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Hell, he had a right to despise her now. Although if he did, it couldn’t be with any greater intensity than she despised herself.
That feeling only worsened when she finally left the safety of her self-imposed exile in her suite to venture down to the living areas.
Zael was in the large kitchen with Dylan and Rio, the scarred Breed warrior who was her mate. Their easy conversation drifted out to the hall as Brynne descended the rear staircase to the main floor below. Dammit. There was no escaping the inevitable now. To get anywhere else in the sprawling estate from where she stood, she first had to pass the kitchen.
Against her will, her gaze sought Zael out. There he was, lounging on one of the counter stools at the large center island, listening raptly to Dylan as she regaled him with a story about how she and Rio first met. Zael’s gaze was tender on his daughter, his smile so warm and affectionate, it made Brynne’s chest squeeze.
Despite her most vigilant effort, just the sight of him made her breath catch and her pulse kick into a higher tempo.
It took concentrated effort to simply step past the broad, arched entryway of the kitchen without pausing to apologize to him and ask for his forgiveness. Nor did she have the nerve to glance at him and see if he might be aware of her too.
She had to stay strong where he was concerned. Zael had been putting cracks in the veneer of her self-control from the first moment he turned those unearthly blue eyes on her. If today’s slip in resolve was any indication, distance was the only way to avoid another mistake like the one she’d made by falling into bed with him.
If she wasn’t careful, it might not be only her resolve that crumbled around Zael, but her heart as well.
ing down in the mess, he gingerly rolled her onto her back and touched the hideous wound at her throat. She had no pulse, no breath. Her skin was cool and waxy beneath his fingertips. There was nothing for him to work with, nothing for his ability to latch on to and draw toward healing.
“Shit.” He glanced up at Aric and grimly shook his head. “I can’t help her. She’s too far gone by several minutes, at least. Goddamn it, we’re too fucking late.”
As he spoke, he heard the faintest shift of movement coming from somewhere nearby. It was muffled, but Rafe and Aric both stilled in recognition that someone else was there in the house with them.
Silently, stealthily, Rafe set Iona Lynch’s lifeless body down on the tiles and rose to his feet.
The soft rustle came again, and he followed it to the closed door of a bathroom just off the kitchen. Then he heard a low, pained moan.
He opened the door and found another woman lying in a fetal position in the corner of the cramped room. Petite as an angel, the strawberry blonde was dressed in black yoga pants and a form-fitting pink tank top rent off her shoulder from an obvious altercation. Only semiconscious now, her body was coming awake slowly from the bloodied contusion on the side of her head.
Blood spatter on the white porcelain sink indicated someone had smashed the woman’s head into the basin with enough brute force to knock her out.
Rafe stepped inside, and the woman’s lids lifted. Hazel eyes widened as soon as she saw him. Then her mouth dropped open in a terrified scream.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, moving carefully as she bolted fully alert now and scrambled as far away from him as she could get.
“Don’t touch me!” Panic and confusion filled her pretty face. “Stay away from us! Iona, run!”
“Shh.” Rafe shook his head, hands out in front of him to show her he meant no harm. “It’s okay now. You’re safe.”
She huddled deeper into the corner of the bathroom, her eyes as wild as a terrified animal’s. As she moved, Rafe spotted a small red birthmark beneath the rip in the side of her tank top.
A Breedmate.
Rafe hunkered down to her level, speaking gently. “We’re not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”
She frowned, still wary, her breast still heaving with her labored breaths. She blinked slowly, glancing down at the floor. “Siobhan.” A delicate name, spoken in a broken whisper that almost made it sound as if she’d said the word chiffon. She glanced up at him and tried again. “I’m Siobhan O’Shea.”
He nodded soberly. “My name is Rafe. And this is my friend, Aric,” he said, gesturing to the doorway where his comrade stood. “How do you know Iona Lynch, Siobhan?”
“She’s my roommate. Where is she? What did those men want with her?” The Breedmate swallowed, her hand coming up to the bruising lump on her head. She winced at the light contact. “Is Iona… Is she okay?”
Rafe didn’t answer. This young woman would see the grisly answer for herself soon enough. With Iona Lynch murdered, Rafe’s mission priority had just switched from locating a potential lead on Opus to protecting a key witness who was also a Breedmate in potential danger now.
He glanced back at Aric. “We shouldn’t stay here for long, and neither should Siobhan. Go call this in to headquarters, let them know what we found. Tell them we have an injured Breedmate on our hands who’s in need of a safe haven.”
CHAPTER 16
