Passing him and heading to where Thor was being helped from the trees by Josiah, two other Dragoons sped toward Lawe, Diane, and the group following them. Jonas drove the vehicle, with a Breed manning the powerful laser-powered weapon mounted to the roll bars. Behind him the second Dragoon bounced over the rolling landscape with Dane Vanderale at the wheel, his partner, Rye Desalvo manning the weapon mounted to that one. The calvary was riding in and if the expressions on their faces were anything to go by, then they were anticipating a hell of a fight.
This was Lawe’s area of expertise. He loved the firefights, Diane loved the investigations, the rescues. There was no rescuing needed here. And it wasn’t that she didn’t get a hell of an adrenaline rush from the firefights. It wasn’t as though she wasn’t aware she would be involved in far too many where Lawe was concerned.
But in this case, he would be in danger if he was forced to worry about her in this instance. He’d given her the investigation, the fight, the chance to prove herself, and she knew it wasn’t over yet. Honor Roberts was still out there, and Liza Johnson had yet to be questioned. Gently.
But her part in this particular battle was over; she would wait and see what the war brought.
Turning to him, she threw her arms around his neck and smacked a joyful kiss to his lips.
“Get yourself wounded and there will be hell to pay, Mate,” she warned him.
Surprise filled his eyes, but the anticipation that brightened them was something she was familiar with. Something she knew herself. The anticipation of the job he loved.
Justice.
It was what he had taken his name for, and it was a part of him.
She was his mate, but the adrenaline was his mistress just as it was her admirer.
“I love you.” He touched her cheek before turning to the Breed Diane hadn’t seen until he jumped from the Dragoon that bounced to a stop before them. “Tarek, take care of my mate.”
“As though she were my own,” Tarek promised.
Tarek Jordan, mated himself and out of active status, but still part of the support teams when he was available. “Let’s move out.” He give a quick nod to Diane before they moved out quickly, racing across the golf course to the safety of the hotel.
Worry was a part of leaving him behind, but she knew he’d never be able to do his job if she were at his side during a firefight. A battle with a dozen Coyotes and human soldiers was far different than allowing her to fight Malcolm, and Diane knew it.
She glanced over her shoulder to see the dust of the vehicles racing to meet the oncoming Council soldiers as another Dragoon raced toward them from the hotel.
“Here’s our ride,” Tarek shouted as Thor was first loaded in.
Reaching the vehicle themselves Diane jumped in the open side, taking one last look at the disappearing dust as Lawe and Dane’s Dragoons disappeared over the rise, and four others raced from the trails that cut through the pines to meet them.
Reinforcements. Dane and Jonas hadn’t taken chances. There were enough Enforcers joining them, along with Dog’s teams, to ensure victory.
And when he returned—
When he returned, it would be to the mate willing to give all of herself to the Breed who had finally set her free.
*EPILOGUE*
He was wounded.
Diane stood silently, biting her lip as she watched as the Breed medic worked silently on the gash across his right bicep, and this was after digging the bullet from the shallow wound in his shoulder.
Blood smeared across and down his chest, but he sat silently, almost relaxed but for the edge of concern in his somber gaze as he watched her.
She was frowning at him. Her hands were braced on her hips as she glared at the wounds.
“I told you not to get wounded,” she pointed out calmly.
“You did,” he agreed with a slow, thoughtful nod. “And I tried very hard to please you, mate, but that Vanderale brat seemed to think his own hide was more important than mine and used me for a shield.”
Oh, now this was just wrong. He was blatantly lying to her. Blatantly, playfully. Almost flirtatiously lying to her. She had already heard the details when he was first brought in, but she turned to Jonas and Dane where they stood behind her anyway.
Both men were glaring at her mate.
Her brow arched inquisitively. “Vanderale brat?” she asked Dane curiously.
He grunted at the insult. “Next time, I’ll throw him to the damned Coyotes.”
“Looks like he’s going to live, anyway,” Jonas drawled as he watched Lawe broodingly. “You acted like you actually missed having bullets whine past your head.”
Lawe grinned.
The sight of that smile did something to her. It melted her insides. Like butter on a hot summer day she could feel emotion just oozing through her, over-taking her, seeping into all the little hidden, previously locked areas of her soul to fill her with a sense of rich, sudden life.
“And I believe that’s our cue to leave,” Dane murmured.
“Damned Breed sense of smell.” Diane sighed as they both left the suite, the outer doors closing behind them as the medic laid the last skin cement to the degradable staples used to pull the edges of the wound together.
Sealing the exposed raw flesh, the Breed pulled back, packed his instruments into the old-fashioned black case he carried and shook his head at Lawe. “I thought I was done fixing you up.”
“This happens often does it?” Diane asked.
The medic grinned. “Just every time he heads out on a mission, finds a Council soldier to fight, or just plain wants to spar with the younger Breeds to prove his experience beats their youth and strength.” He chuckled. “Sure you want him back on active status?”
She turned back to her mate. His brow was arched, his expression knowing.
“Hell,” she breathed out in exasperation, “it’s probably the only way to keep from killing him.”
“Yeah, he’s pretty tame while he’s healing.” The medic chuckled as he headed for the door. “Call me if he busts the stitches loose.”
Within seconds he too had left the room, leaving them alone.
“In pain?” she asked.
He rose from the bed and quickly shed his jeans. The shirt had been cut from him earlier, his boots eased from his feet the moment they had been lifted to the bed.
He was aroused.
The bronze length of his cock speared out from his body, thick and throbbing, the mushroomed crest gleaming damply with pre-cum as his balls lifted tight to the base of the shaft.
“Pretty sure,” she murmured as she tore the loose shirt over her head and quickly shed the yoga pants she had donned.
She was ready for him.
Diane could feel her juices gathering on the lips of her pussy as the inner muscles pulsed and flexed with the need for attention.
Wrapping his fingers around the heavy column, he stroked it lazily as he stared down at her, his gaze becoming intent and brooding.
“Punishment time,” he murmured.
Her brow lifted, her gaze flicking to his fingers as they stroked his powerful erection.
“Really?” she murmured.
“Really.” Stepping to her, his head lowered, his lips catching hers in a kiss that seemed to sink inside her soul.
The taste of the mating hormone was richer, spicier. It seemed to go to her head faster, the addictive essence a power punch to her arousal as she moaned at the fiery sensations suddenly racing through her.
He’d just been wounded, a bullet had been dug out of the heavy muscle of his shoulder, staples held the gash in his bicep together but the erection pressing into her belly felt stronger, thicker than ever. His arms as they drew her to him sent a surge of heated security—not protectiveness—racing through her.