They were created; they weren't born. They were trained; they weren't raised. They were genetic creations. Human DNA merged with that of the animal. The perfect soldier, a disposable creature. They were created to die, often in the most horrible experiments that the human mind could ever imagine. Their lives were a horror story from the moment of their births. Babes that knew no tender care, no sweet lullabies nor a mother's love. They cried until hoarse, until they learned no one was coming unless they required feeding. And many times, they were allowed to go hungry until they lay weak and in pain. Only the most basic of service was given to the babes. Creations that millions, billions of dollars had gone into in more than a century of scientific experiments and genetic engineering. "Cubs," they were called, never "babes," but they were living beings that, in terms of the cost of their creation, were nearly priceless. Yet in the eyes of those who made them, they were worth no more than the young women who died giving birth to one after another of the creations implanted in their wombs. Human and animal. Determined and far stronger in both spirit and body than the scientists could have ever envisioned. Despite the cruelties heaped upon their young bodies, the experiments, the demented training exercises designed to ensure their success in any mission they were given, many of them survived. The strength of their hatred, of their hunger for freedom, refused to allow them to pass quietly from the world they'd been brought into. Those creations are free now. They're triumphing against all efforts to see them back in the labs from where they came. Their intelligence is far greater than any could ever comprehend. Their strength is more primal than any could ever suspect. And they're living on the fragile, desperate hope that the world never learns the secrets they fight to hide.
Five in the morning was too damned early for a knock on his front door. He
was barely out of bed and showered. His coffee was still dripping into the
cup and he hadn't even had a chance to strap his weapon on.
Cullen Maverick liked things in order whenever possible. It made life a
hell of a lot easier.
Pulling his weapon from his side holster, he made his way to the front
door, confident that if a threat awaited outside, then it wasn't directed by
forces other than a normal workday upheaval. As commander of the Navajo
Covert Law Enforcement Agency, he'd made a few enemies over the years.
Those enemies weren't the ones he watched out for, though. It was the
enemies he'd made as a teenager that worried him.
The knock came again, firm though not masculine in the least.
Recognizing the sound, a direct knock without pounding, he knew instantly
who it was without questioning how he knew. His lips almost quirked into a
smile.
A quick look outside the narrow window next to the door showed a
slender feminine figure dressed in jeans and a light jacket. One of the junior
members of the force, she'd been on a few operations, though he'd refused
to give the go-ahead to move her higher.
Chelsea Martinez, with her black hair, brown eyes and dusky skin of
combined Navajo and Caucasian parents, stared at the door as though she
could will it open. She was a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to
be.
He should know; he was usually the one butting heads with her.
Swinging the door open as he leaned against the side of the wall, he
stared down at her somber, implacable expression with a slight smile.
Dawn was barely lighting the land outside, giving it an otherworldly,
quiet sense of solitude belied by the homes along the side of and facing his
own.
"You didn't call, so I assume this isn't life or death," he remarked when
she just stared up at him silently.
She'd been doing that a lot in the past few months, just staring at him as
though she expected something from him, as though he'd forgotten
something.
She cleared her throat, lips thinning, her gaze sliding from his for just a
second before jerking back.
"I need to talk to you." Quiet, intense, her demeanor wasn't threatening,
just too damned serious.
"Come on, I'll give you the first cup of coffee," he sighed heavily.
No doubt she was there to argue over her place in the Agency again.
She'd been pushing for some of the more dangerous assignments in the past
months. Covert Ops agents were kept quiet. They had no official uniforms,
didn't call attention to themselves. Chelsea was one of their more covert
agents, though she mainly worked in an assistant capacity at the office. She
could streamline files and people like nobody's business. Hell, her name
wasn't even officially listed with the Agency and he liked it that way. It
lessened any danger she might face and ensured he didn't have to worry
about losing a damned good friend because someone else blinked.
She was too young to be part of operations, he'd tried to explain to her,
to make her understand that he couldn't put her in the line of fire until her
training was far more seasoned.
"Here you go." Stepping into the kitchen, he removed that first cup of
coffee and placed it on the round table that sat in the middle of the darkened
room. "Flip a light on if you need to."
He rarely turned the lights on in the place simply because he spent the
least amount of time there as possible. It was a place to sleep and keep the
few possessions he owned. Mainly, his clothes.
