FIVE

He was a Breed.

Lyra answered the questions the police asked, filled out and signed a report, and waited impatiently for them to leave.

Thank God she hadn’t called her brothers before jerking that shotgun up and racing to the back door. She hadn’t even thought of it. She had watched through her bedroom window as the moon broke past a cloud, shining clearly on the figures struggling in her backyard. She had recognized Tarek immediately.

Tarek Jordan was a Breed.

She had seen it in the fierce glow of his amber eyes as the light had shined into them, in the overly long incisors when he had snarled his furious orders on the back porch.

It made sense.

She should have suspected it from the beginning.

He had lived in the house beside her for months. His obvious discomfort in doing things most people did every day of their lives should have clued her in. The haunted shadows in his eyes.

His inability to cut grass should have told her something immediately. All men knew at least the rudiments of cutting grass.

The joy he found in a freshly made cup of coffee and homemade bread. As though he had never known it.

She had thought him a computer geek. That wasn’t a computer geek fighting in her backyard. That had reminded her of her brothers, practicing the tae kwon do they had learned in the military. He had reminded her of an animal, snarling, his growl echoing through the yard as he fought with the attempted burglar.

She should have known.

She had followed every news story, every report of the Breeds, just as her brothers had joined in several of the missions years before to rescue them. They had told her the tales of the ragged, savage men and women they had transferred from the labs to the Feline Breed home base, Sanctuary.

Men near death, tortured, scarred, but with the eyes of killers. Men who were slowly being fashioned into animals—killing machines and nothing more.

“There’s nothing else we can do, Ms. Mason,” the officer taking her statement announced as she signed the appropriate line. “We’ve called your security company, and they’ll be out here tomorrow to repair the system.”

“Thank you, Officer Roberts.” She smiled politely as she handed the papers back to him, wishing they would just leave.

“We’ll be going now.” He nodded respectfully.

It was about time.

She escorted them to the door, closing and locking it before pushing her feet into a pair of sneakers and waiting impatiently for them to pull from the drive.

The minute their taillights headed down the street, she grabbed her keys, threw open the door, and slipped onto the porch. Closing it quickly, she sprinted through the rain toward Tarek’s.

She wanted answers now. Not whenever he decided to show.

A frightened scream tore from her lips as she passed one of the thick evergreen trees in his yard and was caught from behind as another hand clamped over her mouth.

A hard arm wrapped around her waist, heated, muscular, nearly picking her from her feet as he began to move quickly to the house.

“How did I know you would do something so stupid?” His voice was a hard, dangerous growl in her ear as he pushed her through the living room door and slammed it shut. “I told you to stay put, Lyra.”

He released her quickly, throwing the bolts closed on the door before punching in the code to the security pad beside it.

“You were too slow,” she snapped. “What the hell was going on tonight?”

She turned on him fiercely, with every intention of blasting him over the previous hours’ events. Her eyes widened, though, as she caught sight of his pale face and the bloodstained bandage.

“Are you okay?” She reached out, her fingers touching the hard, sun-bronzed flesh just beneath the bandage.

“I’ll live,” he grunted. “And stop trying to distract me. I told you to stay put.”

His eyes glittered a menacing gold in the dim light of the heavily curtained living room.

“I don’t obey orders so well.” She licked her dry lips nervously. “And I was tired of waiting.”

“The police had barely left, Lyra.” He pushed his fingers through his damp hair with rough impatience. “I was on my way.”

His voice gentled, though not by much as he stared down at her. For a moment, his expression softened and then turned fierce once again.

“You would drive a grown man to drink,” he finally growled before turning to stalk through the house. “Come on, I need coffee.”

“Do you know how to fix it?” She followed him quickly, the question falling from her lips before she could stop it.

“Hell no. But I’m fucking desperate,” he snarled impatiently, his voice rough.

“Then don’t touch that coffeepot, because I want some, too.”

She moved quickly in front of him before coming to a dead stop in the middle of the immaculate kitchen.

“Fine, go for it.” He moved past her to the door where the tiles shone damply, the smell of disinfectant heavy in the air.

“What are you doing?” She was almost afraid to touch anything. It was almost sterile-clean.

“Blood.” He grunted. “I don’t want it staining the tiles.”

He knelt on the floor, a heavy towel in his hands as he mopped at the puddle of cleaner he had poured on the floor.

Her brothers, bless their hearts, would have waited for her to try to clean it. She doubted they cleaned anything besides their weapons, at any time. The slobs.

“Do you ever cook in this kitchen?” she questioned him nervously as she moved to the cabinet and the coffeemaker sitting there.

“I’d need to know how to first,” he grunted, working at the floor with single-minded intensity. “I’ll figure it out eventually.”

She searched the cabinets until she found the bag of pre-ground coffee and two mugs.

The term bare cupboards definitely applied to this man.

“What do you eat?” The silence was stifling as he rose to his feet to watch her measure the coffee into a filter with narrowed eyes.

“I eat,” he finally growled as he moved through the kitchen into a short hall.

Seconds later she heard water running in the sink and then a heavier flow, as though into a washer.

He moved back into the kitchen a minute later as she was checking the refrigerator.

Cheese. Baloney. Ham. Yuck.

“Not all of us are gourmets,” he grunted, moving to the cabinet over the stove and pulling down the bread she had given him that afternoon.

