Rule Breaker: A Novel of the Breeds (29 page)

“You ran from me.” Lips pulling back from his canines, one hand tightened in her hair, the other cupping her jaw to keep her head turned up to him. “You shouldn’t have run, Gypsy.”

“You shouldn’t have treated me like a whore,” she shot back, the anger that bloomed inside her over the past hours exploding with the same suddenness with which the arousal and hunger had exploded inside her.

“And you think that’s how I treated you?” He frowned back at her, his gaze gleaming with anger.

Jerking from his hold, she was furiously aware that it was only because he allowed her to.

Her hand gripped the door handle and pulled, intent on escaping him with the same desperation he’d used to escape her body earlier.

Except the door didn’t open.

Instead, the Dragoon was racing from its parking spot, the speed and power of the vehicle assuring her there would be no escape until he allowed it.

“The doors are secured until I release them. One of my enforcers will take your cycle to the hotel. You and I are going to talk,” he growled, both hands on the wheel as he glared into the night behind the state-of-the-art windshield.

Digital holographs lit the glass. Speed, location, outside temperature, GPS tracking and satellite tracking were all subtly lit within the glass, giving him any information he might need on the area surrounding them as he turned onto the main road and headed into the night.

“And just what do you think we have to talk about?” Gypsy asked him then, her voice a mocking sneer as she crossed her arms over her breasts and turned back to him slowly. “Mr. Freaky who decided to ensure I was running out of the bar right into your arms? Or how about why you couldn’t even stomach ejaculating while you were having sex with me?”

Or, they could discuss what made him think she was his damned mate.

Revealing her knowledge of that, though, would give away the fact that she had sources that she shouldn’t have.

Sources a regular party girl wouldn’t have.

“We could definitely discuss your perception of my actions.” The roughened sound of the growl rumbling in his chest had a chill racing down her spine. “As for whoever the hell Mr. Freaky is . . .”

“Six and a half feet tall, frozen green eyes and black hair a woman would kill to have herself?”

No expression, not so much as a grimace crossed his face.

“Rhyzan Brannigan,” he finally stated. “What the hell was he doing there?”

“You’re asking me?” Incredulity filled her voice as she stared back at him in amazement. “Excuse me, Breaker, I think I was the one who asked who the hell he was to begin with. I can’t even mind my own damned business anymore without a Breed insisting on horning in on it.”

...

The deceit.

Unlike other lies, Gypsy’s deceit wasn’t tinged with the scent of blood or rot, but he could smell the lie all the same. And like the rest of her, it simply intrigued him. She was the most complicated, stubborn, confusing woman he had ever known.

But at that moment, the deceit, the subject of it and her whereabouts after running from him added up to one thing only.

The Unknown’s contact.

And there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Rhyzan Brannigan had finally managed to sniff her out. The new assistant director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs had said he would do so. Rule had just been certain he could keep it from happening.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Narrowing her gaze on him, she stared back at him with all the ire of a woman scorned.

She wasn’t just his merciless little spy, but scorned as well, at least as far as she was concerned.

“Rhyzan Brannigan is Jonas Wyatt’s preferred choice of assistant director of the Bureau of Breed Affairs,” he told her, giving a tidbit of information that no one else had known. “Jonas is preparing to inform the Breed Ruling Cabinet of his choice once he’s finished here in Window Rock. He’s also one of the Bureau’s best investigators. The only reason he would have been at that bar would have been to identify a spy for an underground group of Navajo Warriors called the Unknown. They call her Whisper.”

Her expression never changed.

“And that has exactly what to do with me?” Voiced low, offended, furious, her tone nearly had a smile quirking at his lips.

She was good.

Son of a fucking bitch, she was too damned good, and she was too damned guilty.

“Nothing,” he assured her. “But that’s likely why he was there. He’ll be Jonas’s second in command if he’s accepted into the position by the Ruling Cabinet. Identifying Whisper was his last assignment before taking that position once approval is formalized.”

“Whatever,” she breathed out, anger still searing her tone just as deceit seared her scent. “You’ve still managed to sidestep the original issue with all the grace of a crippled bull in a china shop. Why not just tell me how I managed to sicken you to the point that you had to shower, and get it the hell over with.”

As she turned to face forward, the scent of the deceit began to disappear beneath . . .

Pain.

God, he’d hurt her, and he would cut off his own arm before doing so deliberately.

No—she blamed herself for it? She actually believed she had somehow sickened him? Hell, Lawe should have just kicked his ass when he had the chance for allowing that to happen.

