Primal Desires (9 page)

I
t's all right. It's all right, sweetheart. You know I would never let anything hurt you.”

“You were going to let them kill me!”

Jason held Sofia close and rocked her while she sobbed. She clung to him so tightly her nails bit into his shoulders, even though vampire skin was tougher than mortals'. He didn't mind the pain. He did mind her accusation.

“You have to do this on your own,” he told her. “You have to have confidence in your abilities. You were doing fine.”

“They were going to kill me! They always try to kill me!”

“You are getting the hang of how to control the beasts. You have to believe that you can save yourself.”

She lifted her face to look at him, and the look in her eyes tore his heart, touching every primal, protective fiber of his being. The connection and desire that rushed through them when their lips met could not be denied.

He soothed her with kisses, and long, lingering caresses. Her fingers moved over him frantically, bringing fire wherever they touched.

“I want to build it slowly for you, let pleasure wipe away the fear,” he told her, kissing her navel and then moving down to her clit. It was already swollen and moist.

She gasped and arched against his mouth. “No!” Her hips lifted insistently. “Now!”

Possessive delight went through Jason, heightening desire into a storm. “Happy to oblige your every wish, my lady.”

Everything came down to the need to make love to her. Everything came down to becoming one with her.

He moved onto his knees and she guided him inside. He took a moment's pleasure at being sheathed within her soft heat before settling into hard, swift strokes. Her cries of pleasure drove him into a wild frenzy.

• • •

Sensation, pure explosive waves of it—it was all she wanted or needed for the longest time.

Sofia didn't know how long it was before she fell back into the real world, if indeed that was where she actually was when she finally opened her eyes. She saw a plain white ceiling above her, felt the bedding beneath her. Jason Cage was lying on top of her, and nothing had ever felt so right or natural against her skin as he did.

Amazing.

Fantastic,
was his reply.

This time she didn't doubt for a second that he spoke inside her head. He began to stroke her breasts and tease her nipples, which distracted her for a while.

Is all we think about sex?
she finally asked, not bothering to speak aloud either.

At least you included us both in the question.

But there are other things. Important things. We're being selfish.

We're bonding. The instinct tries to drive out everything else.

Well, tell it to stop.

Why do you think it's called an instinct?

We should be able to control it.

The way you're able to control werewolves?

Not fair!

She pushed his shoulder and he rolled onto his back. Sofia sat up, bunching the sheet around her, and looked down at the glorious man in her bed. It was
her
bed.

“I distinctly remember asking you to leave.” It seemed like hours ago. She glanced at the bedside clock. It had only been a few minutes. “Didn't we just make long, lingering passionate love?”

With a smug smile, Jason propped his hands behind his head. “It's all subjective, isn't it?”

Sofia thought back over everything she'd experienced—in the last few minutes. “It really happened, didn't it? My great-grandfather was there, only no older than I am, and you, and me.” She ran a hand over her suddenly aching forehead. “I was with you when you raided the German prison camp.”

He reached out and took her hand. He kissed her palm, then answered, “Yes. The rescue mission really happened, and Grigor and I were successful, though that was only the beginning. This time I brought you along as a training exercise, and to show you what we might be up against again.”

She was beginning to believe him, despite how crazy it all sounded. It was other aspects of their telepathic sharing that disturbed her. “It actually happened—sixty years ago.”

“Over sixty.”

“How old are you?”

“Obviously over sixty.” He flashed a bright white smile at her. “Well preserved, aren't I?”

She wasn't susceptible to his snarky charm at the moment. In fact, she found him irritating, and disturbing. “You killed a lot of people that night.”

He sat up and turned serious. “There was a war on, Sofia. You have a military background; you should understand the necessities of war.”

Maybe she should, but she never had. “I joined the navy to pay for my education. I served on an aircraft carrier, but nowhere near the flight deck where all the testosterone flowed. I don't understand killing.”

He touched her cheek. “Yes, you do.”

She jerked away. “You enjoyed killing. I could feel it.”

He looked at her intently, his gaze boring into her soul. “What did you feel?”

She closed her eyes and the sensations all came back. “Darkness running through you like a rushing river threatening to flood. Blood—not bloodlust, but…a craving, a craving for human blood.”

“That is part of my nature.”

“I don't understand. You said you're not a werewolf. What are—”

“What I was at the time was arrogant but idealistic. The craving was also stronger then; I wasn't as much in control.” Jason shrugged. “I was very young during that war.”

She could accept that Jason had psychic powers, but she couldn't deal with the fact that he liked killing people. She knew she should fear him, but even knowing what she knew about him, her attraction to him was as strong as ever. What kind of sick fool was she? Just how badly had watching her father murder three men warped her?