Sometimes, the television screen set in the fridge door was on, but not
this morning. He hadn't had time yet to turn it on, and music would get on
his nerves after an hour or so.
"I'm fine," she assured him.
His night vision had improved over the past years. At first, he'd
questioned the change until realizing his twin, Gideon, was in the area. For
some reason the appearance of the Primal Bengal sibling had sharpened a
few of the recessed Breed traits Cullen possessed, but not enough to change
his life. Not enough to worry him.
"Let me get my coffee before we start, minx." He shot her a grin. That
solemn, sad expression was beginning to bother him in ways he couldn't
put a finger on.
"Of course." The answer wasn't exactly what he wanted to hear. "I
know how you are without that first cup."
There was no amusement in her tone, no teasing.
What the hell was up with her?
Leaning back against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest,
he frowned at her. Damn, she looked so sad, not angry or upset. There was a
sense of loss emanating from her, and he couldn't find a reason for it.
Pulling the cup free of the coffeemaker when it finished, he lifted it,
sipped and continued to regard her. She wasn't fidgeting in front of him,
wasn't acting in the least nervous as she usually did whenever she was
ready to put forth yet another position she could hold on an operation.
Anything to get her out of the office and to put her training to work, she'd
demand.
She was a member of the Breed Underground, she'd pointed out the last
time. She'd helped move juvenile and adult Breeds more than half a dozen
times, keeping them just ahead of the Genetics Council or pure blood
fanatics searching for them.
And yes, she had done that, but he didn't command the Breed
Underground. He couldn't disqualify her as a member of the forces that
aided hidden Breeds or mates, so he ground his teeth each time she went out
and argued with her cousins over it on a constant basis.
She was too innocent for covert work, too innocent to be scarred by the
crazies in the world.
"Spit it out," he sighed, lowering the cup and facing her quiet, intense
expression. "What have you come up with this time? What argument do
you think will sway me?"
She blinked a few times and if he wasn't mistaken her eyes actually
looked as though-were those tears?
What the hell had happened? Setting his coffee aside, he prepared to act,
to fix whatever had been done to bring tears to her eyes.
"Chelsea?" he questioned gently. "What's going on, honey?"
Cullen watched as she pulled back the front of her jacket, removed a
folded piece of white paper from inside it and slowly laid it on the table.
Cullen swore he felt the need to growl. One of those deep, dark rumbles
of dangerous warning he'd heard come from his twin's throat more than
once.
Every muscle in his body tensed and he knew, knew to the soles of his
damned feet what that simple piece of paper represented.
His gaze lifted to hers once again.
"You don't want to do this, Chelsea," he sighed. "Come on, honey, we
can talk about this."
They had to talk about it.
They were going to talk about it.
He'd be damned if he'd let her-
"It's my resignation from the Agency," she told him, her tone soft but
firm, determined.
She'd made her mind up. By God, she actually thought she'd made her
mind up to leave him-to leave the Agency. That she could just walk away.
He stared at it, glared at it.
If he had his way it would burst into flames and the memory of it would
dissipate along with the paper.
"The hell you are." Lifting his head, he directed that glare at her.
And she met it.
Not once did she flinch or look away. Not one time did she even pretend
to acknowledge his dominance. Hell, she didn't even consider it.
"The Agency isn't going to work for me, Cullen-"
"Because I don't let you run it?" he snapped. "You don't make the
decisions there, girl. If you did, 'Commander' would be sitting in front of
your name instead of mine."
There were times, few though they had been, that standing firm would
encourage her to back down. She had to back down on this.
She nodded sharply. "Agreed. But I never wanted to run it. I just wanted
to be a part of it, not a glorified running girl for you and the other agents.
That's not happening, so it's time I leave."
His jaw tightened with a surge of anger at once confusing and filled with
frustration.
"You won't give it time," he began, his back teeth grinding.
"I don't have any more time to give it, Cullen." Her lips tilted in
remorse as she lifted one hand out to him before dropping it just as quickly.
"It's just time, okay?"
"Time for what?" He stepped closer, though she chose that moment to
look away from him, unaware he was coming closer, that his refusal to
accept this was about to get up close and personal.
"Grandfather agrees it's time I go. That I find my own way . . . Cullen?"
She turned back, her gaze going first to where he was supposed to be, then
to the shadow suddenly at her side.
