Hunted (Dark Protectors) (22 page)

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Authors: Rebecca Zanetti

BOOK: Hunted (Dark Protectors)
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Chapter 25
 
I
t had taken all night. Although underground at headquarters, Kalin could sense the sun rising in the sky above. So dangerous. So tempting.
He stepped out of the shower, kicking his clothes to the side. Wrapping a towel around his waist, he frowned at the long line of scratches down his torso. Peggy’s attack had surprised him. The girl had more fight in her than he’d hoped. Not that her spirit had done her any good.
He lumbered down the hall to his bedroom, stopping short at the leader sitting in a reading chair. “Franco.”
Franco nodded, tossing aside the worn copy of Machiavelli’s
The Art of War
. “I take it your trip to Omaha went well?”
“Yes. Very.” Kalin dropped the towel, reaching to tug on some sweats. Nudity had never concerned him overmuch. “We flew low and didn’t file a flight plan, so there will be no record of the trip.”
Franco’s silver eyebrows rose over his deep purple eyes. “I see you got rid of the black polish and lipstick.”
“I’m out of that phase.” Kalin shrugged. No more pretending to be human. The species was prey for a reason.
“So, there won’t be any repercussions from your journey?” Franco’s stark white face tightened.
Kalin couldn’t wait until he ruled the world and didn’t have to hide. “No. The girl was from here, which is why I waited until she reached Nebraska. I took her at the airport, and believe me, no one saw.” The surprised look on her face had been priceless. And when she’d met the real him, well now. “She had a rather high tolerance for pain.” Impressed the hell out of him. For nearly two seconds he’d considered keeping her.
Franco rolled his eyes, standing and strolling for the door. “I’ll monitor the Omaha news just in case. When will she be found?”
“Soon.” He’d dumped her behind a nightclub near the garbage. Where she deserved.
Silly girl giving up the life he could’ve given her. He’d like to go after that loser Joe, but would have to wait. Coincidence wasn’t his friend. Joe’s turn would come, and with it enough pain to make the sadness still lingering in Kalin’s solar plexus fade away.
The laptop dinged on the sturdy desk he’d taken from a woman in Georgia the year before. She’d even tasted like peaches, crying in a thick accent. Kalin sauntered forward, clicking keys. “Erik is calling. They put him through to here.”
Franco strode toward the computer. “Bring him up.”
Erik filled the screen, his curly red hair sticking out in every direction. “Where’s my witch?”
“Nice to see you too, brother.” Franco clasped both hands behind his back. “We don’t have a witch yet. Why don’t you get your own?”
Crimson eyes flashed.
Kalin swallowed. Sure, his people had odd colors. But red hair and red eyes? The guy even creeped him out. “I’ll go get you a witch, Erik.” He’d never taken a witch. Might be a decent challenge for him.
Erik clicked his tongue loudly. “How nice of you, Kalin.”
“No.” Franco pressed a heavy hand down on Kalin’s shoulder. “We’ll find you a witch. What about your misgivings?” Low, rolling, Franco’s tone issued threat.
Kalin stiffened, glancing from Franco to his brother. “What misgivings?”
Erik straightened his lab coat, tucking a silver pen into the breast pocket. “Any airborne virus will affect all mates, even our own. I merely noted we need an inoculation before we mutate the virus to mass contaminate—which is still far in the future ... and taking longer since you can’t seem to acquire a witch.”
“Why Erik. I had no idea you thought to find yourself a mate.” Franco curled his lip, condescension dripping from each word.
Kalin shrugged the hand off his shoulder. He’d heard the rumors about Erik and didn’t give a damn. The guy could like men, goats, or monkeys for all he cared, so long as he did his job. “How is it going with the captured shifters?”
“Well.” Erik glared at his brother and leaned to the side, flipping open a manila folder. “After infecting several felines at the colloquium last year, we kidnapped a few wolf shifters and have injected them. The females react faster than the males, as we suspected.”
Figured. A virus equaled weakness. Of course the females succumbed first. “Any luck with enslaving them?” Kalin asked.
“Not yet.” Erik squinted, frowning. “The virus takes them down to werewolf form, but with more of a ... backbone ... so to speak, than a normal human werewolf.” He cleared his throat, tossing aside the folder. “Keep in mind, gentlemen, these constitute our first trials with the virus. The plan is long term.”
Maybe that part of the plan would take a while. In fact, every psychic vibe Kalin had inherited from his deceased mother bellowed that nothing would happen until Janie came of age. Janie was truly the catalyst for the future, and he didn’t need their oracles spouting predictions to know that fact. For now, other concerns occupied his mind. “What about the gene manipulation therapy?”
