Isis: The E6 Breeder (Lycan Breeder Series Book No. 2)

Scene 39

“You did it. I can do it,” Rebecca communicated through the link to Derek. Hopefully, enough of her tone was stripped away that she didn’t sound like she was pouting.

“You can. I wish it didn’t come to this, but we knew there was a good chance of it. How’s Emanuel taking the situation?”

“He’s not happy.” Even through the blur, she could see his protective stance, as usual, looking over her.

Derek agreed, “I bet.”

“It’s not bad, between us. I almost wish it were. To be honest, we’ve been closer than we’ve needed to be.” There were nights where he rubbed on her in his sleep or licked her neck. Sure, it was important for their scent to be shared in case there was an intrusion, but it didn’t have to be direct. Neither of them objected to the efforts.

There seemed to be mutual enjoyment of her wrapping a spit covered hand over his shaft and when he released, applying his essence to various parts of her. He turned to stone the last couple of times when she decided to apply him between her folds.

This is the duty she was trained for. Right? Different target, different end game, same technique.

“Do this. Crash the market. Go home,” Derek sounded resolved. “You can figure everything out there where you are safe.”

“I’ll reach out to you tomorrow morning.”

“Tonight.”

No. She was going to need time.

“Tomorrow.”

“I need any information you get tonight.”

Fuck, he’s right.

“OK”

Waiting exactly where she anticipated, Emanuel’s expectant face came into focus. She had no new plan for him, no Hail Mary. They were on track for the same series of events that they had been pondering all afternoon.

Rebecca shook her head, confirming what he was resistant to believe.

A coldness came over his face. His normally soft lips pulled tight and lines appeared on the bridge of his nose before he let out a thunderous roar. A hefty arm flew out and collided with a red lamp. Glass shards scattered on contact with either his fist or the wall, it was too quick to tell. It didn’t matter because it no longer existed as a self-standing instrument to provide light.

Three paces brought him to the edge of the loft and he sailed down, landing with a thud on the first floor. The joints in the wall creaked and the floorboards groaned as he stormed his way to the front door. Nearly ripping it from its hinges, he was gone with the slam.

Rustling of underbrush signaled his movement around to the back of the cabin, and any trace sounds she could have tracked were silenced with the snap of her bangle. The place usually felt hollow without his lumbering presence, but now it was felt even more so.

Velvet blackout curtains hung over the small windows of the loft area. She tugged one to the side enough to look out but saw no movement. He must have taken off up the hill. Both his forms were powerful, but the speed of which he was out of sight suggested that he had shifted as soon as he got outside.

If anyone saw her face, she would have to be near the anchor. She wasn’t going to risk looking out the front to see if there were shredded clothes.

Rebecca examined the room for the hundred thousandth time since she’s been there and walked a familiar track around the loft. Dragging her fingers over the corner of the dresser that he props himself against when he’s watching her, then past the pile of red glass, she hooked a left and walked down a plain wall. Hanging another left when she approached the bed, she traveled the length of it and ended up at her restraints.