His hand tightened on her wrist, his fingers stroking a pattern of warning across her flesh until he felt her tense, felt the moment she realized the pad of his finger was carefully outlining the letters to a very short message. Be ready.
She was already ready. He felt it. The way she held herself, the sudden smell of the rage solidifying inside her as he tensed and prepared to move.
He glanced to the window, saw the vague outline of a dark hand. Five fingers. Four. Three. Two . . . ONE.
"Down!" He took her to the floor as the window behind the bodyguard Svenson's head shattered and laser fire began to fill the room. It took only a breath to watch blood erupt from the younger man's chest and head, to see his eyes widen and smell the scent of death as it began to fill the room.
Jerking Rachel to the relative safety beneath a heavy coffee table, he went for Brandenmore. Svenson was laid out on the floor, blood staining his hair as Devon Marshal lay on his stomach, his shoulder covered in blood. Brandenmore crawled across the floor at a far quicker pace than Jonas would have expected from a man his age.
Springing ahead of the old man, Jonas caught him by his shoulder, his claws ripping into flesh far more resilient than it should have been, into muscle more powerful than he could have guessed.
But he was still human, and no match for the Breed genetics Jonas possessed.
Jerking him to his feet, Jonas flung Brandenmore to the wall hard enough to daze him before gripping a handful of hair and jerking him back again, placing the older man in front of him.
Alpha Team One and Ghost Team had ended the danger to Rachel's life in seconds. Merciless, quick and efficient. The chilly night air swirled through the room, the scent of blood and death mixed with that of wood smoke, terror and pain as he forced the old man to face the night's work.
"It's over," he yelled, forcing Brandenmore to stare at the results of the sudden Breed attack.
His bodyguards were dead. Blood spilled from their bodies as they lay on the floor, their gazes empty and staring into nothingness.
"It's not over."
Jonas jerked his head to the side to see Devon holding Rachel by her hair, his grip harsh, jerking her head back as the point of a laser pistol lay against her vulnerable head. The younger man looked dazed, furious. The scent of his blood was heavy in the room, as was the smell of his fury and fear.
Jonas froze. The Breeds rising slowly from the floor stared at the scene as though in emotionless interest, but he could smell their sudden intent, could feel them weighing possibilities and considering options.
Rachel was the director's mate. Without her, Jonas didn't know if he could function. His men didn't know if he could function. If she died, there would be no rage as great as what he would feel, forever. Until he killed himself or someone did him a favor and killed him.
"I want that little bastard." Devon pushed her toward the door, his eyes gleaming with hatred as he stared at Jonas. "Let him go. The little bitch is nothing but an embarrassment. There can be no heir to the Marshal fortune, who isn't a Marshal."
And no one considered Amber a Marshal.
There were few options.
"The mother has to live." Brandenmore's voice was soft, so soft. "She will breed a legacy to science."
His child.
Jonas's hands tightened in his hair.
"His gun is empty of power." Almost too quiet, even for his senses to pick up, Brandenmore whispered the words. "I'd never give him a weapon that worked."
Devon was digging the barrel into Rachel's head. The tiny light at the side of the weapon was red. It wasn't powered. Or was it a trick?
"I'll kill you if she dies. So very slowly," he warned the old man. The old man in a much younger man's body.
"Let me out of here," Devon ordered harshly as he jerked Rachel toward the door. "I'll fucking kill her."
Jonas turned his head and gave the Breed still standing in the shadows outside a slow nod. Ghost Team had remained hidden while Alpha Team One had rushed into the room.
Jag had a bead on the back of the bastard's head. He would take him out. It would be messy. Rachel would never forgive them for the mess.
Silence filled the night until a hollow pop vibrated through the room and a gush of blood and brain matter exploded from the side of Devon Marshal's head.
Rachel jerked as he fell. She was gripping his hand, trying to jerk his fingers from her hair as she kicked at him, screamed at him.
Tears ran down her face; rage tore through her voice.