“We’re researching several viable solutions.” Erik nodded to someone off camera. “Your I.Q. is too high to measure, Kalin. Why don’t you put that big brain to work and come help me with the research?”
Being stuck underground in some lab sounded like hell. “I need to keep training. My talents lie in battle.” A fact Kalin had learned early. The need to hit and destroy sometimes turned his blood on fire. Hunting and stalking his prey calmed him so he could at least get some sleep. “My father’s sword adorns the wall above my bed.” Sharp, deadly, and shining in the meager light, the weapon would someday take off Talen Kayrs’ head. Kalin even slumbered under the mantle of death.
“So long as you’re keeping up your studies while learning how to hit things, I’ll keep up the research on light manipulation therapy.” Erik rolled his eyes. “Why you’re in such a hurry to venture into the sun, I’ll never know. I have to go.” Without another word, the screen went dark.
“Kalin.” Franco kept his gaze on the dead screen. “My brother might be a genius, but never forget he’s weak.”
“Of course.” Kalin doubted being gay led to weakness. “Though whether or not he mates is of no concern to me.”
“My concerns are broader than his sickness.” Franco pivoted, heading for the door. “Erik enjoys philosophy and believes himself a modern intellectual. Always watch the smart ones.” Franco paused at the doorway. “It’s good to have you back.” Then he headed down the hallway.
Kalin’s gaze shifted to the wall of Peggy’s pictures. “It’s good to be back.” Reaching for the center photograph, he ripped it in two. She’d confused him, a fact she’d paid dearly for. “Even sobbing, begging for your life, you were pretty.”
With a sigh, he reached for the rest of the pictures. They no longer belonged.
Chapter 26
 
“Y
ou cut his head off.” Conn scratched his chin, his gaze on the still form of the dead werewolf. The very dead werewolf.
Dage had placed the head near the body on the gurney of the autopsy room before fetching his mate. He stood next to her now, handing her a wickedly sharp syringe. She took it in her blue-gloved hands, inserting the needle into the beast’s arm.
Jordan shrugged, his stance set against the concrete floor. A long, jagged scratch marred the right side of his face. Apparently it had been quite the fight. “Talen decapitated him, I didn’t. Katie sensed him. She knew he was there, said when the beast died, something moved through her.”
Conn fought a chill at the words.
Maybe the coldness came from the autopsy room they’d set up in anticipation of catching a were. The monster sprawled across the slab, coarse black hair covering every surface. Its snout appeared narrower than usual, not quite canine. Defined muscles lay under the heavy fur, showing he’d once had power.
Conn glanced at Emma as she drew blood from the animal’s hairy arm. “How soon will you get the results?”
She stood, tapping the deep red blood in the syringe. “With the new equipment Kane tweaked, we should have an answer in a few hours.” She frowned, her blue eyes sparking. “If we shared the technological advances with humans, several diseases might be cured.” Tossing her hair over her lab coat with a shake of her head, she aimed for the door. “Something we’ll discuss in detail once I determine whether this werewolf began as a human or a shifter.”
Dage prowled after her. “I look forward to the discussion, love.” Tipping his head back to take a deep gulp of his ever-present grape energy drink, he glanced over his shoulder. “Conn, Talen wants to meet in the third-floor conference room in fifteen minutes. You, too, Jordan.” His footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Jordan nodded. Fierce brown eyes flicked toward the werewolf’s head. “He wanted Katie. He sensed Katie.” It had guaranteed the beast would lose his head.
Every once in a while Conn forgot about the killer lurking behind Jordan’s easy smile. “The werewolf put up a good fight.” Dage had reported it as an intelligent fight, different from a normal one.
“Yes.” Jordan glanced down, frowning at a long gash across his knuckles. He stretched his hand, opening and closing his fingers, allowing claws to emerge. “I haven’t apologized for what happened with Marcus. My people, my fault.”
“No.” Conn’s fangs emerged, pricking his lip to draw blood. “They caught me. My head wasn’t in the game ... for obvious reasons.” A snarl wanted loose and he shoved it down, taking control of the beast inside him for the moment. He was better than the decapitated monster sprawled on the table. He could think and plan.
“Women.” Jordan’s claws retracted, his mellow tone belied by the frozen fury on his face—powerful and animalistic, even in human form. “What are you going to do with yours?”
Conn wanted to respond with amusement. He searched, but the weight in his gut kept him somber. “I don’t know. She’s gifted ... and driven. Even with her powers, she’s not, well ...”
