Cross Breed (Breeds 23)

“It was Dog.”

Jonas swung around to face Mutt, seeing the blood at his shoulder, the limp in his walk.

“Council …”

Mutt shook his head. “Cassie shot me.”

Jonas blinked back at him. He couldn’t have heard right.

“I need a Dragoon, Jonas.” Mutt stood before him, his eyes damned near hollow with the regret pouring from him. “I have to meet Dog.”

“What the fuck happened?” Jonas snarled, grabbing the Coyote’s shirt in one fist and jerking him closer. “What happened to her?”

“Dog left her,” he breathed out wearily, pain and regret filling his expression. “He wasn’t taken, he wasn’t forced, and I don’t fucking know why. I just went along with him until I could figure out what the fuck was going on. Now, let me go, so I can do that.”

Jonas released him slowly and stepped back, shaking his head, certain he couldn’t have heard him right.

“He left her?”

Mutt nodded slowly. “He filed a Separation and Disavowal before he left. When I know more, I’ll contact you.”

Blood dripped from the Breed’s shoulder as he hurried to the nearest Dragoon, dragged himself into it and shot from the parking lot with a squeal of tires.

Dog had filed a Separation and Disavowal from his mate? What the fuck was going on?

• CHAPTER 17 •

The spirit was silent, but she hadn’t left. The tall, broad form of her mate, Dog’s father, had joined her. They didn’t speak. They were hazy, barely there, and they weren’t speaking. They had no answers for her, they didn’t know where Dog was, but his father knew he was with Major.

His grandfather. The same man who’d had his son and his son’s mate hunted down like animals and killed. A grandfather with no male heirs now. Dog’s father was certain that somehow, Major had convinced Dog to come home, so to speak. The order that had gone out on the parents hadn’t been the same order that had gone out on the child. Major had demanded that the child he suspected had been born be delivered to him.

So, her mate had decided, in essence, that his grandfather was more important than his mate.

Wild fury filled her at the thought. It burned inside her, searing her soul with the knowledge. Well, he hadn’t married a female willing to allow him to ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after with his grandfather and his grandfather’s fortune.

Mercenary fucking Coyote. If he thought she wasn’t a vengeful mate, then he’d find out quickly how vengeful she could be. There was only one mate. Her soul was bound to his, even if his wasn’t bound to hers. And if she was going to carry the scars of this mating to the very depths of her, then he’d carry a few on the outside, courtesy of her.

Scouring the dark web for any hint of a rumor that a Coyote was stepping up to a fortune—or a grandfather—she could feel the wild, enraged instincts clawing inside her for action. Demanding she go searching.

Only a few searched with no idea what they were searching for. She wasn’t a fool. That icy logical core that had slowly grown over the hours assured her of this. She might be burning in rage, but that cold, hard center kept her anchored where once Dog had.

A dry sob shook her. She’d cried for hours, screaming with the crazed pain that had destroyed her. She’d had her mother crying; Ashley, her sister Emma and Graeme’s mate, Cat had sobbed with her. Their touches hadn’t bothered her. Her parents embraces merely made her numb.

As she scrolled through yet another Breed-sighting site, her head lifted, instinct racing through her as she sensed the Breed heading down the hall. He moved with purpose, with regret. And he was coming for her.

Standing up, she closed the case on the tablet, smoothed her hands over the black skirt she wore and made certain the black sleeveless blouse was neatly tucked in. The four-and-a-half-inch heels weren’t needed for confidence. Others expected her to dress a certain way, and she knew it might be best to give them what they expected.

The knock came at the door as she reached it. Opening it, she stared up at the Breed watching her with pain-filled eyes, his expression heavy with knowledge.

“Sweet Cassie,” he sighed, the Scots burr a gentle sound. “I’ll kill him for ya, I swear it.”

“I’m sure that’s not why you’re here.” He felt sorry for her, and as fondly felt as that pity was, it was so misplaced.

“Rule needs to see ya,” he said. “I’m sorry, lass.”

“Don’t feel sorry for me, Styx.” She stepped out and closed the door behind her. “Feel sorry for that Coyote. He’s going to need your pity far more.”

She didn’t wait to follow him as she would have otherwise. Breed instinct had once