Buried and Shadowed (Branded Packs #3)(66)

“You’re just lucky that the state trooper caught sight of it and knew they were most likely headed to this facility,” Donaldson snapped as they both headed toward the nearby door.

Sinclair swallowed a growl. He, at least, had an answer to how they’d managed to track them.

Dammit. He should have changed vehicles.

“It wasn’t luck. It was skill,” Markham corrected his companion. He was the sort of blowhard who always had to have the last word. “And the foresight to be prepared for any emergency. That’s why I was put in charge of an SAU division.”

The man at his side waved a beefy hand, clearly tired of listening to Markham’s bragging.

“Have you contacted Colonel Ranney?”

“Yes.” The men walked closer, too stupid to suspect that death might be hidden only a few feet away. “He said if the doctor is here, he wants him killed and the body to disappear.”

“What’s he doing while we’re cleaning up his mess?” Donaldson demanded.

Markham narrowed his gaze. “Careful.”

“Why?” The military man shrugged a shoulder. “Are you going to tattle on me?”

“He’s traveling to DC,” Markham revealed, close enough now for Sinclair to catch the nasty scent of his cheap cologne. “He’s meeting with Congress today to press for even greater restrictions on the animals.”

Sinclair’s lips curled back, revealing his long, lethal fangs.

“Does he think he’s going to convince them?” Donaldson asked.

Markham gave a loud burst of laughter. “It doesn’t matter. We’re going to deal with the bastards one way or another.”

Sinclair’s wolf snapped.

With a snarl of fury, he was springing forward, leaping high enough to smash into the center of Donaldson’s chest. The large man toppled flat on his back, barely having time to realize the danger before Sinclair’s teeth were sinking deep into the flesh of his neck.

Hot blood spilled into Sinclair’s mouth, but he never faltered. Digging his claws into the man’s chest, he used the powerful muscles of his jaws to slices through flesh and tendons. Then, with a jerk of his head, he ripped out the man’s throat.

Donaldson was dead. But behind him, Markham was shouting in fear. With a swift motion, he was turning. At the same time, the SAU director was pulling his handgun and squeezing the trigger.

Sinclair yelped as the bullet tore through his shoulder, but he never hesitated.

This had to end. Now.

Ignoring the white-hot pain, he charged toward the man, his jaws already parted. Markham took aim again, but like most humans who depended on weapons, his fear affected his focus. The bullet flew wide, and before he could squeeze off another round, Sinclair was circling around to take out his Achilles with one slice of his fangs.

Markham cried out in agony, falling to his knees as his gun dropped from his hand.

Sinclair wanted to play. He’d watched for years as this man tormented his people. But he was acutely aware of Mira, who was hidden only a few feet away. If the soldiers managed to make it to the roof, they could easily hurt her.

With a last pang of regret that he couldn’t protract the pain, Sinclair circled his prey, holding the man’s horrified gaze as he lunged toward his neck.





Chapter 12


Mira remained crouched behind the A/C unit. She didn’t need to watch the slaughter. She knew that Sinclair could easily take the two men.

It didn’t matter if they were armed or not. Or if they were trained in combat.

A wolf shifter who’d waited twenty-five years for revenge wasn’t an enemy anyone wanted to face.

There were growls, and screams, and a gurgling sound that made her cringe before a shadow fell over her and she looked up to see Sinclair standing there.

Instinctively, her gaze ran over his mussed hair and flushed face. His eyes still glowed with the power of his wolf, but he was very much a human again.

Then her eyes lowered and she caught sight of the blood that stained his t-shirt on his right shoulder.

“Oh, God,” she surged upright. “You’re injured.”

He shrugged, reaching to take her hand. “I’m fine,” he assured her, tugging her away from the air conditioning unit toward the center of the roof.

“You’re bleeding,” she breathed, her hand reaching up to lightly touch his upper chest.

“I’ll heal,” he assured her, leading her away from the two dead men who were stretched at awkward angles, their throats clearly ripped out. Yikes. “We need to get out of here,” he said.

Moving at his side, Mira was doing her best to ignore the bloody display just a few feet away. Which explained why she didn’t notice exactly where Sinclair was leading her. Not until he tried to coax her into the cabin of the helicopter.

Instantly, she dug in her heels. She might be slowly regaining her trust of Sinclair, but not when it came to flying ten thousand feet in the air.

She liked her pilots to be highly qualified with plenty of experience, thank you very much.

As if sensing her sudden fear, Sinclair sent her a questioning glance.

“Mira?”

She took a step back, waving a hand toward the chopper. “You intend to fly that thing?”

“Of course.” He tilted his head, clearly confused by her reluctance. “It’s the fastest way back to our lair.”