Bengal's Heart

◆ CHAPTER 24 ◆

“I don’t want to have to touch you. I know you’ve mated the Bengal and I know that would be painful. So I’m going to ask you to cooperate and walk into the cabin yourself.”

Cassa stared at Patrick Wallace for long moments after he made his request. There was nothing dead about him. He was living, breathing, a man tortured and playing a very dangerous game.

“I hate to see you die for this,” she said softly. “Let me go now. I’ll call Cabal and he’ll come for me. He’ll tear through this mountain like an avenging angel.”

His lips quirked mockingly. “Nothing’s going to stay St. Laurents’s hand at this point.” There was the faintest shrug of his shoulders. “I may as well continue with my plan.”

“And that plan is?” She was curious about this part. She hadn’t figured that out quite yet.

He reached past her and threw the van door open, exposing her to the cold mountain air and the front of a rough log cabin.

“Don’t make me force you inside the cabin,” he requested again. “Neither of us would enjoy your pain.”

Breathing in roughly, she stared at the opened door.

“Are you going to kill me?” She stared into his eyes, eyes that flickered first with ice, then with regret.

“I won’t harm you, Ms. Hawkins,” he told her quietly. “That was never my intention.”

“Then why kidnap me?” she asked.

She hated to admit that she was actually afraid to leave the confines of the van and enter the unfamiliar territory of the cabin waiting just outside its doors.

He sighed deeply as he stared back at her knowingly. “I’ll make a deal with you. Get out of the van and come into the cabin. We’ll discuss it over decaf coffee and chocolate cake.”

She almost smiled. Breeds did love their chocolate. Somehow it almost made it seem less threatening. Not quite, but almost.

He was lethally dangerous. She could see it in his face, in his eyes, in the resignation in his voice. He was a man who didn’t care if he died, and that made him more dangerous than any other.

Hiding the shaking of her hands in the pockets of her jacket, she moved slowly from the van. Gravel crunched beneath the heels of her boots as she moved slowly along the walk to the opened cabin door. Damn, she felt like she was going to the gallows rather than the warm confines of a cabin.

Drawing in courage with a deep breath, she stepped across the threshold and entered a rather homey, spotless kitchen. There was a pot steaming on the stove. Chili if she wasn’t mistaken. A long table sat in the middle of the room, a checkered cloth covering it. The windows were covered with dark blinds, but the modern appliances and well-waxed wood floors assured her it was a well-cared-for room. Most likely a home.

“Come on in, Ms. Hawkins.”

She jumped, startled, as Walt Jameson stepped in from another room, his somber expression heavy as he moved into the kitchen.

“Let me guess, Myron and Sheriff Lacey aren’t far behind?” she asked as she did as he’d suggested and moved into the room.

Behind her, Patrick stepped in as well as the young Breed that had driven the van. The door closed and locked behind them, sealing them into the warmth of a home that suddenly seemed more sinister.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Walt answered as he moved to the stove and stirred the contents of the pot, before turning back to her.

Dressed in a checkered shirt, jeans and boots, he looked just as friendly, just as unassuming as he had that morning in Glen Ferris. In his case, looks were definitely deceiving.

“I see you’ve met Patrick.” There was a wealth of affection in his voice as he nodded at her kidnapper. “Behind him is Keith. I trust they took good care of you.”

“Don’t place too much trust in them,” she suggested. “They’re severely inconveniencing me.”

Walt glanced behind her in surprise before a light chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah, they have that small habit.”

“It’s going to be a fatal habit in this case,” she informed him. “You know Cabal, Walt. He’ll kill them both.”

Walt shook his head, though his face was lined with resignation. “He’ll be killing us all then.” He sighed heavily as he waved his hand to the table. “Sit. I’ll get you some food, maybe some coffee, and we’ll talk.”

She moved to the table and sat down, though she ignored the food and coffee set before her. She instead watched warily as Patrick and Keith each took a seat, then Walt. They had no problem digging into the chili or drinking the coffee as she watched them silently.

