Styx's Storm

CHAPTER 18

Hitting the ground, Storme barely managed to smother a cry as she felt a sharp, raking fire along her side, where her shirt had shifted high and revealed vulnerable flesh to the glass raining to the ground ahead of her.

She would check it later, she promised herself as she struggled to her feet and began praying. It wasn't the first wound she had taken, and it would likely not be the last. If she survived, that is.

She could hear the discharge of laser fire even now, as she raced into the forest surrounding the cabin. Raised voices and automatic rifle fire began to echo in the distance as she ran as though the hounds of hell were snapping at her heels.

The sounds of laser fire and bullets combined were echoing behind her as she raced through the night and the thunderstorm that had threatened opened up in the heavens above.

Rain poured to the ground, making the ground slippery, wet. The sounds behind her indicated that there were others besides Gena there. Others who were possibly delaying Gena and Marx from following her.

Breeds. Breeds had been hiding in the night, but it hadn't been Styx. If Styx had been there he would have saved her. He would have been there in the cabin. He wouldn't have waited.

Her breathing hitched on a sob as she stumbled, went to her knees and fought to hold back the tears and the pain welling inside her.

He would have been here, if he could have been. He wouldn't have made her run through the night as she fought for her life.

"You whore!" Gena's enraged scream echoed in the darkness as weapon fire broke, then began the rat-a-tat-tat once again.

It was like hearing hell. Like being in the middle of a war that she had no idea how to fight.

Her fingers curled around the butt of the weapon she had managed hold on to. Forcing herself back to her feet, she kept running. She had been running for ten years, it was the only thing she knew. Maybe, if she kept running, she would forget. She would forget that for a while she had been warm and safe. That for a while she had known something she had never known before.

She didn't have much of a head start. Hell, she probably didn't have a head start at all considering how fast a Breed Coyote could run. If Marx was behind her, then she would be lucky if whoever had delayed them gave her a few minutes at best.

But if she were lucky, very very lucky, she might be able to flag down a car on the busy road and get a ride to the nearest town. It would be easier to lose Marx and Gena in town. It was harder for a Breed to track individual scent when faced with so many scents, she knew that. It was one of the reasons Council members, former trainers under warrant by the Breeds, and soldiers that had been a part of brutalizing Breeds had moved to such locations as New York City, Los Angeles, Dallas.

All she had to do was reach the main road.

Luck. If luck were on her side, then the Breeds and the Coyote Gena had brought with her would still be fighting it out at the cabin, neither side any wiser to the fact that she was once again on the run.

Styx wasn't with the Breeds. He couldn't be. She knew he wasn't. He wouldn't have left her like that, alone and frightened.

If she could get a ride into town and find a hole to hide in for just a few hours, then maybe she could figure out where to go next, what to do next and how to get the ring to Jonas Wyatt safely.

One thing was for certain, the information her father had left in her care was going to get her killed if she didn't do something. Just as it may have gotten Styx killed.

She had to give it to Jonas, she couldn't allow the Council to take it from her. That left her stuck between a rock and a hard place, with no room to turn in, and she was so tired of running.

As she raced up the steep incline before her, the soil beneath her feet gave, throwing her off balance for precious seconds. Grabbing a slender branch on a nearby bush, she couldn't stop the cry that passed her lips when thorns dug into her flesh.

Instinct and pain had her jerking back, completing a disastrous arc that sent her spinning on the wet dirt and tumbling down the slope.

Her body hit hard, her face slamming into the ground as she hit the bottom and dug her nails into the dirt, fighting to push herself to her feet.

One more try.

Breathing hard, weakness slamming through her, Storme stumbled again as she struggled to drag herself up the hill to the road above. She could see the lights of the passing vehicles, smell the asphalt and the heat of the tires racing over the road.

It wasn't that far, she told herself desperately.

She could make it.

Just a few more feet. She was just a few more feet to safety.

Digging her fingers into the wet earth, she clawed her way up the slope, stumbled onto the shoulder and swayed as lights pierced her vision, blinding her for precious seconds as the sound of squealing tires streaked through her senses.

A vehicle, dark and large, slammed to a stop in front of her. A van of some kind. Storme swayed dizzily as the side door slid back with a thud and she found herself hauled into the darkened interior.

Dizzy, exhausted, there was no way she could fight the too strong grip, or the male bodies that shifted around her, blocking the exit before the door slid closed with a bang and the vehicle accelerated quickly from its position.

