The sound of a door slamming against the wall ricocheted through the long corridor outside the Council chambers. The fury on Core’s face caused several warriors standing outside the room to move out of his way very quickly. They warily watched him stalk past them. His white-knuckled grip on the sword at his side gave them ample reason to worry.

“Core…” Merrick called out behind him.

He ignored his cousin. Pain, desperation and rage swept through him. He was very close to losing what little control he still had after the hour-long argument with the Council. He heard a pair of booted feet following him.

He turned and pushed open the doors leading out to the central gardens. Stepping outside, he crossed the veranda and descended the steps. He needed a moment alone.

“Core!”

This time it was Teriff’s voice that called out to him. He slowed his footsteps and came to a halt. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension as he waited for Merrick and Teriff to catch up with him.

Turning, he scowled at his cousin when Merrick took his left side while Teriff took his right. Merrick looked down at Core’s fingers with a pointed glance. He grimaced and loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword. His rage was not directed at them, but at the other men who were currently debating his and Avery’s future. He flexed his fingers and forced himself to relax.

“How much longer must they contemplate whether it is a good idea to continue using the Gateway device? It’s been almost two weeks,” Core growled under his breath.

“I know,” Merrick replied with a sympathetic look.

“If the Council tries to deny the use of the Gateway, there will be a planet-wide revolt and they know that,” Teriff said. “Too many warriors—especially from the different clans—now know there is a world where there are many potential bond mates. You know as well as we do that the clans will not allow this opportunity to be denied without a fight. You have Merrick’s and my vote.”

Core lowered his head and took in a deep, calming breath. The unease inside him was growing. He knew a portion of it had to do with his separation from Avery, but there was something else as well.

“They know she is my bond mate. They know what will happen if they continue to keep us apart,” he said. He lifted his head and looked at Teriff. “She must know by now how powerful our connection is—and how difficult it will be for us to be separated.”

“The Council promised to vote this evening,” Teriff replied. “If they refuse, I will make the decision. I prefer not to, because I can’t kill the opposing members of the council and they will make sure there are consequences for overriding them. There are some days that I miss the old ways when we just battled it out until the last warrior was standing,” Teriff stated with a sardonic grin.

Core nodded, feeling hope for the first time in more than two weeks of meetings with the Council. He turned his head and nodded to Merrick when he felt his cousin squeeze his arm in support.

“You’ll bring her back here,” Merrick said with a confident nod, “or I’ll help Teriff battle the others.”

Core dryly chuckled. “I would help you,” he replied.

Remote island off of the South Atlantic Ocean:

Avery stared out of the window of her prison cell. The miniature fortress sat on the edge of a cliff. She could see a line of jagged rocks rising from the churning ocean below. The artificially heated room was evidence that outside temperatures were frigid. There was no escaping—at least not from this room. The walls were thick stone, and the windows had reinforced polycarbonate on the inside of the double pane. Even if she could break through the glass, she would face certain death by either falling to the rocks below or plummeting into the freezing, turbulent waters.

It’d been almost ten full days since she’d woken here. Over the course of the last seven evenings, all she’d learned was that she was being held on a remote island somewhere in the Southern Hemisphere.

Avery turned and looked at the door to the elegant accommodations. The interior door was a grate of thick iron bars. The outer door was beautifully carved wood. No one would know from the outside corridor that this room was a prison cell.

Avery smoothed her beautiful red evening gown. Markham was a misogynist with delusions of grandeur, and he expected her to dress in the designer gowns for their formal evening meals.

Once every evening she was escorted out of the cell so that she could join her captor for dinner. She had learned the first night that her attendance was not optional. When she had tried to resist, she was chained—and beaten.

She had to give Markham credit. He was good at torture. He’d kept the bruising to a minimum while making sure that she felt what he’d done every time she moved. After the third day, she realized that resisting didn’t serve her best interests. There’d be no way to escape if she was physically incapable of moving.

Her lips tightened when she heard the key in the door. She would entertain the bastard—right up until she slid a knife between his ribs. Avery smiled slightly at her bloodthirsty thoughts. She was sure Markham wouldn’t find them nearly as funny as she did.

The bloodstains will go well with this gown’s color, she thought with morbid amusement.

Her smile faded when her gaze locked on the pleased look on Markham’s face. The bastard was definitely up to something.

“Time for dinner,” he stated, unlocking her cell door.

She walked with her head held high. No matter what happened, she would never give this asshole the satisfaction of feeling completely in control. She started to step through the doorway when she felt his hand on her arm. Her body stiffened at his touch and she turned her head to glare at him.

“You look very lovely tonight, Ms. Lennox,” he murmured.

