by Jade Kerrion
“Gage taught him?”
Jason shook his head. “He says you did.”
“When?” Surely not during that half-hour conversation they had at Pioneer Labs that night they had first discovered Galahad’s clone.
Jason shrugged. “Don’t know, but Galahad was fairly comfortable back at Pioneer Labs. He seemed to know what he was doing with all the crazy equipment. Of course, he had an old lady named Joyce on his video speed-dial. Sounded like she was coaching him through the tough parts, though he got the hang of it pretty quickly.”
Danyael chuckled. “So, Galahad’s found a mentor. Good for him.”
“Joyce may be his mentor, but I think he found his inspiration elsewhere.” Jason stood, the motion abrupt. He jerked his head toward the small path that encircled the park. “Come walk with me.”
Surprised, but seeing no reason to object, Danyael pushed to his feet.
Jason headed down the path, Danyael easily matching his stride. After a moment of silence, Jason continued. “I called on our father first, of course. He said you had stopped by and had begged him for his help. He looked so pleased about the fact that he told you no that I got mad and socked him.”
Danyael’s jaw dropped. “You what?”
Jason shrugged. “Broke his nose.” He sounded inordinately pleased with himself. “Figured it was probably the only chance I had since you weren’t around to stop me.”
Danyael tried to keep his amusement from leaking into his voice. “Jason—”
“You’re marrying an assassin. You’re in no position to lecture me on the appropriate use of violence.” Jason shoved his hands into the pockets of his tailored gray slacks. “Anyway, since our father didn’t come through—by the way, neither of us should expect Christmas cards from him for the foreseeable future.”
“Never received one from him before anyway.”
“Well, no loss there, then. At any rate, since he didn’t come through, I looked elsewhere.” Jason’s gaze drifted along the path and rested briefly on the four people in the gazebo.
Danyael glanced at his brother when Jason did not elaborate further.
Jason chuckled. “Use your head, Danyael. Where else would I find bits and pieces of your genetic code for Galahad to reshape like a jigsaw puzzle?” He stopped in front of the gazebo. The two elderly couples rose and stepped forward, hesitant yet radiant smiles on their faces.
Danyael stared at them. They were strangers to him, yet their attention burned with disconcerting familiarity. Bits and pieces of your genetic code… The ground seemed to tilt beneath him, the world jolting into sharp, almost painful, focus. No, it was… Could they possibly be—?
Jason’s smile was indulgent. “The first and last time they saw you in person, you were two hours old. Danyael, Peter and Katie Rakehell, and Stefan and Halle Erling, our grandparents.” He made a grand, sweeping gesture at Danyael. “Folks, the prodigal grandson returns.”
~*~
From the other side of the small park, Zara smiled through the faint shimmer of tears as Danyael was drawn into the embrace of his extended family—the family that had come through to save his life. Jason’s role was not insignificant. As a result of his own long-standing break with his family, Jason had lost touch with both sets of grandparents, but Danyael’s need had compelled him to seek them out once more. They had risen magnificently to the challenge, welcoming first one prodigal grandson and then the other.
Yet the true hero was Galahad. Few would have attempted what he had done, recreating an alpha empath’s genetic structure from four disparate sources, and then regressing the hybrid cell into stem cells for Danyael’s genetic therapy. The race against time, against Danyael’s dying body, had demanded weeks of twenty-four-hour workdays, punctuated by stingy scraps of rest, but Galahad had won through and the result—
The result was Danyael Sabre’s fresh lease on life.
For that alone, Zara would always be in debt to Galahad.
Her gaze traveled idly across the park, coming to rest on a lone man, leaning on a walking stick as he walked along the path around the park. His beige trench coat was drawn tightly around him, the collar turned up. A hat concealed most of his features.
Something about him seemed familiar. The crooked line of his shoulders, the angle of his head, as if he were favoring one side—
Alarm pulsed through her. Zara reached for her Glock but before she could pull its trigger, the sharp crack of a rifle shot snapped through the park.
Danyael spun around.