“You were not at fault for what happened in that bed, Gypsy,” he stated, self-disgust filling him at the lash of humiliation that suddenly surrounded her.

What had he done?

His clumsy ignorance had sliced at her soul in ways he’d never have allowed if he hadn’t refused to accept what the beast inside him had evidently known for years.

“Really? So it wasn’t my body that you jumped from and rushed to the shower as though dirty? Right?” The low, mocking drawl accompanied by the shame, hurt and distrust that whipped in the air around her nearly caused him to flinch.

Self-control was all that held back that reaction as his hands tightened on the steering wheel. Clenching his teeth against the self-disgust he could feel rising inside him, Rule fought to remind himself that it could be fixed. Their kiss had been infused with the mating hormone; even now it filled the glands at the sides of his tongue, waiting to spill to her once again as their lips met.

She would have to forgive him. They were mates. Mates didn’t separate, at least not for long, and that had happened only once. Besides, the separation had been between a Coyote and his mate, not a Lion and his mate.

“The reasons why are complicated,” he forced himself to say despite his discomfort.

He deserved the discomfort, he told himself. What his mate felt was far worse.

“I hate that word.” The studied disinterest in her tone had him flicking a look at her expression as his lips tightened.

This wasn’t the place to discuss what had happened. It wasn’t the place to remember what had happened. Those memories were steeped in such agony, in so many nightmares that sometimes he wondered if he would ever be free of them.

“I hate that word as well,” he assured her, grimacing at the tight, hoarse sound of his voice. “Nonetheless, it’s the truth. Hopefully, once we reach—”

A red alert shot on the windshield before he could say anything more. A heartbeat later, two more joined it as he thumbed the link to Control.

“Control, identify bogies four point six miles behind my mark,” he requested.

“Unable to establish link to Control,” the computer announced.

“Computer, activate satellite link,” Rule commanded as he shifted the Dragoon into higher gear and thumbed the accelerator.

“Satellite link jammed,” the computerized voice reported. “You have three vehicles approaching at a high rate of speed. All identifying transponders are deactivated or unable to respond. Activating covert protocols.”

The lights went out. Dashboard lights, headlights and running lights went black while the windows darkened further to hide the glow of the faint illumination of the holographs on the windshield.

“Computer, activate Alpha. Navajo. California. Seven. Six. Niner.”

The computer repeated the code.

“Affirmed.” Rule acknowledged the request that he’d given the correct command. “Activate and begin a repeat pulse emergency signal.”

“Activating.”

He shifted the vehicle again, its speed increasing as Gypsy watched the display on the windshield, her expression intent.

“Do they have a lock on the Dragoon?” she asked as she watched the red pinpoints indicating the unidentified vehicles gaining on them.

“Computer, process any means of detection locked on our position,” he commanded clearly.

“No electronic, satellite, cellular or radar locks detected,” the computer reported as Gypsy glanced out the window to verify their position.

“Computer, display GPS and landmarks,” Rule ordered rather than questioning Gypsy. “Answer all queries from McQuade, Gypsy Rum. Code Alpha. Foxtrot. India.”

“All queries verified,” the computer answered.

“McQuade, Gypsy Rum. Alpha. Foxtrot. India,” Gypsy spoke clearly as she continued to watch the hologram. “Display all routes not currently provided.”

...

She needed to see the back roads. If there was no radar or GPS lock on them, then whoever was behind them, if they were looking for her and Rule, was counting on them to remain on the main road.

“All routes, mapped and unmapped, now displayed.”

Her eyes narrowed on the maze of lines that suddenly streaked over the hologram.

“Computer, display only routes leading to the Navajo Suites Hotel. Each individual direction to be highlighted in differing colors.”

“All routes leading to the Navajo Suites Hotel displayed and highlighted as requested.”

Gypsy nodded at the new display.

Checking the red pinpoints still far enough behind them to ensure that they couldn’t physically see the vehicle, Gypsy glanced back at the map.

“Just tell the computer what you need,” Rule told her quietly as she used her finger to follow a particular route.

Giving the computer the various detour routes, many that were unmapped anywhere but on Breed mapping systems, she sat back and waited.

Within seconds, the computer was giving Rule the first turn from the interstate, just in time to keep the vehicles behind them from getting them in sight.

Whipping the wheel, Rule took the turn quickly.

“Half mile there’s dirt,” she advised him. “Dawn’s coming, they’ll see the dust trail unless you slow down.”

