Hunger's Mate (2 page)

He'd just completed his fifth repetition when the heat clawing at her had Jewel's knees about to buckle. Instead of falling to the floor panting after a man she didn't know and in desperate need of sexual release she hadn't required in years, Jewel decided retreat was best. The first step was the hardest—as was probably the norm—but she did finally manage to move one foot and then another, all the while still trying to watch every pull and release of muscle on his body, including, but definitely not limited to, the bulge between his legs that she was almost certain had increased in size as she stared. Her mouth watered as her back slammed into another wall, jarring just a semblance of sense into her. Shaking her head she finally pulled her gaze away from him, turned, and ran like she was being chased by police all the way back to her room.

Truth be told, Jewel always felt like she was being chased, like at any moment her secret would be revealed and everything she'd risked her life and her father's life for, had been for nothing. There was no way Ezra Preston, the stranger that had come to Perryville weeks ago behind a lot of hushed conversations and worried looks on behalf of Jacques and Mr. Perry, could know anything about what she'd done before she came here. Absolutely no possibility he could be here to unveil the secrets she guarded so closely. Still, as she closed the door to her room and leaned back against it, common sense said it was best she steer clear of him totally.

*   *   *

Five hundred pounds of steel was nothing in comparison to the heaviness Ezra felt throbbing between his legs. He'd scented her the moment she stepped into the gym, the fresh, intense scent of arousal that had permeated his senses, filtering through his body like a fast-acting drug. The high was instant and powerful, almost causing him to lose his grip on the bar holding the weights. That's what made him stop and sit up. He wanted, no, more like needed, to see her up close.

His senses were stronger than other shifters, more acute, giving him an edge on the others around him. This was both a blessing and a curse, just as his time in the jungle had been, just like the night spent with the shaman who in his attempt to heal had given him and his twin brother this extrasensory perception.

Up until this point those senses had only served Ezra in times of battle. That had been the entire purpose of their visit to the shaman, to gain some relief from the almost debilitating sexual need they'd developed in Sierra Leone, at the hands of a sexual goddess that intended to destroy them.

For years he'd been protected, shielded from the burning need. Until now. Until her. That's why he'd called to her, he'd had no other choice. After a slight pause, she'd stepped out from behind the wall to address him. But she hadn't come farther as he'd requested. She hadn't come to him the way he'd craved. Instead she'd continued to watch.

And he'd been content to let her. For now.

Lying back he'd given her an unfettered view of his growing erection and whatever else she'd been entranced by until she'd forced herself to leave.

During the time she'd stood behind that wall, he'd heard the beat of her heart, sensed the thrumming of hot blood in her veins, the dampening of the tender folds between her legs. Everything about her had been embedded in his mind since the first day he'd seen her having lunch with Bas's mate, Priya. Only twice since that day more than a month ago had he seen Jewel Jenner at the resort. She worked closely with Bas's Lead Enforcer, Jacques, performing administrative tasks. Originally Ezra had thought there might be a romantic link between the two but Jacques didn't have the
companheiro calor,
the mating scent of the Shadow Shifters.

One morning Ezra had timed his appearance in the administrative offices of Perryville Resorts to coincide with the arrival of most of the staff. Jewel always arrived first. She unlocked the front glass doors and switched on the lights, her computer, and the Keurig machine that sat on a stand in a small hallway. That hallway led to Jacques's and the sales director's offices. Jewel sat up front in a partially enclosed space, while just on the other side of her sat the receptionist who greeted anyone coming in with questions.

Instead of startling her by going in right behind her, he had waited a few minutes.

“Is Mr. Germain in?” Ezra had inquired once he'd finally decided to go into the offices himself.

“No. He isn't,” the receptionist, who looked more like a college student than a professional office worker, informed him. “May I leave him a message that you were here?”

The request was stilted, as if she'd rehearsed it enough to memorize it but not enough to say it with any type of sincerity.

He'd smiled at her efforts, remembering a time when he was young and carefree, or at least young.