“About your father,” he said suddenly.

“Stop reading my mind!”

“I can't really help it,” he answered. “I'm not influencing your thoughts,” he added hastily, “but I am using telepathy to teach you.”

“I know that,” she snapped back.

He smiled at her annoyance. “You trust me.”

It was probably stupid of her, but for some reason she did. “I don't think you'd abuse your power.”

“Not now,” he said. “Not ever again, but I have to tell you that I did once. And I was deservedly punished for it. That's why I want to talk about your father—because I understand his situation.”

“You don't understand
anything
about my father.”

“I know it hurts you to think about him. I don't want to hurt you, but—”

“Then shut up about it.”

“You mean about
him.
You don't know how lonely his life is, how hopeless. But I've been in prison; I do know what—”

“Damn it, you're a criminal, too?”

She most definitely did not need a man like this in her life. There was nothing a violent ex-con could teach her. Nothing she wanted from him.

Except sex. God, what the man did to her in bed!

But she could and would live without it. The important thing was finding her cousin, making sure Cathy was safe. She certainly wasn't going to introduce a psychic psychotic werewolf hunter to her nice cousin Cathy.

“Get out,” she said. “I mean it this time.”

“You meant it the last time,” he reminded her. He didn't look like he was going to budge.

She sneered. “What about all that ‘happy to oblige your every wish'? Or does that only apply to sex?”

He looked very much like he wanted to argue with her. Anger crackled from him, and for a moment she felt vulnerable and scared.

Then he sighed and got out of bed. “All right, I'll go.”

Once he said it, every fiber of her being ached for him to stay. The thought of losing him devastated her, but Sofia fought off this crazy reaction and bit her tongue. She turned her back on him as he dressed. She stared at the wall until she heard the motel room door close behind him. She wanted to run after him and beg him to come back, but she reminded herself that it was better for her to be alone.

Once she got herself under control, she picked up her cell phone and tried dialing Cathy's cell phone one more time.

W
ho are you people?” Cathy demanded. “Other than feral werewolves, I mean?”

Eric laughed arrogantly as he gestured around the warehouse. “We're the Master Race, of course.”

He sounded like he really meant it.

“Of course you are,” she told him.

His smile disappeared at her sarcasm. “You are one of us,” he informed her. “Your place is by my side. You will be one of the mothers of a new breed destined to conquer the world.”

The fanatical light in his eyes was nearly blinding, and she decided it was safer not to argue about it.

He unlocked her cage and brought another chair inside. “I have so much to tell you,” he said once he'd taken a seat in front of her.

Cathy studied their positions and the distance to the open door behind him. Her chair was bolted to the floor of the cage, and her raw, bloody wrist was proof that the handcuffs weren't going to come off. About all she could do would be to kick Eric in the shins. While antagonizing him would be fun, what good could it do her at the moment? She'd play along with him for now.

“I've got the time if you want to talk,” she told him.

“First, let me ask you a question,” Eric said. “How much do you know about your Romany ancestry?”

She didn't want to discuss her personal life, but she suspected Eric knew more about some things than she did. “My mother didn't talk about her family.”

“I can't blame her for wanting to deny her bad blood.”

“You make her sound like a muggle or something.”

He frowned, obviously not getting the reference. “Your family isn't from the typical rabble of gypsies. Your tribe have magic in their blood.”

“So we're not muggles.”

“During the war, scientists in the Reich discovered uses for the blood of your tribe. Much of the knowledge about the experiments was destroyed, but I am descended from a man who brought all the information that was left about werewolves to America.” His chest puffed out proudly. “It's taken decades and three generations of volunteers to achieve the results my ancestor intended.”

Cathy stared at him. “Let me get this straight—you
volunteered
to become a werewolf?” He nodded. She was appalled. “Why would anybody volunteer to turn into a mindless monster once a month?”

“Anyone who loves their race will gladly volunteer to defend it. My men and I are soldiers for our cause.”

She'd been through a lot in the last couple of years—being turned into a monster, being rescued by a natural-born werewolf, being integrated into that werewolf's pack, discovering that the world contained not only werefolk but vampires and God knew what other kinds of supernatural beings—but this, this took the cake.

“I've been kidnapped by a gang of white supremacist werewolf bikers? Oh, for crying out loud!” she shouted. “There's only so much a woman can be expected to put up with, and I've had it up to here.”

Eric merely smiled.

Cathy got herself under control. Just because the situation was ridiculous, that didn't make it any less dangerous.