She heard the frustrated growl in response, but he slowed considerably and commanded the computer. “Engage dust dispersion.”

“Dust dispersion engaged,” the computer answered.

Gypsy kept her eyes on the display as the first faint streaks of dawn began to emerge. The Dragoon was moving quickly, ensuring that the vehicles behind them couldn’t catch sight of them before they hit the next county road.

The red alert points continued along the interstate, bypassing the turn they’d taken completely.

“Computer, keep bogies in sight and continue to contact Control . . .”

“No,” Gypsy told him quietly. “They’ll have your transponder number, possibly to the vehicle as well as your phone. They have to have or they wouldn’t have known you were headed to the hotel rather than my apartment. If they’re using traditional GPS, then your vehicle transponder will still appear to be on the interstate, though very soon, they’ll realize it’s not. Block your transponder and satellite number until we’re closer to the hotel.”

He was silent for long seconds before giving the computer the command and listening silently as it was confirmed.

Hell, he should be confronting her over the information she had. Jonas was going to blow a gasket, because the connecting routes she gave the computer to use weren’t listed as connecting on the Bureau’s GPS files. Which meant they weren’t listed on anyone’s files. That information, added to her knowledge of transponder and satellite signal tracking, was like a fucking nail in the coffin where hiding her was concerned now.

Fuck, this was a mess.

A mess he had no idea how to save his mate from.

CHAPTER 19

They arrived at the Navajo Suites without incident and pulled into the valet parking, where a Breed Enforcer stepped forward as Rule moved around the Dragoon to open her door. She stepped from the vehicle mutinously, glaring at him, full female fury gleaming in her eyes.

The moment the threat of danger had passed, she had sat back in her seat silently and completely refused to speak to him.

Just what the hell he needed. His mate angrier than ever at a time when he needed her cooperation the most. And he couldn’t blame anyone but himself.

If he hadn’t been too damned stupid to realize exactly what had been going on over the past few months . . .

If he hadn’t been too damned stubborn to claim what was his when he’d first suspected who she was to him, and offered instead to trade his helpless, vulnerable mate for Lawe’s warrior mate . . .

No wonder his brother doubted they were actually kin.

Hell, Rule was beginning to wonder why Lawe had even claimed him after that ridiculous offer. Because no woman could fit him more perfectly than his Gypsy.

And no doubt Lawe felt the same way about his own fiery mate.

“I would prefer to go home,” she told him as his hand curved around her upper arm to escort her inside the lobby.

“I would prefer you hadn’t left to begin with and had given me the time I needed to explain what was going on,” Rule bit out, furious with himself more so than her, but furious all the same.

“Yeah, I really wanted to wait until you managed to disinfect yourself before you gave me a ride home.” She was clearly offended.

Tugging at the grip he had on her arm, she made the journey across the spacious floor just as difficult as possible without calling attention to the fact that she was there involuntarily.

“I’d stop attempting to piss me off while it’s still possible for me to maintain control, sweetheart,” he advised her. “Because, trust me, you have no idea the edge I’m riding right now.”

For all her anger, for all the pain and hurt feelings that flowed through her, though, the smell of her heat still managed to intoxicate him. Arousal spiced with a hunger he couldn’t quite decipher fully. Emotions he couldn’t identify quite yet created an exhilarating scent that had his dick iron hard.

Talking would definitely have to come later.

First, God help him, first he needed to show his fiery little mate exactly who she belonged to. Exactly why she couldn’t continue to fight him this way. If it didn’t stop, then there wasn’t a chance in hell he could protect this incredible gift he’d been given.

It was his place to protect her. And he was beginning to suspect she was going to need more protection than he had ever imagined.

She was his mate.

His mate.

She was his.

One woman.

A woman he was beginning to suspect could complete him in ways he had never imagined.

...

Stop attempting to piss him off?

Who the hell did he think he was?

Glaring up at him, standing stiffly beside him as they stepped into the elevator, Gypsy was all too aware of the fact that no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t really fight him.

She could have escaped him a dozen times during that damned ride. She knew exactly how to deactivate the door locks on those stupid Dragoons. Yet she had been unable to make herself do so.

Instead, she had sat silently, refusing to respond to his attempts to talk to her, to ease the anger still simmering inside her. To soothe the aching hurt that still lanced at her heart.

It wasn’t just anger or hurt, though.

She ached for him.

Especially since that kiss had fired every freaking neural receptor in her system.

