Breeds: Stygian's Honour Part 54

She was hot as h.e.l.l when she got all stub- born like that. She made him want to cover her and show all the ways he could definitely control all that feminine aggression roiling through her.

Liza watched the flare of arousal, brighter, hotter than she'd seen it before as it flared in his gaze. Giving in to him was a desire that wasn't easy to push back. It tugged at her with regret and p.r.i.c.ked at the determination racing through her.

She couldn't stay in this room any longer.

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She couldn't stare in that mirror another second and see the girl she had been, the fear she had known, the desperation that had been so much a part of her that summer.

Remembering was a b.i.t.c.h, and the memories weren't comforting ones.

They were filled with fear and the stark reality of everything that had been taken away from so many.

Each time she stared into that mirror, she saw the results of the plastic surgery that had been done. A bit here, a bit there, a tilt of the eyes, a difference in her cheekbones. Just enough to make her look enough like Liza Johnson- Just enough to make Fawn resemble Claire.

And she remembered that ritual, the words spoken, the scent of the herbs, the ca- dence of the chants and the feel of the dew from the sweat lodge as it rained down upon her.

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And that moment-that heartrending second-when Honor Roberts had slept, and who Liza Johnson had been had slipped in- side her.

It had begun slowly, moments after Ca.s.sie Sinclair had left the room. A fragment here.

A fragment there. Nothing solid or concrete yet, but enough- The loss of who she had been had saved her.

The death of two young women, buried with the utmost ceremony, and in the utmost secrecy, had allowed her and Fawn to live in peace-for a while at least.

Tonight, she wanted to dance them out of her mind, drink them from her conscious- ness and deal with them tomorrow.

Not tonight.

Besides, she also needed to discuss a few things with Claire.

Did the other woman remember as well?

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Was that the reason for the fear each time Liza had nearly given herself away?

"Liza?" She nearly flinched as he moved to her, his tone deep, rasping as the backs of his fingers grazed her cheek. "Where did you go, baby?"

Swiping her tongue over her lips nervously, she gave a quick shake of her head. "I'm right here, Stygian. I'm just hop- ing you'll take me somewhere. I have yet to leave this d.a.m.ned room and I can't handle it any longer."

Thoughtful, with a gleam of disbelief and skepticism, he stared down at her before nodding slowly.

"Let's see if we can get you out of here for a few hours then," he said, sending a flare of antic.i.p.ation racing through her.

"Thank you." Relief raced through her.

"I'll go arrange things with security so the others can go as well," he told her as he moved away from her, taking the sense of 782/862.

warmth that wrapped around her whenever he was near.

Turning, she moved to the windows and gazed at the darkness surrounding the hotel.

Rubbing at her upper arms to dispel the chill racing up them, she eased back from the window, suddenly wishing Stygian were still there.

The windows were bullet and laser resist- ant, the room itself highly secured.

Yet Gideon Cross had managed to bug Jo- nas Wyatt's room, which she was certain was even more secure.

There was something not quite right, though, something out of place, out of sync.

Tilting her head, she stared out into the darkness, wondering what was missing, or what was added.

Something wasn't right- As the thought raced through her mind, a blinding flare of light suddenly flashed 783/862.

through the room. The resulting explosion seemed to rock the entire hotel.

Liza went to the floor, rolling, instinct and her photographic memory of the location of each piece of furniture flashing through her mind as she scrambled behind the sofa.

Shards of gla.s.s scattered around her as though World War III had erupted in the Navajo Suites. Flashing a brilliant red and yellow, the emergency lights sent a kaleido- scope of color racing through the room as Liza came to a crouch and quickly peeked around the couch.

Three dark-clad, masked figures were moving through the room. Two to the bed- room, while one began tossing furniture aside, throwing it out of his way. The elec- tronic black shield covering his face gave him an automaton look, while the scrolling red ribbon of the auto-detection technology glin- ted at the top of the shield.

s.h.i.t!

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Flipping behind the furniture before his head turned her way, Liza drew in a hard breath. She had only seconds to find a place to hide, or to reach the door.

The inner security lock had engaged when Stygian went out. It would take precious time to slide it aside-time she didn't have.

Hurriedly moving to the opposite side of the couch, Liza dived behind the heavy chair that had already been thrown aside within a heartbeat of the couch bouncing against it.

The opened door to the connecting suite was just ahead of her, two figures racing from the room.

"She's not there," one rasped.

"She's here. We tracked her before the window went in. Find her, d.a.m.n it. There wasn't enough time to get through the door."

"Bright f.u.c.king idea blowing the lights,"

another snapped.

The other didn't speak.

Where was he?

