Rule Breaker

CHAPTER 31

Genetics were a bitch, especially Breed genetics.

Rule sat in the shadows of the bar that night, tapping his fingers against the small round table where he sat and grimacing at the low growl rumbling in his throat.

Gypsy was with her family again. Her parents, and then her sister, she’d stated. She had decisions to make. He had a feeling those decisions affected him more than she was letting on.

She was his fucking mate. What the hell was the problem here? It wasn’t like there was divorce. She couldn’t run and never see him again.

And she wanted him. The sweet smell of her pussy had tempted him to convince her to wait to deal with her family. The heat building in her, in him, tempted him to claim what was his and just fucking tell her how it was going to be.

That wouldn’t work with Gypsy, though, he thought with a sigh. Order her, and she’d do the exact opposite. In those precious moments he’d spent buried so deep inside her soul that there was no beginning, no end between them, he’d learned quite a bit about his stubborn, determined mate.

He’d learned enough to know that the distance she’d put between them could only mean one of two things. Either she was deciding how to accept a future with him, or she was deciding how to throw him out of her life.

He realized he was growling again, that low dangerous rumble building in his chest.

Son-of-a-bitch Lion genes. The bastard inside him was pissed and wouldn’t just let it go any more than Rule was willing to let his mate go. Unfortunately, the beast inside him was snapping at the man Rule was, enraged with him for giving their mate the time she needed.

He almost rolled his eyes at the thought. As though they were fucking separate entities or something.

The irritation building in the animal sent an overwhelming urge inside Rule to pace, to satisfy the clawing restlessness.

To find Gypsy.

To fill their kiss with the taste of peppermint and chocolate that the mating hormone seemed infused with—no wonder he hadn’t recognized the minute amount that had slipped from the glands as he chased her.

His lip lifted, a snarl almost sounding in his throat again.

Damn you, settle the fuck down.

Directing the fierce order to the animal crouched and ready to spring, he was on the verge of snarling himself.

Don’t even think about it.

That involuntary, muted growl rumbled in his chest as his instincts snapped at him again, like sharp teeth raking his mind.

He could feel each instinct as though it were an alternate personality, sharing with him the irritation and restlessness burning inside it.

He’d never bothered to ask other Breeds if they could sense their animal in such a way. Hell, he wasn’t sure he’d get the answer he wanted to hear, and in this case, he wasn’t sure he wanted to accept any other answer.

Intelligent. Cunning. Sometimes enraged. Always restless.

Where Gypsy was concerned, just damned pissed and eager to get back to her.

The animal was ready to pace at this point, or fight. A fight would feel damned good. Fists bunched and slamming into flesh, enraged roars echoing around him.

Hell. The fight would just alleviate the burning aggravation of being locked out of his mate’s senses. How the fuck had she managed to do that anyway?

Rubbing his tongue against his teeth to ease the irritation in the small, swollen glands, Rule grimaced as he realized he was only torturing himself. After all, each time the glands were stroked, more of the mating hormone spilled.

Hormonal Mating Glands.

He wanted to snort at the title as he slouched back in his seat once again and lifted the beer in front of him to his lips. Tilting the bottle, he relished the chill bite of bitterness as it raced over his taste buds, wishing its effects would sedate the animal that suddenly wanted to snarl in displeasure.

What the hell do you think you want? he thought with a snap of anger, wondering at his own sanity as he attempted to push back the irritated presence.

A growl rumbled in his chest, bringing an immediate scowl to his face as he glared into the dimly lit bar he’d entered about four beers ago.

Go back to sleep, why don’tcha? he ordered the creature. That’s what you fucking get for playing “Jonas” games with me for nine fucking years.

Manipulating, calculating sons of bitches. It bit his ass to imagine a creature smart enough to fucking hide what it was doing in his subconscious from him. As though the animal genetics were separate. What the fuck was up with that?

He looked at the beer. How many had he had again?

One too many, he was starting to believe.

Another rumble burred just beneath his breath.

A sound of irritation and impatience.

Shut the fuck up before I go hunt those pills Merc took so he wouldn’t have to deal with this shit!

For years, Mercury Warrant, one of their most primal Lion Breeds, had been forced to take daily medication to hold back the last phase of Breed insanity known as feral fever.

Those drugs had kept his animal instincts in check in such a way that it was like putting the animal inside him into a deep, cold sleep.