Several feet away from him, the man slumped to the ground.
Zara sprinted across the lawn and reached the fallen man as Danyael gently turned him over.
Blood trickled slowly out of the single bullet hole in the middle of the man’s forehead. His aged face still bore traces of stunning male beauty, but the black eyes were vacant. The thwarted ambition that had marred those rare good looks had finally relaxed into the peace of death.
Zara flipped back the edge of the trench coat. Gage’s fingers were coiled around a handgun. She exchanged a glance with Danyael, her expression tight. No doubt, Danyael had been Gage’s target, a final act of spite.
Motion flickered at the edge of Zara’s vision and she looked up. Danyael glanced over his shoulder, his gaze tracing hers to an open window on the fourth floor of the Mutant Affairs Council building. Recognition passed over the alpha empath’s flawless features. Danyael inclined his head, acknowledging Galahad as the perfect human being raised his sniper rifle.
Bait. Galahad must have known that Gage would seek vengeance on the alpha empath. True to his training, he had acted as Zara would have—he had used Danyael as bait to end the threat his clone posed to the world.
Galahad’s head moved as he returned the acknowledgement. He was too far away for Zara to see the expression on his face, but she would not have been surprised if he, too, smiled.
Zara wrapped her arm around Danyael’s waist and relaxed against him. Three years to the day, the life she had wrecked when she freed Galahad from Pioneer Labs was saved by the man she had freed.
The circle of unexpected compassion had finally closed.
YOU’RE INVITED: ZARA & DANYAEL
Would the weight of her wedding ring throw off her aim?
Eyes narrowed, Zara Itani stared at the simple platinum band on her left hand. Only an assassin would worry about something like that.
A faint smile curved her lips. Her quiet chuckle rang with amusement. It was too late to debate the possibility of a less-than-perfect aim; she intended to be buried with the ring on her finger. She had come too far and gone through too much to ever let go of Danyael Sabre.
Besides, several hours at the range practicing with her Glock and her daggers would probably ensure her aim was dead center once again.
She threw a final glance at herself in the mirror, smoothed down her forest green dress cinched around her slim waist with a wide alligator-skin belt, and shook the dark waves of her hair back from her face. The subtle makeup she wore complemented the bronzed honey of her complexion, violet eyes, and sultry smile. Overall, she looked about right for a bride at her post-wedding party. The gun and dagger strapped to her thighs weren’t customary bridal wear, but there was nothing ordinary about the Lebanese-Venezuelan assassin.
Zara turned to step out of her walk-in closet but caught a glimpse of the worn duffle bag Danyael had set on the carpet an hour earlier. It contained the entirety of his earthly belongings, and even so, it was only half-full. She emptied the bag, smoothing down his few articles of clothing before finding space for them on the shelves in her closet. His black leather jacket hung from a hanger. The plastic framed photographs—including one of a nine-month-old Laura, the edges of the picture stained with Danyael’s blood—she set on the bedside table, next to his electronic tablet.
With a satisfied smile, she stepped back and surveyed the space they now shared.
The sense of completeness, the sheen of relief that flooded
her was so unexpected that she had to look over her shoulder to confirm that Danyael had not entered the bedroom.
No, he hadn’t. She could hear his voice coming from Laura’s bedroom, his familiar melodic tenor reading from a Dr. Seuss book. No doubt, Laura was snuggled up against him, enjoying her first day in a two-parent household.
The emotions Zara felt were her own, though now that she was married to an alpha empath, she would likely never be certain how much of what she was feeling truly came from her and what emerged from the overflowing of Danyael’s emotions.
It was just as well Danyael possessed near-flawless control over his emotions and was far too principled to misuse his empathic powers. As an assassin, she had no objections to someone else possessing a conscience as long as they didn’t expect her to have one too.
She walked out of the bedroom and crossed the landing toward the staircase. She paused, looking into Laura’s bedroom. Danyael—her lover and now her husband—and her daughter, Laura, were cuddling on the chaise lounge, a huge stack of books beside them.
