Styx's Storm

  And he sounded oh so sincere, but there was something in his gaze, some premonition that warned her he would never let her go so easily.

  Styx, the charming Scots red Wolf. He could flow through the night and kill in ways that left his victims screaming long after he had disappeared. Among a very select group of Breed supporters, he was also known as the Scots lover. A man that took physical pleasure to its very limits and left a woman always begging for more.

  And damn her, she had known that about him. Known and been intrigued by his reputation. Intrigued enough that she couldn't resist him herself.

  And now she was paying for it.

  "I don't have what you want." She infused her voice with desperation, lying, though she knew she couldn't completely hide the scent of that lie.

  He chuckled, a low, rough sound filled with amusement and patience.

  "Then I'm verra verra sorry to say, we'll have to step back into this cabin for a while," he stated as his gaze flicked to the Lion Breed at his side. "Jonas, could ye do me the small favor of having a few bars placed on the windows so the lass can't catapult through them so easily? It distresses me mightily to smell the scent of her blood when she wounds herself."

  He gave her a heavy-lashed, wicked look. A look that assured her he wanted her in top physical form for a certain reason.

  And damn her, she shouldn't be blushing at the thought of it, or the memory of his touch.

  "Well now, Styx, you know how I hate to see you distressed. It will be taken care of within the hour." Jonas Wyatt grinned back at her as she threw him a glare.

  There had to be a way out of this. In the past ten years she had escaped every time she had feared she was well and truly caught by either Council or Bureau. Surely there was a way to escape this time as well.

  She gazed around desperately, seeing only marked cool purpose on the Breeds' faces, and the lack of an opening to slip through.

  This couldn't happen. It couldn't end this way.

  She'd awakened from the nightmares of the past. The sight of her brother's throat ripped out, her father begging for mercy, gleaming red eyes and a monster's smile as curved canines descended to her own vulnerable flesh.

  She'd awaken, confused, sweating with fear, and the horrible realization that she couldn't escape whatever was happening to her now. Whatever was going to happen to her. The abnormal reaction, the sense of desperation clawed at her throat and left her gasping for air.

  "Let me go!" She was surprised by the vehemence and the desperation that tore through her voice and came out as an agonized scream.

  All she could see were those wicked curved canines tearing out her brother's throat. All she could feel was the nightmarish touch of them against her neck and the sensation of her blood spurting, her body growing cold in death.

  "Lass, letting you go isna a part of the bargain here." That smile, so charming, so dangerous, had fear cramping her stomach. "So let's be a wee bit reasonable and step into the cabin for a bit o' chocolate coffee and perhaps a bowl of the chicken soup I'm preparing to put on the stove, while we discuss this predicament we find ourselves a part of and perhaps reminisce about the night past."

  Storme could do nothing but blink. Every muscle, every nerve and instinct in her body was demanding action, and the killer standing casually in front of her was suggesting chocolate coffee and sex? Had he lost his ever loving Wolf mind?

  Did he think this was the Internet where he had yet another groupie fawning over his every abbreviated typed word? That she didn't know the training, the years of blood and death, that had created him?

  She had no weapon, there was no way to escape. Her gaze went constantly around the forested area, tracking each Breed surrounding her as she fought to stay in place rather than run in panic.

  "Lass, you can see you're not escapin'," he crooned. "Come on now, let's go chat about this. I bet I could even find a brownie or two to occupy us while we sip at the coffee and argue a bit about your present situation."

  Oh yeah, a brownie was really going to convince her to just give in and cooperate with her own murder.

  "Do I look seven to you? I am not a child to be led to my own murder by a fucking brownie."

  Male appreciation filled his gaze then, a hungry glint of lust brightening the sea blue gaze as his grin shifted to one of anticipation.

  "I must admit, love, you're no' seven. A lovely grown woman you are, and I had hoped one that well understood that if you were gonna die, I'd have just taken care of that little job before bringin' you here. Why then would I wait until you awakened, all soft and warm, afore doing the deed?"

