of lamenting words from a lovelorn male to his heart’s desire. Written to that female who was not her as she’d planned, but instead, her sister, Marie. Crumpling the dry paper in her fist, she whirled in fury. “This is not what you promised me!”
“Isn’t it? Evidence of his undying devotion to my mother? Isn’t that what’s behind your determination to end everything that reminds you of them together? They had no happily-ever-after for you to envy. Crushing us won’t replace the punishment you wanted them to suffer.”
She inhaled sharply and blew out a breath between clenched teeth—along with her churning emotions—leaving the cold, detached enemy he rightfully feared.
“How did you come by this supposed truth, and why would I believe it?”
“My father left me a letter, too, one that confirmed Dr. Duchamps’ study of our heritage. You remember Susanna, don’t you? You respected her enough to allow an invasion of our territory to snatch her back into your labs. Well, she’s made it her life’s work to separate out the building blocks of our genetics. With the help my father’s information provided, we have our answer.”
“If you have proof, show me.”
Genevieve never expected him to slowly remove another piece of paper from the pocket of his jeans. The light she held stuttered as he unfolded it and held it out for her inspection.
“That’s a copy. The original in my father’s own writing is safely tucked away.”
She snatched it, devouring the words in a disbelieving frenzy. As she did, Max reached out along the psychic link between him and his mate to reassure himself that she was near. Nothing. No hint of her close by, just a void. He cast out again, extending his reach. How could that be? He’d know if Genevieve was holding her. Even if unconscious, at this close range he should have been able to take her scent, feel her aura.
Unless, she wasn’t . . . alive.
His aunt finished reading, her breaths as unsteady as her hands. A convulsive move crumpled paper but couldn’t erase the truth.
“Who has the original?” Her demand rippled with desperate menace. “Tell me, or I will carve that child out of your whore’s belly right in front of you!”
Just the proof of life he needed.
The one thing she never expected was his low chuckle and the chilling claim, “This is my world. You have no power here.”
As Max rose from the old rocker, the doubts and fears of a small child fell away from the determined male he’d become.
“Where is my mate?”
The soft chuckle rumbling in Genevieve’s throat slowly rose into a spiteful laugh. “Your mate? So close and yet so impossibly far away. I’m not without my own special tricks, Nephew. I’ve hidden her presence from you, but there’s no need to continue that illusion. She no longer matters. Jeffrey, my associate, took the information we needed and should be working on it now in our labs in the North.” The sight of Max’s slow smile froze hers.
“Your man Maitlin never reached Chicago. He was detained and unfortunately didn’t survive a meeting with MacCreedy.”
Face mottling with rage, Genevieve snarled, “Go get her then.” She gestured behind her, toward Mrs. Pelletier’s empty house across the road. “Or should I say what’s left of her. She was dead the second you walked into this room. I’ll retrieve what I need from her corpse. Enjoy your victory.”
– – –
Charlotte . . .
Pain sifted through woozy eddies of awareness; physical twinges capped by cramps of stark emotion. Cee Cee lay still, concentrating on first things first.
She’d been drugged. Tendrils still drifted through her system, suppressing alarm, dulling reactions as she assessed her situation. She wasn’t in the comfort of her own bed, that much was obvious. The coverings beneath her stank with age and disuse, air in the dark room stale from lack of circulation. Her ankles and wrists were tied, arms drawn behind her back, numb at first then tingling with unpleasant shocks as she tested the bindings.
A deep pull of oxygen seared her dry throat. She fought the spasm of coughs, fearing she’d betray she was awake before learning more about her circumstances.
What the hell happened?
Raw emotions rose on a flood of returning memory. Crossing the street . . . a hand reaching from an open car door, grabbing, pulling her inside . . . then nothing until the whisper of her name.
Max!
Tortured by horrible scenarios, she thrashed on the bed, fighting the bindings along with her fears until a sharp cramp