All she knew was the fact that she was fucked. So well and truly dead that she might as well go ahead and say her final words to her maker, because sure as hell, she was getting ready to meet him real damned soon.

Only Council soldiers or Breeds could have staged this. And she knew the Breeds were busy protecting their own now.

She wasn't one of their own, therefore she wasn't protected.

Styx hadn't come for her.

The flight, the dizziness, the terror and the sheer heart-break that suddenly suffused her raced over her senses then. She felt the darkness, felt the blessed oblivion, and sank willingly, gratefully within it.

Mating heat.

Styx held his mate against his chest, feral fury pouring through him as the scent of the other Breeds became offensive to his senses.

The animal howling inside him demanded that he get his mate to safety, that he check the wounds on her body, that he do something to ease the heartrending agony he had felt inside her before she passed out in his arms.

The rage that had burned inside him when he had regained consciousness at Haven, only to learn his mate had been taken, was something Styx never wanted to feel again. He never wanted to feel that bloody primal fury overtake him, control him.

The Wolf had been acting on instinct alone. Nothing had mattered to him, nothing had existed in his world but finding his mate.

The glands beneath his tongue had instantly pumped full of the mating hormone. His mind had filled with the need for her, the possessiveness and overriding protectiveness that had obliterated any other thought or instinct in his mind.

When he had learned Ghost Team had allowed Marx Whitman and Gena Waters to escape with his mate, he had nearly gone mad.

God help those bastard Breeds if he ever learned who they were. God knew he would kill them himself. It was a damned good thing they were rumored to be able to control their scent markers, because if he had known or ever recognized their scent, he would have been unable to resist the urge to kill.

Staring down at his mate, he could feel the mating hormone spilling to his mouth. His cock was so damned hard he was certain he could pound railway spikes with it. His flesh was sensitive to her warmth, soaking it up and spilling more back to him as every cell in his body seemed to reach for her.

"We have company coming in behind us," Mordecai called out as the van began to speed up.

"McCrae, contact Brogan and give him our ETA to the heli-jet," Styx ordered quickly, instinct moving to give the appropriate responses required to get his mate to safety. "I want Haven appraised of our position and situation and a team sent out immediately to capture Gena Waters and her Coyote bastard."

Marx Whitman was a dead Coyote.

"Alpha Delgado has already sent a team out," Mordecai responded as he took a curve with enough force to leave the tires screaming as they fought to keep contact with the road. "Our ETA is one minute."

"And our company is getting closer," Navarro spoke from the passenger seat as he armed a laser rifle. "Delgado's team might not have to worry about collecting them."

There was murder in Navarro's tone now. His gaze glittered with savage death, and as it flickered to Storme's unconscious form, compassion seemed to soften it.

"Get ready to roll," Mordecai announced as the van sped toward the lights of the heli-jet as it waited in the large clearing just off the road. "I'm coming in close. Jump and run."

The doors to the van were thrown open as the vehicle slid to a rocking stop within six feet of the opened doors of the black heli-jet, which hummed with power.

Styx was out of the vehicle at a dead run, jumping into the craft as the others came in behind him, the van left to idle and block the motorcycle bearing down on them.

Before Marx and Gena could reach them, the craft lifted off, the laser fire aimed at it striking harmlessly into thin air as powerful jets engaged and they were streaking across the sky.

"She's bleeding," Navarro commented as Styx laid his head back along the long seat at the back of the jet.

"A wound at her hip," Styx replied. "It had just healed. I'm going to have to discuss with her this penchant for jumping from windows, it appears."

As they had sped to the cabin, reports had come in by the second from the one member of Ghost Team who had followed Marx and Gena after they kidnapped Storme.

The Breed had stayed on their asses, finally radioing their location in just as Styx had felt as though he were going mad waiting.

"Marx had help," Navarro muttered. "We've pulled in a human and two Coyotes. Del Rey took care of the Coyotes himself. They're being disposed of as we speak."

Styx closed his eyes, grief threatening to swamp him.

Breed Law was exacting. It was a contract every Breed signed before being allowed into Sanctuary or Haven. A contract humans signed, though their punishments were far more lenient than Breeds'.

Betraying Haven or Sanctuary was fatal. Any Breed willingly accepting the role of traitor didn't get to live to regret it. No pleas were heard. No mercy was given. They were killed.

"Who was it?" he asked numbly, his arms tightening around his mate.