There was no sign of the cinnamon rolls. Half a loaf of white bread was left and perhaps a third of the banana nut bread.

She checked the freezer and then sighed. He had to be starving. A body that big took energy.

“What happened tonight?” she asked as she moved back to the coffeemaker and poured two mugs of the dark brew.

“Someone tried to break in to your house, and I caught him.” He shrugged, his voice cool as he took his mug from her.

“Yeah.” She believed that one. “Fine. I’ll just go home then and call my daddy and my three ex–Special Forces brothers and let them know what happened. Shouldn’t hurt, if that was all it was.”

He paused, his gaze slicing back to her for a long moment before he lowered the mug.

She didn’t think anything could take his mind off that coffee.

“Ex–SF, huh?” He breathed out roughly, shaking his head with weary acceptance.

“Yes, they are.” She nodded mockingly. “They retired about five years ago. They were even part of the Breed rescues that took place just after the main Pride announced their existence.”

His expression stilled and grew cold and distant.

“I know you’re a Breed, Tarek.” She wasn’t playing games with him. She hated it when they were played with her. “Tell me what’s going on.”

He grimaced tightly before picking up his mug and moving to the kitchen table as though putting distance between them. She followed him.

He turned his head, watching as she leaned against the counter across from him and waited. Other than appliances, the kitchen was bare. No disorder. No clutter or decoration. The living room had been the same as she remembered. As though he had yet to decide who he was enough to mark his home with those things that defined him. Unless . . .

“Did you buy the house?” she asked him then.

Surprise crossed his features. “It’s mine.” He nodded before sipping at his coffee. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Nothing, except the thought of him leaving bothered her. Fine, he had no interest in her outside of her bread and her coffee, but she liked him. At least he wasn’t boring.

“Nothing.” She finally shrugged. Thankfully, she was wearing her thick flannel robe rather than one of her thinner ones, the ones that would have shown her hard nipples clearly and made it impossible to hide her response from him.

That was what pissed her off so bad about him. He was the one man in years who had actually interested her, and he seemed totally oblivious to her as a woman.

It sucked.

“You haven’t told me what happened tonight yet,” she finally reminded him. “I’ve been pretty patient, Tarek.”

He grunted at that statement. “Yeah, I saw that while you were running through the rain.”

He inhaled deeply, grimaced, and shifted restlessly in his chair. His hand rubbed at his arm, just below the bandage, as though to rub away the ache.

She ached for him, for that wound. The sight of his blood earlier had weakened her knees and filled her with a fear she hadn’t expected. He had been hurt. While she dealt with the police and filing that stupid report, all she could think about was how severely he could have been wounded.

“I don’t know,” he finally answered, staring at her directly. “I knew someone was out there. I followed him. I caught him messing with the electric box and attempting to get to the back door when I tried to stop him.” He pushed his fingers through his hair again, feathering the dark gold strands back from his face. “I don’t believe he was after your TV set, though.”

She didn’t like the sound of that.

“The security company said the alarm couldn’t be dismantled in the electrical box. That it has a backup . . .”

“It can be done.” He shrugged heavily. “Your system is residential. It has its drawbacks. I’ll get you a new one tomorrow.”

“I didn’t ask you to do anything.” She was growing sick of this cat-and-mouse game of his. “I want to know what the hell was going on. Any burglar worth his salt would have run when he was noticed. This guy didn’t run. Why?”

“I don’t know. I was hoping you would.” That wasn’t a lie.

He stared at her, his unusual eyes darker, heavy-lidded . . . She swallowed tightly. That was not lust glittering in the golden depths. Men like him didn’t get turned on for frumpy little accountants.

She drew in a deep, uneven breath, flickering her tongue over her dry lips nervously. He followed the movement, his gaze heating.

Okay. This was odd enough. She could understand being hotter than hell herself, but now he was? Why? Did he have a flannel fetish or something?

“Fine. It was no big deal then.” She crossed her arms over her breasts just to be certain he couldn’t see her nipples pushing against the cloth. “I’ll just go home . . .”

“Not tonight.” His voice was darker, deeper. “It’s not safe as long as your system is down. You can stay here or call your brothers. It’s up to you.”

“I can take care of myself.” She drew herself up stiffly as she faced him.

He rose from the table, suddenly appearing stronger, broader, fiercer as he scowled down at her.

“I said, you could stay here or call your brothers. I did not give you any other choices.” A growl echoed in his voice as his eyes seemed to glow with arrogant intent.

“I didn’t ask you for choices, Tarek.” She wasn’t about to bow down submissively to him, either. “I don’t need a keeper.”

His jaw tightened furiously, his lips thinning as he glared at her.

And that really shouldn’t have turned her on further. But it did. She could feel the moisture gathering, pooling, spilling along the sensitive folds between her thighs. Her breasts felt heavier, swollen, too sensitive.

And he wasn’t exactly uninterested anymore.

Her gaze flickered down, her face flushing heatedly before she jerked it back up. He was filling out those jeans like it was nobody’s business.

And he hadn’t missed the direction of her look, either.

“Don’t tempt me, Lyra,” he suddenly warned her, his voice rasping over her sensitive nerve endings. “My control is shot for the night. Either call your brothers or march your sweet ass upstairs to my spare room, or you’re going to find yourself flat on your back in my bed. Your choice. The only ones left. Make it.”