She didn't fully trust Nikki Armani. The other woman was a Breed doctor and, according to many reports from the pure blood societies, had worked against the Council even when she was a part of it.
"Have you been feeling uncomfortable? Had any unusual reactions to anything?"
the doctor asked instead.
"Like what?" Storme frowned in surprise. "What are you looking for, Dr.
Armani?"
"Some answers." The doctor remained cool and unflappable. "Everyone that comes into Haven is required to undergo testing, for your protection as well as ours."
"You talk as though you're a Breed," Storme commented. "You're not. You're human."
Nikki tilted her head and stared back at her curiously. "There's no distinction in my eyes, Storme, and according to the Breed mandates, there is no distinction in the eyes of the world courts."
That didn't mean there wasn't a distinction. It simply meant that the human parts of the Breeds were strong enough to encourage sympathy in the politically correct and politically distrustful world of the moment.
Not that what had been done to the Breeds could ever be considered right or just, but that didn't make them human either.
"But you know that it isn't true," she said softly. "You worked in the labs, Dr.
Armani, you know they're not human."
Armani's gaze became thoughtful for a second before a glitter of condemnation filled them. "Storme, I pity you, and I pity those like you who refuse to acknowledge the very unique strength of Breed humanity."
"I respect their strength, Dr. Armani," she said softly. "Just as I respect the strength and intelligence of their animal cousins. But as with the creatures whose genetics they carry, I know better than to bare my throat to them. I learned better the hard way."
By watching her brother die at the sharp, bloodthirsty edge of a Coyote Breed's teeth.
The doctor leaned forward slowly. "When Styx kisses you, is there a difference, Ms. Montague, between his kiss and the kiss of a man who is not a Breed? When that man makes love to you, when he touches you, are you with a man or with an animal? Tell me." She glanced at the mark on Storme's neck. "Do you bare your neck for him?"
"There's still a difference," she whispered. "It's just one you don't want to acknowledge."
The other woman's smile was filled with pity and with anger. "I remember when my grandfather would tell us stories of the racial conflicts in the past century. How we as biracial children were considered less than human because of the color of our skin, or the color of our parents' skin. Courts debated, brothers separated, and a war was fought to uphold the value of our humanity. Simply because these men and women were forced to carry the genetics of proud, highly intelligent hunters doesn't make them any less human for it. If you want my opinion, it makes them far superior to us in the very fact that unlike us, they know the value of life."
The doctor didn't storm from the room, she rose slowly, shook her head at Storme in disgust, picked up her bag and walked calmly away.
And still, she hadn't answered Storme's questions. Why were the samples needed, and what were they testing for? But what she had left Storme with was a mind filled with even more conflicts than before.
There was nothing different in the sex with Styx, other than the pleasure. He could touch her, and her heart rate tripled, kiss her and she lost her senses to anything but the pleasure of that kiss, and when he made love to her, he made love to her with all the hungry, intense pleasure that a woman could dream of. There were times he made her feel her own femininity with such keen strength that it nearly overwhelmed her.
He made her feel like a woman that held her lover's complete attention, his absorption. And that was something she had never known before.
When he held her, she didn't consider him an animal. In the cold light of day she wondered just what the hell she was letting herself get involved in though, because she could feel her emotions and her feelings changing. And that terrified her, because she knew that would also change the entire course she had set for her life.
"Hello, anyone here?" The greeting came through the bedroom, from a voice she knew could belong to only one person. "Styx, come on, honey, I have the chocolate and the wine for you to check out."
Storme's head snapped around, eyes narrowing as a slender, svelte form stepped into the bedroom as though she were well used to being there.
Cassandra Sinclair. Nineteen years old, the only Coyote/ Wolf mix created, and rumored to be the foremost authority on Breed Law, she stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame as though she owned the place. Her eyes narrowed on Storme, her expression smooth, but with a hint of condescension.
Dressed in skimpy jean shorts and a barely there racer-back tank top, her full br**sts pressing against the top, obviously unbound, while skeins of long, lush black curls tumbled to her hips and around her shoulders, she looked like a teenage Lolita dressed to seduce, rather than the legal genius she was rumored to be.
Cassandra Sinclair was highly sought after for the price the Genetics Council had placed on her head because of her unique Breed status, created in vitro and carried to term by her mother. The blending of Coyote and Wolf DNA had failed each time scientists had attempted, until the success with Cassandra's mother.
Pale blue eyes roved over Storme, assessed her, and if the message she saw in the girl's gaze was anything to go by, she definitely wasn't considered a threat to whatever plans the younger woman might have for Styx.
Chocolate and wine? Oh no, Storme didn't think so.