Authors: Lora Leigh
Bengal's Heart (7 page)
Marv cursed again. “Fuck. I hate it when you do this. The viewers don’t like Shelley nearly as well.”
“Well, they’ll have to suck it up or watch the competition. Tell Shelley to flash cleavage and maybe a little thigh while she’s reporting. Ratings will skyrocket.”
Marv was likely foaming at the mouth, if the virulent string of curses she heard was any indication.
“Look, I have to go,” she stated imperatively as the elevator doors opened in the lobby. “Shelley will do great. The stories are waiting on her, or you can rerun some of the older stories. Try the one about that Breed Mathias and the kid he and his wife adopted. That was an interesting piece.”
The former Breed assassin and his wife had rescued an abandoned baby several months before and were now trying to adopt it.
“God, you’re pissing me off,” Marv snapped. “Fine, I’ll go through the old footage and see what we can set Shelley up with. But this better be damned good, Cass. I better see blood at the very least.”
Her stomach was still roiling at the thought of the blood she had seen. She didn’t think Marv really wanted to be a part of the massacre of the Breeds that would occur if that were shown.
“I’ll see what kind of gore I can get you, Marv,” she promised as she entered the garage and headed for her car. “I’ll call soon. I promise.”
“Better be damned soon or—” Cassa cut off the
or else
that usually followed. Marv was damned good with the threats and even better at yelling for hours on end if anyone was willing to listen to him.
or else
that usually followed. Marv was damned good with the threats and even better at yelling for hours on end if anyone was willing to listen to him.
She tossed her bags into the trunk of her car before sliding into the driver’s seat and hitting the ignition. A ten-hour drive was going to suck. Too bad the news station didn’t have their own plane; she could have used the lift.
Tossing the phone to the seat beside her, she roared from the parking garage and headed out of the city. Her hands gripped the steering wheel tightly as she fought to keep from speeding. She needed to be there now. She needed to find out what the hell was going on and why a Breed was now attempting to turn world opinion against them.
It didn’t make sense. The Breeds could be merciless, she knew it, she had seen it firsthand. But never without reason. And though H. R. Alonzo no doubt deserved a bloody death, if even half of the charges the Breeds laid against him were true, still, there were courts and trials for a reason.
Breed Law protected the Breeds against men like Alonzo. It was the reason the law had been written and was now the framework for justice at any time that Breeds were involved.
The Bureau of Breed Affairs had been established to ensure that Breeds, as well as non-Breeds, followed those mandates, and that the creations man had made were preserved in both safety and freedom.
For the most part, the world supported them, but if those pictures were flashed across the news screen without a damned good story in Breed favor to back them, then world sentiment would turn against them fast.
She glanced at the cell phone as she pulled to a stop at a traffic light and debated calling Sanctuary. She could talk to Merinus and Callan; the pride leaders of the Felines would send a team to investigate, and they would assuredly give her the story. If Jonas Wyatt and Cabal didn’t poke their busy little noses into it, just as she knew they would.
The deaths documented in the files she had received were the very ones Jonas and Cabal had been discussing the night before at Haven. Except, H. R. Alonzo hadn’t been on the list.
Alonzo had been a thorn in the Breeds’ sides since they first revealed themselves. According to Cassa’s research, he was also most likely a part of the shadowy organization known as the Genetics Council, though she doubted he was part of the inner twelve.
It was a story she was working on. Alonzo and several others who spoke out often against the Breeds were rumored to have ties to what was left of the Council. Most of the organization had been disbanded once the members themselves were revealed and convicted of having conspired to create, torture and murder the creations known as the Breeds.
Now Alonzo was dead. Who else would die?
Cassa breathed out roughly as she left the city, hit the interstate and sat back for the drive ahead. If she got there fast enough and managed to locate the area where Alonzo’s body was now lying, then she might have a chance to find a few of the answers she needed.
