Breeds: Stygian's Honour Part 42

For the past two days she'd fought with herself, forced herself to piece together frag-ments of memories, to find a resolution in- side herself. To accept what she knew, who she knew she was. The need for him had been beneath the surface, the hunger for him had always been there, at the edge of her 604/862.

thoughts and her need. But the need to know who she was, and why she believed she was Liza Johnson, had taken so much of her that she'd had no choice but to step back and piece together the bits she knew, the frag- ments of dreams, the memories that hadn't really seemed like memories.

She wasn't who she thought she was, but there was no way to prove it to herself. There wasn't a single memory, a single dream or instance that she could use to pinpoint that she was Honor Roberts or Fawn Corrigan.

There were no memories of either that she could pull free.

As she watched the Breeds sparring, she suddenly stiffened as Flint's fist went for her mate's face.

Stygian jumped back from the jab to his face but not before it connected.

His lip was split, the reddened hint of blood marring the perfect male curve.

Ah h.e.l.l, Flint had split Stygian's lip?

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Wouldn't that make kissing her later painful?

She could kiss the little boo-boo.

Licking her lips at the thought, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s swelled further at the surge of hunger racing through her body while her c.l.i.t pulsed in re- newed need.

Renewed? No, not renewed, it hadn't stopped pulsing since she'd first watched them sparring.

She wanted to spar with him. She wanted to have him take her down, strip her pants from her body, lift her to her knees and f.u.c.k her into a screaming o.r.g.a.s.m.

Was that seriously too much to ask?

It wasn't like she wouldn't be willing to give as well.

Her tongue ran over her lips again, almost involuntarily this time. She could remember the taste of him, the strength and power of the broad head of his shaft.

So broad.

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She'd heard Wolf and Coyote Breeds were thicker than normal, their c.o.c.ks broad enough to stretch a woman until she was cer- tain it was impossible to take him.

Their experience, she had heard, ensured their lovers took them, perhaps not with ease, but definitely with pleasure.

Exquisite, heated, torturous pleasure.

Moisture rushed from her v.a.g.i.n.a, slicken- ing, preparing- Clenching her thighs, she forced back a moan and fought to return her attention to the file she was working on. And the occa- sional flicker of the screen that was more ir- ritating than an actual problem.

Or, it would have been if her mind was ac- tually on the file she was supposed to be working on.

Returning her gaze to the gym and the combatants still going at one another, the urge to be on the mat with her mate was only growing stronger.

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She wanted to be the one sparring with him.

She was his mate for a reason.

She wasn't the hothouse flower he so obvi- ously believed she was.

This hothouse flower was one week from final testing before her induction into one of the most professional, most secretive rescue forces in the world.

She could spar with him.

She highly doubted she could take him, but she knew he would take her.

Sensually.

Erotically.

Creaming her panties was an understate- ment for the slick moisture now gathered on her p.u.s.s.y.

Hunger didn't come close to describing the need rushing through her body.

Her nipples were so hard the lace of her bra was such an abrasion it was painful.

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Liza wanted nothing more than to pull her clothes-No, she wanted Stygian to tear the clothes from her body. To want her with such strength, with such uncontrolled l.u.s.t that nothing mattered but f.u.c.king her. But push- ing the broad length of his c.o.c.k inside her, driving her mad with each thrust until the wicked additional erection filled her, locking him inside her as his release spurted to the very depths of her v.a.g.i.n.a.

She wanted him until she felt on fire for his touch. Until the soft cotton of the dove gray lounge pants and matching camisole top were so irritating, so impossible to bear she wanted nothing more than to strip.

She needed to be naked.

She needed her mate naked.

Now!

CHAPTER 18.

As sparring sessions went, it was one of the rougher ones.

Stygian knew he would have bruises in places he hadn't had bruises in years.

Coyotes were mean gutter fighters, and that was just a fact of life.

That meant bruises in places a man nor- mally didn't have to worry about bruises when sparring with them. He seriously couldn't remember a time when sparring with a Lion or Wolf that he'd ever had his arm dislocated by a kick beneath his arm.

How the h.e.l.l Dog had managed that one, he wasn't certain yet. All he knew was the 610/862.

dirty b.a.s.t.a.r.d had caught him unaware at the same time Flint had been coming at him with a mean right hook.