“What did you mean, about the Hunyara having magic?”
And how do I use it against you?

He grinned enthusiastically. “There's so much I have to tell you. How long does it take for a bitten werewolf to learn to retain sentience during the change?”

“We bitten can learn to control the murderous rage eventually, but that's not the same as being sentient in wolf form. Only natural-born werefolk are sane and themselves in human or animal form.”

“And yet you are already starting to come out of the moonchange easier and faster than a normal feral, aren't you?” He grinned again. “And how long does it take a bitten to learn how to change form at will?”

“Never.” Only those born as werefolk had the skill to change from one form to another whenever they chose. “A mortal who's bitten by a werewolf is infected with a disease, not blessed, like you seem to think.” She lived with the disease every day, and it was this bastard's fault. Her fingers curled, and she fought down a snarl.

“Your natural-born friends have told you you're cursed. They are wrong, but they aren't lying to you. You see, the natural-borns don't know about the Hunyara strain of werewolf.”

“Strain? That does sound like a disease.”

“Perhaps I should have said the Hunyara breed. Your family has gone to great lengths to hide themselves from the natural-borns—who would destroy them. Ironic, isn't it, that you found yourself in the clutches of Michael Bleythin, the werefolk's fearsome Tracker? He'll execute you without a moment's hesitation if he finds out who you really are. He's a ruthless, pitiless defender of
his
own kind.”

How dare this bastard talk about Mike like that? Mike had bent werefolk rules when he killed her maker but let her live.

“You'll be safe with us,” Eric assured her. “I'll never let anyone hurt you.”

She was chained and in a cage, so it seemed as if he was more interested in keeping himself safe from
her
. “And in turn for this protection, I give you what?”

He gave her a salacious once-over. “Offspring.”

“That's what I figured.”

“And the other Hunyara gifts you don't yet know you have. The Hunyara and the Movement have so much shared history.”

She feigned enthusiasm. “Tell me about the Movement.”

“Of course, much of our research was lost because of a partisan raid of our facility during the war. Your ancestors who were being used as specimens escaped during that raid, and mine had to start looking for viable subjects all over again, in a new country with very little support. We had to hunt your family for decades. The Movement wasn't even aware of the existence of natural-born werewolves when research began in America. We had to learn the same caution as the Hunyara to keep our efforts secret from the natural subrace.”

Cathy didn't think this guy had any clue how disturbing the things he said actually were. He was so
proud
of the current success of these experiments, and the means and results obviously didn't matter.

“The natural-borns will be the first subrace we destroy. There can only be one dominant wolf pack.”

She understood pack hierarchy and territoriality with every fiber of her being. She also knew deep in her being that this loser's pack wasn't going to be the one that came out top dogs.

“You have a great-aunt Maria,” he went on.

“Never heard of her.”

“Your family thinks she died in a car crash. She was the first werewolf we managed to capture. I should say that she was the first Hunyara; we succeeded in capturing a feral in the early seventies. We began to build our army from this stock. Your aunt managed to teach all the recruits to obey orders while changed into wolves. But only the offspring she bore learned the ability to change at will. We needed more Hunyara, so Maria's three sons took on the task of tracking down more of your family. They found the Hunyara living in Los Angeles.”

“Sofia's family,” Cathy guessed.

Eric nodded. “Our men would have brought Sofia to us when she was still a child, but it turned out that one of the old wolf tamers was still alive. Our people died, and Sofia and her family disappeared.”

What a shame.

“But we were patient. A new generation grew up; we learned more. And now we have you. Soon we'll have Sofia. Then a new day will begin for the Master Race.”

One of Eric's minions came up to the cage. “Walt's here.”

Eric's manic smile grew even wider. “Now we can get started.” He stood and gestured a newcomer over.

Cathy didn't like the looks of this Walt at all. He was big and blond and gorgeous, about six feet four inches of hard-muscled Teutonic perfection. Worst of all, he had the burning gold eyes of an überalpha wolf. There was nothing natural about his scent. Walt reeked of deadly danger, and cold calculation. If Eric was the brains of this operation, Walt was the enforcer. Walt sent a jolt of terror through her.

“What do you mean by ‘get started'?” she asked.

Eric pulled her cell phone out of his pocket. “Show her,” he said to Walt.

While Eric pressed buttons on her phone, Walt took off his clothing.

A fear worse than of being raped gripped her when he did something completely unexpected. Before her eyes, the huge human male turned into a yellow feral werewolf.

She'd often watched natural-born werewolves shift shape, but seeing a bitten do the impossible brought a scream to Cathy Carter's throat.