Grady's Awakening (17 page)

Chapter Eight

Bill Sinclair felt a tingle in the shafts of his feathers that meant another of his kind was near. They hadn’t understood why, but of the battalion of men created with wings, all had the ability to sense when another of their kind was close by.

Now that Bill had spent time living among humans and their special abilities, he almost thought it might be a manifestation of some kind of rudimentary psychic ability, but he was no expert. Still, there was no doubt that if he was aware of the other winged warrior, that same warrior was most certainly aware of Bill’s presence.

He’d dreaded this moment.

There was no way to hide and if he ran, the other warrior would see him and know that Bill—former Sinclair Prime—wasn’t dead. Either way, he was in trouble. He’d been found out. And all this time, he’d worried about the humans figuring out what he was. He should have worried more about his former brethren.

There was nothing for it but to confront the danger head on. Bill would not be shot in the back or captured fleeing.

Bill launched himself into the air, rising above the tree line with powerful strokes of his wings. He knew his brother waited for him up there, in the air that was their domain alone. There were so few of them. He knew every single one of the men who used to fly at his command. They were his brothers, his friends, his sons. He missed them more than he ever would have imagined before gaining emotions, though he doubted any of them would ever understand the depth of his loss when he’d had to cut himself off from them and all he had ever known.

He’d forged a new life for himself among the humans. He was needed here. He helped keep them safe. He was useful. That’s all he could ask for in life—what life was left to him now that he faced the daily specter of insanity. But he wouldn’t trade the freedom and revelations of the past few months for the world. He lived a full, rich life. He knew what it was to feel—really feel. Nothing could compare with that and even if he ended in madness, it had all been worth it.

He rose above the uppermost branches and did his best to hover on wings that were meant to glide. He looked around as he circled, trying to spot his brother of the skies. The other winged warrior wasn’t far away.

Bill signaled to the man he recognized as one of the young Dougals. He was a fast flyer and possessed a steady temperament. All in all, Bill could have done worse. If anyone had to find him, Dougal 17 was a good choice. The young man was smart enough to listen and might still be impressed enough with his former rank to be susceptible to persuasion.

The best of all possible worlds would be if Bill could convince the younger soldier to turn around and forget he’d ever seen him. Although he knew that outcome wasn’t very likely, it was within the realm of possibility. More likely was the prospect of convincing Dougal 17 to temper his report to his superiors. Bill might be able to get him to alter the record of his exact location if he could get Dougal 17 to believe he would be protecting innocents by doing so. The winged brethren never harmed innocents. It was part of their creed.

Flying closer, the two winged men circled as they descended through the canopy of trees. They’d have to land if they wanted to have any meaningful conversation. Bill took it as a good sign that Dougal 17 was willing to talk.

They landed and faced each other. Bill felt the pull on his heart, seeing one of his brethren for the first time since his emotions had become fully active. He missed his men. Missed them to the point of heartache.

“You’re looking well, Dougal 17.”

“As are you, Prime Past. I was sent to look for you.”

“Just to look for me? Not to eliminate me?”

“Those were not my orders, sir. I came only on a reconnaissance mission. The Patriarch himself gave me the order.”

“How is Ronin Prime? Still hatching his plans, I suppose.”

Dougal tilted his head, clearly not understanding the intonation in his voice. “The Patriarch looked well when I last saw him. He is a sturdy being for a wingless one.”

Did he detect the barest hint of pride in the young warrior’s voice?

“What is your message then, Dougal 17?”

“The Patriarch sends his compliments and wishes you well. He also cautions that you can expect company soon.”

“Company is not welcome here, Dougal 17.” Bill felt anger welling up in his soul. “I will leave before I put innocent humans in more danger. You may report back my location, but I will not be here if it will lead to a threat to those under my protection. In fact, I would prefer that you do not report my exact location. There are those nearby who have good reason to conceal their presence from all Alvians, and I respect them too much to put them deliberately in danger.”

“My orders are to report back directly to the Patriarch. No one else. He suggested you might feel this way if I was fortunate enough to locate you. He bade me give you his promise that your human companions will be protected. He also wanted me to tell you that the time is fast approaching when they will no longer be able to hide. The foreseers in the clan have foretold of a time not far off when humans from all over this continent will band together. The Patriarch believes that you will play a significant role in this occurrence. It’s why he tasked me with finding you.”

Bill was conflicted. On the one hand he lived for danger, conflict and confrontation. On the other, he knew concealment was the best option not only for himself but for those he lived with now. Yet the
Zxerah
Patriarch had sent specific information gleaned from the human clairvoyants adopted into the Brotherhood. Living among humans and watching over the O’Hara ranch had taught him the real value of such premonitions.

“I don’t like the sound of this but I thank you for passing on his words. The fact remains, no Alvians are welcome here. Please remind the Patriarch of that fact.”

“I will.” The young soldier moved back, then hesitated. “We were lost when you left, sir. The new Prime has done well but it took some time for him to gain the confidence and respect of the men. In many eyes, you are still our leader. I am pleased to have found you alive and thriving.”

The innocent words touched Bill deeply. “I have missed you, my brother, more than you will ever know.”

“Do you regret the experiment, sir?” The young soldier’s head tilted as he considered him.

“Not for a single moment. I wish you could feel just a fraction of what I experience, Dougal. If you could, you would understand.”

“I hope someday I’ll be able to, sir. I must return to base. Having found you, my mission is complete. I must report back.”