“Watts is in Virginia.” Patrick’s head lifted from the steady concentration he had been giving his food. “He’s been held in a prison in the Middle East since he was captured at that facility in Germany. One of Jonas Wyatt’s pet prisoners.”

Her brows lifted. Did everyone but her know about this prison?

“So I just learned.” Her hands clenched in her lap. She was almost shaking with nerves, with fear. The murders that had been committed in this small town had begun here. Perhaps all three men had been involved in them. They had been cold-blooded and bloodthirsty. Without mercy.

Patrick shook his head. “We’re not going to harm you, Ms. Hawkins, unless we have no choice.” His eyes were hard now. He would, if he had to, that was the message he was giving her. If she didn’t cooperate.

“Cabal’s going to start with Myron or Danna,” she said softly. “He’s going to hurt them, Mr. Wallace. Myron was a friend of mine; I’d hate to see that happen to him. But unless you let me go, nothing is going to stop it.”

“Myron knew the risks involved in this plan,” he told her quietly. “I just hope your Bengal knows that harming either of them will come with a price.”

She would be harmed. She was getting real damned good at reading between Breed lines here.

“So why don’t you just tell me what this genius plan of yours is?” She crossed her arms over her breasts and glared at the three of them. “Don’t tell me you actually think Douglas is going to come for me?”

Patrick’s smile turned thin and cruel. “Do you think he will?”

She rolled her eyes at that thought before staring back at him steadily.

“You’re just a distraction,” he finally admitted. “And a bit of insurance. Jonas has a leash on Watts in the form of a Coyote Breed on the team that helped him escape. I just want to make certain he loosens that leash and gives Watts his head a bit.”

She shook her head. “It’s not going to work. Cabal won’t be distracted.”

“He’s not looking for Watts; he’s looking for you.” Patrick shrugged. “Jonas is trying to cover Cabal’s ass as well as keep up with Watts and look for the Dozen’s killer.” His grin was self-depreciating. “That would be me of course.”

“Of course,” she murmured as she sat back in her chair and watched him. “And you just want to be the one to kill Watts.”

“No, Ms. Hawkins, he wants to be the one to rip the identities of the last of the Deadly Dozen right out of Watts’s lying throat.”

She whirled around, eyes widening, lips parting in shock at the sight of the former mayor of Glen Ferris as he limped into the room.

David Banks had a bandage extending from his thigh to his ankle. There were healing wounds on his face, bandages were obvious beneath the loose T-shirt he wore, and as he limped forward on crutches, it was easy to see that whatever had happened to him had nearly been fatal.

She jerked around in her seat to face Patrick. “He was part of the Dozen.”

Patrick nodded slowly. “He was.”

“And he’s here? Why don’t you stop making me guess what the hell is going on here and just tell me? Because I’m getting damned sick of coming up with the questions and getting none of the answers.”

“That’s possibly my fault.” David eased himself into the chair at the other end of the table, wincing as he stretched his leg out in front of him.

Walt rose from his seat and collected another bowl of chili and cup of coffee before setting it in front of David.

“That’s Walt,” he sighed before looking back to Cassa. “The Deadly Dozen were real bastards. I was a part of a small group of FBI agents tracking down information on the Council and the Breeds. I managed to infiltrate the Dozen when it first formed. Brandenmore and Engalls funded the group at first, because they wanted Breeds for research. The Council allowed the Dozen a certain number of live specimens on the condition that they returned either the live Breeds or their heads as proof that they were no longer free.”

Cassa covered her mouth with a hand, staring back at him in horror.

“I couldn’t tell anyone here what I was doing, because I never knew who I could trust. At that time, there was someone in the Breed Freedom Society sending information to the Council. I didn’t know if it was a human or Breed, so I kept my mouth shut and did my job. However, my interests always lay with protecting the Breeds.”

His expression twisted in pain, in grief.