"Two of the Coyotes Del Rey rescued from Russia. The coya is taking it hard, Styx," Navarro sighed. "She feels responsible for what happened to Storme because they were Coyotes she helped to rescue."

Styx shook his head. He could never blame the tiny mate of the Coyote alpha whose soft heart had led her to aid in the rescue of the Coyotes her father had overseen in Russia.

"Was it one of the women?" He prayed it wasn't. If Del Rey had been forced to kill one of the fragile Coyote females of his pack, then he would never forgive himself.

Navarro shook his head. "Jacob reports it was two males. Greg and Fargo. The moment they admitted to it, Ashley killed them both."

"God." Styx almost shuddered. Ashley was almost the baby of the Coyote pack. Temperamental, so girly it made a man's back teeth ache, and so fierce in combat it made his balls shrivel. The thought of her killing anyone, especially a pack mate, never failed to shock him.

"Why didn't Del Rey take care of it?" Styx questioned harshly.

"Ashley didn't take it to Del Rey," Navarro said. "She was with the team sent to collect the two men for questioning."

"ETA to Haven is two minutes," Mordecai reported as his gaze constantly scanned the dark sky around them. "Your cabin is still standing and unaffected by the explosions. Security has a net around the entire area and the alphas and their mates are currently residing in the secured suites in security control." Security control was the heavily reinforced maze of bunkers beneath Wolf Mountain.

Styx lowered his head, drawing in the scent of his mate as he thanked God that the other women were safe and unharmed.

"They were after the children and mates," Navarro growled. "Marx hadn't been aware Storme was there until the party. Gena was in on the attack from the beginning."

Styx stroked his hand down her back, feeling the fragility of her small body, terror still racing through him at the thought of how easily she could have been taken from him.

That last blast had sent debris raining around them. He'd tried to shelter Storme from the worst of it, but a heavy piece of timber had struck his back and neck, knocking him out cold.

He'd left his mate undefended.

How the hell was he supposed to forgive himself for that? For the fact that he hadn't been there when Storme needed him, when the danger to her had been at its height.

"It won't happen again, Styx," Navarro assured him. "Ghost Team was unaware of her status. She was considered a captive, not a mate."

Therefore the priority placed on her life had been lower than that of the mated females and children that were rushed to safety. Because he had allowed her to hide from the packs rather than pulling her into the integrated society being established within Haven.

"No, it won't happen again," he agreed, his voice hardening as the heli-jet landed. "Never again, Navarro. I will see to it personally."

The heavy doors slid open at the wide stone walk that led to the front doors.

Cradling Storme against his chest, he moved from the heli-jet as Navarro ran ahead of him to open the doors to the house.

Around them, trees and cabins lay in ruins. The beauty and unique design of the main community had been wounded. It would be built back, but they would never forget that once again one of their own had betrayed them.

Stepping into the house, he was aware of Navarro closing the door behind him, and for the first time since moving into the spacious cabin Styx locked the door before carrying his precious burden to the bedroom.

As he neared the bedroom door, he almost came to a hard stop at the scent that filtered from the bedroom.

"Styx?" Cassie was waiting in the room, curled in one of the large easy chairs that sat along the side of the room.

"Go home, Cassie." He couldn't deal with anyone but his mate right now. With anything but assuring himself that she was simply exhausted, her body fighting off the effects of the sedative he could sense in her system.

Cassie rose slowly to her feet as Styx laid Storme in their bed and smoothed back the long strands of black hair from her pale, dirt-smeared face.

"Listen to me, Styx." Cassie moved behind him, her voice quiet, saddened. "She believes you're dead. That was why she escaped as she did in unconsciousness. She couldn't face any more. She's reached the end of a very long road."

Cassie sat on the edge of the bed, her gaze compassionate as it rested on Storme.

"Cassie, whatever the reason, she'll awaken," he assured her. "I'll ensure it. Now you need to return to the bunker. I'm certain your parents are looking for you."

"You still talk to me as though I'm a child," she said and sighed. "No one understands Breed Law as well as I, nor can anyone else hear the secrets I hear, yet you continue to speak to me and to act as though I'm still nine."

"Or refusing to do as I ask so I can have a moment alone with my mate," he growled in exasperation.

"Perhaps one of these days someone will find it in them to treat me as an adult," she snorted before rising from the bed. "I just thought I should tell you that it will be a girl."

Styx froze before lifting his head slowly and staring back at her in shock. "What did you say?"