“I understand, son.” The word rolled off Bill’s tongue much the way he’d heard it used among his human friends, but he’d never used the term himself. It felt good. It felt right to acknowledge the relationship of teacher to student, father figure to son, leader to subordinate. He held out his hand, gratified when Dougal took it. The handclasp was a gesture among soldiers—among brothers in arms. He’d missed the companionship of men like him who had trained their whole life in tactics and combat. He’d especially missed the company of those who could fly. “Clear skies to you, Dougal. Please give my regards to the Patriarch, but tell him I will brook no interference in my new life. The Council believes I am dead. It is best to keep it that way.”

“Now more than ever, it appears the Patriarch goes his own way. Only rarely does it match the way of the Council.”

“The Patriarch has always been a wise man. I’m trusting him—and you—not to betray me, or the people who have helped me.”

“For my part, I wish you no harm, Prime Past. I do not believe the Patriarch holds any ill will toward you either.”

“I hope you’re right, Dougal. Fair winds on your journey back.”

“And to you, sir.”

The soldier left with a final sign of respect. All in all, that had gone better than Bill had expected. He knew the Patriarch to be a thorough man and realized he shouldn’t have been surprised to find a scout had been sent out to look for him. The only truly shocking part was that it had taken this long to be found.

Bill started through the woods, taking a circuitous route to the entrance of the underground complex where he lived with an ever growing population of humans, and one very special Alvian woman. Jaci was on the run every bit as much as he was, but she had her mates to keep her safe and share her life. She was a very lucky woman indeed.

Gina spent a restless night behind the locked door. Jim made her feel things she never expected and didn’t really know how to deal with. She was confused about her body’s response to Jim after the tempestuous night she’d spent with Grady. Was she becoming a slut? Had years of abstinence in the
Zxerah
compound resulted in some kind of weird sexual craving that was finally forcing its way out? Even her habitual meditation didn’t help much. By the time she actually fell asleep it was nearly morning. When the door finally opened, she blinked awake with abnormally groggy eyes.

“Get up, sunshine.” Jim was disgustingly cheerful in the morning. That had to count against him.

“Good morning to you too.” She pushed her hair out of her eyes and blinked a few times, hoping to clear the sandman from her vision.

“Here.” Fabric flew across the few feet separating them to land with a whoosh on the foot of the bed. “You clothes checked out. Get dressed. We have a big day ahead of us.”

Reluctantly, she edged out from under the thin blanket. She still wore the baggy jumpsuit he’d given her the day before. It was scratchy against her skin, but it was better than nothing to sleep in. It was good to have her own clothes back. The Alvian-engineered fabric was soft and resilient, and much quieter. When she moved in those clothes, there was not even the whisper of cloth brushing against cloth. She hadn’t really realized how loud that sound seemed until she’d moved around a bit in the heavy cotton of the jumpsuit.

Woodenly, she took her black clothing into her arms and headed for the small bathroom. Jim let her go with no comment, merely resting against the door to the room, watching her with an amused curl to his lips as she shut the door.

She used the toilet, washed her face and tried to clean her teeth as best she could, then dressed gratefully in her own clothes. When she emerged from the bathroom, Jim was still leaning back against the door, waiting patiently.

“Are you always this grumpy in the morning?” The teasing note in his voice warmed her, even though she knew it would be safer to stay on a less emotional footing with him.

She’d had a lot of time to think about the situation the night before when she couldn’t sleep. Jim was a figure out of her past and that alone made her want to trust him, but he’d proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that their past wasn’t enough for him to return the favor. That so-called search had disturbed her on many levels.

First, she’d felt betrayed. Jim had known her in the old world. He’d known her family—her father and brothers. That should have counted for something, but instead he treated her worse than a stranger. He’d treated her with suspicion and hostility, and even a bit of animosity.

Second, she wondered if he’d only been using her. If his claims were true and he didn’t partake of the females he
protected
within his community—if protection was indeed all that was offered and given—then the body cavity search that had devolved into a quasi-sexual encounter might’ve been something real between them, something legitimate. But, on the other hand, if it was just the big bad male asserting his dominance over the little female, she should have punched him in the nose. In fact, she was still considering it.

“You’d be grumpy too if you had to sleep in that itchy fabric.” She’d left the much-despised jumpsuit in the bathroom. Her Alvian-made clothing was much better. It didn’t stain easily, it made no sound and it didn’t smell, even after a hard workout. The fabric had been engineered specially by the
Zxerah
over many generations, to aid them in their work.

Jim’s lips widened into a grin and she fought hard against the butterflies flitting around in her stomach. The man hadn’t lost any of his appeal over the years that separated her teenage crush on the young operative studying martial arts with her father and the hardened, world-weary man he was today. She was attracted to him whether she liked it or not.

“If you’re ready, I’ve got breakfast waiting in the conference room. We have a lot to discuss.” He levered himself up from his leaning position against the door and motioned for her to precede him, but as she drew closer and put her hand on the doorknob, he reached out, closing one hand over her arm. “I’m sorry about last night, Gina.” His voice was pitched low, the intimate rumble vibrating through her. “I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand. I won’t apologize for what happened between us, but I will apologize for not being able to trust you. Things happened here in the past. Things that were my fault for being too trusting. I hope you can understand and forgive me.”

She looked up at him, trying not to let the appeal in his eyes get to her on an emotional level. It was a losing battle. He was already under her skin, but she had to fight against it. Her
Zxerah
training didn’t erase emotion but taught her the value of controlling it. No emotion, the
Zxerah
had learned, was a detriment to a warrior, but too much was equally—if not more—incapacitating. A balance was required. In all things.