  She snorted at that, her breathing still rough, panicked. "Because you think I have something you want? Because you know there's not a chance in hell I'll trust you now."

  "And why would I kill you now, believin' you have this 'something' that I want?" he asked. "Wouldn't I be inclined to let you live a bit, to give me what I wanted?" His gaze flicked over her breasts, the tops of which were revealed by the low neckline of her T-shirt. "Or perhaps, a bit more." He smiled. A slow, sensual smile that struck at the very core of her sensuality.

  Storme sneered back at him. "You don't have a chance. Enjoy the memories because it won't happen again, Wolf boy."

  His grin widened. "I don't know, pretty girl, I've been planning the next seductive little session we might have. I'd be bettin' that creamy flesh would take the taste of chocolate as though it had been made for it. Should we give it a try?"

  For a second, the image of him licking chocolate from her body flashed through her mind. Decadent dark chocolate that his tongue feasted on, his features twisted in pleasure.

  God, she was as sick as every other groupie this bastard Wolf came across.

  "Let's say not," she snapped.

  The other Breeds should have been distracted, like any other male would be. They should have relaxed their guard and allowed her the second she needed to slip past one of them. Any one of them. She didn't care which.

  "Ms. Montague, would it help if I gave you my personal assurance that you're going to come to no harm here?"

  Storme's gaze flicked back to the director, Jonas Wyatt. There were rumors of this one as well. The one that had struck deepest was the whispered tale of a volcano and the disappearance of several Breed enemies.

  "Made any trips close to volcanoes lately?" She smiled tightly.

  His brows merely lifted, as several Breeds behind her chuckled. He remained comfortably propped against the corner of the cabin, his hands in his slacks, the white silk of his shirt stretched across a broad chest.

  "Lass, I can see you think our director has a fine chest, but I promise you, I can be a rather possessive Breed, and I know you're rather fond of mine."

  Surprise. Shock.

  Bullshit--if Styx was known for anything, it was his lack of possessiveness where a woman was concerned.

  This was not going exactly as she would have foreseen it if she had considered this situation for even a moment.

  Her gaze shifted instinctively back to Styx, though she refused to consider his chest or how much she had enjoyed it the night before. His hair flowed around his face and shoulders like pictures she had seen of Scottish warriors of old. Like the lover that had given her such pleasure that even now her senses reeled from the memory of it.

  Her pussy tightened, clenched. She could feel it creaming, growing slick and wet as the wicked glint in his gaze continued to remind her of his touch.

  His face was hardened, tough, his expression lazily filled with the male knowledge of his own charm, hungers, and his effect on the female of both Breed and human species. Especially his effect on her.

  Soft, scarred boots covered large feet, jeans cupped and molded heavily muscled legs and thighs, while a black T-shirt molded biceps, chest and an eight-pack most men would kill for.

  "There you go, love, I like the attention much more than our fine director," he said and chuckled knowingly.

  She would have no
better chance. These Breeds weren't going to relax; the only chance she had was to throw them off guard. She had no weapon; she had nothing but her ability to move, to run, and there wasn't a chance in hell she would make it.

  She jumped.

  Moving to avoid the crouched Wolf Breed Storme sprinted to the side, kept low and thought to slide between two of the Breeds on the far end of the circle as they moved to block her.

  They fell back, and she knew she was screwed.

  The harsh growl behind her had the others backing away as she sped past them, racing for the narrow lane that led to the exit and the road away from Haven.

  She didn't run for the forest; either way she went, she knew she didn't have a chance without divine intervention. And divine intervention wasn't coming.

  She was weak. She was tired. She could feel her muscles giving out on her; weeks of exhaustion and too little food had caught up with her.

  She had a million excuses, but what it came down to was the fact that she had known it was a useless effort. She had made it no more than perhaps thirty feet when she felt the hard manacled arm that came around her waist, restraining her, and felt herself lifted up and back against a hard, broad chest.