She ached for him with a power that shocked her and infuriated her. Because she should hate him.

She should hate what he was doing to her. What her body was doing to her and her complete inability to make it stop or to control it.

The arousal, her hunger for his touch, his possession, had her stifling a scream of outrage.

Because it wasn’t fair.

Her jeans had to be damp. She knew her panties were soaked. Her nipples were so damned hard that each rasp of her bra against them only primed her higher for his touch.

Hell, his touch was all she could think about.

His touch.

His kiss.

His lips on her nipples, between her thighs.

Her thighs clenched at the thought. Her fantasies hadn’t come close to the pleasure he had given her, even before he’d jumped from her as though she sickened him.

The pleasure had been incredible. It had whipped through her, searing her body with increasingly powerful sensations until that edge of release she’d touched had been a second of pure nirvana. A pleasure unlike anything she’d imagined in her life.

And she had a damned good imagination.

The elevator doors slid open on the floor where his suite was located. Tightening his grip on her upper arm once again, he all but dragged her to the doors, where he pressed his thumb to the biometric lock—a new installation, she noticed suspiciously—opened the doors, then pulled her inside.

God, had he somehow figured out she was in his suite—

That thought was abruptly cut off.

Before Gypsy could do more than draw a breath, he’d pushed her against the door, his lips covering hers as his hands curved around the back of her thighs and lifted her. Dragging her legs around his hips, he used his body to hold her against the door as he ground the hard wedge of his cock against the sensitive mound of her pussy.

The whimper that left her lips was embarrassing.

Hungry, desperate need. Like a friggin’ cat in heat was what she sounded like.

Her hands slid into his hair, her lips parting beneath his as she accepted the hard thrust of his tongue against her own before the subtle taste of spicy sweetness had her attempting to lick at the invader demandingly, her lips closing on it to catch as much of it as possible.

Each taste seemed to push her higher. As though the teasing heat of his kiss were enough to stroke her senses to a fever pitch of arousal.

Her knees gripped his hard hips, another moan escaping her throat as the heated strength of the heavy shaft ground against her. The firm pressure stroked denim and silk over the swollen bud of her clit as her hips tilted to get closer to the caress.

Oh God, this was what she needed.

He was what she needed.

And she needed more.

Her nails bit into the fabric of his shirt. Clenching it, pulling at it, she fought to get closer to him. The feel of his flesh stroking against hers, the heat of his skin warming her.

She’d been so cold. Brutally cold. She’d burned on the inside, frozen on the outside as she fought every instinct demanding that she find him.

“You’ve destroyed me,” she whispered as his lips slid from hers to take firm nips and stroking tastes of her jaw. The caresses had nerve endings screaming out in pleasure, the sexual tension ratcheting higher inside her as she still tried to fight the needs clawing at the flesh between her thighs.

Her pussy was so swollen, so sensitive that the heat of his cock could be felt even through the barrier of their clothing.

“The hell I have,” he growled, nipping at the upper curve of her breast as he tore the edges of the skimpy top apart. Buttons flew across the floor, and a snarl dragged from the depths of his chest voiced his satisfaction as her breasts were revealed beneath the skimpy lace of her bra.

The bra didn’t last long. She was certain the front closure would never work again as he jerked it apart as well, filling one hand with the swollen curve of her breast.

Sensation tore past misgivings and distrust to ensure that there was no chance she could deny him. Instead, the demands tearing at her senses had her crying out at the fear of rejection instead.

The rough pad of his thumb brushed over her nipple, the pleasure spearing straight to her womb before lashing at her clit.

“Please.” The moan was a shocking plea.

Gypsy Rum McQuade didn’t beg a man for anything.

But she evidently had no problem begging this Breed for his touch.

Overwhelming, overpowering,

The hunger was riding her harder, faster, and his touch wasn’t keeping up. He was going too slow, pushing her too high, too fast, flooding her body with such pleasure that it bordered pain.

When his lips covered one hard, peaked nipple, drawing it into the heat of his mouth as he began to suckle firmly, Gypsy swore that a charge of pure, undiluted pleasure exploded in her womb.

Her pussy wept in need, her clit throbbing with it as she fought to get closer to the heat and hardness pressing against it. Yet no matter how she fought to get closer, she couldn’t get close enough.

“Stop torturing me,” she cried out, her fists clenching on his shoulder as she ground her head against the door.

