Breeds: The Breed Next Door Part 3

The moonless night left the yard nearly pitch-black, but the DNA that made him an abomination also made him capable of seeing much more clearly than the enemy stalking the night with him.

It wasn't a Breed. He could smell a Breed a mile away. But neither was it a harmless threat. He could feel the menace in the air, growing thicker by the moment.

Moving from the concealment of the stack of lumber, he edged his way closer to the house. Even more important than locating the threat was keeping Lyra in the house and safe. She was so d.a.m.ned feisty, if she even thought anyone was in her backyard she would be out there demanding answers and ignoring the danger.

He moved around the little wooden arch that held the bench swing, carefully sidestepped the beginnings of a flowerbed he had seen her working in days before, and slid along the fence that separated her property from her neighbor on the other side.

He could feel the intruder. The itch along the back of his neck was growing more insistent by the moment. He paused, bending low beside an evergreen bush as he scanned the area again.

And there he was. Crouched at the side of the house and working his way to the porch. Dressed entirely in black, the b.a.s.t.a.r.d might have escaped notice if Tarek hadn't caught the movement of the whites of his eyes.

He was good.

Tarek watched as he made his way to the electrical box at the side of the house. Too d.a.m.ned good. Tarek watched as a penlight focused a minute sliver of light as the intruder worked.

When he was finished, Tarek bet his incisors the security system had somehow been canceled. The lights were still on, and not even a flicker of power had been interrupted. But there was an edge of satisfaction in the way the black-clad figure now made his way to the back door.

It wasn't happening.

Tarek moved quickly, raising his gun, aiming, only to curse virulently as the figure turned, jerked, and raised his own weapon.

Tarek rolled as he heard the whistle of the silenced weapon.

Expecting, foolishly perhaps, for the a.s.sailant to turn and run, he came to his knees, aiming again, only to be slammed back to the wet gra.s.s as the gun was kicked from his hand.

He rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. His leg flew out to connect with a jaw, and he heard the grunt of pain as the other man went backward, flailing for balance.

Tarek whipped his knife from its sheath, prepared now as the other man came at him. He kicked the gun from his hand, turned, and delivered a power kick to his solar plexus, snarling as he flipped around to see the b.a.s.t.a.r.d coming for him again, armed with a knife as well.

At the same time, the back porch light flared, blinding him for one precious second as the a.s.sailant made his move. Pain seared his shoulder as the knife found its mark before he could jump back.

A gunshot blasted through the night. The sound of the powerful shotgun made both men pause, breathing roughly before the a.s.sailant turned and ran.

"Like h.e.l.l," Tarek snarled as he rushed after him, his feet sliding in the muck beneath his feet before he found traction and sprinted behind him.

He almost had him, dammit. He was within inches of throwing himself against the other man and bringing him down when another silent shot whistled past his head, causing him to duck and throw himself to the side instead.

The sound of a vehicle roaring down the street shattered the night. Tires screamed as the car slammed to a stop, voices raised demandingly, then it peeled from the front of the house as Tarek raced to get a glimpse of it.

"f.u.c.k! f.u.c.k!" His curse filled the night as the black sedan, no plates of course, roared away.

The a.s.sailant was well trained and obviously came with backup. The suspicion that it was the Trainer he was searching for filled his mind. But why go after Lyra? The man was smart enough, well trained enough that he could never have mistaken which house to attack.

On the heels of that suspicion came the knowledge that he, the hunter, could very well become the hunted. And it looked as though Lyra had been drawn into the middle of the war playing out between the Council and their now-free creations.

"The police are on their way," Lyra screamed from the back door. "Tarek, are you okay?"

At least she was still in the house.

A growl vibrated through his chest as he turned and ran back to the yard, locating the knife and illegal machine gun from the now-muddy yard.

The back door was open, and there she stood, dressed in a long gown and matching robe, holding that f.u.c.king shotgun like it could protect her.

He snapped his teeth together as he heard the sirens roaring in the distance and stomped to the house.

"Do not mention me, do you understand?" he ordered as he stopped in front of her, staring into her wide, shocked eyes as she blinked up at him.

"Do you understand me, Lyra?" he hissed impatiently. "Do not mention me. After they leave, I'll come back. Do you understand?"

He reached out to grip her arm, pulling back at the sight of the blood trickling to his hand. f.u.c.k, his shoulder burned.

"You're hurt." She swallowed tightly.

The sirens were getting closer.

"Lyra." He bent close, breathing in her scent, her fear. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes. Why?" Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were rising and falling roughly, her pale features emphasizing her large, dark eyes.

"I'll explain later. I promise." He grimaced painfully. "As soon is they leave, I'll be back. I swear, Lyra. But don't tell them what happened."

His cover was shot to h.e.l.l if she even hinted at him. The police would converge on his house, and he would be forced to tell them exactly who he was. Good-bye a.s.signment, good-bye Trainer.

She nodded slowly, glancing back into the house as the sound of '.he sirens echoed around them.

He nodded fiercely before turning and disappearing into the night. The cut to his shoulder wasn't life-threatening, but it was Jeep. He was going to have to take care of that first.

He disappeared into his house as the police units whipped onto the street and skidded to a stop outside Lyra's house. He locked the door quickly, taking precious seconds to pull off his boots before moving through the dark house.

What the h.e.l.l was going on?

He stripped off his clothes in the laundry room, dropping the cold, soggy clothing into the washer before taking a clean towel from the cabinet and wrapping it around his arm.

d.a.m.ned blood was going to stain everything.

He strode quickly upstairs, moving through his bedroom to the bathroom where he could take care of the wound to his shoulder.

As he cleaned and carefully st.i.tched the wound, he sifted through the earlier events, trying to make sense of them.

Why had someone attempted to break in to Lyra's house when it was clear she was home? Burglars waited until their victims were in bed, most likely asleep, or gone. They didn't break in while lights blazed through the house, and they sure as h.e.l.l didn't hang around after they were clearly caught.

And they weren't as well trained as Lyra's burglar had obviously been. That wasn't an attempted robbery. It was a hit.

Why would anyone want to kill Lyra, unless it was to get to him? A warning? And if it was that d.a.m.ned Trainer, how the h.e.l.l had he learned Tarek was tracking him?

He smeared gauze with a powerful antiseptic before laying it over the st.i.tched wound and taping it securely in place.

Then he dressed and waited. He stood at his bedroom window, watching, waiting, as the police talked to Lyra, wondering how well she would heed his earlier warning.

Praying she would. Knowing it might be better for both of them if she didn't.

Chapter Four.

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 G.o.d 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, s.h.i.+ning 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 s.h.i.+ned 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 gra.s.s should have told her something immediately. All men knew at least the rudiments of cutting gra.s.s.

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 fas.h.i.+oned 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, wis.h.i.+ng 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 pus.h.i.+ng 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 pa.s.sed 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 h.e.l.l 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.

"h.e.l.l no. But I'm f.u.c.king 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.