Marie Harte - Grayson's Gamble

She’d evaded the others sent to bring her back for testing. But she wouldn’t escape this bunch. Not with the strength abundant in the half dozen rogues selected to mate with her. And with one of the rogue’s skin starting to turn black, signaling his slide into becoming mutant, they’d have that much more of an advantage running her down. Or so they kept telling each other. Idiots.

“I can’t smell her.” Dave frowned. His long hair whipped around his face, framing his high cheekbones and feline eyes like a lion’s mane. He flexed his claws and breathed deep. “I don’t like it.”

Mike nodded at the two others with them, and they split up, leaving Mike and Dave together to hunt her from the southern perimeter around this particular finger of land. “Something’s off with her. I’m not sure what it is, but no way some fucking bitch goes this long without getting caught. She has to have help.”

Dave nodded. “A fucking year. No way.”

They spent the next two hours hunting for another trace of her on the air. In the brisk cold of nightfall, the sounds in the woods grew sharper, the smells more pungent. Yet neither male could catch a whiff of her.

Just the way she’d planned it.

Ali soundlessly watched from the mountain ledge two dozen feet off the ground. Trenton had sent a larger group this time. The prick. She didn’t understand why he and his rogues wouldn’t just leave well enough alone. How hard was it to understand? Hunt her and die. She’d sent two heads back to the laboratory on Whidbey. Yet the bastards continued to pursue her.

But this talk of a mutant’s signature black skin worried her. Rogues she could handle. She’d been handling them for over a year—since they’d located her—and all by herself. But a mutant changed things. Impossibly strong, driven, and uncanny in their ability to ferret out prey, mutants didn’t stop until they mated. She’d heard of one brief case of a mutant who’d actually managed to turn back the psychotic tendencies of genetic trauma with the right mate by his side. It looked like Trenton must have heard the same stories. Why else work so hard to track her? Just for breeding? He had other females for that. She wasn’t so special. Not now.

She glanced down at her forearms, unnerved at the black veins now visible through her tanned skin. Her hair remained long and nearly white with streaks of brown. The rest of her skin stayed Circ, not mutant. But every now and then, in the reflection of a mirror, she saw a hint of red in her eyes, a sign she’d begun to deteriorate faster than she’d thought possible. Her body had begun to decay, but her ability to camouflage herself, to blend into any environment, grew stronger.

Unlike the rumored Circ who could actually become invisible, she simply changed her skin patterns to match her surroundings. Not invisible, but she might as well be. Against the dark rock at her back, she looked like another shadow. And thanks to the lack of moonlight, she wouldn’t be silhouetted against the rock. Not even when she lifted her arm and pointed her Circ Special, a .45 caliber weapon designed with Circs in mind, in their direction.

She took a deep breath and released the pheromones she controlled. The perfume of female lust pushed through her pores and entered the crisp June air. She mentally thanked the last snow front that had hit just a week ago. Odd for this time of year, but the weather had been a blessing in disguise.

“Smell that?” she heard one of them say. Though they were some distance away, her Circ hearing made it possible to track them with ease. When they pushed past the small cluster of pines she’d been watching, she took aim and fired.

Mike went down with a hole in his forehead while Dave took cover, which she’d been expecting. She laughed to herself. They never expected Circ-piercing rounds, but she’d learned from the best. Ali could hunt and shoot years before they’d abducted her the first time. And hell, after her third time in the stews, she’d made damn sure to never be taken unaware again. Too bad Granddad Dill couldn’t be here to see her in action. But then, he’d been taken with her the last time, and he hadn’t survived the devil’s drugs they’d been injected with, not like she had.

She fumed at the memories and released more of her scent. Rogues had a hard time resisting the lure of a female in heat. And since Ali couldn’t— wouldn’t —relieve her needs with a Circ, she was more than potent.

“Damn. Hold on, bitch. I’m coming.” Dave took little care with his safety as he trampled through the snow to get to her. She took note of his Circ attributes. The claws, the fangs, the eyes. The dark, naked skin, and worse, the monstrous erection. “I’m gonna fuck you raw. Just you wait.”

Lucky, lucky me . Glad for her enhanced eyesight and night vision, she aimed her weapon for his cock and pulled the trigger.

His cry of pain was music to her ears. Knowing it would attract the others, she eased back onto the rock shelf upon which she hid and waited, gun in hand, hatred in her heart. She’d never be used again, not by anyone. The only good Circ was a dead Circ. And she aimed to make sure she took out as many as she could before biting the bullet herself.

“Coffee’s on.”

“Thanks.”

Silence reigned until Bas clinked the glass of the coffeepot against the mug Gray had set out for him. He poured himself a cup and waited. He put the carafe back. He toyed with a spoon.

More silence.

Inwardly, he cringed. Their coming together had been building for months. But Bas wouldn’t have thought they’d go from nothing to twenty-four hours of marathon sex to awkward pauses the very next morning.

“Nice weather we’re having, huh?” Surely Gray would say something about his inane comment.

“Yeah, I guess.” Gray sipped from his cup and returned to reading the Washington Post . He wore dress slacks and a button-down shirt and looked like a stockbroker getting ready for work. One with a beast that gave Bas confused glances out of beautiful hazel eyes.

Yesterday morning Bas would have teased Gray. He’d have made fun of his fancy clothes and no shoes, the way he ground his beans and used a three-hundred-dollar coffeemaker like a yuppie from hell. But after that intimate connection the day and night before, he was loath to upset the man who’d wormed his way firmly into his heart.

He’d try sidestepping the issues Gray wouldn’t talk about and focus on their mission. For now.

“So this Al Ross. What do we know about him?”

Gray put the paper aside, finally , and looked at Bas. “Not much. And we leave the day after tomorrow for Bend. We’ll be getting in late, but Jack will make sure we have a place to stay for the night before we get to work.”

Bas didn’t like relying on anyone associated with that fucked-up PWP. He’d left them long behind, or so he thought. His agitation unfortunately manifested in the carafe that shot out of the coffee warmer and crashed on the floor, spilling hot coffee everywhere.

“Shit.” Gray jumped out of his seat and stared at the shards of glass. “What the hell?”

“Weird.” Bas leaned forward and pretended to be confused. But when he glanced up to meet Gray’s gaze, he noted the suspicion lingering there. “You got a mop, hero?”

Gray scowled. “In the closet behind you, junior .”

“Junior? That’s a good one.” Taunting Gray might not have been the smartest thing he could have done, but it had taken that untrusting look off his face. “So besides a possessed coffeepot, what else have you got?” He grabbed a dustpan, broom, and mop and got to work while Gray wiped up the excess mess that had spilled onto some lower cabinets.