Uncomfortable that McKinley dwelled as often in his mind as the blonde woman did, Hale swept through the rest of the upstairs, noting nothing out of the ordinary. A partial sense of relief filled him. This Masters woman was simply another Paige who didn't fit the profile. Good news for him, bad news for Doctor Evan Dennis.
Hale wished he had better news to give Doc. First, Doc's boyfriend had turned traitor. Then, learning his only sibling had died, despite the fact that Elliot Pearl had been an evil genius, had to be a bitch. Doc rarely smiled anymore. The man was grieving. So to find out he might have a surviving relative? Hale understood Doc's need to cling to something good in his life. After dealing with a psychotic half brother and a lover who'd turned on him, who wouldn't want ties to a seemingly normal woman, one who might be the last in a familial line?
Still, Hale didn't buy Doc's idea of proof. An e-mail from Elliot Pearl, sent automatically after he was dead, couldn't be substantiated. Just one more way for the asshole to screw with Doc. And now Doc wanted them to find his niece, Paige. So they'd find the woman. That her name and face happened to be the same ones he'd dreamed about didn't make a lick of sense. An odd coincidence, no more. I’m not psychic, and this Paige Masters is another nobody—
A sudden punch to the head took him to his knees. He instinctively rolled to his side and stood, needing to face the threat on his feet. Shoring his mental wards, Hale called on the change and shifted into his beast. His skin hardened, and he expanded as the enemy attacked.
Dodging an enlarged fist, Hale snarled and raked a set of claws down the mutant's belly. The Circ was tar black and strong as hell. Red eyes stared out of a monster's face, and the forked tongue that swiped at the thing's lips told Hale he had no recourse but to kill it. There was no reasoning with Pearson Labs' new mutants. The old rogues at least resembled Circs and could reason. These things were rabid killers that understood death and dismemberment. Nothing more.
Having shredded through his shirt and shoes, Hale's bigger body strained against his elastic-waist pants as he butted against the rogue. They locked arms, pushed, and pulled, until Hale purposefully shifted his weight back. He sank to the floor, placed his feet on the rogue's belly, and shoved.
The mutant hit the wall behind him, and something shattered all over the floor.
Roane's bellow signified trouble, probably more mutants in the house. Knowing how strong the fuckers were, Hale didn't hesitate to run past this one down the stairs, though he knew it would follow him.
He found Roane under attack, two normal-looking rogues circling him. Roane too had changed and now stood a head taller, thicker, and a hell of a lot angrier than he had been several minutes ago.
“Not the right Paige, eh?” Roane snarled at Hale, then broke one of the rogues' arms and shoved him into the other before defending himself from the one behind Hale.
Hale immediately leaped onto the downed pair, slicing claws across the top one's throat before gouging his eyes. Thankfully, the combination of Hale's and his bleeding opponent's weight pinned the other one down, effectively putting him out of commission for a short while.
The Circs beneath him howled and fought, but Hale wouldn't let up. He continued to pound the rogue directly under him, his increasing speed addicting. His hands a blur, he hit harder and faster, rapidly turning his opponent into a mess of bloody flesh and bone. He registered the sound of a subtle pop, recognized it as Roane's specialized silencer, and continued to work, giving his buddy time to take on any more comers. The sheer pleasure of the battle consumed him, and Hale willingly gave control of the fight to his inner beast.
Having worked through one of the enemy, he concentrated his efforts on the pinned one and heard a few more muffled shots.
“Hale, enough,” Roane growled before dragging Hale back. “Snap out of it.” Hale trembled, adrenaline pumping through his system, sending him into overload.
Then he froze. Something…in the air. He lifted his head, opened his mouth, and drew it in, a faint taste of cherry that lingered on his tongue. Sweet, sensual, and enthralling. Hale couldn't get enough.
He turned to follow the captivating scent into the kitchen, toward a locked door he hadn't yet explored, when a fist rammed into his face. Pain centered in his nose, then his neck, ribs, and groin. It took him a minute to realize someone—or something—dragged him deeper into the kitchen. The sound of more rogues alarmed him. He needed to help Roane, to protect his alpha, his friend. Struggling though the pain, he gained a bit of ground by digging into the walls to stop his progress.
A sharp prick to his neck made him wince, especially when his airway began to close.
To his surprise, the scent of cherries intensified. He automatically relaxed as layers of warmth enveloped him.
Minutes or hours later, he heard Roane's muffled voice.
“Out, now,” echoed in several pitches throughout the room, the voices of half a dozen or more of the enemy. Rogues? Mutants? Circs? Or had Pearson Labs sent their agents, the PPA? He tried to understand as he listened to the fading noise around him.
Bodies scrambled. Something scratched—the sound of claws finding purchase in the scarred wooden floor. Windows broke, glass shattered, and footsteps stampeded through the small house.
“Hale? Shit. Is that all your blood?” Roane pulled him to his feet, which refused to support him without help.
Hale found himself staring into the fun house glass of Roane's eyes. Caitlyn appeared in her mate's dilated pupils, looking sexy, angry, and hungry for another bite of her “meat.” “Dude, she has you whipped, big-time.” Hale grinned, sure of himself.
“Not me. Never gonna happen.”
Between one breath and the next, Hale suddenly stared at Roane's ass, then at the grass under their feet. His vision alternated between pitch-black and a subtle glow of moonlight that covered everything. “Wh-what? Where we going?”
“I can't understand you.” Roane muttered something. “You're slurring your words, playboy. Looks like I'm driving.” Roane set him down gently. In the backseat of the truck? “I don't know what they hit you with, but at least your pretty face is back to normal. You're healing superfast, my friend. And I think Doc is gonna want to know why.”
As Roane started the vehicle, Hale let the haze envelop him and licked his lips, testing the air for another taste of that sweet, sweet smell of cherries.
The minute the vehicle pulled away, Paige Masters picked up the phone. She dialed with shaky hands.
“Yeah?”
“Robbie? He was here.”
Silence filled the line. “You sure?”
She swallowed around a lump in her throat, staring at a trail of blood that led from a small puddle on the floor, across the living room, and over the ledge of her broken bay window. Bloody handprints littered the floor and her walls. Some of it had been his.
“Paige, you okay?” The gruff voice gentled. “I'm coming over.”
“No.” What if the others were still out there? She lifted her head and inhaled deeply. She concentrated, then let out her breath. “No, I'm okay now. They're gone.” But they'd be back. And one of these days, she wouldn't be able to contain them all.
Especially now that she'd sensed not one group of Circs, but two. Paige didn't know what the others wanted—what he wanted—but she'd smelled their differences. Another batch. Good or bad, she couldn't say. The fact they were Circs spoke volumes. Just one more strike against Elliot Pearl and his damned experiments.