  "No!" The rage that tore from her throat was harsh, tearing at her vocal chords as she felt tears of anger falling from her eyes.

  "Lass, ease up." Gentle, crooning, his lips at her ear, the Scots Wolf restrained her arms at her side and turned to head back to the cabin.

  She kicked, she screamed. Rage and terror whipped through her system as she tried to fight, only to find each move blocked, the training she had gained over the years ineffective in the face of her own weakness, and the strength of the Breed holding her.

  "Tell you what, we'll get some food in you, a few cups of coffee, some rest, and you can try it again," he suggested, and she was certain the good-natured tone of his voice was no more than a lie.

  He was enjoying this; she could feel it, sense it. Just as he would enjoy killing her.

  "You bastard! Fucking monster," she screamed. "I hope you die. I hope all of you die. You should have never been created ..." She sobbed as he stepped onto the porch and moved into the cabin. "Just kill me now."

  "Would you stop the damned caterwauling, lass." He strode through the cabin before yelling behind him, "Jonas, get Nikki up here. She's bleedin'."

  She tried to claw at his arms, his hands, but the hold he had on her kept her from scratching. She slammed her head back and only met his shoulder, not his chin or his face as she'd hoped.

  She tried to kick, but he evaded each swing of her legs until he reached the bed and threw her onto it.

  "Like hell!" Coming off the bed, her only thought was to go back through the window, to escape the only way she knew how.

  With a casual little push against her shoulders, he effectively managed to put her on her back as she fell.

  Rage was burning inside her like wildfire. It whipped through her exhausted mind, stealing her ability to do anything but to hate and to fear.

  They were playing with her and she knew it.

  She rolled to the other side of the bed. There was another window, another way out.

  Hard fingers at her ankle jerked her back, holding her to the bed as she flipped to her back and tried to kick furiously at the restraining fingers locked around her, keeping her on the bed.

  "You could always tie her to the bed," an amused male voice pointed out.

  Storme's gaze sliced to the doorway. "You monster!" she screamed at the Bureau director. "You won't win. You won't be able to kill everyone who knows what you are."

  "It's a very nice thought though." He shrugged as Storme collapsed in exhaustion, hatred still spilling through her as she regarded him with a bitter sneer.

  "Jonas, you're no' helping matters," Styx muttered, her lungs laboring as she fought to breathe through the panic assailing her.

  "I'm not trying to help matters, Wolf." Irritation filled his voice as Storme kicked once again at the Breed holding her. "You're not going to be able to reason with her. Do you smell the terror rolling off her? She's beyond reason, Styx."

  "Enough, Jonas."

  She was not beyond reason. She was never beyond humanity.

  "There's no reasoning with you," she sobbed, coming halfway off the bed to slap at the Breed holding her, only to have him push her back once again. "You're animals. Rabid, vicious animals that know nothing but killing. Nothing but death."

  "Because we were given nothing but death." Styx was suddenly in her face, his lips pulled back from his teeth, canines sharp and wicked, snapping mere inches from her. "Your father helped create us. Your brother helped train us. We were given nothing but death, horror and pain, and you expect us to lie back and politely ask for more?"

  "I expect you not to kill those helping you," she screamed.

  "Call another Breed an animal again in front of me, and as God is my witness I will paddle your ass red." Those teeth snapped again. "You have no fear of death from me, you vicious little wretch. What you should fear though is being treated as the child you appear to be."

  He released her.

  Storme stared up at him in shock as he stood next to the bed, staring down at her as though he were no more than irritated over a child's antics.

  "Dr. Armani's coming up the drive now, Styx," Jonas announced, the clear amusement in his voice drawing another glare from her. "You might want to get her out of those jeans before she gets here. I'd hate for Nikki to have to suffer those quick little feet for doing a good deed."