He almost gave a rather insane bark of laughter as the highly advanced Lion genetics suddenly stilled as though surprised by the threat. He had the sudden, vague impression of the animal lurking inside him sitting back on its haunches and glaring at him uncertainly, as though debating whether he would actually carry out the threat.

“There you go,” he gritted out, taking another lengthy drink of the cold beer before breathing out heavily.

The reaction might be a little too weird to suit him, but at least the beast seemed willing to sit back rather than aggravate the shit out of him.

Hell, he shouldn’t be here drinking. He should be with his mate. Touching her. Loving her. Doing as he’d intended and whispering his love to her, giving her the chance to realize that was what she felt for him as well.

He knew she did. He’d felt it on the way back to the hotel earlier that night. Like a pulse of heat she’d lost control of, burning through his heart, his soul, for the slightest second.

Just enough to make him hungry, greedy for more.

His chest clenched, and the animal jumped forward again as though to take complete advantage of the slight weakness.

Back the fuck off!

Nostrils flaring, tensing, he restrained the inner animal forcibly as he wondered if he should attempt to learn the cause of the genetics suddenly rising inside him.

But doing that would require scheduling a session with Dr. Morrey, the Lion Breed physiological specialist and Jonas’s little medical spy. And he didn’t trust her so well after she’d attempted to destroy Mercury.

Admittedly, she’d been drugged and not exactly working with a fully operational hamster wheel there, but still. It had happened. Rule was pretty sure he didn’t want to have to experience it himself.

As he finished off the beer and placed the bottle to the side with the other four empty bottles, his gaze was drawn to the Breed entering the establishment.

Lawe didn’t join him for a drink anymore, as he used to.

That mating bullshit, Rule thought angrily, as he had the vaguest impression of the Lion inside him snapping back at him angrily.

Go to sleep, prick.

Lawe’s blue eyes were narrowed on him, his expression thoughtful.

Catching the bartender’s eye, Rule gave a short little nod to indicate another order of the whiskey shots and beer he’d been drinking. Lawe pulled out a chair, sitting down before catching the bartender’s gaze as well and pointing to the four empty bottles Rule had set behind the shot glasses to indicate the beer he wanted.

Turning back to him, Lawe propped his arms on the table, leaning forward intently as Rule remained slouched back with all apparent laziness.

The laziness was an illusion. The animal inside him was growling, snarling, snapping furiously because he refused to seek out his mate. Refused to demand, to beg, whatever it took to ensure she didn’t walk away.

She’s mated to us, he reminded the creature absently. She can’t walk away.

As stubborn as she was . . .

Fuck. Another growl sounded, this one more dangerous than the one before.

Lawe lifted a brow mockingly. “Rule, have you considered the fact that there’s a high probability, as far as I’m concerned, considering your penchant for these little games you play, that you could be related to Jonas?”

Was he serious?

Rule glared back at his brother resentfully.

“Go to hell,” he grumbled, wondering seriously if Mercury had any of those instinct sedatives he’d once taken left in his possession.

Just that quickly his instincts settled back, making him wonder seriously if the animal genes weren’t somehow trying to detach into a separate personality.

...

Lawe scratched the side of his jaw, still watching his brother closely.

“What’s going on, Rule?” he asked quietly. “Why are you here rather than with your mate?”

Rule shook his head slowly before running his fingers through his hair in a gesture of irritation. “I needed a drink.”

Had he? Lawe watched him closely, still sensing that closed door to his brother’s thoughts.

“I can’t even sense when you’re lying to me anymore,” Lawe stated, pausing as the waiter brought their drinks.

Rule went for the whiskey first, tossing it back with a grimace and clench of his teeth as the fiery burn seared his insides.

Lawe’s gaze narrowed, following his hand as he placed the shot glass next to the four others sitting in front of the four bottles of beer he’d already consumed.

“What the hell makes you think I’m lying?” Rule snorted as though the statement were nowhere close to the truth.

“Gut instinct?” Lawe suggested. “I know you, Rule. You shut me out of your mind the minute you realized I’d found my mate. I appreciate the time it gave me to build boundaries around Diane, but I’d done that within weeks. You still won’t let me in, though. Why have you shut yourself off from me, Rule?” He finally asked the question Rule had to have known was coming.

Picking up the beer, Rule took several long, hard drinks before letting the bottle thump heavily back to the table.