“Just tell him Ezra stopped by,” he'd replied.

And just like a few minutes ago in the gym, Jewel had peeked around the wall to look at him. When he caught her gaze that time, she'd cleared her throat and stepped completely into the outer area, coming to stand right beside the receptionist. She didn't reek of fear, but there was definitely a standoffish quality to her, as if she'd rather remain out of sight and possibly out of mind.

“He's meeting with Mr. Perry this morning. When he returns I will tell him that you were here,” she told him, looking just over his shoulder as she spoke.

“Thanks,” he'd said, keeping his gaze steady on hers. After all, she was the one he'd come to see. “I'll stop by later to see if he's in.”

“That's fine,” Jewel stated in a clipped tone.

Ezra nodded. “Will you tell him that I will be back?” He was speaking slowly, watching, waiting for her to look at him.

He wanted the seal to their connection with the lock of gazes, the first step in the dance Ezra knew they would partake in. When it finally came it took his breath away. Her eyes were green, a softer shade than his that for some reason didn't strike him as natural. They were secretive and Ezra was instantly intrigued. Later that day when he'd returned, Jacques was indeed in the office and so was Jewel. She'd been at the receptionist's desk and instead of having to go back to Jacques's office, the shifter had come out to meet him. As if he'd known what Ezra's plan was all along.

As Jacques stood near Jewel, Ezra noted nothing between them. No simmering arousal, no
calor
signifying that they'd been intimate. That had solicited an immediate smile.

The next time he'd seen her had been at night when she was coming back into the resort. He had no idea where she'd been all day as he'd been around looking for her. She appeared rested and peaceful upon her return, so much so he'd considered that her day had been spent in her lover's bed, legs spread, body open in surrender to another man. A deep rumble in his chest, the barely restrained growl of his cat, signaled just how much Ezra disliked that thought. She hadn't noticed him at all that night as she moved through the entrance, down past the restaurants to the elevators. He thought of following her to her room but didn't think he'd be able to control his arousal or the rage over someone else touching her. The smart option—which Ezra liked to think he took at all times—was to keep his distance. And he had, until now.

He wanted her, there was no doubt. If she'd come to him as he'd requested, his plan had been to fuck her right there in the middle of the gym, with the mirrors surrounding them so he could see her as he pleasured her. It had still been early enough in the day that there was no one else around. Something inside told him she knew that would be the outcome, hence the reason she'd gotten the hell out of there.

Unfortunately, the physical sparring between the two of them would have to be put on hold. There were more important matters at hand. Xavier Santos Markland, the East Coast hacker and former FBI agent for the Stateside Assembly, had yet to identify the origin of the e-mail that had put them on notice of the government possibly knowing of their existence.

For the Shadows and the laws of the
È
tica,
which they were all bound to live by, exposure could be considered their Kryptonite. The mass hysteria predicted when humans around the globe learned there were half-humans, half–big cats living in their midst, would be nothing less than suicidal for the Shadows. It was the job of the Assembly Leader, Roman Reynolds, to make sure that never happened.

So far, however, Rome was batting a perfect zero. Especially since the Pacific Faction Leader, Sebastian Perry, had just returned to Perryville Resorts with his mate, Priya Drake, happily in tow. Priya was a human and she not only knew about the Shadows, she was now officially working with them under the official title of public relations manager, even though her job was really to provide damage control any time the humans reported strange occurrences. That was a situation Ezra still wasn't sure he understood, but at the same time wasn't about to address with the Faction Leader himself, or the Stateside Leader who had offered Priya the job.

His purpose, for the foreseeable future, was to infiltrate Comastaz Labs, find out what the government knew about them, and what they planned to do with that information. That was where his focus needed to remain. As one of Rome's Lead Guards, it was his job to protect the First Family from all harm. There was no doubt in Ezra's mind that if the U.S. government had knowledge of their existence, the first ones on American soil that would be in danger would be Rome and Kalina.