"Cullen?" Breathless, a woman's sound, one filled with surprise, a bit of
shock and a hint of apprehension as he swung her around, pulling her
against him, letting her feel the erection he had no intention of hiding from
her any longer.
And damn her. Her lips parted; her eyes, like soft melted chocolate,
stared up at him, widening, then turning slumberous as her breathing
escalated, her breasts rising and falling faster as he held her to him.
What the hell was wrong with him?
She had to leave. Summer Calhoun, the woman the world knew as Summer Bartlett, was smart enough to know that this phase of her life was over. And though she wasnāt normally one to run, or to give up, even she couldnāt ignore the fact that she simply couldnāt do this anymore. Teeth clenched, battling tears and anger, Summer threw an armload of dresses into one of the suitcases lying open on the bed. Jamming the material into the leather bag, uncaring of the wrinkles and years of careful packing habits, she added more, pushing the frothy, girly material from the sides of the bag and stuffing them in before zipping the back with short, jerky movements. She promised herself she wasnāt going to cry. Tears didnāt help. They had never helped in the past and they damned sure wouldnāt help now. Nothing would help but getting away and running from the pain. Like serrated blades, the memories of the past few days sliced into her, tore at her. God, how naĆÆve she had been. Four years with the CIA, two with various other agencies, and two more risking her ass in the private sector should have killed any naivetĆ© she might have possessed long ago. Hell, she was certain it had done just that. And how very wrong sheād been. So wrong that for eight years sheād believed an enemy was a friend, and that insults were just a brasher attitude than those Summer was used to in the South. And because sheād let herself be fooled, sheād just spent three of the most hellish days of her life, two of them attending the funeral and burial of the very woman whose deceit and black heart had nearly destroyed far too many people Summer loved. Easing to the padded bench at the bottom of the bed and propping her face in her hands as she rested her elbows on her knees, she tried to tell herself it was the price of ignorance. Of not seeing the true nature of the woman sheād known most of her life. The woman Summer had killed. The funeral had been somber, saddening, and subtly beautiful. Cascades of flowers, over a hundred friends and family mourning. Tears and heartrending testimonials for a woman no one had known for a traitor and a murderer. Summer had remained tearless through the viewings sheād been forced to attend. Sheād watched, listened, and taken her turn at the gleaming cherrywood casket where she stared into the pretty, silent features of the woman sheād been forced to kill. A woman who had hated her, whose jealousy and greed had destroyed so many over the years. Summer had remained just as silent during the burial, her head lowered, so much anger burning inside her that keeping it hidden was next to impossible. However, she had no other choice. Because sheād killed the woman they were laying to rest. Because it was her bullet, not an enemyās, that had slammed into Gia Barrettās black heart. And God forbid that the world should learn about the womanās crimes, crimes that would shame her way too influential family. Questions would be asked if Summer and the man Gia had turned her weapon on hadnāt been there for the partner the world believed was so kind and warm of spirit. Money talked, and the Barrett family had plenty of it. Enough to ensure that the world would never know the true reason their daughter was dead. She could have refused to be there, Summer knew. She could have found a quiet place to nurse the wounds gouged inside her heart if it werenāt for the man Gia was trying to murder when she was killed, and the man he called his brother. Esteban Falcone, known as āFalcon,ā was the wild, Spanish bad boy whose pale blue eyes could burn with laughter and fun or turn icy with danger or disapproval. The partner whom both Summer and Gia had fought alongside for two years. Playful, sometimes dramatic, always protective and loyal. So protective, heād had Summer dragged from the chapel seconds before security arrived to find Giaās body sprawled on the floor and Falcon holding the weapon that had killed her. His half brother, John Raeg, had arrived with security. The half brother was nothing like his sibling. Older by only a few weeks, harder, colder, heād handled everything and ensured the truth was buried so deep it never saw the light of day. The truth that for eight years Gia had betrayed all of them. Friends and family alike. Even more, sheād betrayed the friend Summer had sworn to protect years ago. A vow that had been broken when sheād failed to keep Gia and those she was helping from nearly destroying Alyssaās life.