“What happened Valentine’s night?” she asked.

David shook his head. “There was a Coyote Breed. A young one. He’d managed to escape his lab in Yugoslavia and he made it here. But he had Council soldiers on his ass the whole way. He was wounded, feverish. The kid was next to dead when he finally made it to Glen Ferris and managed to contact Walt.” He nodded to Walt. “He was a new genetic design. That was all the information we were given. The Council was desperate to get him back. The Dozen was called in when they received word from their spy that he was here.”

He looked up at Walt and Patrick. “I tried to send them a warning, but it was intercepted.”

Patrick rose from his seat and moved to the window. Bracing his hands on the window, he stared outside as David continued.

“They were ambushed. I didn’t even know the hunt was on that night. They’d gotten word at the last minute and I wasn’t in town. If I had been . . .” He swallowed tightly. “So much would have changed.”

“Your husband raped and killed Myron’s mate.” Patrick’s voice was toneless. “Before the hunt they found my cabin. They killed my mate and cut our child from her body as we were trying to escort the Coyote through the mountains. She was in labor. She and the midwife both were killed.” His shoulders were tense, his voice thick with emotion. When he turned back to her, his eyes were like brandy flames in the depths of his sun-darkened flesh. “Your husband knows where my child was taken. He wasn’t taken to a lab. He wasn’t even reported as being alive. Brandenmore and Engalls didn’t have him. Watts and three others of the Dozen hid him. I want to know where my son is. If he’s alive or dead. Ms. Hawkins, I will know, or Douglas Watts will know pain as he’s never imagined it.”

Fury throbbed in his voice. An icy sharp rage that sent shivers racing down her back.

“Why didn’t you contact Jonas Wyatt?” she asked, her voice thick. “Why didn’t you tell him? He would have helped you.”

Walt shook his head. “This ain’t Wyatt’s fight. It’s ours. The Dozen killed our people. Patrick’s mate and his younger brother. His brother was Danna’s mate. Friends and loved ones, Ms. Hawkins. This ain’t Sanctuary. And by God, we take vengeance for our own.”

Anger lined Walt’s face now, anger and grief. He shook his head and sniffed back his emotion. There were no tears; the burning rage inside him would have dried any moisture, Cassa thought. There was nothing left now but the need for blood.

“What happened to you?” she asked David.

A bitter little laugh escaped his throat. “I made the mistake of asking the wrong person about the child that was taken that night. About six months ago, the Dozen came after me. Ryan Damron had managed to get the names of a few of the members. He was bringing the information and the proof of it to me. But he didn’t come alone. Elam March was with him as well as a Coyote soldier. They were going to kill me, Ms. Hawkins. Damron had betrayed me.”

“David was smarter than he used to be though,” Walt grunted. “He came to me. I called Patrick, and he and Keith shadowed that meeting.”

“That’s when I decided I liked the feel of their blood on my hands.” Patrick’s smile was hard, cruel. “I’d been searching for their identities for years. I’ll have them when I find Watts. I’ll find my kid, and I’ll finish killing the rest of them once I do. This isn’t Wyatt’s or St. Laurents’s fight, nor is it yours, Ms. Hawkins.”

“But you drew me into it,” she reminded him angrily. “You sent the emails, the pills, and you drew me here. Don’t deny it.”

“I did exactly that.” Suddenly, he was before her, his hands flat on the table, the fury flickering in his eyes. “To distract your mate. That was your only job. To keep him out of my damned way. But you had to go and decide you were going to get your answers anyway. You couldn’t let well enough alone.”

“Bullshit.” She came to her feet, glaring back at him. “You knew I wouldn’t leave it alone. You knew I’d do everything in my power to get this story.”

His brow lifted. A sardonic curl of his lips attested to the truth of her accusation as he eased back from her. Manipulating bastard.

