Savage Hunger: Savage, Book 1

Dedication

A huge thanks, and lots of chocolate, goes out to my plotting group, the Cherry Plotters
,
who gave invaluable advice and thoughts on this story. To Cherry Adair for your critique and quote! Thanks to my editor, Tera. To my niece, Megan, for being another set of eyes. To all my betas, you know who you are! And a big thanks to Jocelyn for your patience in having your name in a book for the Seattle Choral Company Auction! And finally, thank you to all my readers. You’re the BEST!

Chapter One

Screams ripped through the hallway of the deserted lab. The not-quite-human sounds bounced off the walls of the dark corridor, reverberating through Sienna Peters’s skull and all the way down to her high-heeled toes.

Stop. God, she just wanted them to
stop
. But the feral screams continued, shaking her resolve almost as much as they did the building. The raw, guttural cries implied something primitive. Something filled with rage.

Frozen in place, her heart pounded a furious tempo as she pressed her palm against the wall to orient herself, struggling to control her erratic breathing.

She glanced around the building she was in. It was unmarked, far from the rest of the structures on the institute’s property, and strictly off limits. The outside of the lab had been littered with
Keep Out
and
Private Property
signs, the inside dusty enough to tickle her nose, while cobwebs stretched across darkened corners to increase the creepiness of the place. The few ceiling lights that still worked flickered and wheezed with the effort to stay lit.

From its appearance, the building owned by Feloray Laboratories hadn’t been used in years, but anyone who could get close enough could plainly hear otherwise. Or, if they got inside, they’d spot the sparkling state-of-the-art computers and digital cameras mounted to the walls that recorded every move. Those cameras weren’t recording right now though, she’d personally seen to it.

Sienna’s hand trembled as she bunched the blue chiffon of her floor-length evening gown up her leg, baring her thigh. She pulled the knife from the sheath hidden beneath the elegant gown, then let the fabric drop back to the floor in a billowing drift of silk.

She’d chosen her attire for tonight’s charity gala carefully, so she’d be prepared when she finally got the chance to slip away from the formal occasion. The full skirt of her dress hid the weapon in case she was discovered, because getting caught would be
epically
bad.

Resolutely she continued down the hallway. With the screams echoing around her it was all too tempting to turn and head to the safety of her car a mile away. The logical side of her brain demanded she do so. But something inside her was fiercely determined and wouldn’t let her turn tail. There was no option
but
to help these creatures, especially since, despite all her years studying to be a biochemist, she couldn’t help them in the way they needed.

Until this afternoon she hadn’t even known of their existence. Logic and science should’ve ruled out the possibility. Even now, had it not been for the ungodly screams from the room down the hall, she might not have believed it.

The cries died out again, leaving a sudden silence that felt every bit as alarming and frightening as the cacophony of screams had been.

“Keep moving,” she whispered steadfastly to herself. “You
will
do this.”

Sienna wiped a trickle of sweat off her forehead; the lab was sweltering without air-conditioning in the midsummer heat.

Another howl pierced the air. Lingering. The anguish in the owner’s voice made tears of empathy prick at her eyes.

She really had no choice.

Sienna drew in an unsteady breath and moved down the darkened hallway toward the screams, the knife clutched in one sweaty hand.

“Donovan, can you confirm hostage location?”

“Affirmative.” Warrick Donovan touched the button on his earpiece while one hand rested on his weapon. He stared down the dim passage of the building and took in another lungful of musty air. Keeping his voice quiet, he replied, “Seven hostages, secured in one large holding cell.”

“Taking down all cameras in five,” Nathan Larson, the commander of the op, said through his headset. “Stand by and avoid surveillance in section four—it isn’t networked and won’t go off-line with the others.”

The communication device in his ear went silent as the agent on the other end hacked into the Feloray computer system.

Warrick stroked the butt of his Glock as adrenaline rushed through his blood.
Stand by?
Easier said than done. Especially with the screams of pain that continued to shake the walls of this run-down, mildew-infested hellhole. This building was the secret bastard child of Feloray Laboratories.

Damn it. Let’s do this already.

Another agonized shriek split the air. The sound sent a frisson of unease down Warrick’s spine and made the hair on the back of his neck raise. God only knew what the hell was being done to the guys locked up in the cell. But whatever it was, it stopped tonight.

Anger brewed, making his blood pound and his jaw clench as he waited for the go signal. Though nobody would ever claim Warrick to be a patient guy.

“We’ve got a problem.”

Besides the obvious?
He didn’t say the words, knew they had to keep chatter at a minimum. Instead he waited for Larson to continue.

“Someone already disabled all the cameras. I think we’ve got a tango in the building.”

Well, shit.
Warrick glanced down both directions of the hallway, his eyes narrowing with interest. The new reason to be alert.

“They can’t be our guys,” Larson continued. “The P.I.A. only authorized the four of us. And Rafferty and Hilliard are waiting with the vans.” There was a pause. “I’m calling Rafferty in to help with the rescue. I need you to find the tango.”

“Will do.”

Warrick pulled the Glock from his holster, not the least bit disappointed in the change of plans. If anything, the thought of confronting someone who might be a part of his comrades’ imprisonment brought a ruthless smile to his face.

