Wake A Sleeping Tiger (Breeds 22)

The other man had been watching the back of the house. There was a faint scent of a Desert Runner, no doubt what the man had used to travel through the desert. Now why the hell was his former co-commander watching his home?

His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over the ravine, his Breed sight picking up the slightest details right down to the impression of a body as it lay just out of sight, enabling the watcher to peek over the rise and watch the back of the house. And he was armed. That faint metallic scent drifted to his nostrils as a grimace pulled at his lips. Ranger needed to clean his rifle again. He was amazingly lax when it came to keeping his weapon in peak condition.

There had been a time that Cullen had automatically cleaned Ranger’s weapon at the office when he’d cleaned his own. That had stopped years ago when Ranger had just dropped the gun to his desk one day with an absent order to clean it for him.

Cullen hadn’t cleaned the gun. He’d all but thrown it back at Ranger, his reaction so quick, so explosive it hadn’t just shocked Ranger. It had shocked Cullen as well.

Years of what he’d believed was friendship flashed through his mind. There were so many instances when he should have known that the friendship was deliberately cultivated and the many ways Ranger had used it.

Some humans had an almost animalistic sense, an instinctive cunning for how to best use others. They could subconsciously size up strengths, weaknesses and the others’ potential to benefit their lives or goals. Ranger had that instinct; Cullen simply hadn’t wanted to admit that the man he called friend used it as he did.

Jumping lightly into the ravine, he came to a crouch, drawing in the scents carefully, lifting the cover just a bit to a well of such vast knowledge and impulses that he found himself keeping it carefully contained.

The well was chaos, supercharged, and he was pretty damned certain that it was best to keep it tightly closed, just as he often cautioned his brother to do with the Primal.

That small bit he allowed free was like a drug rush, though. Suddenly, his senses were so sharp, so clear that for a brief second, it was dizzying. The impulse to throw the cover open flared briefly through his head, only to be instantly denied.

He’d found the calm within his mind after coming to the Nation, after staring into a twelve-year-old girl’s dark gaze and instinctively becoming locked within the calm that was such a part of her. She’d shared her sense of security, her sense of place within the world, he realized. The moment he’d felt her shock that he refused the food, the animal instinct inside him had instantly recognized the child for what she would be, latched on and drawn that serenity she carried deep inside him.

And it had all been done so seamlessly, without Cullen ever realizing that his Breed genetics were awake within him but simply refusing to react until ready. Not when Cullen wanted it to awaken or react, but when the animal deemed the time had arrived.

Now, drawing on that powerful, inner darkness waiting at the edges of awareness, he identified the scents the ravine carried, and the essence of the man who had been hiding there.

Hatred was the strongest scent, acrid and bitter, like bile against the back of the tongue. It was the strongest of the emotions left behind. Beneath it was confidence, deception. He was certain that whatever his goal was would be achieved. That certainty had its own scent, its own bitter dregs that Cullen’s senses found distasteful.

Beneath it all—the hatred, confidence and deception—was the scent of madness. And Cullen knew that scent well; it was similar to the scent Graeme sometimes carried. But whereas the scent Graeme carried was a quick, hard assault to the senses, it didn’t carry the dark undertones of blood, no matter how much blood his brother shed.

Graeme believed death was the only way to rid the world of monsters. Let them live and they might breed, and some freak of genetics might well breed another monster. He didn’t believe in

mercy. Justice was justice, he would often say, and unaccepted acts required what the world viewed as unacceptable reactions.

This scent of madness, rather than a sharp, shocking burst, was just an assault to the senses, despite the faintness of it. And it lingered in a way that had a sudden rumble of a growl threatening to escape his throat.

A second later, he stilled, another scent reaching his senses as it crept up behind him. The Wolf was making just enough noise to alert Cullen that he was there.

Rising from his crouched position, Cullen caught sight of the Breed moving through the shadows, the dangerous wariness he used to stalk the night almost hidden, yet Cullen recognized it instantly.

Remaining crouched, he waited, drawing in Draeger’s scent and realizing the Wolf wasn’t there because he’d sensed Cullen’s presence. It wasn’t a scent he was stalking, but the feeling that something far too dangerous lurked in the night.

Animal senses could be amazingly perceptive with or without scent.

Releasing a soft, growling alert of his presence, more a welcome than a warning, he saw the Wolf tense before immediately relaxing. In the next breath he dropped into the ravine, then crouched a good ten feet from where Cullen relaxed back on his haunches.

“Aren’t you a surprise,” Draeger muttered, his voice pitched low enough that Cullen was certain it went no farther than them. “I couldn’t smell you out here, but I damned sure felt that burst of whatever the hell you released. Had the hairs on the back of my neck standing straight up.”

Wonderful. He’d end up having to tell Graeme about this, simply to see if it was something his brother had experienced and if accessing those darker senses could be hidden.

“Hmm,” Cullen murmured, meeting the Wolf Breed’s look. “Tell me, have you caught his scent?”

He didn’t have to say who.

“I found it about half an hour ago,” Draeger told him as he neared Cullen. “I was canvassing the area to make certain it went no farther. So far, it’s confined here, but his scent is off some way. Has my instincts bristling.”

“Yeah, yours and mine both,” he admitted, rising slowly and moving closer to where Ranger had positioned himself. “He had his weapon with him. I know because I recognize the scent of it. He doesn’t keep it cleaned. It has a distinct scent from the ammunition he uses.”

“Damn, son, that’s a hell of a nose you have,” Draeger commented, surprised. “I caught the scent of a weapon, but that was about it. I couldn’t pin it down.” Rising to his feet, he came nearer, drawing in the scent at the location Ranger had rested. “That’s still all I catch.” Cullen could feel his intense gaze flickering back to him again. “Why did you slip around me? You could have let me know you were out here.”

Cullen shrugged. “I didn’t slip around you. I was restless and decided to check the area myself. I caught his scent as I neared the ravine and decided to check it out.”