“I could fail.” He straightened, drawing to his full height as he stared back at her, the chill in his gaze once again. “If I fail and word leaks to the world of the killings that have taken place here, then I want someone with influence to know the truth.” He shook his head wearily. “It’s not my desire to destroy the Breeds in the public eye, Ms. Hawkins.”

“Why did you draw Wyatt in if you didn’t want his help?” She wasn’t finished, and she didn’t care much for his explanation. “Why did you leave it to him to clean up your mess?”

“Because I knew he would.” He shrugged easily, as though it really didn’t matter to him one way or the other how Jonas was forced to clean up after him. “And if anyone knew where Watts was being held, then Wyatt would. I knew he was alive. There have been too many rumors, too much information against the Council that’s come out, that only he would have known. I knew Wyatt had Watts, and I wanted him. There was no way to keep Wyatt out of it.”

“Breeds and their schemes,” she sighed. “You’ve made a mistake, Patrick. Your own arrogance and need for blood is going to destroy you.”

“They already have,” he said simply, solemnly. “Years ago, Ms. Hawkins. They did that years ago.”

Cabal entered the woods surrounding Sheriff Lacey’s home just as she was pulling into her driveway. Myron James pulled in behind her, his expression creased with anger as he got out of his car and slammed the door furiously.

“He said he wasn’t going to do this.” He was in the sheriff’s face within seconds, the freckles standing out on his pale face as he confronted her. “What the fuck is going on?”

“He didn’t do this.” She pushed back against his shoulders, jerking away from him and glaring back at him. “He would have told me before he did anything this fucking insane in my county.”

“I told you he was out of control,” Myron continued to argue. “Who else would have done it, Danna? There’s no one else that would have kidnapped Cassa like that. No one else is that fucking crazy.”

“Crazy” was a good description of any man that dared to touch Cabal’s mate, let alone take her from him.

“He wouldn’t have done it.” Danna shook her head furiously as she turned and stalked to the house.

Cabal eased in closer, moving in along the house, listening carefully as they entered.

“Who else could have done it, Danna?” Myron yelled, the anger thick in his voice. “You know he did it.”

“He’s not answering his sat phone. Again.” Frustration filled her voice. “Rand and Jason were on-site, they haven’t heard from him either. No one can contact him.”

There was a note of fear in Danna’s voice now.

“God! I checked the cabin. He’s not there either.” Myron paused. “The cabin was cleaned out, Danna. Everything. It’s empty as hell.”

Silence filled the house as the scent of fear and sadness seeped from the building. As though they were mourning him.

“He’s okay.” Danna was fighting to believe that. Cabal could hear it in her voice. “He has to be okay, Myron.”

Myron didn’t say anything for long moments.

“Have you called Walt?” Danna finally asked. “I couldn’t reach him earlier.”

“He wasn’t answering,” Myron stated. “And he has David. If Walt and David are missing, then the rest of the Dozen could have figured out that he’s still alive. If they have, then he’s screwed.”

Cabal snarled silently, gripped the doorknob and in one smooth motion opened the door and stepped into the sheriff’s kitchen.

He had his weapon on them even as Danna reached for hers.

“Now, we don’t want to do that, Sheriff,” he drawled as he watched both of them pale.

He knew what they saw. The stripe across his face, and the other stripes now running down his body. The markings of his genetics that only surfaced when the animal inside him rose to the fore. When a killing fury was on him. And there was a need for blood now. A need to kill.

Danna eased her hand back from her weapon as Cabal stepped forward and jerked it from its holster.

“So Banks is alive?” He stepped back. “And good ole Walt is taking care of him.” He eyed them both with a hard smile. “Where has he been hiding him?”

Danna and Myron glanced at each other, fear thick in their scents and their expressions.

“Come on now, let’s keep the bloodshed to a minimum. I’d hate to have to hurt one of you.”

Danna shook her head. “He doesn’t have your mate, Cabal. We would have known if he did. Rick was insistent that he wouldn’t strike at her. She was just here to distract you.”