Lawe’s gaze moved from the bottle, then back to Rule as he eased forward slowly, his tall, broad body moving in until his position was the same as Lawe’s. Arms folded on the table, leaning forward intently.

“Do you know why I closed that bond, Lawe?” Rule growled, the sound so animalistic, so filled with some unnamed emotion that Lawe nearly flinched.

“I’ve asked,” Lawe reminded him. “You’ve refused to tell me.”

“Would you enjoy knowing I sense your lust and hunger for your mate? Or that I sense your pleasure in her when you take her?”

Lawe straightened, barely holding back the shock and instinctive snarl of rejection that rose to his lips.

The chuckle that came from Rule was deep, dark, a mocking reminder that sometimes Lawe had suspected the link they’d established could possibly go deeper than he had thought where Rule was concerned.

“Don’t worry, brother,” Rule leaned back, a mocking curl to his lips that Lawe had never known his brother to turn on him. “That prick-assed Lion inside me made sure we didn’t spy on you. Besides, he was too busy pestering me with excuses to make trips out here to check up on my own mate.”

Lawe blinked back at Rule as he picked up his beer and finished it in one long drink.

Rule hadn’t been with him on that mission to track down the sister of Jonas’s mate. Lawe had gone in with Mercury, Dog and several other Bureau Enforcers to find Diane.

The second he’d caught the scent of the lone prisoner shackled in a dark, damp cell, he had known she was his mate. He’d known she was hurt, he had scented her tears. A second before his instincts, enraged by the affront of his mate’s tears, her pain, had been overcome with rage, he remembered that link snapping in place.

They rarely fought separately. He and Rule had always known that fighting together made them stronger. Lawe hadn’t known their link could reach across such distance until that moment, though. His brother’s strength had been his in that second. His control, his ability to restrain all emotion, to push back any weakness, had infused Lawe.

He’d felt Rule’s animal then as well. It had centered his own, holding it back with steely purpose as Lawe managed to lead his team in to rescue the woman whose scent wrapped around his soul and opened his heart.

The second, the very moment he’d had Diane in the heli-jet and the danger to her significantly decreased, the bond he hadn’t known was in effect the entirety of their lives was suddenly gone.

He’d known it was there when they faced danger, when their instincts reached out and combined, creating the fearsome warriors they had become. But until that moment, he hadn’t realized that he and Rule had never been completely separate entities.

Until the moment he had felt a total and complete isolation.

A breath later, that isolation had been infused with the knowledge and the scent of his mate, though. He’d been so amazed by it, so taken aback by the warrior his woman was and his inability to control the animal’s need to protect her, that he’d forgotten the only breath of time that he’d felt the total darkness, the total aloneness within his memories, his torments.

That aloneness his brother had known since that moment.

The curse that sizzled from him had Rule staring back at him with a distance Lawe no longer resented.

How could he even apologize? To say he was sorry would be more a lie than any he had ever spoken, because it would mean telling his mate he was sorry for the understandings, the love, the complete togetherness they had found together.

“There’s nothing to feel sorry for,” Rule stated absently as he gestured to the bartender again.

Lawe stared at the five shot glasses, five beer bottles that stood empty on the table at Rule’s elbow again and realized he hadn’t spoken those words aloud.

Strengthening the shields around his thoughts, he wondered just how strong that link with his brother really was. And suddenly, he wasn’t so surprised that Rule had learned so well to maneuver others so easily.

“You’ve had enough,” Lawe finally told him, realizing Rule seemed determined to drink himself into a fighting drunk.

Not a good thing.

What the hell was going on here?

“Not yet, I haven’t,” Rule sighed. “I’m still conscious.”

...

It wasn’t the bleak darkness that filled him that had him drinking. It wasn’t anger or resentment; he even understood why Gypsy needed this time with her family first.

Sort of, anyway.

It was that damned Lion driving him insane. He could feel his instincts—fuck instincts—he could feel the Lion snapping at him furiously, demanding that he go to Gypsy now. That he force this whole “do you love me?” issue.

It was sickening. He’d be damned if he would do it. He wasn’t going to beg her for shit.

He frowned thoughtfully. Hell, maybe he was just going crazy.

More than one Lion Breed had gone feral after escaping the Genetics Council’s labs. It wasn’t unheard of for any Breed to slip into the feral rages and never return. Was that what was happening to him now?