Eleven years as a television investigative reporter had given her the experience; a knowledge of the Breeds was an additional bonus. Now she could only hope that she was the only one who had received that file. If she was lucky—and she was praying she would get lucky—then she might have something to bargain with when she was forced to call Wyatt.
Her own pictures. She would need those. The file was good, but it wasn’t good enough. Pictures could be faked. Technology was amazing and still growing at a rapid pace. There was no way to prove those photos were, in fact, pictures of men who had died at the hands of a Breed.
Only Banks’s body hadn’t yet been found. Alonzo’s was a new addition, but she had no doubt that Jonas would ensure that his murder was covered up. Jonas was damned good like that. So good, a shiver of fear snaked up her back.
But Jonas wasn’t the only one with a knack for doing whatever was needed to protect his people. Cabal was also slowly gaining that reputation. The playboy of the Breed society. The whore-mongering tomcat. He was also whispered to be one of the Bureau’s best silent assassins.
He wasn’t an enforcer. He wasn’t even listed with the Breed registry. For a reason, she guessed. Breeds listed with the registry had to turn in blood and DNA samples. They couldn’t turn in fingerprints because those had been burned away in the labs.
She knew what those labs were, the hell the Breeds had endured. If one was now taking vengeance, then God help her, she couldn’t blame him. But she knew that the rest of the world would do more than blame the Breed, they would turn on all of them.
There was only one way to ensure that didn’t happen. She needed to know why. A face had to be put to the killer, a history. That was her job.
Now she just prayed that Jonas, and most especially Cabal, wouldn’t catch her before she managed to do it. If they did, then she didn’t have a chance in hell.
◆ CHAPTER 3
◆
EIGHTEEN HOURS LATER◆
Cassa was beginning to learn to hate the dark, and as she crashed down the mountain she was cursing her own lack of foresight in not having taken one of those nifty little scent blocker pills. Of course, she was on foot. The tangle of brambles and trees in this part of the forest was too thick for her Jeep to make it through.
Slapping at the vines as she crashed through them, she cursed herself, the Breeds and whoever the bastards were chasing her down the mountain.
She had a feeling that if they were Breeds, then they weren’t the friendly sort. She’d gotten an inkling when her attacker had jumped from a broken cliff above her position and snarled in a less than friendly manner.
The curved canines were her first clue that she was in trouble. The Coyote Breeds had curved canines, and for the most part, if they were chasing her now, then they definitely were not the friendly sort.
She heard a low, vicious growl behind her. The sound of it sent her heart rate spiking and her legs attempting to pump faster. She stumbled and rolled down a steep incline before gaining her feet once again.
This was insane. Coming here at night rather than waiting until morning. She’d been too impatient. The trip to West Virginia had been a nightmare to begin with. A flat tire, then a traffic jam along the interstate that had lasted long enough for her to take a long nap, due to the tanker that had collided with a guardrail before slamming into the face of a mountain.
She’d arrived in Glen Ferris just after dark and had taken the time to do nothing more than check into a hotel before setting her personal GPS with the coordinates that had been sent in the email. After dark.
Her father had warned her before his death that she was going to end up racing into more trouble than she could get out of one of these days. She was certain she had finally met up with that day.
“Nosy little bitch!” The snarl drew her up short as the body of a tall, muscular male Coyote Breed jumped in front of her, blocking her exit.
Cassa let out a girly scream. A high-pitched, surprised scream that pierced her own eardrums before she skidded to the side, went down on one leg and slid past him.
Oh God. Angels watch over her. Jesus, Mary or Joseph, whoever was listening to prayers tonight, just get her out of this one. Get her out of this and she promised she wouldn’t harass Marv for a week. No, make that a month. She’d fix coffee for him. She’d call her old biddie of an aunt, send her flowers or something. She would find some kind of good deed worthy of saving her skin.
A low, dark laugh echoed behind her. “Run, little girl,” the wicked voice called out, the pitch low, the amusement in the tone sending fear snaking down her spine.
She could feel her own breath laboring in her chest and wondered if this would be the last time she would feel it.
