“Good-bye, Cullen.”
He turned as she raced from the kitchen to the living room. He’d taken two running steps to stop her before pulling back, forcing himself to stop, to let her go. His lips pulled back in fury, a snarl ripped from him seconds before he turned and plowed his fist into the wall, burying it in the suddenly crumbling drywall.
Jerking back, he stared at his knuckles, his fingers. They ached, but not from the strike. And it wasn’t just the fist that slammed into the wall that was aching; his other hand was balled so tight he swore his nails were pricking the flesh of his palm.
“Damn her!” he bit out, forcing himself back to the kitchen and that damned letter on the table.
Before he could stop himself, he ripped it to shreds and let the pieces fall to the floor, watching them flutter with a slow, gliding grace.
She’d be back.
It was just another damned way to show him how serious she was. He’d put her on one of the less dangerous operations when she came back, he promised himself. Hell, he should have done it already but he liked having her with him in the office. She was funny, insightful. She smelled good—
And she’d run from him.
He must have scared her, though Chelsea wasn’t the type to get scared over a kiss. He knew her better than that. And she knew him better than to think he’d hurt her. He’d give her a day or two, let both of them calm down, and then she’d be back.
She couldn’t have been serious.
He wouldn’t allow it.
He couldn’t allow it.
CHAPTER 1
From Graeme’s Journal
The Recessed Primal Breed
The Primal Breed will know his mate, sensing her even without the benefit of Mating Heat. The recessed Primal will sense his mate, know her and find comfort and calm in her presence. Only Mating Heat will release his Breed genetics, though, and allow the Primal free of its cage—
NAVAJO NATION
PINON, ARIZONA
Oh God!
Oh God!
She was just a baby.
Tiny, delicate, a mop of tangled black hair and wide, shock-filled eyes.
Rage clenched Chelsea’s guts, formed a layer of ice around her emotions and stilled her racing heart. Logic and training snapped in and she forced herself to move into position slowly.
Horror. Terror.
Those distant, primal warnings of evil were pushed quickly to the back of her mind as the child stumbled forward.
Oh God, she had to get just a little bit closer. If this wasn’t timed just right, if Chelsea didn’t calculate everything perfectly, then she knew that baby wouldn’t be the only one who died in this lonely desert tonight.
Night vision glasses allowed her to pick up even the most minute detail in the deepening night. The sight of huge bite marks over the child’s body would live in Chelsea’s nightmares. If she survived. Deep, jaggedly torn flesh still seeped blood, spilling more down the already bloodstained little body.
Long, tangled black hair fell to the child’s shoulders and covered the side of her heavily bruised and swollen face. She was weak, far too cold and suffering blood loss definitely, possibly hypothermal shock. If she didn’t get that child out of there fast, then she was going to die.
Come here, baby. I’m right here. Come on, let me take you to your momma . . .
The plea was soundless, no doubt useless, but still, she urged the child to the edge of the rising tower of rock that hid her presence from the Coyote soldiers.