Danyael raised his dark-eyed gaze to her, pausing mid-sentence in his description of the Lorax.
“Our guests should be arriving soon.”
He nodded. “We’ll be down in fifteen minutes.”
The fragrant scent of pine and cinnamon wafted up to meet her as she walked down the cedar staircase, her fingers trailing along the polished wood. In the living room, lights sparkled on a lopsided Christmas tree haphazardly decorated with stuffed animals. A bright red parrot hand puppet sat on the highest branch, in lieu of a star. The overall effect was surprisingly charming and childproof, as long as the tree didn’t fall down.
Zara surveyed the spread of food on the dining table before crossing into the kitchen. Two women in their mid-twenties stood over the butcher-block topped island, filling fluted champagne glasses with Dom Perignon. Both wore matching white shirts and black pants. Their handguns were concealed beneath black silk vests.
“Karen. Elaine. All set?” Zara asked.
“Just about,” Karen said. “The place is secure. Kyle and Adam have the block locked down, and Monique’s on sniper duty. Jarrett’s her spotter.”
Zara nodded. She had honed paranoia into an art form, and it helped to have the top mercenaries from her agency, The Three Fates, providing what she considered the fundamental element of a successful party—security. “Thank you for working on Christmas Eve.”
Elaine laughed. “No problem. When we heard that Danyael had proposed and you had accepted, everyone in the agency wanted to be here to see if he was actually going to go through with it.”
Zara held up her left hand. The platinum band glittered under the bright kitchen lights. “Ten minutes this morning; a simple ceremony in front of a judge. I wanted to get our marriage nailed down before anyone else thought they could go after Danyael with impunity.”
They still would, of course—governments, both legitimate or otherwise, militant groups, anyone with something to prove. Danyael Sabre was that rare individual, an alpha empath who survived his childhood and learned to control his mutant powers. He wasn’t just rare; he was coveted, but from that day forward, those who sought to use him would have to go through an assassin whose protective instincts were exceeded only by her ruthless streak.
Zara suspected that most of them would have second thoughts at that point.
Those who didn’t, she’d have to stop before they got to Danyael.
Of course, the other theory was that Danyael, who could heal or kill with a touch, was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. The problem, at least in her opinion, was that his conscience kept getting in the way.
Monique’s lightly French-accented voice spoke through the microphone in Zara’s ear. “Xin’s just parked her car.”
Two minutes later, Zara met Mu Xin at the front door.
The Chinese woman, the clone of Fu Hao, a 1,200 BC queen, high priestess, and general, arrived in an elegant gray-striped pantsuit. Her long dark hair she wore loose instead of gathered into her usual messy knot. She offered Zara a smile and a large paper bag filled with wrapped gifts. “Mostly for Laura,” she said, by way of greeting. “Danyael’s presents don’t wrap well.”
“Come in. We’ll talk.” Zara shut the door behind Xin and ushered her into the living room.
Elaine hovered outside the kitchen with a tray of filled champagne glasses.
Zara caught Elaine’s eye and nodded, indicating that it was all right for her to approach. She slid the bag of gifts under the Christmas tree before turning to Xin. “What kind of presents?”
“The NSA struck the class-five threat status off his official record. Danyael can live and travel wherever and whenever he likes.”
“Which would allow him to accept the job offer he received yesterday from the National Institute of Health.”
Xin nodded. She didn’t seem surprised.
Zara’s eyes narrowed. “Do you know everything?” The question came out testy. Xin’s omniscience was frequently helpful and always annoying.
The clone shrugged. “I try. It’s part of my job description—NSA analyst and all that.”
“Did you have anything to do with the offer?”
“Peripherally.” Xin picked up a champagne glass from Elaine’s tray and nodded her thanks. “I gave my blessing when the NIH director came by seeking the NSA’s permission to offer Danyael a position in their genetic research group. A few other job offers are likely forthcoming, all from government agencies since no public or private organization has the gumption to hire a man on Lucien Winter’s blacklist, but the NIH offer is the most attractive that I can tell. Plus, it’s in Bethesda. You wouldn’t even have to move.”
