Libby stumbled away from him, her legs wobbly and barely holding her upright.
She was covered in blood. Dully, she glanced down at the body of Alexio DaCosta, before returning to the dark eyes of her former lover. He too had sustained injuries, no doubt fighting the fellow shifters that DaCosta would have brought with him.
Pity they’d not done more damage.
Oh, yeah, Alexio was right. Her memories were fully intact.
Ana and Declan rushed into the cabin, both shouting in surprise at the carnage and stopping in their tracks at the sight of so much blood.
Libby ignored all three of them and limped toward the bathroom. She would clean herself up and then plan a course of action.
Jaxon reached for her as she passed him, and she hissed sharply, the deadly venom in her voice cutting through the air.
“Don’t touch me.” She couldn’t look at him as she continued on toward the hall.
No one would stop her this time.
She would make Jaxon Castille pay dearly for the wrongs he’d committed against her.
But first she needed to find her son.
Chapter 14
Jaxon’s heart felt about to burst, so great was the adrenaline rush that had fueled his run to the cabin. His chest heaved with the effort it took to control the fury that emanated off him in waves. His hands were coiled into tight balls of flesh, and he paced back and forth, so full of the need to act, to kill, that it was painful.
To think that someone had the balls to come after Libby, here, in a Castille home, for Christ sakes, made his blood boil. He roared once more, his anger reverberating through the cabin.
His eyes swept the floor, alighting on the still, bloody form that lay quiet in death’s repose on the cold tiles. He was upon the body in seconds, inhaling its scent, taking the trace odor deep into his lungs so he could confirm what his mind already knew.
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He had killed three jaguars out in the forest. None were warriors, but they’d been deadly just the same. This one bore the tattoos of a jaguar warrior. Jaxon’s anger intensified as he recognized the markings on the skin, even before the scent signatures had cleared his olfactory glands.
DaCosta!
He trembled as impotent fury rode him hard, and snarling savagely, he threw the body away from him. He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the red haze that threatened to engulf him. He could not lose control now. He needed his wits about him.
With cold precision, Jaxon calmed his mind and body. He needed to be smart, calculating. Only then would he be able to sort out the puzzle.
Only then would he be able to begin the hunt.
As his body began to quiet and the last remnants of jaguar faded from his skin, Jaxon became aware of Ana and Declan. Covered in blood, he stood up quickly, unashamed of his nakedness. He glanced toward the hall that led to Libby, and turned quickly in the opposite direction.
“Go, Jax, we’ll take care of this piece of garbage. We’ve a lot to discuss.” Declan’s voice filtered through, and Jaxon acknowledged his words.
He didn’t trust his vocal cords just yet; his mind was a mess of thoughts and images. He stopped and looked back once more toward the bedrooms.
“Don’t worry about Libby. I’ll look in on her. You go and look after yourself.” Ana’s soft voice caressed his wounded soul, and without another thought, Jaxon headed out into the night.
The water from the lake called to him, and when its coolness rippled over his head, the hard shell around his heart cracked wide open. The pain he felt was immense. It ripped through every cell in his body, tearing deep through tissue and bone.
Had the DaCosta clan been responsible for Libby’s disappearance?
His mind moved at a savage pace as thoughts of Libby at their mercy bombarded his brain. It left him feeling helpless, which was something he was not used to feeling. He dove deep, the cold water somewhat alleviating the heat of his emotions, before finally coming up for air.
His long length moved forward quickly, the powerful arms slicing through water, carrying him to the other side of the lake and back. Jaxon repeated the process, again and again, and when he finally heaved his tired limbs from the lake, two hours had passed.
Physically, his body was spent, but his mind was still tortured, filled to the brim with questions that begged for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear.