Wake A Sleeping Tiger (Breeds 22)

“Graeme and Cat are hissing at each other again because she wanted to fight one of the Coyotes,” she told him, limping toward him slowly. “He wouldn’t let her and now she’s pissed. We should get out there. I think she’s going to bite him.”

Cullen jumped for her and swung her into his arms as in the darkness his lips touched hers, the rage finally easing from his mind, the burning stripes he’d felt over his body cooling, fading away as her arms clung tight around his neck, her lips meeting his and her love wrapping around his senses.

He was home, he thought. Finally, irrevocably, he had found home.

The Cerves cartel members did the cleanup in the clearing at the entrance of the canyon, their hard eyes, harder faces intent as Graeme and Cullen tossed the bodies of Ranger and Arthur next to the dead Council Breeds who had met the enraged Bengal with a surfeit of confidence but a severe lack of strength and sheer cunning to match.

Just outside the center of commotion, the black stealthy heli-jet sat, ominously quiet. The pilot lay half in, half out of the cockpit, his blood staining the dirt below him. On the other side, the copilot still sat in his seat, a gunshot wound in the center of his forehead.

From the opposite side of the commotion Samara, Juan and Esteban moved quickly into position, weapons held ready, as Esteban gripped the handle to the door and quickly jerked it open.

Samara stared into the heli-jet, something inside her twisting with so much pain it was all she could do to hold back a scream of agonized rage.

The girl—child really, she couldn’t be older than five or six—was bound hand and foot, naked, long black hair tangled around her too-thin face, her brilliant green eyes filled with panic and staring back at them with dazed shock. With her, the scientist Graeme had demanded possession of was unconscious, but alive, slumped against the side of the seat she sat in.

The girl, though, was wide-awake, and filled with such fear that her eyes broke Samara’s heart.

Snatching a folded blanket she glimpsed beneath the seat, Samara quickly checked for any watc

hing eyes before hurriedly wrapping it around the child, lifting her in her arms and then turning to Esteban.

“They took my baby,” she hissed, determined, the fierce protectiveness she couldn’t control surging through her. “This is my child. Take her now, and make certain no one sees her.”

“Samara.” Compassion filled his voice, but she could see the doubt beginning to cloud his eyes.

“Now!” she demanded. “No one can know from where she came. Take her now.”

The voice of the Blood Queen; she’d perfected that voice when she was but a child herself.

“Go,” Juan ordered him firmly, his tone brooking no refusal.

Looking down at the girl, Esteban felt her shuddering, hard, vicious tremors, her beautiful eyes filled with such fear he couldn’t bear it.

Nodding abruptly, he turned and rushed to the Runner he’d driven in, strapped her into the passenger seat and then, activating the stealth mode and sliding the night vision glasses over his face, pulled soundlessly into the waiting night and headed for the compound.

Staring at the scientist, her gaze hard and cold, Samara debated killing the bitch but knew she could be a bargaining tool as well. They’d need someone who understood the unique physiology of Breeds to ensure that the child remained healthy, and Graeme wanted this woman.

There would be no way to hide the child from him, but she had a feeling Graeme didn’t exactly think with the same rationale as other Breeds did, even his brother.

If she couldn’t bargain with him, she’d just make certain the girl disappeared.

But this woman didn’t look like a scientist, she thought, finally giving the unconscious form a closer look. She didn’t look more than twenty. Actually, she looked very familiar.

Far, far too familiar.

The world knew this young woman, this Breed who shouldn’t have been here in this heli-jet.

“Sweet God,” she whispered, brushing aside the multitude of heavy black curls and peering into the girl’s pale face.

“Get Graeme,” she snapped as two of her soldiers rounded the side of the heli-jet. “Get him now.”

The soldier rushed away as Samara felt a heavy, dark foreboding sweep over her.

This was no scientist.

Delicate, quite fragile, and like the child, her hands bound behind her.

“Samara?” Graeme strode around the craft, his wife at his side as Cullen joined him, aiding Chelsea as she limped next to him.