“I’m sure he’ll consider it.”
“Good. I think Galahad’s interest in medical research has been piqued. I’d like to have someone keep him in line, intellectually and ethically. Danyael’s perfect for it.”
Zara snorted. “Always an ulterior motive.”
Xin’s response was a graceful shrug. “Just trying to keep the world from falling apart on my watch.”
Monique’s voice spoke again directly into Zara’s ear. “Five incoming. Visual IDs: Jason Rakehell, Peter and Katie Rakehell, and Stefan and Halle Erling.”
Zara nodded. She met Xin’s gaze. “Danyael’s brother and grandparents are here.”
She met them at the door and welcomed them into her Georgetown townhouse. “Merry Christmas. Come in, please.”
The two elderly couples hesitated before stepping into the foyer. Their smiles were taut, their eyes wary. No doubt Jason had told them what she did for a living.
Amused rather than offended, she made the first move, leaning in to press her cheek against theirs.
They flinched, but managed not to cringe.
Zara stifled a chuckle. It appeared that the courage she so admired in Danyael ran through his family. “Danyael’s reading to Laura. They’ll be down soon.” She waved them into the living room and introduced Xin to Danyael’s family. Karen and Elaine circulated with champagne and hor d'oeuvres. For several minutes, Zara exchanged polite small talk with her guests until Monique announced another impending arrival.
Zara excused herself and walked to the door. She flung it open.
Galahad’s fist was poised against the door, apparently preparing to knock.
“Hello, Galahad.” Her voice was sultry, silk against steel, a warning.
The perfect human being designed by Pioneer Laboratories glanced over his shoulder and scanned the street before looking back at Zara. “How much security do you have on this place?”
Her smile broadened. “Enough.” She supposed she could be gracious. After all, Galahad had designed the stem cells that cured Danyael’s leukemia. She stepped aside. “Welcome.”
Galahad tugged off his sunglasses before stepping into her home.
She found herself staring into a face similar to that of the man she loved.
No, not precise
ly similar. Galahad’s face was flawless, whereas Danyael’s was marked by a faint scar that cut across his right cheek from cheekbone to chin. Nevertheless, the sculptured perfection of their features would have made angels weep with envy. Their pale blond hair highlighted the startling darkness of their eyes. The combination was breathtaking.
Roland Rakehell had chosen well when he selected his son as Galahad’s physical template.
Galahad glanced at the cluster of people in the living room. He inclined his head to Jason Rakehell, Danyael’s brother, and to each of Danyael’s grandparents. The elderly couples had contributed the genetic templates Galahad had used to design stem cells for Danyael. In effect, Danyael’s grandparents had saved his life, but Galahad had been the catalyst of change.
“Will Roland Rakehell be here?” Galahad asked.
“Of course not,” Zara said. “He’s effectively disowned both Jason and Danyael.”
“He’s not much of a father.”
She agreed. “No loss to them.”
Galahad’s glance fell upon the ring on Zara’s finger. A muscle twitched in his smooth cheek. “Congratulations,” he murmured, his voice strained. He looked away before Zara could meet his eyes, his gaze darting across the foyer to survey the cluster of people in the living room.
Voices rose and fell in conversation plagued by patches of awkward silence. Smiles glittered, too bright, too quick. Fingers clenched tightly around delicate glass stems.
“They’re nervous,” he said.
Zara shrugged. “Something to do with being in an assassin’s home.”
“Nowhere safer.” Galahad chuckled. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. “And here he comes.”
“What?”
“You’re probably inured to his empathic presence, but Danyael changes a room simply by walking into it.”
She had heard Danyael’s footsteps on the stairs, but instead of turning to look at him, she watched her visitors. Collectively, they took a deep breath. Shoulders sagged, as if with relief. Tense smiles relaxed into natural grins as her visitors exhaled.
The best part was that Danyael probably wasn’t even consciously trying to change the atmosphere in the house. His exquisite equilibrium channeled peace with every breath.