“Consider me distracted.” He smiled thinly. “Now, where is Walt’s cabin? Don’t make me go looking for it. You wouldn’t like the consequences and neither would they.”

“Cabal, we weren’t involved in this.” Danna’s voice broke with fear and nerves. “This wasn’t planned.”

He lifted his lip in a curl of anger, revealing the canines at one side of his mouth. The stripes on his face darkened with his rage, only barely contained.

“Do you want to die today, Sheriff?” he asked her before he turned to Myron. “Do you want to see your daughters grow up and have children of their own? I could make certain you don’t live to see that if you prefer.”

He would make certain of it. He’d stood back and denied his mate for too many years. Out of arrogance, out of stubbornness, for whatever reason. Now that he had claimed her, he wasn’t willing to lose her. Not for any reason. Especially not a rogue Breed’s hunger for vengeance.

He turned his head, staring around the house, inhaling slowly. He could barely detect that hint of cinnamon in the sherrif’s house now. The same scent that had caught his senses before when he had been here. The same scent he had detected in the air during Cassa’s kidnapping.

“Who is Rick?” He turned back to the sheriff, the name filtering through his mind for possible Breeds that he could identify.

Danna inhaled swiftly at the name, perhaps only now realizing she had used it. She shook her head slowly, her eyes sheen ing with tears.

“Rick,” he mused, a picture flashing before his mind. A picture found on the bank of the river where Cash Winslow had died. A picture of a Breed who should have been dead.

“Patrick Wallace?” His eyes narrowed on the sudden dilation of her pupils. She wasn’t trained to lie. She was good. Damned good. But still an amateur. Easily read and easily deceived. “Where is he, since it’s obvious he’s no longer dead?”

Danna stared back at him levelly. “Patrick Wallace died twenty-two years ago.”

Cabal tilted his head and stared at her before straightening and roaring back in her face in rage. “Where is he?”

He could sense the lie. He knew a liar when he sensed one.

“Oh God.” Terror raced through her; the stench of it was nearly overwhelming.

“Get back, Danna.” Myron pushed in front of her, using his own body to shield her as Cabal advanced on them. “Look, Cabal, we don’t know shit!” he yelled back. “Whatever the hell happened to your mate, we don’t know shit about it. We don’t know where Walt has Banks, and we don’t know where Rick’s at.”

“Who is Rick?” he snarled in Myron’s face.

“Patrick Wallace,” he answered truthfully. “But in the labs he was known as Azrael.”

Cabal almost blinked back at him in surprise and in shock. Azrael had killed himself, six other Breeds and an entire lab of soldiers and scientists more than thirty years ago. He had been created in a hellhole in Libya. His Lion genetics were crossed with the genetics of a young woman rumored to be a descendant of an ancient, bloody pharaoh.

Each DNA sequencing that had gone into the creation of Azrael had been precise. Nothing had been left to chance. He was their prize. He had become their death. And it was believed he had become his own death due to feral fever.

“Azrael,” Cabal murmured. He had been a legend among the Breeds when he lived. There had been no Breed bloodier, or more merciless, than he.

Eyeing them both for long moments, he reached out first to jerk Myron’s sat phone from its belt clip, before pushing past him and taking Danna’s.

Opening the call log, he shook his head and muttered. “Amateurs.”

The numbers were clearly displayed, giving him all he needed.

Tucking the phones into the narrow pocket on his mission pants, he smiled coldly. “It’s been a nice visit, but it’s time for me to go now.”

He had no compunction about knocking them both out. It was that or kill them, and the need to kill was already rising hard and fast within him.

After making sure they were unconscious, he pulled two pressure syringes from his pack and a vial of sedative. They needed to stay out for a while. He didn’t have the time or the patience to deal with the interference they would cause.

Using the sheriff’s restraints, he secured them by the wrists and ankles and left them lying on the kitchen floor. If either of them had an ounce of intelligence, then it wouldn’t take them long to get free. But it would give him enough time to do what he had to do. They were going to nap for a while anyway.

