His Darkest Hunger (Jaguar Warriors 1)

egs quickly eating up the ground as he passed the greenery to continue down the hall to his right. There was a series of rooms down here. They were in fact interrogation rooms, but one had a bed, so she’d be comfortable.

He could leave Libby there and not worry about her trying to escape, as the heavy steel doors came equipped with locks that couldn’t be breached by a human, or otherwise. They were supposedly both charm safe and bomb safe. The only way to open them, once locked, was with a series of codes.

Declan O’Hara had managed to open them several times, from the inside, just to annoy the hell out of Jaxon, and he’d not given up his secrets.

Jaxon stepped into the cold room, wincing as the harsh lights flickered on, enhancing the dull, muted space. He shrugged; beggars couldn’t be choosers, and right now Libby Jamieson was at his mercy.

He lowered her to the bed, keeping her body tucked into the blanket. She immediately rolled to her side, and he had the distinct impression that she was no longer asleep. Her long blond hair was a mess about her head, the once lustrous tendrils devoid of shine and health. They hid her face from view, and he stepped away, turning his back to the woman who’d once been his lover.

He left her there, without a word, and smiled in satisfaction as the heavy clang locked her in. He’d left only the day before to put a bullet in her head, but it was somehow much more fitting that she was here, in New York City, and she would know the wrath of a Castille.

She would learn what it was to cross a jaguar. For an animal like Jaxon, the hunt wasn’t over until his enemy was dead.

Despite the fact that she had momentarily aroused his dormant softer side, Libby Jamieson was still his enemy. That someone had used her to get to him only bought her a bit of breathing room. Her reckoning would come. Once he flushed out the bastard that had taken a hit out on him, he would turn all of his energies toward Libby.

And she would suffer as he had. Whatever she’d been through in the last three years would be nothing compared to the wrath he would bring down on her head.

No one crossed a Castille and lived to tell the tale. No one.

He left her and ignored the soft whispers that clung to the edge of reason that still lived in his head. The ones that told him he was no better than them.

The familiar scent of Declan O’Hara wafted toward him as he made his way around the center of the atrium and headed to the hub of operations. It was a huge room, full of state-of-the-art computers and surveillance equipment, with another chamber deeper in, filled to the brink with an eclectic collection of weaponry.

Weapons that could kill humans but for the most part were specialized for use against vamps, wolves, shifters of all sorts, and magicks.

Jaxon could command a small army from here, and he’d indeed done just that many times in the past.

As his eyes alighted on the tall man leaning over a computer screen, a genuine smile transformed his harsh features into the handsome man that he was.

Declan O’Hara had been part of this unit long before Diego even recruited Jaxon. He was a man of mystery, and one with a dangerous edge. He was a formidable opponent who not only was a great soldier, but had a powerful command of magick. He’d been known to dabble in the dark arts when the occasion called for it.

Jaxon didn’t know much about his personal life, only that his father had been a warlock cast out of his coven for using the dark arts. He’d always believed there was more to the story, but Declan had never volunteered and he’d never asked.

A man should be allowed to keep his personal shit to himself.

“Where is she?”

Declan turned from the task he was performing, his face dark and unreadable. Jaxon could well understand his hatred toward Libby. They all felt it.

The day Diego had died, Declan attempted to use dark magick to bring him back, but the sacrifice would have been too much, and Jaxon stopped him. He had seen the struggle, the darkness growing inside, and knew if Declan was successful, he would be doomed.

The dark magick would have claimed him. Such was the delicate line between good and evil. Between love and hate.

Jaxon’s smile faded and he wondered, for the first time, if he would have been able to carry through with his intent to take Libby out. What if she’d not looked out into the darkness at him? Would he have pulled the trigger and left her there to die?

“Christ, Jax, don’t tell me she’s gotten to you already? What did she do? Bat those baby blues and open her legs for you?”

“Her eyes are violet.”

Jaxon’s voice was deadly in its softness, and it was obvious that Declan knew he’d crossed the line. Tense silence filled the space between them until Declan turned back to the computer screen. “Is she in one of the interrogation rooms?”

“Yeah, and you’re not to go anywhere near her until I say so.”

Declan ignored the last comment as he rubbed his eyes wearily. He pushed his fingers through the thick wavy hair he left long, curling around his neck. He certainly did not look military, but the lean and muscled frame beneath the faded jeans and T-shirt became one hell of a fighting machine when in combat. He could kick most anyone’s ass.

“I tried to make sense of the transmission you received but I have no freaking clue where it originated. You’ll have to get Ana to look at it,” Declan said.

The dark green eyes turned into hard emeralds as his face narrowed in anger. “I’ll tell you one thing, Jax. Your intel came from someone with the highest level security clearance. Maybe whoever it was just covered all the bases and had a second player in motion, in case you couldn’t complete the mission. Which, I hate to point out, you didn’t.” Declan ignored the black eyes throwing flames of anger his way. “Maybe the shot was just a coincidence.”