“Did someone forget to post the ‘No Reporters’ sign?” A hard laugh sounded behind her again.
God, they were playing with her. Coyotes were like cats playing with mice when it came to their victims. And like the mouse, she was running, running, running, and still they were thrashing behind her, shaking the brambles, crunching through the dead leaves and laughing with evil amusement.
She should have thought, should have put more planning into this.
She should have brought a flashlight. The third sharp branch of the night jumped in her path, and this one slapped her broadside, left her cheek stinging and brought tears to her eyes a second before a sharp tug at her jacket jerked her back and tossed her to the ground.
She kicked and struck something hard, a second before a furious yelp was heard, then she rolled and scrambled to her feet again.
She was almost back up and running. She had her foot planted on the ground, ready to sprint, when a hard hand gripped her jacket again and threw her back.
This time, the breath whooshed from her lungs as she hit the ground. The impact sent pain racing through her, and just as she felt the hard fingers touch her next, she heard a hard, furious animalistic roar echo through the night.
The brilliant rays of a full moon broke through the clouds, illuminating the sight of the darkened figures no more than several feet from her.
Six Breeds—she knew they were Breeds—surrounded three others, quite possibly the Coyotes that had chased her through the forest. But in the center of the small clearing, there were two others facing off. A feral Feline roar sounded through the night once again. It was followed by a low, amused chuckle.
“Cabal, you’re following in your brother’s footsteps a little too closely here. Losing your mate in the forest? Quite possibly a very dangerous thing to do.”
Dog.
Cassa recognized him then. The mocking smirk on his face, the glitter of hard, cold eyes as he faced off with an enraged Bengal Breed.
Both men were tall, bold, powerful. Cassa felt the tension that filled the air now, and stared at the Coyote in amazement as he chuckled once again.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Dog?” Cabal snarled. “Last I heard you were leashed.”
Dog moved with smooth, lithe grace. A second later a match flared and the tip of a cigar glowed almost merrily, lighting his expression with a red, dangerous glow.
“Last I heard, you had a hold on one nosy little reporter,” Dog growled back. “She’s none the worse for wear from my gentle handling. A few bruises perhaps.”
Cabal snarled again, the sound sending a flare of trepidation surging through Cassa.
“Shall we call this one a draw then?” Dog questioned mockingly as he glanced around at the Breeds surrounding the men with him. “Three against six seems rather unfair odds to me.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” Cabal snapped. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Perhaps the same thing you are, but with quite possibly different reasons,” he answered. “We’re searching for the same Breed, I do believe, Bengal. Shall we lay odds on who finds him first?”
They were both searching for a killer. Well, my, my, my, didn’t that just make three of them?
Cassa rose slowly to her feet and brushed off the seat of her jeans with what she hoped was a carefully casual move. She bit back a wince at the bruises she knew would be showing soon.
Placing one foot behind the other, she stepped back once, then again.
“Go home to your handler, Coyote,” Cabal ordered him coldly. “Or I’ll have you carted home.”
Cassa took another step backward. Just a little farther, she thought, then she might have a chance of actually getting out of Cabal’s sight before he decided to focus on her. If angels were watching out for her, then she could actually make it back to the Jeep and to her hotel without having to face him.
“You have such an amazing capacity for self-confidence, Bengal,” Dog drawled. “Sorry, but I’m here to stay for the time being. There seems to be quite a bit of a mess that needs to be cleaned up in these mountains.”
A mess? That was an understatement if she had ever heard one.
One more step back.
“Cassa, make another move and you won’t be sitting on that perky little ass of yours for a week.”
The utter sincerity in the threat had her freezing.
“Dog has taken care of that for you,” she snapped out, glaring at both men. “I won’t be sitting for a week anyway.”
When Cabal moved, it was with such swiftness that even Dog’s rumored lightning fast reflexes couldn’t help him avoid that fist that planted itself in his face.
He hit the ground with a thud that Cassa swore she could feel even from where she was standing.
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