Wake A Sleeping Tiger (Breeds 22)

“Before we go up, there’s something you should know first.”

Graeme stared back at him curiously.

“It was Chelsea who rescued their daughter from the Coyotes that night. I was there, undercover at the time on another operation. I managed to get her out of the Runner she crashed through the gates, get her into mine and out of there before anyone could really identify her. My contact there was able to wipe the security discs and further ensure that Chelsea’s identity wasn’t compromised. There’s a chance Samara might recognize her, though. Before Chelsea revealed Louisa buried under a blanket and strapped into her seat with her, Samara had her gun in Chelsea’s face, ready to fire. And that woman has a memory like an elephant.”

Graeme was silent, his only reaction the slight widening of his eyes in surprise.

“Now, why didn’t I see that one coming?” Graeme pursed his lips, staring back at his brother thoughtfully. “Interesting. Very interesting.”

CHAPTER 20

From Graeme’s Journal

The Recessed Primal Breed

The world will rarely acknowledge what only a Primal can accept.

The Breed believes there are only two types of life, predator and prey.

The Primal believes in three; predator, prey and Primal.

And the Primal sits silently at the top of the food chain.

There was something so surreal about stepping into Lobo Reever’s opulent study and coming face-to-face with the woman who had held a gun in her face less than two months before.

The woman who stood there, along with the two men, wasn’t the woman whose face was spread across tabloids and newspapers before the death of her daughter. The piercing blue eyes and heavy mass of white-blond hair were the same, but the face wasn’t nearly as perfect and icily serene.

The Blood Queen she was called, because of the blood she and her family spilled in their battle to maintain control of the powerful criminal organization she’d inherited at the tender age of twenty-one.

The woman standing next to her husband, his arm wrapped protectively her, was a grieving mother. Deep grooves were carved beside her lips, dark shadows marred the skin beneath her eyes and she hadn’t even tried to use makeup to hide the effect of the loss of her child.

Samara was dressed simply in black. The tasteful sheath fell below her knees and covered her arms to her elbows. Paired with the dress were expensive black heels and a matching clutch. The fact that she hadn’t bothered to adhere to her normal standard of presentation was telling.

Standing next to her were her husband, Juan, and her brother-in-law, Esteban Cerves. The two men were tall, broad and physically fit, but not exactly handsome. They had black hair, black eyes and swarthy complexions, but the cold, emotionless looks they were said to have weren’t in evidence any more than Samara’s.

Lobo made the introductions, ensured everyone had a drink, then invited them to sit in the large seating area on the other side of the room.

Sitting back in the comfortable leather sofa next to Cullen, across from the longer matching couch the three Cerves family members sat in, Chelsea glanced around the seating area. Graeme and Cat were in the chairs next to the sofa at Cullen’s side while Lobo and his head of security, Devril Black, sat likewise on the opposite side of the couch.

Looking down at her hands in her lap, she felt as though all eyes were on her now. It reminded her of family intervention night in the Martinez household.

“We’ve made the formal introductions,” Lobo stated, his deep voice just a little rough but still a pleasant, masculine sound. “We can now address the reason for it.”

“Pardon us, Alpha Reever,” Samara stated, the soft, silky cadence actually quite pleasant. That slight hint of a Spanish accent lent it an exotic quality. “I believe we’re waiting for the reason for this meeting to actually raise her eyes and look at us.”

The gentle prod wasn’t lost on Chelsea, but she chose to ignore it. The habit of tucking her emotions behind a veil of ice wasn’t working. She needed it to work. She needed desperately to find a way to push everything back. Especially the anger.

Because of this woman’s determination to hold on to a criminal empire, that sweet, precious baby had suffered a horrible nightmare before dying.

“I think I blame myself most for what happened to my Louisa,” Samara stated when Chelsea didn’t speak, her voice thick with emotion. “Were I not the Blood Queen, then those monsters would have had no reason to steal my baby from her bed and cause her such pain. Is this not correct, Ms. Martinez?” There was nothing but pain and remorse in the woman’s voice.

And still, Chelsea fought the anger burning through her like wildfire as she felt Cullen’s arm tighten around her.

He didn’t make excuses for her or try to explain her silence to anyone. He just held her, allowing her to lean on him.

Chelsea hadn’t realized until she entered the study and saw Samara’s grief how very angry she’d been at this woman. Had it not been for the Cerveses’ criminal activities, then as Samara said, her child would have never been targeted and never suffered that horrific night.

Logically, she knew better, though. The Council had targeted other children as well in retaliation against their parents. And the same brutality had been used. Except those children had died alone within such horrible nightmares.