Styx's Storm (Breeds 16)

A woman who would die before walking easily into the monster's embrace again.

And Styx decided in that moment that she would come, and come easily, to his every touch.

CHAPTER 5

She was dead.

Storme remained crouched, her breathing harsh and irregular as she stared back into the clear, amused gaze of the red Wolf casually facing her, his arms crossed over his chest, his blue eyes glittering with irritation. Canines gleamed in the early morning light as long, burnished red hair feathered back in the breeze and tempted her fingers to dig in and grip fingerfuls as she pulled him into her kiss.

She swore she could almost taste his kiss. Chocolate and spice, a hint of coffee and peppermint. The taste of it was on her lips, against her tongue, and she couldn't get rid of it. She'd awakened with the taste of him tormenting her, pushing her to demand more. What she wanted was freedom, she assured herself, not some Breed's kiss.

Not this Breed. Not the possessiveness, the dominance glowing in his gaze.

Savagery reflected in his features. A brutal, too attractive sort of savagery that drew a woman even as her survival instincts kicked in with a scream.

This was the Breed she had slept with, the one that had given her such pleasure. She'd managed over the years to do a vast amount of research by using the passwords to Council records she'd been able to hack. She knew many of the Breeds by face as well as by their lab reports.

"Styx," she whispered as dread threatened to overwhelm her. She had read that in mythology the word meant "hated," "detested." It was the river of death, and so this Breed was one known for his hatred of humans and his ability to kill in the most painful ways and always with a smile.

If she died, she was going to go down fighting. She would not willingly give this bastard her neck for to rip open.

But shouldn't she have thought of this before she fucked him? Before she gave in to her weakness, gave in to the need to relish his warmth rather than running another night?

"Ah, lass, would ye keep runnin' from me," he crooned, that devil's soft brogue stroking over her feminine senses as every muscle in her body tightened further in the demand that she run.

She wouldn't make it far. There were more than a dozen Breeds surrounding her, all Wolf and Coyote, with the exception of the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, who lounged casually at the corner of the cabin.

She swallowed tightly. "Let me leave."

"Give me wha' I want, lass, and the Breeds will give you free passage. I promise this."

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.