He stood, his feet braced slightly apart, muscular body not exactly relaxed, but neither was he poised for danger. Dressed in the black mission uniform most Breeds wore whenever in public, he presented a dangerous male allure.
Thick black hair fell back along his nape and framed the savagery in the hewn features of his face.
High cheekbones, firm, well-molded lips, and thick, thick inky black lashes surrounding brilliant sapphire eyes, while his shoulders were wide enough that a woman could convince herself of her safety while in his arms.
Or just in his presence, in the shadows of one of the most notorious bars in three states. She could stand there with him, enjoy the banter and not have to worry about some drunken wannabe Romeo groping her.
He was the epitome of everything Breeds were being portrayed as. Strong, intent, protective and honorable. And for the most part, they were.
But Gypsy knew just how dangerous some of them could be.
A flash of memory surged through her.
Lengthened canines gleaming in the dark as she screamed out in horror, saliva dripping from them as maniacal savagery reflected in the yellow-gold depths of the creature’s eyes.
No matter how she fought, they tore at her clothes, shredding them, removing them, intent on raping her.
As he jerked her thighs apart—
She flinched, dragging herself back from the memory as a familiar band of panic tightened at her chest just before the sat phone in her vest pocket vibrated furiously.
“Gypsy, are you okay?” Rule moved closer, the scent of her sudden fear subtle, vying with the scent of arousal and the remnants of amused fun as he caught the distinct sound of the phone vibrating in one of the little pockets of her snug vest.
She’d been enjoying herself, only to have something yank her quickly from her joy as though to remind her of some pain.
A bleak pain so horrific that he could smell the agony of it even from outside the cavern where she’d huddled nine years ago, Rule remembered.
“It’s time I leave.”
He watched, denying the urge to pull her back to him as she slid inside the vehicle and pushed it into gear. The sporty little black Jeep tore out of its parking space and raced from the lot with a surge of power.
His eyes narrowed.
He was certain that motor was far more powerful than it should be.
Just as his attraction to the woman was.
Narrowing his eyes on the fading taillights of her vehicle, he checked the glands beneath his tongue carefully once more.
Breathing in, he pushed back his arousal, feeling the loss of stiffness in the eager shaft beneath his mission uniform and giving an imperceptible nod as the once-hard flesh lay dormant once again.
The beast that had been irritating the crap out of him, courtesy of his genetics, was quiet rather than roaring out in rage that a possible mate was escaping.
Hell, he halfway felt as though the animal senses inside him couldn’t have cared less where she went or what she did as long as she didn’t represent physical danger.
That meant no Mating Heat.
He grinned.
That meant Miss Gypsy Rum McQuade definitely wasn’t his mate, no matter Dane’s suggestion that his hunger for her indicated it.
Becoming addicted to her was a definite threat. But he could handle an addiction. He could walk away from it. Just as he had walked away from several of them while being tested in the labs for any weakness.
And that made her fair game, because he wanted nothing more than to f**k them both into exhaustion.
CHAPTER 3
Pulling into the parking lot behind the store an hour later, Gypsy watched in surprise as her sister’s short-wheelbase four-by-four black pickup pulled in beside her.