"Figure it out." She glared back at him.

He straightened, tensing. "She's going to become pregnant?"

Cassie rolled her eyes. "She's already pregnant, big boy. You and your little mate are about to become yet another scientific wonder. Contact your grandfather, perhaps he can figure out why. And don't worry about mating heat, or the hormones. It's only going to make her more unique."

She turned then and stalked from the bedroom with an air of offended feminine outrage, and he only barely noticed.

His eyes were on his mate. His entire being was concentrated on his mate as he tried to draw in the scent of new life.

And there it was. Subtle, so very new, no more than days.

His hand lifted his fingers to spread over her stomach as he felt his heart clench with such emotion that he truly wasn't certain what he was supposed to do with it.

As he stared down at where his darker palm lay over her pale flesh, he felt the glands beneath his tongue throb once again and the taste of the mating hormone filled his mouth.

The need to share it was driving him damned crazy.

He wanted to bind her to him, possess her in ways that she would never be free of. He wanted to possess her heart, her soul, the very essence of her feminine spirit.

"Ah, lass, how much more of a miracle could ye be to me?" he whispered as his head lowered, his lips touching hers, though he was careful to hold back the hormone that would strike a quick flame to the arousal that simmered between them whenever they were together.

"Wake up, Sugar," he whispered. "Come tae me, Storme. How am I supposed to exist without you?"

He couldn't exist without her. There was no life, no sense of accomplishment, joy, or freedom if she wasn't by his side.

When she lay unmoving, a sigh slipped past his lips. He would allow her to sleep a bit longer. But until then, he could at least make certain she was clean. Marx and Gena had dragged her hundreds of miles from Haven, to the old, abandoned cabin Storme's parents had once lived in.

In the huge garden tub that sat in his own bathroom Styx ran a half a tub of steaming water before stripping himself and then his mate and carrying her to the bathroom.

He eased into the heated water as he held her against his chest, fighting to hold her gently, to ensure that so much as a single bruise wasn't added to those that already marred her tender flesh.

Using a soft cloth he cleaned her gently, his hands stroking over her, his heat and the water's warming her chilled body. She'd been soaked to the skin from the rain and mud when they'd pulled her into the van.

Hell, they'd nearly run her over as they raced to the cabin behind the single member of Ghost Team who had set out after Marx and Gena despite orders to stay with the rest of the team and protect the alpha wives.

The team member had Styx's undying gratitude. The others had left Storme to her fate because she didn't carry the mating scent, because she hadn't been claimed by a Breed. All but the one who had followed against orders and relayed her location once he caught up with the Coyote and his bitch handler.

After washing and conditioning the long strands of her black hair, Styx emptied the tub as he used the handheld shower to rain the warming caress of the water over her body and keep the chill from her.

As the last lingering grains of dirt washed down the drain, he rinsed them both again before wrapping a large towel around her and carrying her back to the bed.

He laid her on the dry side and hurriedly stripped the blankets that were damp and marred with mud from earlier. Clean, soft sheets and a heavy comforter went on the bed before he finished drying her hair, combed it gently then tucked her beneath the blankets and crawled in with her.

He was so damned hard he could barely stand to breathe with the ache in his balls. The need to kiss her, to share the mating hormone with her, was so overwhelming he found himself once again brushing his lips against hers.

She moved beneath him, causing him to still, to gaze down at her in desperate hope as he watched her lashes flutter open.

At first, fear and desperation flashed in the emerald depths, before confusion, then complete joy brightened the beautiful green of her eyes.

"Styx?" She whispered his name, her hand lifting, fingers trembling as she touched his face.

"Aye, lass, I'm no so easy to get rid of." He tried to grin and couldn't.

He was damned if amusement would rise inside him when he had come so close to losing her.

"I thought you were gone," she whispered, her lips trembling as tears filled her eyes. "I didn't get to tell you I loved you. That you changed me." A sob caught in her voice as he felt his own eyes moisten at the emotion he heard there, glimpsed in her gaze.

"Ah, lass, you let those bastards drag you off before I could tell you the same," he growled as his fingers lifted to touch the soft line of her lips. "I lost what was left of my senses when I realized you were gone."

Her lips quirked. "There's not much there to lose, Styx."

"Aye," he agreed. "And soon, there will be even less. Come, lass, kiss me. Give me your heart so I know tomorrow at least has hope."