That made the text he received as he stood up, grabbing the duffel bag with his phone and change of clothes in it from off the floor, the best news he'd heard all day. It read simply:
YOU'RE IN.

 

Chapter 2

“The rules have changed. This is my show now,” Captain Lawrence Crowe told the two fellow military men sitting across from him in high-backed chairs that looked ridiculous and insanely expensive.

He'd received a text message notifying him of this impromptu meeting and wasn't thrilled at being summoned to this house that looked like a throwback from medieval times. He also wasn't pleased that they'd interrupted a bit of personal business that was a priority for Lawrence. Learning that the purpose of this meeting was for them to question his progress on the Genesis Project and form some alliance of power against him only jacked up his pissed-off meter a little more.

In life there were only three things of importance: money, power, and respect. Lawrence intended to have them all and if either of these old coots thought to stand in his way, they'd better think again.

“Your show is costing us a bundle of money,” General Oscar Pierson, the tall, slim man with a sallow complexion and raspy voice, replied first. He held a cigar in his right hand, his spindly legs were crossed, and that god-awful chair appeared to swallow him.

Pierson was retired, had been for two years since the scandal erupted depicting him as the head honcho in the inhumane treatment of POWs in Iraq. Now, he worked closely with his partner-in-crime, Major Randall Guthrie, who had somehow escaped the scandal and still remained on active duty or at least active payroll.

“More to the point,” Guthrie interrupted before Lawrence could reply to Pierson's offensive statement. “The Genesis Project is bigger than you, Crowe. It's gotten bigger than all of us. There are some pretty powerful people waiting on these results. Not to mention Pierson's point about our money. There are billions riding on this project, on the product you swore you could produce.”

Lawrence straightened his tie to keep his hands busy and kill the urge to reach out and strangle one or both of these pompous idiots. They had no idea what the Genesis Project was about. All they knew was that five years ago Crowe and Guthrie had captured a foreign militant while on a covert op in Pakistan. When that militant had broken through the chains and out of the locked and heavily guarded hut they were keeping him in, they'd known something was different with this captive. Firing off enough sedatives to kill three humans only put the prisoner down for a couple of hours, during which time Guthrie had directed the troops to chain the captive from neck to ankle and put him in a steel box. That was how they'd transported him across the ocean to Lawrence's lab.

“You had no idea what you were dealing with. I'm the one who recognized the signs,” he told Guthrie in a slow, authoritative tone. In all his years as a Marine, Lawrence had learned more than just leadership skills. He'd learned to play the enemy like a violin when needed and to cut him at the jugular when all else failed. Of course, the two men sitting across from him had similar, if not more intense training as they'd both outranked him in the Corps and had stayed in active duty longer than he had. Nowadays Lawrence still received a government paycheck but as a more behind-the-scenes type of operative focusing on the development of biological and chemical warfare strategies for the U.S. Still, he was no slouch when it came to delivering well-earned ass kickings—as these two were working their way toward.

“I am the one who unveiled the differences in the prisoner. I am the one who contained his DNA and who has created the most powerful weapon any country will ever face. So you don't get to sit there and look all smug and superior, demanding I do what you say, when you say,” he finished.

“You cocky sonofabitch!” Pierson spat, sitting up in his chair as if he actually planned to launch an attack on Lawrence right here and now.

Guthrie lifted a hand to silence Pierson. Of the three men in this room he was the biggest, over six feet tall and with a muscled stature. He had a boxy head like a pit bull, the signature military crew cut that he maybe should have lost about twenty years ago, but still clung to even though his hairline had started to recede. His steely gray eyes were like flint as he cut his gaze to Lawrence, lips thinning until they almost looked like a slice in his face. After years of being stationed in the desert the sun had reinvented the entire complexion and texture of his skin, giving him the look of an old worn pair of leather shoes. His real power was in the brute strength of his meaty hands, the roped veins that popped from his neck when he was angered, and the 9mm he kept tucked at his back.