“I own you,” he repeated, stepping back from her as he felt the weakness of blood loss creeping through his system. “When I call you, you’ll come. Whatever I ask of you, you will give.” He reached down, and gently, so gently, when rage and the need for violence poured through his system, he gripped her chin and lifted her head until he could see into the dove gray of her eyes, inhale the scent of her and know her forever. Know her and always remember this day. The day a woman had destroyed everything he had held dear.
“And one day,” he swore, “you’ll pay.”
He stumbled. Weakness rushed through him.
He’d lost too much blood. His strength was depleted. There was nothing left but the aching rage, the agony of loss and the taste of defeat. He had sworn to save them, and because of this woman’s thoughtlessness, because of her trust in the wrong man, he had lost everything.
He stumbled again, going nearly to his knees before he caught himself. Swaying, he forced himself upright as the sliding metal doors into the control room were pushed open, and the scent of Breeds filled the room.
There was no threat, no feeling of danger. The animal inside of him recognized the animals rushing in. The rescue forces the scientists had been so worried about. Headed by a Breed that even the Genetics Council was rumored to fear, Jonas Wyatt.
Cabal lifted his head and stared back at them, noting their expressions of disbelief at the sight of the male dying on the floor and the female staring up at him with equal parts fear and anger.
She recognized him for the animal he was and she knew he had stamped her with his ownership. She would walk his line and by all that was holy, he would ensure that she paid the price if she ever allowed another to touch her.
He almost stopped in shock at that thought. He would have, except one of the men stepped up for the woman. His hand reached out to grip her arm, to pull her to her feet. And Cabal was there.
He locked his fingers around the man’s wrist and snarled out a warning. A primal, feral sound that had the female flinching.
What was this imperative need inside him? What had the animal driving forward once again in rage where this woman was concerned? He should want her out of his sight, out of his mind. Never did he want to have to think of the horrors he had faced here or the mutilations that had occurred within that devil’s pit of death.
He could still smell the blood of his family. They shared his blood. Each of them, created of the same DNA from the same Bengal, created of the sperm from the same donor. They were true family. Blood family. And he had lost them all.
“Mine,” he snarled back at the other Breed male, ignoring the arrogance, the dominance in the swirling gray eyes that stared back at him. “Her debt belongs to me.”
The male looked from his wrist, where Cabal held him firmly, back to Cabal’s eyes. There was an edge of danger in the stranger’s silver eyes. An edge of pure, primal command. The scent of it was in the air and Cabal was aware that even at full strength he would be hard-pressed to defeat the strength and power of the animal.
“You’re wrong.” The dark, even tone had the hairs at the back of Cabal’s neck lifting in warning. “You’re hurt, and weak, Bengal,” he said softly. “I’ll let this one go. But she’s not one you can use, and she’s not one you can harm.”
“Her debt is mine,” Cabal hissed again, baring his canines as he pushed his face closer to the other Breed’s. Nearly nose to nose now, the battle of wills was one Cabal feared he might well lose if pushed. But he would fight. He would fight to his last drop of blood.
“She owes no debt,” the other warned him, his voice lowering further. “Don’t make this mistake.”
Cabal’s gaze moved to her husband and back to the Breed male determined to stand in his way now.
“She trusted him.” His tongue felt thick, awkward. “She touched him, followed him. He betrayed you all.” There was a sneer in his voice now. The bastard would have never betrayed him. Cabal would have smelled the scent of his deceit from the first meeting. He would have never allowed such a creature to live.
“Her debt is not his,” the other repeated.
“She is mine!” Cabal snapped in reply. “Interfere with this Breed and you’ll die.”
He could smell the weapons trained on him, sense the other Breeds as they watched the confrontation.
“Please.” Her voice stroked over his senses. Weak, rough with tears, shaky with fear. “He’s right, Jonas,” she whispered then. “Let it go. Please.”
Jonas. The Jonas Wyatt. The Bengals had rated him the most commanding of the Breed generals, one of their strongest strategists. Well, wasn’t he just feeling satisfied? Wyatt had strategized an entire race of Breeds into extinction.
“Yeah, Wyatt, let it the f**k go,” he growled viciously, even as he swayed on his feet.
He damned the weakness of his own body. He damned Wyatt to hell for not planning better and as he stared at where the woman gazed back at him, tears and regret mingling in her eyes, he damned himself for not killing her, just as he had killed that bastard of a husband she possessed.
He inhaled roughly. She stank of that human. The smell of him was an affront to Cabal’s senses, an affront to his sense of justice.
“Remember me.” His whisper was more of a hiss. “Never forget, woman, because I won’t. And the day will come . . .” Darkness swirled through his vision then. His knees buckled. He’d lost one ounce too much of precious blood.
He was unaware of his body crumpling to the floor or of the cry the woman gave as she tried to catch him. He didn’t feel her hands touch him, he didn’t feel the racing of her heart or the tears that touched his neck.
“Cassa, we have him.”
Cassa was only barely aware of Jonas lifting her away from the fallen form and handing her to another Breed. She felt numb inside, even as the fear exploded and ricocheted through her. She felt cold, yet she was flushed with heat. She felt dead, yet she knew she was still living.
Tremors worked through her body as the Breed that held her helped her out of the room. He lifted her into his arms as he stepped over her husband’s body. Cassa wanted to feel remorse. She should have felt grief. But instead, she felt only hatred and a sense of freedom.
Douglas was dead. He had been the instrument of his own death, just as he had been the instrument of her fears for so many months.