“One of us.” Jordan tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. “She may fight, she may even kill in battle. But the things we’ve done, even for the better good—”
“Yes.” Conn spoke softly, tearing his gaze from the remembered knowledge he saw in Jordan’s. “We were at war, we did what we had to do.” A mantra he’d repeated to himself on more than one dark night. “Do you ever ask yourself if the end justified the means?”
The people he’d killed, murdered really—Kurjans, shifters, enemy combatants—had needed to die for the war to end three hundred years ago. He’d killed coldly and without mercy, ensuring Dage could broker the treaty. Ensuring the people who wanted war to continue wouldn’t be at the table.
“No.” Jordan’s voice lowered to a tone hinting he lied to them both. “It’s too late for that question.” Most people didn’t realize the congenial leader of the feline nation had been as vicious and frequent an assassin as Conn in the last war.
“You’re right.” The chill in the room came from death, not air in the vents. The discussion held no place in this century. “What’s your plan with Katie?”
The lion’s snarl held frustration. “She’s so young.”
Conn barked out a laugh, lacking in humor. “Been there. I wouldn’t wait a century, my friend. It’s too long.” He glanced at the man he’d bonded with over battle tactics and duty so long ago. They weren’t brothers, but they were close. “She loves you.”
“She’s a child with a crush.” Lines of frustration cut into the lion’s face. “I had hoped to give her time, but now she’s vulnerable ... and we’re at war again.”
So that was it. “Our mates don’t need to see what we do, Jordan.” Conn hadn’t been ordered to kill again. Yet. When he went, Moira would stay home. “The burden stays on our shoulders, not theirs.”
“Perhaps.” Jordan stretched his neck. “Katie needs to remain here while Emma figures out a way to deal with the catalyst now in her blood.” His words thickened on the last. “I’d stay, but I have a nation to clean up. Marcus was only the beginning.”
Yeah. Jordan needed to get the felines under control. “The sooner your people are solid, the better. At least, before the Bane’s Council comes for our heads.” The Bane’s Council hunted and killed werewolves, and the vampires hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the infected wolf shifter being hidden on Jordan’s ranch.
“I know. By now I thought we’d have found Maggie’s people, but no luck. Perhaps she was alone.” Jordan shrugged, pivoting for the door. “In my mind, she’s a wolf, not a werewolf.”
The Bane’s Council wouldn’t see it that way.
Silence descended as the lion took his leave. Conn inhaled, filling his lungs. Bleach and death commingled in a scent that crawled like spiders over his skin. The urge to fight, the urge to protect the life he wanted, swirled through his blood until his shoulders snapped straight. The monster on the gurney was the beginning, and he knew it. He also knew, without question, what Emma’s test would reveal. He sensed the truth.
This was no ordinary werewolf. Its legs hung off the metal edge, its muscle tone beyond that of a normal animal. Well over eight feet, even in death, power suffused the were. After Emma concluded her tests, he’d have to notify the Bane’s Council. Right or wrong, he wouldn’t report Maggie’s existence.
Conn stepped closer, peering down at the animal. “The only question I have is whether you were lion, wolf, or multi.” Wait. He had a second question. How in the hell had Katie sensed the beast?
His soldier’s mind whipped battle plans into place. If Katie had a gift, he’d use it. Even if he had to go through Jordan Pride.
War sucked.
 
Moira edged down the hallway toward a gathering room at the opposite end of the elevator. She desperately needed an Irish whiskey. Stomping around the corner, she stopped in her tracks at Katie huddled in a captain’s chair, her somber gaze on the flickering light of a television showing all static. The low buzz filled the room along with the smoky scent of despair.
Taking a breath, Moira flicked her wrist and the television shut off. Pivoting, she dropped into a deep leather chair the color of Brenna’s gray eyes. An oddity, since the rest of the sisters had green eyes. Bren’s eyes had created a family joke. Her father raised his eyebrows at any man in the vicinity with gray eyes, always sending her mother into peals of laughter. “Katie. Can I help?”
Katie jerked, her gaze swinging away from the blank screen. “Not unless you can cure the virus.” Red and swollen, the rims of her eyes made Moira blink in reaction.
“Ah, no. We’ve tried for the last eight months.” To alter a cure enough to bind to the necessary chromosomes was possible, but they needed a physical concoction first. “Emma found the right concoction of drugs to counteract
the catalyst
in a pregnant mate ... and I assume she’ll start looking for a way to attack the catalyst in your blood. If you’ll let her.”
“No. I made my decision.”
Yeah. Moira figured. “Well, then she’ll find a drug or drugs to fight the virus as a whole.” Someday, with hard work ... and luck.
