Who was she?
“Please. He’ll hear, no matter where you are, no matter where you speak, he’ll know. Please don’t betray me, Cassie. Please don’t let him kill me.”
Oh God, who was she?
Why was this woman’s pain driving inside her skull like steel spikes? Why was her fear like a blanket, heavy and hot, making it hard to breathe, to focus on the information she could have sensed from the spirit facing her.
“Cassie?” She was silent for so long, the tension in the room growing so heavy, he couldn’t resist the need to remind her they all needed answers.
Her lips quirked with an edge of bitter amusement. “I don’t always have the answers,” she stated softly, turning to him as if focusing her attention had become a task.
He barely restrained his surprise, knowing from the quiet near whisper of her voice that the message was meant for him alone.
What the hell was going on? What was the message in her neon eyes, the plea he could sense there? Raking her fingers through her hair restlessly, she turned away from him, the shadows in her eyes seemed to darken.
“I think I need to rest for a while,” she stated then, her voice quiet as she turned to her parents. “I’d like to go to my room now.”
“You can walk down with your mother and me,” Dash stated before turning to Jonas. “We’ll talk later.”
“Just let me know when,” Jonas agreed as the Wolf Breeds accompanying them led the way from the suite.
Stygian watched Cassie with narrowed eyes, knowing—just as he was certain the rest of them did—that she was escaping. Whatever she had sensed, or even seen, she wasn’t ready to reveal yet.
“There are days I have a tendency to forget how exasperating that child can be,” Jonas stated as the door closed behind Cassie and her parents.
They all had that tendency, though Stygian had rarely sensed her pain, or that feeling of a silent message, as he did now.
Stygian knew who Liza was. At least, he was pretty certain she was Honor Roberts rather than Fawn Corrigan. He knew for a fact she had not been born Liza Johnson. Honor Roberts for all intents and purposes was dead. She had died in the desert twelve years before, the night Liza Johnson and Claire Martinez had gone over that canyon in a sports car that didn’t belong to them.
Honor Roberts had died in Liza’s place. Or at least, her spirit had. Because there wasn’t a doubt in Stygian’s mind that Liza had always believed to the bottom of her soul that she was Audi and Jane Johnson’s daughter.
And, Stygian knew, her father knew the truth.
Audi Johnson knew Liza wasn’t his daughter, though Stygian couldn’t be certain what Ray Martinez believed.
If Ray Martinez knew or suspected, then Stygian intended to pay the man a visit and advise him on how to treat his daughter with respect rather than resentment.
“Before you head back to your room, we need to go over a few security revisions I want to make.” Jonas raked his fingers wearily through his hair as he moved to the conference table that had been set up and spread out with not just hand-drawn maps and notes but also several electronic data pads.
“Have you heard from Dog on the movement he’s tracking in the desert?” Stygian asked as they headed to the table. “He headed back out to meet up with his men.”
“Control advised he was in place and tracking it, but he hasn’t sighted anything yet.” Handing Stygian a data pad, he picked up his own. “Here are the changes I’m considering—”
Stygian listened, but he watched the director as much as he did the plans that had been drawn up.
Jonas rarely showed the physical signs of weariness or worry, and he hadn’t aged a day since his mating, but worry creased his forehead now and there were shadows in those mercury eyes that hadn’t been there before.
Amber was getting worse.
And the knowledge of that was taking all choice from Stygian’s hands.
Something would have to be done soon.
Dog moved into place, watching the four Coyote Breeds waiting in the overhang of the canyon’s cliff.
Moving confidently, Mongrel and Mutt flanking him, he moved along the canyon wall before stepping into the cave-like overhang.
The four Breeds looked up, their hard faces sharply hewn, their eyes cold, hard.