Except mated Breeds didn’t go feral.

There wasn’t a single instance of mated Breeds slipping into feral fever. As though the mating itself stabilized the creature’s rage.

“Return to your mate, brother,” Rule sighed wearily as the bartender set the whiskey and beer in front of him.

“It’s not safe here,” Lawe sighed. “If you’re going to drink yourself to a stupor, then I’ll stay with you until you’re ready to return to the hotel.”

Rule shook his head. “Not returning yet. If I don’t get a little bit drunker, then I might embarrass myself.”

He’d be damned if he was going to beg her to love him. He had some pride. He had some self-control.

He lifted the shot, tossed it back, and thought with a measure of comfort that the bite of the alcohol wasn’t nearly as fierce this time.

Staring back at his brother, Rule was amused to see the concern in Lawe’s eyes. No doubt, at the first opportunity—he snickered at the two Breeds that entered the bar. Ah well, perhaps he’d been smart enough to call in reinforcements before entering.

He turned his gaze back to his brother broodingly.

“Babysitters?” he asked.

Lawe shrugged, the gesture dismissive. “I assume they’re here for a drink.”

Were they now?

Loki—that lying fucking Coyote and his master Dog—or was Jonas the master of both? Some days he wondered which Breed knew his own path and which Breed was merely content to allow Jonas to guide him.

He grinned at the two Coyotes. “How you two have managed to escape Jonas’s matchmaking is what I want to know.”

Dog’s brow arched with a measure of polite indulgence before glancing at Lawe. “Drunk already, is he?”

“He’s getting there,” Rule assured the three of them.

Lawe grunted at that, spearing a look in Dog’s direction as they seemed to share some unspoken message.

Placing the glass to his side, Rule lifted the beer to his lips, and once again, when he lowered it, barely half of the brew remained.

“I believe the reason your brother came looking for you”—Loki was the one to speak, the graveled tone of his voice always making Rule wonder what torture the Council scientists had devised to destroy his voice in such a way—“was to drag you back to our esteemed director for debriefing.”

“I turned in my report.” He frowned, but the statement forestalled the next order.

Why wait between each drink? Why the hell was he getting slowly drunk when he could do so in a few hours, rather than one drink per hour?

Efficiency, he reminded himself, beginning to lift his hand to indicate more when Loki’s hand was suddenly securing his wrist.

The animal reacted, existing far too close to the skin at the moment; the affront became an insult of unimagined proportion. Before any knew his intent, he lashed out with his right arm, his fingers curled into a fist of iron that plowed into Loki’s face before the Coyote could avoid it.

He didn’t even have a second to enjoy the surprise that immediately transformed the Coyote’s face before he was thrown back, chair and all—Rule couldn’t help but laugh at the sight—and went flying backward.

Rule slapped his thigh, laughing so hard that he admitted he just might be a bit drunk after all.

Looking at Lawe and Dog, the complete shock on their faces, the widening of their eyes as their heads jerked from the sight of Loki sprawled out on the floor to Rule’s laughter, had him laughing harder.

Until the animalistic snarl sounding through the room suddenly slammed into him.

He didn’t go flying.

Rule shook the sudden scattered lights from his vision before turning his head, very slowly, and loosing the animal snapping at his senses.

“Fuck. Rule. You struck first.” Lawe was suddenly between them, directing a glare at Dog. “Contain your man.”

“Contain my man?” He pulled a slim cigar from the leather vest he wore, his smile tight as he inserted it between his lips and retrieved a set of matches from another pocket.

They all watched as though fascinated as he lit the tobacco. Until Rule looked over Lawe’s shoulder to see Loki, his lips drawn back from the curved fangs, his eyes lit with an inner fire that was frankly freaky.

Rule had to laugh at the sight.

Then Loki grabbed Lawe and tossed him out of the way before his brother could anticipate the move and compensate. Thrown off balance, he landed on his ass, snarling. “Fuck it. Kill his ass, Rule.”

His senses opened. Hell no, he didn’t fight fair. His brother’s mate wasn’t here right now and neither was his own, and he was drunk. He might need a little extra—

It was all he could do not to laugh as his left fist went for Loki’s face, struck and threw the Coyote into his commander. The cigar went one way and Dog went the other with a snarl . . .

“Hell yeah,” he whooped. “Let’s get it on.”