Katie sighed. “When? I mean, look how long AIDS research has been going on for humans. They haven’t found a cure.”
Moira narrowed her focus, searching beyond the scattering brain waves cascading off Katie. Dark and discombobulated, the rhythm changed in speed and frequency. “Wow. You have a lot going on there.” All waves held set patterns ... which she then altered to seek a different result. She had no idea how to alter Katie’s.
“Checking out my screwed-up aura?”
“Kind of.” Moira leaned forward, frowning at the shades of brown and gray in the waves. “Want me to try and reorganize the waves?” Such an attempt may be a seriously bad idea—sometimes waves and particles exploded. “There’s a definite risk.”
Katie shrugged, her eyes dull. “Go for it. I don’t care.”
“All right.” Moira rested her hands on her knees, palms up. She reached past the layers of brown, pleased to find a sparkling green flickering. “So. Tell me about Jordan.” The green flared to life, then sputtered.
“He rescued me from a foster dad with a gun. Jim Bob. Moron.” Katie wiggled in her seat, sending the fragments spiraling. “I was four, and shifted by accident. Had no idea I was a feline shifter. Jim Bob chased me into the woods. Jordan intercepted him.”
Moira needed the green to return. The emerald tones seemed more in tune with Katie’s natural state. “So he saved you. Quite the hero.” There it was. She dug into the scattering, trying to thicken the pattern like the homemade quilt Darcy had made for her bed at the cottage.
“Yes. Turns out my parents had been part of his pride, but moved to the city and lost touch. They died in a car accident. I don’t remember them.” Sadness filtered through the words, while natural baby blue specks wound through Katie’s waves—a normal color for regret.
“So Jordan raised you?” Every time Moira used his name, Katie’s natural colors shone brighter, but the grays and browns continued to dominate.
“No. My mother is a member of his pride. She adopted me.” Love filled the air. Strong red and pinks joined the green. The browns remained static.
A low hum of pain centered between Moira’s ears. A warning. The air crackled. “Now isn’t the time.” She withdrew, sliding away from the subatomic particles to the surface of life. “I’m sorry. The competing forces going on within you need to battle it out ... then possibly we can alter the energy.”
Katie nodded, her somber expression remaining the same. “I figured. When the moon rose, the competition began ... almost as if my brain was being separated into two distinct shapes. The process doesn’t hurt, oddly enough.” She tucked her legs under her. “You know what I miss?” Soft, low, she spoke almost as if she were alone in the room.
“What?”
“The colors”—Katie glanced up, their gazes meeting—“when I shift. Everything brightens and sparkles ... and I can see the colors inside the colors. Like you do.”
“Yes.” Moira nodded, her heart aching. Losing that ability would cripple her. “I’m so sorry, Katie.” Though reaching out and fighting was the solution.
A deep breath lifted Katie’s chest. Her eyes cleared. “Yes, well. Outside when the beast howled, I felt him. I
knew
where he hid.” She shrugged, a dark smile revealing smooth teeth. “Such knowledge might come in handy.”
Moira sat back. The furious anticipation filling the lioness’s eyes sent a chill down her spine. “Maybe.” She stood. Emma was busy dealing with the werewolf, but Moira hoped Cara had a second to brainstorm. “We’re going to figure this out.” At Kate’s quiet nod, Moira turned and hustled from the room. Something told her time was running out for her new friend.
She wound through the underground abyss, coming to Cara’s quarters and knocking on the outside of the steel door, her knuckles protesting. A bomb couldn’t open the door. But a very pregnant, flushed woman could.
Surprise caught Moira’s breath. “Are you feeling all right?” She grasped Cara’s arms, turning her toward the sofa. The smell of gardenias comforted her, a row of them lined up on a shelf across the room. Brenna loved gardenias. When the hell was she going to get her sister to safety?
“I’m fine.” Cara rubbed her belly, waddling to sit down. “The baby is playing soccer inside me, that’s all.” She stretched her neck, drawing in air, smoothing hair away from her face. “Talen said they caught a were?”
“Yeah. Conn hurried off to get a look at the beast. Katie said she sensed him.”
Cara’s face pinched. “I wish she hadn’t injected herself with the catalyst.” Her eyes widened. “Hey, do you think you’re able to create a spell and slow the progression?”
Moira shrugged, settling into the leather cushions. The color exactly matched her sofa in Dublin and a pang of homesickness hit her. “I doubt it. With you, the spell combined with Emma’s concoction did the trick, and we can’t guarantee the same thing would work with Katie.” The hormones in Cara’s body from the pregnancy had to have played a serious part—maybe the only part that mattered. Moira schooled her face into a thoughtful gaze.

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