Lion's Heat

EXCERPT from Lion's Heat by Lora Leigh (c)...(unedited)



For the first time in her life, Rachel Broen was terrified. It wasn't fear. It was soul destroying, mind numbing, and silently screaming terror.

She couldn't scream aloud, it would draw notice. Notice that her tears and ragged sobs wouldn't draw, weren't drawing as she slid her unassuming little Civic into the deserted parking lot of the Bureau of Breed Affairs.

The night guard on duty had taken her pass without much notice. He knew her car; he'd seen enough of her to know who she was. It wasn't unusual for her to leave late, or to arrive early if she was commanded to do so by the autocratic bureau director, Jonas Wyatt.

The guard had easily accepted her hasty excuse that she'd forgotten to update his memos and his morning schedule, and that it had to be done tonight.

He hadn't noticed her torn blouse; the jacket she wore covered it. He hadn't seen the bruise she could feel spreading across the right side of her face, or the swollen condition of her right eye.

The blow had been carefully delivered.

Jumping from the car she felt the rough asphalt bite into her bare feet as she stumbled before racing to the door. It took two attempts to get her electronic card pass to activate the doors and release the locks.

A thin sob tore from her chest as she nearly fell through the door and ran for the stairs that led to the third floor and the private offices of the director, Jonas Wyatt.

Jonas. The manipulating, calculating bastard. This was his fault. He'd played too many games. He'd pushed the wrong people and had so erroneously believed they would come after him.

She tripped, her knee slamming into a step, the skin breaking as a ragged scream of rage and pain tore from her lips.

She was paying for it.

Oh God. She was paying for it. She was paying for her stubbornness, her determination... No, she wasn't paying for it. The bruises, the agony tearing through her leg, the ragged pain in her side from the fist she had taken earlier, the bruises on her face, they were nothing. She would suffer that pain a thousand times over. She would suffer the fires of hell if only her child was safe.

Jonas. He was here.

A strangled scream tore from her lips as she fought to breath, to race up the second flight of stairs. One more flight. Dear God, she was almost there.

Jonas was here. She knew he was. He had warned her that evening not to come to work tomorrow. He had known his enemies were tracking him. He'd known, the son of a bitch, he'd known and just as she'd warned him months ago, when they struck, it wouldn't be him they went after.

She had never believed they would come after her child.

"Jonas!" She tried to scream out his name as fumbled the electronic key at the door to the main offices.

Sliding it again, again, and still it wouldn't work.

"Jonas please..." she screamed out again, terrified he would ignore her, knowing he had to hear her.

He was a breed.

The lock released, the heavy steel door flew open, and nearly pitched her to the floor as the door to Jonas' office was jerked open across the room.

He's here, and he isn't alone. She barely saw the others though. She saw his face, hated and yet adored. His eyes, alive in his bronzed face, swirls of silver mercury as he jumped to her, barely catching her before she fell to the floor.

"You bastard!" An open handed slap to his shocked face as sobs tore from her, tears making her vision cloudy as terror choked her, ripping the breath from her body. "I warned you! I warned you they wouldn't strike you!"