Chapter Three
Taber rolled his shoulders as the late spring rays of the sun speared through the window behind him, soaking through the cloth of his shirt and heating the flesh beneath. It was the next best thing to being outside, and all he could allow himself for the moment.
Being trapped within the confines of the mansion the Feline Pride now lived in shouldn’t have been considered a hardship. Spacious though it was, the walls seemed to close in on him, the confinement pricking at his mind, reminding him of things best left forgotten. And as always, when he sought to escape the memories of his creation and his time spent confined in labs, tested, poked and prodded, his thoughts went to her.
Deep blue eyes, skin as soft and silky as a dream, the heat of her arousal burning through his mind.
Roni. In the past few weeks, thoughts of her had been stronger than ever before.
His need for her was only growing rather than diminishing, as he thought it would. And that worried him.
He knew many of the details of Callan’s mating with Merinus. Knew the signs. He had carried those symptoms for over a year, just not as extreme, not as strong. But then, he hadn’t kissed his mate. He hadn’t allowed the potent hormone to release into her body in the same way.
If she was his mate, then she carried his mark. Not once in the months that had passed before his move from Sandy Hook had he been close enough to her to remember if the slight, never-healing wound marred the flesh of her shoulder.
Not that he would have been looking for it. But getting close to her had been impossible.
She didn’t talk to him. If she saw him coming she went the other way. If he caught her gaze then fury lit hers, sparkling with female ire as he tried to sort out the cause of her anger.
Hadn’t he honored her wish that he leave her be? He hadn’t called her, hadn’t visited her. He didn’t speak if he happened to pass her. What right did she have to be angry?
What right did he have to care?
Surely if he had marked her, some signs would be apparent. Hell, Merinus had been in such pain during the early phase of it that if Doc Martin hadn’t suspected its cause, they would have likely had to hospitalize her.
Roni hadn’t even been in to see a doctor.
Taber had always kept up with news on her. She had shown no unusual illnesses, nor had the records he had checked months before shown any hospitalizations.
She seemed completely unaffected by those moments he’d held her in his arms.
Yet his body ached for her. Ached in ways that left him frustrated and irritable, barely able to keep his mind on the job he should be doing, rather than worrying about the woman he wanted to do.
As he turned his gaze back to the printout in front of him, the office door burst open.
“Turn on the news.” Sherra rushed into the large office Callan and Taber shared within the mansion the Genetics Council had once owned. The one-hundred-fifty-acre estate in the mountains of Virginia had been deeded to the Feline Breeds, with Callan and Taber named as overseers for the time being until a Pride governorship could be formed. Which would be years down the road.
Taber looked up as Sherra snagged the television remote and turned on the large plasma screen television that hung from the opposite wall. Irritation flashed across his senses at the disturbance.
They had three reports of yet more Feline Breeds coming in, but even more disturbing were the reports of other various Breeds that had been created.
Tracking down the rumors and basing them in fact was a tedious process. Reading through the odd codes the Council soldiers used and the myriad transmissions they were catching was even harder. He didn’t have time for another news report.
The picture that flashed across the screen froze everything inside him, though.
The eager eyes and excited voice of the journalist chilled the blood in his veins. But the face of the woman had a growl rumbling in his chest.
“Veronica Andrews, part time mechanic and accountant in Sandy Hook, also carries the mark of the creatures known as the Feline Breeds . . . ” Roni’s shirt was ripped, her voice hoarse as she cried out in pain and the camera locked onto the small, bruise-like mark that marred her shoulder.
Taber came slowly to his feet, shock resounding through his body as the events of that stolen day surged through his mind; his mouth on her flesh, his canines raking across the area as he suckled at the skin, his tongue laving it. The taste of her had gone to his head faster than liquor. Even now, fifteen months later, she haunted his senses.
“Miss Andrews, how does it feel to be mated to an animal?” Another reporter drowned out her cries as she clawed and kicked to be free. The eager, almost fanatic expressions of the reporters and onlookers sickened him.
The fear in her expression tightened into a coil of rage in his stomach. How dare they touch her? Hold her still for their barbaric displays?