He moved forward stealthily, watching and listening for any sign of movement.

Come out, come out, wherever you are. And you might just get your head blown off.

A faint clicking noise made him still. He cocked his head, trying to place the sound. There it was again, a soft but rhythmic clicking. Something familiar about the noise prickled in the back of his mind. Almost like…high heels? His brows drew together and he drew in a slow breath. Oh, yeah, their tango was a woman.

He crept forward, his lips quirking in amusement as he finally spotted her. And a regular Cinde-fucking-rella by the looks of it.

Her blonde hair was in some fancy knot on the top of her head, leaving the smooth, alabaster skin of her neck to gleam in the dim lighting. She looked as if she was on her way to the damn ball, wearing a floor-length, completely out of place evening gown. He almost missed the knife in her hand when his attention got snagged by the pair of small, perky breasts.

You’re not here to appreciate the female anatomy, buddy.

He turned his attention back to the little KA-BAR folding knife she clutched. Was she using it for protection, or with the intent to cause harm? He made a small grunt in the back of his throat. Either way, she should’ve picked a bigger knife.

Warrick pressed himself against the wall and took another step toward her. He had to move fast. The woman, though still a good distance away, kept pausing and glancing around. And though he didn’t doubt for a moment he could easily take the petite gal, the fact that she appeared jumpy and wielded a knife made her unpredictable.

For a moment he thought she saw him—she stared down the hall where he stood in a dark shadow and seemed to hesitate—but then she turned and continued toward the hostages.

He kept his breathing shallow. The likelihood that she
could
see him was slim. He was covered in black from head to toe, with just his face exposed, and he was standing in a corner of the lab where the lighting was out, blending easily with the shadows.

Another ear-splitting scream ripped through the building and the woman jerked, sending the knife skittering across the floor.

It was the only opening he needed. Warrick reholstered the Glock, lunged away from the wall and went for her.

The woman didn’t even see him coming. She was leaning down to grab the knife when his arms locked around her waist and he knocked them both to the floor.

His palm slipped over her mouth, smothering the scream that erupted past her lips. She bucked beneath him, the soft curve of her bottom grinding into his hips as her muffled cries of fear left hot puffs of air on his hand.

Jesus, she needed to stay the hell still.
Warrick ground his teeth together, trying not to think about the softness of her body as he let his full weight pin her to the ground, making any movement on her part impossible.

He used his free hand to touch the communication button near his ear. “Tango apprehended.”

Lowering his head so that his mouth was just above the pale curve of her ear, he muttered, “Any more weapons on you, Cinderella?”

Another warm puff of air caressed his hand as she replied with what sounded like some kind of expletive. His lips curved into a humorless smile as he moved his hand down her side, searching for more weapons. Who was she? And more importantly, why was she here?

“I think you came to the wrong party, princess.”

He patted down her side, pressing firmly against the smooth fabric of her gown to check for more weapons. It became difficult to breathe as he slid his hand down her tiny waist and inward.

Warrick eased his weight off her just enough to maneuver his hand up her front, shutting his brain off from anything but finding more hidden weapons. The woman began to struggle again, her muffled cries outraged when she realized where his hand was traveling.

“Just need to make sure you’re not armed.” This time his lips brushed the soft curve of her ear.

An electric current ran through him and his eyelids narrowed as he breathed in the perfume she wore. Some kind of spicy vanilla scent. Sweet, sexy…and somewhat familiar. A memory tingled in the back of his head, but before he could acknowledge it pain rocketed through his hand.

“
Shit!
” He pulled at his hand, but her teeth followed, piercing the skin until he felt the wet trickle of blood.

“The hell you bite me,” he snarled.

Warrick flexed his hips against her, grinding her lower body hard to hold her still against the concrete floor, and used his free hand to grab the back of her hair. His fingers wrapped in the knot on top of her head, grabbing her hair and jerking her head backward.

She eased her bite, opening her mouth and unclamping her teeth, before finally crying out in frustration and pain. Her furious scream pierced the air of the hallway, echoing in the building and setting off the hostages, their enraged howls starting up once more.

Warrick cursed and clamped his palm across her mouth again. “Bite me again and I swear to fucking God you’ll regret it.”

“Donovan, is that the tango? You need backup?”

Warrick’s lips tightened at the amusement in Larson’s tone as his voice came through the earpiece. He pressed the button to reply. “Under control.”

Larson gave a soft laugh. “Take all the time you need, buddy. I’m good here.”

All the time he needed?
Bullshit. He’d have this bitch contained in seconds.

Warrick eased his weight off the woman and—without removing his hand from her mouth—grabbed her hip and flipped her onto her back. He caught her flailing hands and pinned her wrists above her head with his free hand.

“Now listen up
,
lady. I need you to…
fuck me
!” He blinked and shook his head against the roaring in his ears. “Sienna?”

Oh my fucking God.

Sienna stared up at the man above her, her eyes rounded in disbelief. She probably would’ve recognized the voice earlier if she hadn’t been so damn terrified. The only part of him visible was his head and face, but it was a face she had never forgotten.