Kayla had realized the truth. After all Lyle had said, she had to know it now.

Dammit, he hated this. She shouldn’t look broken. Broken wasn’t his Kayla. Strong. Fierce. That was her. Not this lost shell. She looked like she’d just lost everything. She hadn’t. Didn’t she see that?

Gage caught her arms. Pulled her close. “When he cut you, he knew.” Sometimes, wolves could recognize potential mates from a scent, just like the bastard had said. But if blood was involved, oh, yeah, that recognition level amped way the hell up.

Blood always tells.

“Knew what?” A faint line was between her brows. “That I’m some predestined wolf mate? That’s bull—”

Now a little spark was coming back. He didn’t want a spark. He wanted a raging inferno. “There’s nothing predestined about it. Certain people are genetic matches for shifters. It’s DNA, not a merging of the souls.” Some human females could carry a hybrid shifter. Some couldn’t. Science.

But women like her were getting more rare each day. Had that been the reason Lyle first attacked her? Maybe he’d thought her mother was a match, but then he’d found an easier target just waiting there in the house for him.

“He won’t kill you.” Gage said it with certainty. His fingers flexed against her skin. Soft. Weak. Human.

“He won’t get the chance,” Kayla snarled right back and even though it looked like tears might be glistening in her eyes, her voice cut better than any shifter’s claws. Good. “I’ll take his heart first, then shove it right down that bastard’s throat.”

Ah . . . inferno. There was the woman he wanted.

“Only if you beat me to the attack,” Gage said. She wouldn’t. “Now, sweetheart, it’s time for us to get the hell out of here.” Because while Lyle might not actually carry through on his threat to kill Kayla, the guy would no doubt get off on hurting her.

Won’t happen.

Or maybe Lyle would just kill her brother.

And she’ll break then.

Gage wouldn’t let her break.

There were whispers about wolves in the paranormal circles. Of all the supernaturals out there, the wolf shifters were the most unstable. The most given to insanity. Unless they had the security and the strength of a pack, their primal natures could take over with dangerous consequences.

Wolves weren’t meant to be alone.

But Lyle was.

And from what Gage had seen, Lyle was most definitely psychotic. The sooner he was dead, the better.

Lyle walked slowly down the hallway. He didn’t glance back at the holding cell. There was no point in looking back.

There never was.

Kayla knew the truth about him now. Good. He was getting rather tired of hiding himself.

A hunter passed andnodded his head toward Lyle. Lyle’s back teeth clenched. They were all getting on his nerves.

Years . . . years he’d spent playing attack dog for Uncle Sam. Being the federal government’s bitch.

At first, he’d hunted alone. So much darkness. So much blood.

“Sir.” Another hunter slid by him. This one even gave him some dumbass salute. A new recruit sent up from some boot camp in the South. Did this look like the fucking military?

Lyle turned a corner and stalked into his office. He slammed the door, and realized his hands were shaking.

The wolf inside wanted out. He’d denied the beast for too long. He needed to hunt. To kill.

Not to hide in some dank hole in the ground. Not to stand back while the blood flowed.

He liked the blood too much to just stand back. Liked the kills. The screams . . .

Kayla’s mother had screamed. So sweetly. She’d screamed and begged, and so had Kayla. The beast had loved their cries.

The beast had wanted to rip Kayla open, and he’d slashed with his claws. That night, he’d known only blind rage and bloodlust, until he’d caught the sweet scent in the air. Until the beast had realized that Kayla Kincaid wasn’t just prey. She was something more.

Something far more precious.

The man had pulled back the beast. Stopped the slaughter. Of course, it had been too late then. Her parents had been dead. Her brother barely breathing. And Kayla—she’d been terrified.

Lyle paced to his desk. Sat down heavily in the chair, then looked down at the claws that had burst from his fingertips.

A slip. He was having more and more of them lately. If he wasn’t careful, the hunters would all learn the truth about him.

He clenched his hands into fists and his claws cut right through his skin.

The beast wanted out.

And the man was just tired of fighting him. Lyle knew he was . . . different. Too savage. Too twisted. He’d always known. But he’d tried to channel that bloodlust, to use it—he’d hunted his own kind. Tracked the deadliest paranormals.

But they weren’t enough.

Sometimes, innocent blood just tasted sweeter.

His teeth were lengthening. His bones starting to pop.

No, no, he couldn’t shift now. He had to hold on just a bit longer. He had a job to do.

A pack to destroy.

The wolves in Vegas thought they were so smart. Banding together. Growing stronger. Wolves didn’t face the risk of insanity when they were in a pack.

The pack is strength. A stupid wolf mantra his parents had told him long ago . . . before they’d been killed by the government. The same government that had taken Lyle in and made him into the monster he was.

The pack is life. Did Gage recite that same bullshit?