Cabal reengaged the comm link as he left the house, and pulled the sat phones free again as he hit the secure line to Jonas’s link.

“I’m going to kill you when I find you,” Jonas promised with lethal deliberation.

“You have a bigger problem. Azrael is alive.”

There was a long silence, dark and dangerous, across the link.

“That’s not possible,” Jonas finally answered, his voice cold. “His DNA was identified at the scene.”

“You said yourself when we found Alonzo that these kills reminded you of Azrael,” Cabal reminded him. “That’s because they are his kills. I suspect the six Breeds he led are here with him as well. You need to get an accounting of your Breeds, Director. All kinds of problems are beginning to crop up here,” he finished sarcastically.

“It’s not Azrael.” Jonas denied it again. “He’s dead, Cabal. Whoever this is is just doing a damned good job of impersonating him. Do you have anything else?”

Cabal shook his head. Jonas didn’t want to admit Azrael was out there, simply because there would be no controlling that particular Breed.

“I guess giving you the sat phone number I have for our god of death would be a bad idea then,” he drawled. “I was hoping you could trace it, but I think I can handle that little chore now.”

“Don’t make me kill you painfully, Cabal,” Jonas warned him, and it wasn’t an idle threat.

There would be payment for literally going rogue on the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs. That wasn’t usually a wise move. However, in this case, it had been Cabal’s only possible move.

“Sorry, Director. Some things are more important than the bottom line.” He disconnected the link as he mulled over Jonas’s insistence that Azrael was indeed dead. The director should have learned by now that nothing was definite where Breeds were concerned.

There had been too many Breeds that were believed dead but had turned up alive in the past few years. It wouldn’t surprise Cabal in the least to learn that Azrael was indeed still alive.

Moving away from the sheriff’s house, he pulled one of the small remote sat detectors from his pack and plugged the sat phone into it. Pulling up the numbers once again, he chose the one he figured was most likely the rogue he was searching for. The number dialed the most often.

Tucking the unit back into the leather holder, he loped through the forest to the area where he’d stored his rifle and larger pack before entering the cabin. He should have the location he was searching for soon. Once he had that, he would have his mate’s kidnapper.

His muscles were tense, and rage still thundered through his blood as he fought to hold on to his much needed control. Now wasn’t the time to let the animal free, to allow the killer to hunt. The man had to keep a measure of control for the time being. Until his mate was safe. Then the animal could have his vengeance.

God help all of them if Cassa had been harmed. There would be no force on earth that could save any of them. Danna Lacey, Myron, Azrael or whoever the hell he was—it wouldn’t matter. If Cassa was harmed, then Cabal had no reason to live.

He almost paused at that thought. Living had always been the one hunger that had gotten him through the hellish existence of the labs. Nothing had mattered but survival. When most of his pride had died, when he had realized there was no way to save them, even then, survival had been paramount.

It was humbling to realize that if Cassa didn’t live, didn’t breathe in his world, then he didn’t want to be a part of it.

He paused, breathed in hard and deep and fought back the emotion clawing at his chest, at his throat. God help him, just to smell her scent, to hear her voice, to know she lived . . .

He couldn’t bear the not knowing. Wondering if she was suffering. If Azrael lived, then he was the one Breed that wouldn’t care if she suffered. If he had deemed her a threat, or a pawn in this game, then he wouldn’t care if she hurt, if she cried. If she was innocent. Nothing would matter but the plan he had in store for her.

If that were the case, then nothing would matter to Cabal but his blood. Azrael might be the god of death, but Cabal would ensure he died.

As he reached the store of supplies he had stashed for the visit to the sheriff’s home, he felt the muted vibration of the tracking unit in its pack against his thigh. He smiled, a cold, hard curl of his lips, and drew the device out.

And there it was. The location of the sat phone he was searching for. And, he prayed, the location of his mate.