He snarled silently, a promise of retribution searing through his brain.
It was one of the most horrific scenes Taber had ever witnessed in his life.
Veronica’s eyes were nearly black with shock and pain as rough hands tried to hold her still, pushing at her head to show the mark in stark relief as the journalist droned on about the supposed mating habits of the Breeds.
He drew slowly closer, his eyes centered on that mark . . . his mark, his woman. He felt his heart beating sluggishly, the blood boiling in his veins at the sight of hands—male hands—holding her still as she fought, bruising the delicate skin they gripped.
He was barely aware of the growls rumbling from his chest, stark and animalistic, as he watched.
“Let her go, you bastards!” A familiar male voice joined the melee as one of the employees of the auto parts store jerked back several of those holding her, slamming them into the wall behind him.
It gave Veronica her chance to break free. She didn’t hesitate as she began to run. The camera followed her, showing the burly storeowner yelling at her, waving her to the parts truck parked to the side. She dived into it, only seconds ahead of the enraged journalists.
The camera zoomed in through the closed window as she glanced back. Her expression was stark with terror, her eyes glassy, tear-filled, her shirt nearly ripped from her body, bruises showing on her arms and the upper curves of her breasts.
Every mating instinct in Taber’s body went into overdrive. He had known years before that Roni was different, special. That something about her drew him as nothing else ever had. Staying away from her as she asked him to do had been the hardest thing in his life. Staying away from her now would be impossible.
“I need Tanner and Cabal.” The rough Bengal Breeds were as charming and yet as savage as Taber himself could be. “Sherra . . . ”
“I’m on it.” She already had the phone to her ear, barking out orders for weapons, supplies, and a heli-flight into the county that would take little more than an hour, as opposed to a day’s drive. “I’ll have you ready to go in twenty minutes,” she called out to him.
He watched the truck tip as it turned a sharp corner, took out a fence and disappeared up an alley. The transmission was a live feed and broadcasted internationally. He cursed softly. Every fucking scientist and Genetics Council soldier was most likely watching the same display. And he knew damned good and well several of those soldiers were placed in Sandy Hook.
John O’Brien was a good man. His friendship with Callan had stood through the news reports and the rumors that had gone crazy over the months. But he was still just one man, and despite his army training, he was no match for the men the Council would have in place.
“Callan. Get someone on her,” he called to his Pride leader almost absently, feeling as though the world was centered on the replay of the attack.
“Got it, Taber.” Callan’s voice was hard, dangerously cold. “O’Brien’s with her; he’s good. I have a pretty good idea where he’ll head, and I’ll contact him when you get airborne.”
“Helicopter’s warming up, Taber,” Sherra reported. “It’s being loaded. Tanner and Cabal are heading out to it now. Everything’s a go.”
Taber’s eyes narrowed as he memorized the faces of the men holding her. A few were citizens of the small county where she had grown up; the other two were strangers. They would all pay.
Roni’s scream echoed around him again, her eyes large, terrorized, her face pale. His fists clenched in fury and only then did he become aware of the low, ominous growls issuing from his throat.
He didn’t speak before leaving the room. He turned on his heel and headed quickly out of the office to the front door of the three-story mansion. Outside, a Jeep awaited him. The young Feline Breed driving it pressed the gas to the floor as he sped to the landing pad where the helicopter awaited.
“Good luck,” the younger Breed called out as Taber jumped from the Jeep and headed to the waiting aircraft.
He ducked as he ran to the open door of the small, sleek little copter and jumped inside. Fifteen months he had waited, never certain, unwilling to force his life on any woman, but especially one he had tried for so long to protect.
“Ready,” he yelled out as Tanner glanced back from the cockpit.
He pulled the headphones over his head, strapped in and braced himself as they lifted off. Every second it took to get to her now was too long.
A smile edged his lips. He had respected her wishes over the months because he was unaware of the instinctive mating process. Now the beast inside was free to claim what was his. She could rage, she could bitch, she could hate him until hell froze over and cracked wide open. But she was his. And soon—very soon—she would find there was no longer a choice . . . for either of them.