In their three years of marriage, Chelsea had been a dutiful wife to Edmund. She used to think that her love and care would someday melt Edmund's cold heart, but she was wrong. Finally, she couldn't take the disappointment any longer and chose to end the marriage. Edmund had always thought that his wife was just boring and dull. So it was shocking when Chelsea suddenly threw divorce papers at his face in front of everyone at the Nelson Group's anniversary party. How humiliating! After that, everyone thought that the formerly-married couple would never see each other again, even Chelsea. Once again, she thought wrong. Sometime later, at an award ceremony, Chelsea went onstage to accept the award for best screenplay. Her ex-husband, Edmund, was the one presenting the award to her. As he handed her the trophy, he suddenly reached for her hand and pleaded humbly in front of the audience, "Chelsea, I'm sorry I didn't cherish you before. Could you please give me another chance?" Chelsea looked at him indifferently. "I'm sorry, Mr. Nelson. My only concern now is my business." Edmund's heart was shattered into a million pieces. "Chelsea, I really can't live without you." But his ex-wife just walked away. Wasn't it better for her to just concentrate on her career? Men would only distract herāespecially her ex-husband.
After a passionate night, Verena left some money and wanted to leave, but was held by her companion. "Isn't it your turn to make me happy?" Verena, always disguising herself as ugly, slept with her fiance's uncle, Darren, in order to escape her engagement with her unfaithful fiance. Darren had respect and admiration. Word of his romantic escapades circulated, some saying they saw him kissing a lady against a wall and others calling it gossip. Who could ever tame Darren's heart? Then, shockingly, Darren was caught bending down to help Verena with her shoes, all to score a kiss from her!
After Martina Martinez and Benjamin Walker's breakup, paparazzi captured photos of the business tycoon entering the Walker family mansion with a mysterious woman late at night. This caused a stir, and this wealthy family was bombarded by various media outlets. During a phone interview, the gossip reporter asked, "Miss Martinez, how do you feel now that Mr. Walker has a new girlfriend?" Martina held her painful forehead and looked towards Benjamin, who was adjusting his suit by the floor-to-ceiling window. He gestured for her to come over and help him with his tie. Holding her phone, Martina responded, "It's... complicated!" The reporter's heart leaped with joy and asked, "Is it heartbroken?!" Martina was about to nod, but Benjamin raised his eyebrows and took her phone away. His deep and alluring voice was heard on the other end of the line, "New girlfriend? Whose?"
"I, Sophia Addison, of the Crescent Moon Pack, deny your rejection, Jacob Carter." I smiled triumphantly at him and he just glared at me. I can hear loud gasps and whispers throughout the place. They cannot believe that their goody-two-shoes of a senior year president is rejecting me in front of everybody. What goody-two-shoes? More like a two faced jerk! That is why, here I am, denying his rejection. Oh well, I refuse to suffer alone. So...let us both suffer together my dear mate.
Everyone was shocked to the bones when the news of Rupert Benton's engagement broke out. It was surprising because the lucky girl was said to be a plain Jane, who grew up in the countryside and had nothing to her name. One evening, she showed up at a banquet, stunning everyone present. "Wow, she's so beautiful!" All the men drooled, and the women got so jealous. What they didn't know was that this so-called country girl was actually an heiress to a billion-dollar empire. It wasn't long before her secrets came to light one after the other. The elites couldn't stop talking about her. "Holy smokes! So, her father is the richest man in the world?" "She's also that excellent, but mysterious designer who many people adore! Who would have guessed?" Nonetheless, people thought that Rupert didn't love her. But they were in for another surprise. Rupert released a statement, silencing all the naysayers. "I'm very much in love with my beautiful fiancee. We will be getting married soon." Two questions were on everyone's minds: "Why did she hide her identity? And why was Rupert in love with her all of a sudden?"
Katie was forced to marry Dillan, a notorious ruffian. Her younger sister mocked her, "You're just an adopted daughter. Count your blessings for marrying him!" The world anticipated Katie's tribulations, but her married life unfurled with unexpected serenity. She even snagged a lavish mansion in a raffle! Katie jumped into Dillan's arms, credited him as her lucky charm. "No, Katie, it's you who brings me all this luck," Dillan replied. Then, one fateful day, Dillan's childhood friend came to her. "You're not worthy of him. Take this 50 million and leave him!" Katie finally grasped Dillan's true statureāthe wealthiest man on the planet. That night, trembling with trepidation, she broached the subject of divorce with Dillan. However, with a domineering embrace, he told her, "I'd give you everything I have. Divorce is off the table!"