Her lips pursed together. Her suspicions bloomed faster than the finale at a Fourth of July firework show. There was something different about him tonight—he almost exuded a sense of anticipation.

“I thought tonight we would dine in my personal study,” he commented.

Avery fell in step beside him as he guided her down the corridor. Today, six men kept pace with them. She paused when they proceeded past the grand staircase that led down to the lower level, and she frowned when she saw another six men carrying large containers into the foyer. One man stepped forward and opened one of the long black crates. She immediately recognized the wide assortment of munitions inside. The man looked up at her. His eyes flashed to Markham before he returned his attention to the crate and closed the lid.

“This way,” Markham ordered.

Avery started walking again when he firmly tugged on her arm. They strolled down the corridor to the very end where a pair of oversized double doors stood open. Through the doorway, Avery could see a large, heavily carved desk made of dark wood—perhaps mahogany. Above it was a painting of a woman who appeared to be in her early sixties. The woman would have been timeless if not for her clothing and her gun. On either side of her were the sprawled bodies of a male lion and a lioness.

Avery stepped inside and took a moment to scan the room. In front of the massive stone fireplace and its cheery fire was a small dining table set for two. The room took up the entire west side of the upper floor of the fortress. On each side of the fireplace stood a stag, the pair forever frozen in mid flight.

The room was filled with trophies of big and small game alike. Distaste filled her when she saw the number of endangered animals among the mounts. Her eyes widened when she saw a perfect replica of the woman, the lion, and the lioness in one large clear display case.

She walked over to the case to examine it. The three were posed as if they were waiting for the artist to finish his painting. Her eyes moved from the display case to the painting and back again. With a horrified fascination, she realized that the body of the woman in the case was as real as the two lions she had killed. A shudder ran through her.

“She was a fascinating woman,” Markham remarked.

Avery schooled her features to hide her growing unease, and looked up at Markham when he came to stand beside her. He held out a glass of red wine. Her gaze moved to the glass and she reluctantly took the goblet from his hand, then turned back to the gruesome display.

“Who was she?” she inquired.

“Priscilla Housing—my mother. Weston’s too, of course,” he replied.

She watched as Markham raised his glass in a toast to the dead woman before he took a sip. He turned to look down at Avery, his lips curved in a smile that did not reach his dark eyes.

“She was a true sadistic bitch,” he added.

When he began walking along the line of cases that filled more than half the room, Avery followed him, all of her instincts on Code Red alert.

“Why…? Why keep her like this?” she asked.

Markham looked at her and shrugged. “She was the very essence of Diana, Goddess of the Hunt. She was the predator who never missed her target. When her reign ended, it seemed only fitting that she live on like the prey she immortalized,” he explained.

…Wow, Avery thought. This man redefined ‘major mommy issues’.

Avery looked back at the display case with a grimace. “The painting of her wasn’t enough?” she asked.

Markham turned to face her. There was no expression on his face, but his eyes—there was something just not right in his eyes.

“A painting is two dimensional. Priscilla Housing was anything but a two-dimensional woman. She hunted and killed this lion and lioness, but only after she had killed the rest of the pride,” he said reverently. “The true joy comes not in the kill, but in the hunt, Ms. Lennox. When you triumph over a predator as cunning as yourself, it is only right that you preserve your victory as a trophy,” he stated.

A disturbing understanding swept through her. “You… killed her. You murdered your mother?” she whispered.

Markham shook his head. “No, I hunted her… and proved I was the top predator,” he replied.

Avery stood frozen as Markham paused by several empty display cases. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand as he removed a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped at an imaginary smudge on the clear surface. The plaque on the display read:

Markham pocketed the small, rectangular cloth and turned to gaze back at her. Nausea rose in her throat.

“Dinner is served,” he announced.

She stepped to the side as he walked by her, unable to do anything for a moment but stare at Markham. He waited by her chair as the servant placed their meal on the table, his eyes locked on her face. Avery knew from his satisfied expression that she hadn’t been successful at hiding her horror and revulsion.

She lifted her chin. She had to get out of here. There was no way in hell that she was going to end up as an exhibit in this bastard’s House of Horrors! Her gaze drifted over Priscilla Housing’s body as she walked past her. Fear turned into a cold, determined rage. She lifted the glass of wine to her lips and took a sip before she placed it on the table by her dinner and gracefully sank into the chair that Markham had pulled out for her.

He walked around the table and sat down in his seat. She waited for him to pick up his spoon before she reached for hers. Avery slowly stirred the chilled Green Tomato and Crabmeat soup. Her spoon paused when he spoke again.

“So, tell me everything you know about your alien, Ms. Lennox,” he calmly ordered.