COYOTE`S MATE

Del-Rey Delgado, the Coyote Ghost, was alpha leader of the team of twenty-eight mercenary soldiers he had gathered around him from various parts of the Council’s ranks. Coyote Breeds that he had rescued, men he had trained himself—hardened, cold-eyed soldiers that the underground world knew only as Team Zero, the mercenary force willing to take on the most suicidal of missions. They had rescued heiresses, assassinated despots and posed as security for some of the greatest leaders in the world. Men who never knew they were dealing with a shadowy force that had been created rather than born. There had even been a few times that they had protected Council members themselves. For a while. Long enough to get the information they needed and still keep their reputations intact. Those leaders had always died once payment was collected. As Del-Rey had told his men, vengeance came after the bills, and supporting the plans they had took an excessive amount of money. Plans such as rescuing o

THREE WEEKS LATERIf there was one thing in Del-Rey’s life that he knew with all certainty, it was himself. He was a Coyote Breed, and as he informed the Breed Ruling Cabinet weeks later, he admitted to some of that Breed’s worst traits. Calculation, manipulation. The ability to look at a situation and instantly size up the roadblocks and dangers inherent in it and find a way over them. He wasn’t a charge-into-the-fray type of guy. He was a slice-their-throat-in-the-dark animal, and he fully admitted to it. For ten years he had connived to ensure that he and his people were part of the recognized Breed society. He was, after all, a man who liked to be on the winning side. Breed freedom was the winning side. But now, the stakes had been raised. Because of his mate. Hell, he’d never caught so much as a whiff of information about mating heat between Breeds and their lovers. Who could have imagined that the Breed genetics would turn against them in such a way and would torture their fem

He had changed. The next afternoon Anya walked into the open community room, a large cavern that housed the recreational area of the base, and stopped. She stared at the man lounging in a recliner on the far side, his pack alphas similarly relaxed, beers in their hands as they talked. Del-Rey looked happy. There was a grin playing about his lips, his dark face was creased in amusement, his devil’s black eyes filled with mirth as one of the pack alphas talked. His dark blond hair was shorter. It had once fallen to his shoulders, the long, coarse strands thick and healthy. It was now cut a bit above the shoulder and it was shaggier than it had been before, as though he’d cut it himself. One jean-clad leg was stretched out, the other bent. His wrist rested on his knee and he held his beer loosely. The shirt he wore buttoned up the front was wrinkled, clean but not exactly neat. In his opinion though, if it were neat, he would be a Wolf rather than a Coyote. She snorted silently at