“You’ve tortured me.” The rough growl of his voice sent a shiver racing up her spine; unfortunately, it was a shiver of pleasure.

She bucked against him, her breath catching as he nipped at her nipple, an erotic little pain that had her gasping with the exquisite sensation. Gasping even as she tried to grit her teeth against the wild urge to give in to him, to submit to whatever he wanted.

She didn’t beg, and she didn’t submit. No matter how much she might want to, or how desperately she had begged moments before.

Her fingers slid into his hair, clenched, pulled hard.

Her nipple popped from his mouth with a slight sucking sound, his gaze moving to hers, narrowing.

There was a warning that she had no intention of heeding. A demand that she had no intention of obeying.

“Do not—”

“Let me go.” She had to force the demand into her voice rather than begging as she had moments ago.

“Gypsy—”

“I’m no toy,” she informed him, pushing at his chest. “You can’t throw me away one moment, then demand that I submit to you in the next. I won’t have it, Rule.”

Maniacal arousal throbbed through every vein, burned every nerve ending in her body. Talons of need clenched at her lower stomach, tightening in her womb as the sensitivity of her clit became painful.

She needed.

She needed so much more than he was giving her . . .

His hand moved, too quickly to avoid him. It buried itself in her hair as he pulled her head back. His lips slammed over hers again. His tongue speared past her lips, peppermint and chocolate a taste that teased her senses, becoming more addictive as her tongue licked over his, her lips attempting to catch it, to catch more of the addictive taste.

She was only distantly aware of his hand releasing the band of her jeans. Then the feel of the zipper loosening at the side of her boots. His lips moved to her ear, nipping, taking stinging sips of her lips as he undressed her, controlling her with effortless ease.

“Freaky fucking mating drug,” she moaned as his lips moved to her shoulder while he maneuvered her to drop the bra and remnants of her shirt to the floor.

His teeth raked against her shoulder, sending a rush of fiery sensation shooting through her senses.

The need to feel his teeth there, nipping harder,
biting . . .

Whimpering at the pleasure, the needs rushing through her like a conflagration of flames, Gypsy could only follow his direction as he moved her legs, forcing them to the floor as he dragged her jeans over her hips.

As he lowered his head, his lips found the tight point of her nipple again, sucking it in, surrounding it with such heat, such pleasure that she could only cry out and surrender to the hunger building inside her. The pleasure from his hands stroking over her thighs, pushing the material from her until she could kick it from her legs.

She was naked, burning for him.

The stroke of his fingers along her inner thighs had her legs parting for him, her breath stilling in her chest, heart racing.

“Oh God, Rule, please,” she tried to scream, but could only beg.

Parting the swollen folds, his thumb raked her clit as his finger pushed demandingly into the clenched, hungry depths of her pussy. It rasped over inner flesh so sensitive she felt her legs weaken, knees shaking at the ecstatic rush of sensation raging through her.

Slick, saturated, her juices wept like heated honey along his finger, easing the penetration as the desperate, milking clench of her muscles attempted to hold it inside her.

“Don’t stop.” The demand rose unbidden from her lips as she felt the smooth, slow withdrawal, the caress of his finger inside her, driving her higher. “Don’t stop, Rule.”

“Never again,” he growled, his tone harsher, closer to the animal it was said lived within him. “Never again, Gypsy.”

Before she could do more than cry out, he had her in his arms, lifting her and moving to the next room and the bed awaiting them. Laying her against the comforter, he turned, sat on the bed and hurriedly removed the boots laced on his feet.

Gypsy’s fingers clenched the blanket beneath her, her lashes lifting, staring at the broad expanse of his naked back as he rose again. Turning, staring down at her, holding her gaze, he shed the black mission pants as his gaze seemed to shift, darken, then turn brighter.

What would she do if he jumped from her again? How could she bear the pain? “I won’t let you go. Not this time, Gypsy.” The words were a hard rasp as he came over her, spreading her thighs with his hard, well-muscled legs and bending to her until his lips could touch hers again.

Whatever raged inside him, whatever emotions tore at him, she glimpsed in the fiery blue of his eyes, the hard, intent expression on his face. She wanted explanations. She wanted to know what she had done, why he had pulled from her so quickly before, but the needs tearing at her stilled those questions for now.

Lifting her hands, she slid them up the perspiration-slick planes of his hard abdomen, the broad expanse of his chest until she was curling her fingers over the tight, flexing muscles of his shoulders.

“This doesn’t change anything,” she whispered, more because she was weakening and she could feel it.