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Liza stared around her, heart racing, terri- fied to make the move to sprint for the con- necting door and the exit leading into the hallway.

With her hands planted against the floor, her body ready to vault across the distance, she considered her chances- The chair went flying.

Screaming out Stygian's name, Liza sprin- ted for the connecting door as hard hands gripped her arm and a growl echoed through her senses.

Turning in the grip and kicking her leg out to connect with her a.s.sailant's knee, she was gripped with rage. The heavy padding over the vulnerable area minimized the force of the blow, bringing no more than a guttural grunt as his grip tightened.

As he brought his other arm up to grab her neck, his fingers only brushed her flesh be- fore she knocked them away, twisted again 786/862.

and dropped, screaming at the wrench in her arm a second before he released her.

Her foot slammed into his shin.

Padded.

Throttled rage escaped her at the tri- umphant laugh that echoed around her as another suddenly grabbed her other arm and within seconds she found her arms twisted behind her.

"Hurry, d.a.m.n it, we don't have all day."

The order was harsh, a sudden, ear-splitting automated shriek began blaring through the halls outside.

Throwing all her weight against the grip the two men had on her, Liza kicked both her feet out, connecting with the third's chest and sending him stumbling back as the other two lost their grip on her.

Crashing to the floor, she ignored the bite of pain that drove into her flesh through the denim of her jeans and her undefended hands as she hit the shards of gla.s.s below.

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Kicking out again, she tripped another while grabbing the heavy base of a lamp that had fallen from the table next to her.

Swinging out, she let a satisfied snarl leave her lips as it connected with the face shield of the a.s.sailant who had been giving the or- ders. The crack of the sensitive shield sent a thrill of pleasure racing through her mind as she ducked from the other before twisting around, gripping the shield and tearing it from his face.

Let them join her in the f.u.c.king dark.

"f.u.c.k. Get that little h.e.l.lion. She just tore off my shield!"

"We have Breeds in the hall! We have Breeds in the hall!" another yelled.

"Move out!"

Liza twisted around in time to see three dark figures jump from the shattered win- dow, arms outspread. A breath later, three shadows seemed to streak through the air as flares of light erupted outside.

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The door to the suite exploded inward and in a blinding, horrified flash, Liza watched as a dozen Breeds rushed the room.

It had happened before...

Soldiers had rushed the room, forcing Honor, Fawn and Judd to begin firing. They couldn't use caution not to kill.

They had to kill or be killed.

Rushing into the night, a vehicle scream- ing to a stop as the door was thrown open and Judd rushed them into it.

The rest was a flicker of a memory. The race through the desert, the Navajo warri- ors who were trying to explain their plan.

Two girls were dying an hour away from a crash into a canyon. The daughters of two highly trusted members of the Navajo Nation. No one would ever question their ident.i.ty. No one would know who they were, or what had happened if the ritual worked.

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A ritual that would cause Honor and Fawn's spirits to sleep while the knowledge, partial memories, and the ident.i.ty of the other girls became theirs instead.

Not their spirits. There was no magic that could hold their spirits, and those who loved them would never countenance it. But memories, knowledge-that was different.

But they had to hurry.

Time slowed.

Candles flickered as she and Fawn were drawn inside the rough sweat lodge. Six Navajo medicine men were seated in a semi- circle around the glowing fire.

On one side of the burning embers, lying on two beds of folded blankets, were two young girls, so broken, so close to death that she felt agony tearing through her.

These were the girls whose places they would take.

The explanations had been made hastily an hour before as they raced through the 790/862.

desert with Terran Martinez, the son of one of the spiritual elders now sitting across from her.

The two girls had crashed into a canyon hours before. Their spirits had been taken, they'd been told, having already moved beyond life, but a part of them remained.

Enough that an ancient ritual could be per-formed before the bodies took their last breath.

That ritual would give Honor and Fawn the lives that had been taken in a remote canyon when the girls' car had exploded and thrown them free.

Too much speed, the confidence of youth and inexperience behind the wheel had res- ulted in the crash.

Fate, Terran had whispered, his niece and her best friend had met fate, and provided Honor and Fawn the means of escape.

Orrin Martinez waved his hand to the two makeshift beds that lay beside each girl.

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"Take your place," his voice rasped through the hastily erected sweat lodge. "The sand is falling through the gla.s.s of life, and time is running low."

Honor lay down, her heart racing, her throat tightened, as the blond man she'd been told was Audi Johnson and his wife, Jane, took their seats on the other side of the fire.

One of the medicine men whispered something; a second later, Audi and Jane reached out and dropped what appeared to be a handful of dried plants on the burning embers and rocks in the center of the shelter.