Graeme’s brow arched at the question. “Thankfully, I was created not simply to follow orders, as Jackals were, it seems.”
“If I were simply following orders, then the woman would have already been taken and given to the scientists awaiting her.” He shrugged. “I was in place long before she came here.” He looked around the room to indicate the house. “His call to the Council and his demand to hear her screams first merely gave us the opportunity to achieve our own ends.”
“I don’t negotiate for freedom, Jackal,” Graeme snarled, furious that the attempt was being made. “There’s nothing you can say, nothing you have, that would convince me not to kill you and your partner. If I won’t spare you for her”—he pointed toward the foyer and stairs leading to Cat’s room—“then nothing will spare you.”
“Your mate or your child,” the Jackal grunted. “Either one is a weakness.”
“An alpha’s Pride is his children, his brothers, his sisters,” he informed the creature with insulting disgust. “Something those of your ilk know nothing of.”
Jackals may fight in groups for protection, but they fought independently of one another.
“Weaknesses,” the Jackal repeated. “You are defined by them. Weakened by them. Your survival is limited, Gideon.”
The monster filled him, darkening the stripes on his face and body, filling him with a primal intelligence and savagery that was like being on a high. Like a drug that opened all the senses, sharpened reflexes and knowledge. A possession of such power he reveled in as it filled him.
“Limited, Jackal?” The deepening of the grating tone wasn’t lost on the Jackal. For the first time, what the Jackal sensed coming from the Breed they called the bogeyman filled him with fear. “My survival never concerns me. If tomorrow comes, it comes with visions of blood, of my heart beating in front of my face even as my body fights to survive. If it doesn’t come, then it’s peace. You deserve no peace, but I’m here to give it to you.”
The Jackal was finally accepting there was no negotiating with a complete lack of sanity.
“She would have me kill you quickly.” He watched the two with calculated interest. “Doesn’t want to hear your fucking screams. Well, I want to hear your screams!”
Claws lengthened, razor sharp, strong, the slight curve perfect for ripping and shredding flesh from living body.
Glancing to his side he watched as Raymond Martinez looked on in horror, terror filling his expression, shock glazing his eyes.
“You’re next,” he promised the Nation chief. “Take notes.” Graeme had perched him on the living room chair before going to his little cat in anticipation of letting her listen to the Jackals’ screams.
Unintelligible mutters came from Raymond’s taped lips as drool eased down his chin.
A chuckle rasped from Graeme’s throat. The monster he became in any threat against his mate drew satisfaction and strength from his enemies’ fear, from their pain. Anything, anyone, evil enough to strike against such perfection as his Cat deserved all the pain he could give them, and more besides.
“What are you?” the lead Jackal asked curiously, obviously fighting against the paralytic, trying to force his body to move.
He was growing desperate, though only the scent of that desperation was apparent. Desperate to save his partner.
Looking between the two, he growled low, a rumble of warning, of intent.
“The Council’s worst nightmare,” he rasped. “A monster they dragged from the depths of an agony no man or beast should ever know.”
“Others will come.” The warning was given freely. “They believe she’s your mate, your weakness. They won’t stop until they have her.”
“And I won’t stop until all of you are dead.” Echoing with death, his voice was dragged from the pit of the monster’s soul as he moved to the weaker Jackal. “This one is your weakness, Jackal. You can hear him scream . . .”
• CHAPTER 8 •
“Gideon?” Her voice, sweet, a summer rain infused with innocence, caused the monstrous rage filling him to pause.
“Leave,” he snapped without looking at her. “You have no stomach for it, so go now.”
He could smell her pain, her certainty that she could call him back from the rage consuming him.
She didn’t understand. It was her only protection. This merciless determination to do what must be done at all costs. His ability to retreat and allow the monster free. Without it, he would have never survived the insanity that had crawled through him over the years.
“Don’t do this, Gideon,” she whispered, stepping into the room as he turned to her. Her gaze locked with his, her voice low, calming. “Let Graeme and the Bureau handle this. I called Graeme. He’ll be here soon.”
His gaze narrowed. What the hell was she doing?
She was reaching into him, touching his soul as she pleaded with her eyes.