  He didn't say a word. Before Storme could fight back, he tore apart the snap and zipper of her jeans, and before she could do more than rasp out a shocked "What ...," the jeans were coming off her legs, only to come to a stop at her boots.

  Gripping the hem of the denim, she fought to cover the fact that she was completely naked beneath the jeans as he gripped one foot then the other and within seconds jerked the boots from her feet.

  There was no way to fight him.

  Furious tears rolled down her cheeks as she tried, only to find every move she made completely ineffective against him.

  He didn't speak, he didn't argue with her, and he didn't demand she undress. He simply undressed her, as though she were the child he had accused her of being and he was tired of arguing the matter.

  Storme found herself jerking the blanket from the bottom of the bed to cover the nakedness of her lower body as she sat on the mattress, glaring up at him with all the ineffective fury and fear that had ever raced through her system.

  "Someone needs to do something about the stink of her fear," Jonas sighed. "Should I give her a reason to be afraid, do you think?"

  "Shut up, Jonas." The muttered order drew Storme's gaze back to the irritated Wolf Breed that watched her with lush, heavily lashed eyes and a stern irritation in his gaze.

  Her lips parted to throw a string of insults at him that would have withered even the worst of the filthy creatures that had been "created."

  His finger came up with a sharp growl from his throat. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm joking about that paddling," he warned her. "It will happen."

  As he stepped back, another, lower growl rumbled in his chest as the dark-skinned, braided doctor entered the room.

  Storme stared at her silently. Dr. Nikki Armani. She was human. A child protege for the Council when she had worked for them. She had learned Breed genetics at her father's knee as a young girl and trained under the best scientists at several labs. For a brief time, she had even been in the Andes lab, several years before the Breed rescues.

  "Keep her away from me." She was the enemy, just as the Breeds were, just as the Council was.

  Storme's gaze slashed back to the red Wolf, the overwhelming fury that enveloped her burning through her mind. "Don't let her touch me."

  "Shall I hold you down while she repairs that gash you just tore into your hip?" he snapped. "Settle your ass down or that's exactly what I'll do."
/>
  The gash?

  Her gaze went to the flesh burning high on her hip, and her eyes widened. It was deep and bleeding sluggishly, while the flesh around it appeared to be bruising heavily.

  It was at least four inches long and, judging by the amount of blood soaking into the sheets, deep enough to have been dangerous.

  This was why she was so weak, why she couldn't fight. She was losing too much blood to maintain her strength and energy. Storme bit at her lip and felt another sob as it trembled through her chest.

  "How are you going to escape, Storme, if you don't allow yourself to heal first?" Nikki snapped, her dark brown gaze cool and at odds with the harsh sound of her voice.

  "Let me go and I'll show you." She pushed between clenched teeth.

  "Then it wouldn't be an escape, would it?" Nikki asked, the sarcasm in her tone raking against the anger surging through Storme. "Now, let me fix that wound, then we'll see if we can't do something to keep you from tearing it loose before it heals. Wasting my time isn't something I enjoy doing."

  Storme remained still, silent. Turning to her side, she allowed the doctor access to her thigh, despite the fear shuddering through her system.

  As the doctor leaned closer, Storme whispered, "They'll kill me," trying to appeal to whatever compassion or mercy might lurk beneath the appearance of competenance.

  "If they were going to kill you, then you would be dead." The doctor's voice was harder now, lacking either mercy or sympathy.

  Storme knew there were those people who believed the Breeds could do no wrong, who thought the trials they had suffered in those labs had given the Breeds license to kill as they chose.

  The world was slowly becoming divided over Breed rights. Were they animal or human? Should they be allowed freedom or be contained once again?

  As far as Storme was concerned, they should be shipped to another planet where they could never harm another human simply because they had the ability to do so.