Hope that even if the danger surrounding them didn't go away, then at the very least there would be happiness, joy.

Once again his fingers caressed her stomach as his lips lowered to hers and the cinnamon- and chocolate-infused mating hormone filled both their senses.

She moaned beneath him, her tongue licking at his, stroking it, before her wee lips suckled at it and she arched against him as though demanding more.

She was demanding.

Storme felt the heat that filled her mouth, the spiciness of his kiss sinking into her and the incredible pleasure that began to build from it.

The hormone-laced mating kiss. The tabloids and gossip rags printed stories and articles relating to the suspected phenomenon. Most people didn't believe it. Certain pure blood fanatics swore it was true. There had been rumors among Council soldiers, and Storme vaguely remembered her father and brother discussing something similar.

Personally, Storme had always scoffed at the notion. Now she knew it was true.

As she arched, her body heated, her pussy creaming until she swore she felt the dampness against her thighs.

A desperate moan left her lips as he abandoned the kiss, his lips stroking along her jaw, to the arched column of her neck and then to the hard, tight peaks of her nipples.

Covering a hard bud with his lips and sucking it in, his hands stroked over her arms. His calloused fingertips, slightly rough, traced down her arm, across her hip, along her thighs. His hands were never still, his fingers never caressing her the same way twice, but each stroke fired nerve endings and created a sensitivity to pleasure so intense it took only minutes before she was crying out from the extremity of it.

Her pussy clenched, her juices gathered like thick syrup along the bare flesh of her pussy lips and sensitized her clit to the point that it was pounding with sensation.

Even the air against her flesh was a caress, fired and intensified by the small growls and groans that sounded as if they'd been forced from Styx's chest.

His cock lay against the inside of her leg, thick and so hard it felt like hot iron against her flesh.

As his lips loved over her breasts, suckling first one, then the other of the tight, sensitive nipples, Storme fought the need to grab his head and push him to the sensitive flesh of her thighs.

She needed his kiss there. Needed the stroke of his tongue against her clit, those hungry growls vibrating against it.

Her hips arched, strangled cries tearing from her throat as those heated kisses began to trail down her torso, over her stomach.

Stopping at the flat plane of her midriff, he paid particular attention to her lower stomach, his tongue stroking, his fingers caressing before he moved lower.

Lower.

"Oh God. Styx!"

His tongue swiped through the drenched folds of bare flesh, so hot and wicked she swore she nearly came from the first lick.

But her lover was more diabolical than that.

The Breed known to fulfill every woman's greatest sexual fantasies whispered against the heated, swollen flesh. "Mine!"

His teeth nipped at the tender folds, sending a rush of excited sensation racing along the nerve endings, straight to the sensitive bud of her clit.

Her juices spilled, only to be caught by his sensual, hungry tongue. Her pussy clenched violently as he parted the inner lips, his tongue flicking against the entrance before thrusting inside with a fierce, hard stab.

Her hips came off the bed.

Hard male hands gripped her thighs, holding her in place as he began to fuck her with his tongue, driving her to the brink of release before pulling back then pushing her to the edge once again.

She wanted to scream in need. She would have, but he kept stealing her breath with the pleasure.

She wanted to demand more, demand her orgasm and whatever came with this new, blazing sensation, but she couldn't keep her senses intact enough to force the words to her lips.

Chocolate and cinnamon filled her senses as she pressed against his shoulders with her hands, pressing him back, pushing at him until he lay back for her, his large body a banquet of tastes and sensation for her greedy senses.

Her palms stroked along his chest and his abdomen, her lips moved over his, her tongue licking at his, dipping into the hormone-infused well of pleasure as she tried to straddle his hard body.

She meant to straddle him.

She wanted to. She wanted to ride him until nothing mattered, until all she felt, tasted or knew was the touch of him.

But Styx obviously had other plans.

Before she could press the aching flesh of her pussy against the engorged crest of his cock, he moved.

A growl rumbled in his chest as he lifted her, turned her, pressed her to her knees then came behind her with a dominance that completely rocked her senses.

His teeth nipped at the tender flesh of her shoulder as the weight of his chest leaned against her, pressing her shoulders to the bed.

"Ah lass," he growled at her ear as she felt his cock pressing against the slick, wet folds of her pussy. "More foreplay next time, I swear it to you."

More foreplay? Any more and she might have expired permanently from the excitement.

She might yet.

