But his brother had eventually realized Chelsea carried the mating scent and hadn’t come to him?
“When did you realize it?” He placed the water bottle on the counter carefully.
Graeme sighed heavily as he paced to the table, his fingers curling over the back of a chair.
“The night she was attacked,” he finally admitted. “I came to check on her. The scent was stronger, the spike in adrenaline obviously contributing to the strength of it.” Graeme frowned as
though perplexed. “I’ll have to check into that anomaly.”
“You can check into it later, Dr. Jekyll,” Cullen grunted, knowing how distracted his brother could become when it came to his research. “You should have been looking for a cure all these years instead of playing Mr. Hyde.”
Graeme’s brow arched mockingly. “There’s not a Breed or their mate that’s wanted a cure. I’d be wasting my time. You know I hate doing that.”
Cullen glared back at him.
“Chelsea will want a cure.” How could she not? She’d already tried to escape him once by resigning; she’d told him countless times how she wanted him out of her business. Knowing she was tied to him wouldn’t please her.
“Will she?” Graeme mused, watching him a little too closely for comfort. “What do you want?”
What did he want? Pushing his fingers through his hair, Cullen realized he didn’t have an answer for his brother. He had no idea what he wanted past keeping Chelsea in his bed and keeping her safe.
“It doesn’t seem to matter what either of us wants, does it?” he replied, the feel of yet another growl rising in his throat causing his teeth to clench momentarily. “I gather she’s stuck with me, no matter what she wishes.”
Graeme simply watched him, saying nothing, his cunning green gaze assessing and far too curious.
“As you’re stuck with her,” Graeme stated, though there seemed to be a question in his voice. One he didn’t ask, thankfully.
“So it would seem.” He breathed out roughly. “The question now is how do I keep her safe? There’s not a chance in hell she’s going let me finish this investigation for her, and the scent of her Heat is going to distract not just me but every Breed in the same vicinity with her. Especially those Council bastards determined to snag a mate.”
“Lucky for you, your genius brother just might have something that will help. Not a cure.” Graeme grinned wryly. “But definitely something interesting.”
“Lucky for you, Cullen.” Chelsea stepped into the kitchen, shocking him by her presence, by the scent of the betrayal she felt. “Not a cure, but if you’re lucky, maybe you can turn it into one. Right?”
Dammit, his senses were so filled with the scent of her that he hadn’t known she had slipped up on them. But Graeme had known. Hell, his brother probably heard the change in her breathing when she woke.
The bastard.
Chelsea stared at the two Breeds, forced back the hurt raging inside her and placed it behind the wall of ice she used whenever she was on patrol. Breed senses could detect fear, lies, any strong emotion.
He hadn’t said as much, but she’d heard the tone of his voice, felt his reluctance to admit he didn’t want a cure himself.
Of course he wanted a cure. He wouldn’t have meant to mate her, just sleep with her. Besides, the first nip to her neck that morning in his home had been done in anger, not arousal. And now his Breed status was making him pay for it.
Joy, joy.
“Now I can truly call you sister,” Graeme stated, forcing her to break eye contact with Cullen.
“You can truly kiss my ass,” she muttered, resentment surging past that icy shield before she could pull it back. “I didn’t marry his mangy ass, and wouldn’t have if he begged.”
Rather than taking offense, Graeme turned and collected a small black pack he’d placed on her counter and unzipped it efficiently.
She watched him, frowning. Dressed in dark jeans, his black shirt tucked into the belted band, he reminded her of an animal, of the huge cat his genetics had been created from. Self-satisfied, arrogant and superior. She’d never had a cat as a pet simply because of their cool, distant demeanors.
When he pulled two pressure syringes from that pack, she stepped back warily. Cullen shot his brother a disgusted look, but he seemed more resigned than protesting.
“Let me give you a short explanation of Mating Heat and the hormonal therapy I have here.” He laid the syringes on the table before crossing his arms over his chest and staring back at her with cold, hard purpose. “Mating Heat will build. It’s called Heat for a reason. The need to fuck and be fucked”—he ignored Cullen’s disgusted curse—“becomes overwhelming. You can’t work for it, you can’t socialize for it, the hunger for it obliterates all other needs. And to make things worse”—his smile wasn’t a comforting sight—“the scent of it is something you can’t hide, even by staying indoors. A Breed driving past the house can detect it.” Primitive violence flashed in his eyes. “Especially the Council Breeds searching for a mate to abduct and turn over for experiments. If you’re lucky, they don’t catch the scent before you conceive, which is the only time the Heat settles. And most felines conceive pretty quickly.” He tilted his head and watched her curiously for a second. “I think I’d enjoy being an uncle. I’d be very hands-on with my siblings’ cub too . . .”
Chelsea noticed that she and Cullen both extended their arms just as quickly at that observation. The thought of a child was terrifying enough . . . but Uncle Crazy-Ass being hands-on?