If she died, she was going to go down fighting. She would not willingly give this bastard her neck for to rip open.
But shouldn't she have thought of this before she f**ked him? Before she gave in to her weakness, gave in to the need to relish his warmth rather than running another night?
"Ah, lass, would ye keep runnin' from me," he crooned, that devil's soft brogue stroking over her feminine senses as every muscle in her body tightened further in the demand that she run.
She wouldn't make it far. There were more than a dozen Breeds surrounding her, all Wolf and Coyote, with the exception of the director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs, who lounged casually at the corner of the cabin.
She swallowed tightly. "Let me leave."
"Give me wha' I want, lass, and the Breeds will give you free passage. I promise this."
And he sounded oh so sincere, but there was something in his gaze, some premonition that warned her he would never let her go so easily.
Styx, the charming Scots red Wolf. He could flow through the night and kill in ways that left his victims screaming long after he had disappeared. Among a very select group of Breed supporters, he was also known as the Scots lover. A man that took physical pleasure to its very limits and left a woman always begging for more.
And damn her, she had known that about him. Known and been intrigued by his reputation. Intrigued enough that she couldn't resist him herself.
And now she was paying for it.
"I don't have what you want." She infused her voice with desperation, lying, though she knew she couldn't completely hide the scent of that lie.
He chuckled, a low, rough sound filled with amusement and patience.
"Then I'm verra verra sorry to say, we'll have to step back into this cabin for a while," he stated as his gaze flicked to the Lion Breed at his side. "Jonas, could ye do me the small favor of having a few bars placed on the windows so the lass can't catapult through them so easily? It distresses me mightily to smell the scent of her blood when she wounds herself."
He gave her a heavy-lashed, wicked look. A look that assured her he wanted her in top physical form for a certain reason.
And damn her, she shouldn't be blushing at the thought of it, or the memory of his touch.
"Well now, Styx, you know how I hate to see you distressed. It will be taken care of within the hour." Jonas Wyatt grinned back at her as she threw him a glare.
There had to be a way out of this. In the past ten years she had escaped every time she had feared she was well and truly caught by either Council or Bureau. Surely there was a way to escape this time as well.
She gazed around desperately, seeing only marked cool purpose on the Breeds'
faces, and the lack of an opening to slip through.
This couldn't happen. It couldn't end this way.
She'd awakened from the nightmares of the past. The sight of her brother's throat ripped out, her father begging for mercy, gleaming red eyes and a monster's smile as curved canines descended to her own vulnerable flesh.
She'd awaken, confused, sweating with fear, and the horrible realization that she couldn't escape whatever was happening to her now. Whatever was going to happen to her. The abnormal reaction, the sense of desperation clawed at her throat and left her gasping for air.
"Let me go!" She was surprised by the vehemence and the desperation that tore through her voice and came out as an agonized scream.
All she could see were those wicked curved canines tearing out her brother's throat. All she could feel was the nightmarish touch of them against her neck and the sensation of her blood spurting, her body growing cold in death.
"Lass, letting you go isna a part of the bargain here." That smile, so charming, so dangerous, had fear cramping her stomach. "So let's be a wee bit reasonable and step into the cabin for a bit o' chocolate coffee and perhaps a bowl of the chicken soup I'm preparing to put on the stove, while we discuss this predicament we find ourselves a part of and perhaps reminisce about the night past."
Storme could do nothing but blink. Every muscle, every nerve and instinct in her body was demanding action, and the killer standing casually in front of her was suggesting chocolate coffee and sex? Had he lost his ever loving Wolf mind?
Did he think this was the Internet where he had yet another groupie fawning over his every abbreviated typed word? That she didn't know the training, the years of blood and death, that had created him?
She had no weapon, there was no way to escape. Her gaze went constantly around the forested area, tracking each Breed surrounding her as she fought to stay in place rather than run in panic.
"Lass, you can see you're not escapin'," he crooned. "Come on now, let's go chat about this. I bet I could even find a brownie or two to occupy us while we sip at the coffee and argue a bit about your present situation."
Oh yeah, a brownie was really going to convince her to just give in and cooperate with her own murder.