Storme stilled as she felt the press of the engorged crest at the entrance of her sex. Pausing, the head tucked against the entrance, she felt that first, rumored spurt of pre-cum from his cock.

Lubricating, heated, the suspected hormone-laced fluid rushed inside her, coating tender flesh and sensitive nerve endings.

As tension tightened through her body, still she felt the marginal relaxation of her pussy. The next heated spurt sent sparks of sensation racing through her and eased the tight muscles further as he began to press inside her.

Breathing in roughly, she focused on the pure fiery pleasure of the flesh parting, burning, stretching around him as he worked his own hard flesh inside her with short, tight thrusts.

Each measured penetration sent a blaze of sensation rushing to her clit. It throbbed and ached, swelling until it seemed ready to burst as she threw her head back, tilted it, and felt his lips along the sensitive column of her neck.

She'd seen the mark Hope, Faith and Charity carried there. The mating mark it was called. All wives of Breeds or wives who were Breeds themselves carried that mark.

As the pleasure tore through her system, lighting a wildfire of sensation along each nerve ending, Storme ached for the mark. She ached for each touch, every level of possession, and hungered for his kiss.

Fighting to breathe, she strained to take the heavy width of flesh penetrating her as he forged deeper inside the slick recesses of her pussy.

Tender nerve endings were revealed as blazing need was stoked and built to a level of intensity that she wondered if she could survive.

Holding on to her hip with one hand, the other pressed to the bed beside her, Storme felt that last, imperative thrust that buried him to the hilt inside her.

"Oh God!" She arched her back with ecstatic pleasure. She'd never been so close to coming without actually reaching orgasm.

"Ah hell, Sugar. How tight you are." Hoarse and growling, his voice rumbled at her ear. "It feels as though my dick is lodged in a vise. A perfect, hot, slick wee vise that does nothin' but pleasure it."

Pleasure surrounded her. She trembled, shuddered in the grip of it as she fought to hold on to to something, anything, that would allow her to maintain just enough of her senses to memorize each touch, each sound, each stroke.

She thought she'd known the most pleasure she could feel. That it couldn't get better, that it couldn't become more intense, until he began moving.

The feel of his cock tunneling inside her, stroking the tight, brutally sensitive flesh, stole that last measure of sanity she had been desperate to hold on to.

Instinct became all that kept her breathing. It kept her crying out his name as she begged for release, as the pleasure stroked through the overly sensitive channel that fought to grip and hold him in place.

Digging her nails into the blankets, Storme thrust back against him, taking him deeper, harder as he groaned behind her.

It was exquisite.

"So good," she moaned, dazed, near senseless from the pleasure that built to a burning, desperate peak. "Oh God, Styx. Harder. It's so good."

It was pure ecstasy, undiluted and raging through her system, burning through her mind.

The heavy thrusts were destroying her, pushing her higher and tightening through her body until she felt her orgasm beginning to blaze through her.

She tried to scream. Her body tightened until she wondered if it would break. Behind her, Styx thrust again and again, then with a deep, hard growl in her ear, she felt the first pulse of his release, the hard, burning swell of his cock in the sensitive mass of muscles gripping the erection.

Her eyes widened as a wailing cry of rapture tore from her throat. The knot extended, stretching her tighter, locking him deeper inside her as she felt his semen spurting against the entrance of her womb.

Ecstasy enveloped her. She came and came, each shuddering rush of pleasure a burning firestorm of sensation as she shook beneath him, her shoulders collapsing to the bed as her hips pressed tighter into his and another surge of release swept through her, like a tidal wave of sensation, and she felt his teeth rake, then lock into the sensitive flesh of her neck.

It seemed never ending. Each pulse of the knot locked inside her sent another wave of agonizing pleasure rushing across her senses. Each spurt of semen, each hard jerk of his hips was catastrophic.

She could do nothing but tremble in his grasp, give herself to each sensation and marvel at what she had found in her Breed's embrace.

This was perfection, she thought. Or as close as she was going to get.

As he collapsed against her, his hard body sheltering her, Storme finally understood why she had always been so torn where the Breeds were concerned.

Not simply because her hatred had been based on the actions of only one. Not just because of her fears. She had been torn because she belonged to one. Because a part of her had always known the injustices they suffered were just as much her fault as they were her father's, her brother's, or the fault of any Council member who allowed it to happen.

The Breeds were animals, creatures or creations. They were as deserving of life, freedom and love as any other living being on Earth.

This man though, he was hers.