Wake A Sleeping Tiger (Breeds 22)

“I just left her at the offices.” Shock roughened his voice. “How the fuck . . .” He turned back to the enforcers trailing him. “Contact Jonas. Now!” Turning back, he stared at the unconscious young woman. “There was no report of attack . . .”

“It’s not Cassie, Rule.” Chelsea gripped his arm hard. “That’s not Cassie.”

“That is Cassie,” Lawe snapped. “You know . . .”

“It’s her twin, dammit,” Graeme growled, a rough, savage sound filled with impatience. “The witch has a twin . . .”

Rule stepped closer. Easing into the interior cautiously, he reached out and carefully brushed aside the long, lush curls that spilled around her pale face.

“She smells like her,” he protested, his voice shocked.

“There’s a difference.” Graeme’s querulous tone was followed by a vicious curse. “Trust me, it’s there.”

Lawe joined his brother and crouched in front of the girl, staring at her, their expressions disbelieving.

“Get the medic over here,” Rule said to his brother, never taking his eyes off the girl’s face. “Contact Jonas yourself. Send all the enforcers back but your four most trusted. I want a lid on this.” He turned to stare at Samara with piercing, ice blue eyes.

She shook her head. “None have seen this but those standing here now,” she told him quietly. “The heli-jet was empty but for the Council soldiers. There was no scientist. I swear this to you.”

He stared at her for several more long moments before nodding abruptly, his gaze flicking to his brother, Lawe, as he suddenly jumped from the interior and hurried to the waiting enforcers.

“Fuck.” Rule turned back to the girl, moving farther inside the comfortable interior as both Diane Justice and Gypsy Breaker climbed in beside him.

“I second that,” Diane murmured. “Get ready for the explosion. We’re going to get to see Dash Sinclair erupt and Jonas melt down. It’s not going to be pretty.”

It wasn’t going to be pretty indeed.

Wrapping his arms around his mate, Cullen moved from the heli-jet; the desire to get her someplace secure, someplace safe, was a driving need he couldn’t ignore any longer.

“Come on,” Graeme snarled. “Let these bastards clean up. We’ll return to the estate. You can have your suite in the house or the one in the caverns. Take your pick.”

Cullen shot him an amused glance. He was in big brother mode again.

“De

al with it,” Graeme snapped. “I’m not in the mood for your I’m-a-big-boy crap tonight. Let’s roll.”

“Take our Runner, there’s four seats.” Juan nodded to the vehicle still sitting where they’d left it between them and the Bureau heli-jets. “We’ll collect it later, I’m certain.”

It would be much later, Cullen thought, swinging his mate in his arms, holding her tight until he reached the Runner.

Graeme’s estate was closer, he thought.

That would work.

It would work perfectly.

EPILOGUE

From Graeme’s Journal

The Recessed Primal Breed

Brother, when your Primal has emerged, I pray your mate has come through whatever danger has stalked her. With the mating, a Bengal’s Primal cannot remain caged. Recessive or active, the Primal will surge back to its place beneath the skin.

With your Primal free, your mate by your side, know that even in Primal form, even at my most brutal, still the thought of my mate was not the only one that drove me. The thought of the brother who sacrificed the solace of his animal for so many years for me, was always a knowledge I held close to me as well.

She was his life.