  She fought back the sobs that would have escaped her throat at the memory, still so vivid, of the Breed bending his head, his canines digging into her brother's throat before ripping it from his neck. The blood that covered his face, that spurted from her brother's neck. The rage and sorrow in her father's face and the desperation that filled his gaze.

  Her father and brother had tried to help the Breeds. They had worked for years to deceive the Genetics Council and they had died for it. She had lost everything she loved, everything she had known of security in her life because of those monsters.

  She ignored the pain at her thigh as the doctor cleaned the wound and repaired it once again. She held back the rage that screamed inside her, that tunneled through her muscles, tightening them, pulling at them, demanding that she do something, anything. That she hurt them as much as they had hurt her.

  Styx stared at the trembling young woman, her back to him, the soft bare curves of her lovely ass leading to the creamy, satin flesh of her bloodstained thigh.

  This, unfortunately, was one of the side effects of the tranquilizers Ghost Team used. Styx had forgotten the paranoia that affected some humans when they were given the drug. A variety of conditions could make it worse, chief among them anemia, exhaustion, dehydration.

  He could see her trying to fight it, but sweet wee lass, she was too tired, too weak to do much more than give in to the rage she kept bottled up the majority of the time.

  Nikki blocked much of the sight of her, but nothing could block the scents that rolled from her. The smell of such bitter agony that it was almost acrid. Pain. Horror. Rage. They lay inside her like a festering wound as she fought to hold on to the control that restrained her trembling lips.

  Breathing in deeply, he turned back to Jonas, giving a quick nod as the director jerked his head in the direction of the living room.

  Styx followed him from the room, but only because he was aware of the Breeds outside the windows securing the black iron bars to the openings.

  He hated being closed in, but damned if he was going to have her jumping out of windows every chance she had. At this rate, there wouldn't be a piece of glass left in his windows, and replacing them actually wasn't something he was looking forward to.

  "I forgot about the fucking tranquilizer," he growled as they moved to the kitchen.

  Jonas gave a hard nod. "And she evidently has all the weaknesses that make the symptoms worse. Though I have to give her credit." A grin tugged at his lips. "She's more restrained than some of the human soldiers stationed here at Haven and at Sanctuary. We dose them with it before they begin their duties, to accurately predict any resentment they harbor against the Breeds."

  Styx could see where it would be a proper indicator.

  "Her father's and brother's throats were ripped out by a Coyote Breed," Jonas muttered as he moved back to the coffeepot, the controlled fury that invaded his body making him appear more lethally dangerous than ever before. "I told you I suspect she was watching as they died." Jonas breathed out as he turned back to Styx. "She's been running from Council Coyotes for years, refusing to trust us, suffering the death of any friend she may have even considered having. They were brutal, Styx. Honestly, I'm surprised we're not having to restrain her."

  She had suffered because of Jonas's pride where the Breeds were concerned. Because he had a basic resentment toward any human who feared them.

  "And you didn't fucking pull her out of it?" he snarled back at the director. "You could have, at any time."

  The thought of that enraged him. That Jonas had allowed such a young woman to live such a life. But hell, for two years Styx had chased after her, always standing back, protecting her yet never pulling her into the safety of Haven or forcing her to release her fears of the Breeds.

  "I found her when she was nineteen, Styx. I've kept in contact with her; I've made offer after offer to protect her, to help her, with or without the information I know she has. She's refused. She's terrified of Breeds, and rightly so. It wasn't just Coyotes that the Council sent after her. They sent Lions, and they sent a Wolf." Jonas's expression hardened. "They reached her before I did. I was able to help her escape, but while I was dealing with the bastards sent after her, she slipped out of my grasp every time."

  Styx bit off a snarl that would have easily carried into the other room had he not throttled it.

  He could imagine the hell her life had been. For years after the rescues had begun, there were still those Breeds under Council control for one reason or another. Hell, even now, more than thirteen years later, there were rumors of a few shadow Breeds other than Coyotes that the Council retained.

  "We captured her easily enough last night ..."