Moving quickly to the side to avoid a hard jab at his nose-no one could accuse Flint of playing nice-Stygian came back with a powerful blow to the other Breed's stomach, quickly followed by a mean left hook that Stygian only barely softened before connect- ing with Flint's jaw.

Even pulling the punch, Flint was sent fly- ing back against the padded wall. His dark hair dripping with sweat as he shook his head, Flint came back at him.

Blocking a hard kick aimed for his abdo- men, Stygian was in the process of sweeping the other man's leg out from under him when the scent caught him.

Like a sledgehammer, the scent of femin- ine l.u.s.t tore through his senses.

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He froze, his head lifting, drawing in the sweetest, most addictive scent he could have imagined.

In the same breath Flint delivered a powerful blow to his midsection with a kick that nearly knocked him from his feet.

A rush of air exhaled from his lungs as Sty- gian found himself crashing into the padded wall.

Done in by the scent of his mate's l.u.s.t.

G.o.d help him, he had to get the others out of here. There wasn't a chance he was going to make it to their suite before he buried his d.i.c.k inside the lush, honeysuckle sweet depths of her p.u.s.s.y.

Catching Flint coming in for another hard kick, Stygian gripped his ankle, twisted then jumped back as the other Breed did a midair flip that would have ended with his foot in Stygian's jaw if he'd been a breath faster.

Landing in a crouch, Flint grinned back at him.

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"You're getting old, Stygian," he claimed.

"You d.a.m.n near knocked me out last week when you countered that same kick. But then"-his brows lifted suggestively-"the scent of your mate's hunger wasn't there to tempt you either. Was it?"

"You were faster this time," Stygian argued as he ignored the comment regarding his distraction.

"And you're a h.e.l.l of a lot slower." Flint laughed as Dog and Mutt both paused in their sparring. "You're off your game, my friend."

h.e.l.l if that wasn't the truth, but even Flint was easing back, the unspoken agreement that the sparring session was over, under- stood by them all.

The scent of a mate's need sent a message to any other Breed in the area to keep away, to move beyond the scent if possible and at every opportunity to allow the mated couple a chance to be alone.

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Inhaling sharply, he caught her scent again.

Arousal and an addition of something more had his gaze narrowing on her.

The arousal was uppermost, a subtle scent because of the distance, but there all the same. But it was also combined with the scent of envy and a natural aggression that had his animal instincts howling and his lips turning up in a grin of relish.

"Time to shower," Flint announced, though Stygian's attention never wavered from Liza. "We'll secure the room on our way out."

His attention was focused completely on Liza as she rose from the sofa and moved closer to the main mats. He was only dis- tantly aware of the soft ping s indicating full security had been activated on the entrance to the gym.

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There would be Breed enforcers stationed at the elevator and then farther along the hall as long as he and Liza were in the room.

Stygian antic.i.p.ated they would be there for a while.

"Spar with me now." Her demand should have surprised him.

It didn't.

He already suspected the part she inten- ded to play in the Navajo Breed Under- ground Network. He should have suspected it long before he had.

She was a ma.s.s of contradictions, decep- tions and confusion. One could never take anything about her at face value, until he learned the answers to the questions she presented.

Moving once again, Liza toed off the san- dals she'd slipped on before leaving the room. Leaving her feet bare, the pretty painted toenails a subtle candy pink, she stepped onto the mat.

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Her arousal was no longer mixed with envy. It was now infused with a hint of fem- inine, s.e.xual aggression and independence.

The intriguing scent had his d.i.c.k swelling impossibly harder, throbbing with a demand he had no intention of holding back.

A growl sounded in his throat as his lips curled into a slow, dominant snarl.

"A challenge, mate?" he asked as he knelt and removed the baby-soft leather boots worn by enforcers.

Loosening the ties, his gaze holding hers, Stygian removed them without haste, refus- ing to allow himself to fumble so much as a string while she watched.

Male pride.

He all but grinned at the thought.

Of course, he couldn't allow himself to ap- pear less than completely dominant and as- sured in her presence. G.o.d forbid this inde- pendent, striking young woman should ever 616/862.

have a moment to doubt his ability to love her.

To protect her.

He'd prove to her he was her fitting mate.

Removing his close-fitting black socks, Stygian straightened and stared down at her silently for long moments.

"You're my mate," he finally stated, hear- ing the primal growl that filled his voice. "I am well able to protect not just your safety, Liza, but your secrets. You've only to give them to me for safekeeping."