mind, shocking her with his ability to connect with her there. They will die painfully.
He laid her on her bed, settling her head against her pillow, his gaze still connected to hers. Gently, almost reverently, he settled her arm to the bed last, ensuring her wrist was cushioned to ease the pain as much as possible.
“Poor little cat, my Cat.” His tone grated with guttural fury. “That’s okay, baby, they’ll never have a chance to hurt you again.”
