by Lynn Hagen
Rick tried once again to pull Dorian into his arms, but Dorian shoved at Rick’s chest. “No, touch isn’t going to work this time, Rick. Touch isn’t going to bring back Miguel’s parents. Touch isn’t going to give Hunter and Samuel their mom and dad. Touch isn’t going to—” Dorian pivoted and began to walk in the opposite direction of the detention center.
Rick caught up with him. “Where are you going?”
Dorian glanced around at the mountains and felt so damn lost that a detachment started to fill him. “I don’t know.”
“Then if you go, I go.”
Dorian shook his head. “You can’t. You promised Freedman you’d help him.”
“If it means losing you, fuck everyone else and what they need.” Rick grabbed Dorian, this time pulling Dorian into his arms. Being in his mate’s arms felt so safe, but Dorian knew it to be a lie. Bullets penetrated embraces. Bullets shattered lives. Bullets didn’t have a name on them. They flew through the air and struck wherever the person firing the gun aimed.
Dorian didn’t want anyone aiming at him any longer. He was tired of having a target painted on his back. Living with constant fear was physically affecting him. He had seen things that would haunt him for the rest of his life. He had done things that would forever change him.
“I’m tired of the death.”
“But it won’t stop until we win this war,” Rick pointed out. “You can run. You can find a safe place to hide. But people are still going to die, Dorian. If I can save one life, then all this fighting was worth the hell I’m living in.”
Dorian glanced up at Rick and then slowly shook his head. “I can’t say the same thing anymore. I’m terrified of losing you, or Miguel, or Benito. I’m even afraid of losing Nate and Selene. The thought of Sasha dying makes my stomach turn and I barely like him. I’m not as strong as you think I am, Rick. I’m just not. I’ve killed not because I’m brave, but because I’m afraid to die.”
“And that makes you the bravest man I know,” Rick said as he cupped Dorian’s face. “Only a fool would be fearless in this war. Fear is what keeps us all alive, gatito. Do you think I face each day with heroism? I’m scared shitless I’m going to lose you every second of every day. But if I don’t stop those out to kill my species, then what kind of future do we have?”
Dorian wasn’t sure what to think.
“Trust me, Dorian. There are many days when I want to take you and run. There is an entire nation counting on me to take the government down. Do you know how daunting that is? Can you imagine the pressure on my shoulders? But I can’t give up. If I do, my species will only be a race of beings in history lessons.”
Dorian ran his hands through his hair. “We can’t win against the detention center.”
Rick nodded. “I know. That is why we are sending Salvador in.”
Dorian turned. “We are?”
“I don’t know what kind of deal he struck with Freedman, but he told Freedman he was going to get Omar out.”
“But what about the others, if there are others? Don’t they deserve to be freed as well?” Dorian liked Omar, but he was pretty damn sure there were other changelings behind those walls. They deserved their freedom just as much as Omar did.
“When Salvador returns, we’ll make it clear that he has to get everyone out. I want that place blown off the map.” Rick paced in front of Dorian. “I also want to attack both of Sellers’s labs. I’m tired of them thinking they can use us as experiments.”
“Them meaning humans. You can say it, Rick. It doesn’t offend me. I’m well aware of what my race is doing to yours.”
Rick grabbed Dorian by his upper arms, glaring down at him. “There is no dividing us, Dorian. Just because you are human and I’m changeling doesn’t make us enemies. It’s the bad guys versus the good guys.”
“I know this, Rick, so stop dancing around the truth. You’re tired of humans using changelings as experiments. I’m tired of the same thing. Just because they are changeling doesn’t make it right. They are living and breathing beings who deserve to live like everyone else. Why are we even having this conversation?”
Rick shook his head as he released Dorian. “I don’t know.”
“When this is all over, I want a damn vacation, Mr. Marcelo.”
Rick grinned. “Just don’t go asking for medical benefits, Mr. Campbell.”
Dorian wasn’t sure what he was going to do, but talking with Rick did make him feel a little better. He still wasn’t the best man for the job. He was winging this.
But wasn’t everyone else in the Rebellion group?
“I say after this, we take the fight to Washington and try to end the war once and for good. Fuck fighting for the rest of our lives. Let’s get this shit done and over with.”
Rick wrapped his arms around Dorian’s shoulders. “Sounds like a damn good plan to me. But first we have to blow up those labs.”
“Fine, but after the labs, the White House.”
Rick slid his arms free and then grabbed Dorian’s hand, pulling him along. “But until then, we need to get some rest. Something tells me tonight is going to prove very interesting, if not strenuous.”
Dorian followed, walking beside his mate as he heard the helicopters in the distance. He was determined to get this job done, blow up the labs, and finish this war in Washington.
And then he was going on an extended vacation that was going to last for a few years.
Chapter Seven
Omar rolled over on the cot he had been sleeping on. His entire body felt like it had been run over by a truck. The bones in his body felt as though they had been stretched and his skin felt like it wasn’t his own. It was tight, itchy, and he was developing rashes in various areas of his body.
He knew Dr. Formente would be back for him soon. The man’s maniacal relentlessness was off the charts. The doctor was determined to succeed, even if it killed Omar. And Omar had a feeling that was exactly what would happen to him.
He heard something on the other side of the door. Omar braced himself to be dragged from his cell—like every single time they came to get him. Omar never went without a fight. As he lay there, he waited, but no one came inside his cell.
Even though his cell was pitch-black, Omar had no problem seeing. But there was nothing to see. He had a cot and a toilet. That was it. Omar didn’t even own a stitch of clothing. He had nothing.
The door eased open.
Was this a trick? Did they want him to attempt escape so they could sadistically hunt him down and kill him? What sort of sick and twisted game were they playing this time?
Omar eased from the cot, sitting up straight as he watched the door. He wasn’t about to play their games. Omar wasn’t about to allow himself to become their source of entertainment. “I’m not falling for it,” he said a little louder than a whisper.
A shadow fell over the threshold, but no one appeared.
Someone was out there.
Omar knew Dr. Formente was at the end of his rope with the failed experiments. He also knew his days were numbered now. The scientist was getting more and more impatient with him. “Who is out there?” Omar called.
No one answered.
There was a faint light out in the corridor, which helped whoever was waiting on him to cast a shadow, but still, no one appeared.
Stupidly curious, Omar treaded carefully toward the door. He didn’t have a good feeling about this, but wanted to know what was going on.
A scuttling sound came from just behind the door.
Omar tried to look between the crack of the door and the wall, but he didn’t see anyone hiding behind the large steel door.
Crossing the threshold, Omar spotted a guard standing a little behind the door, but a few feet away. The guard said nothing. He stood there staring at the far wall, his stance rigid.
“What kind of game is this?” Omar asked, but knew he wasn’t going to get an answer. They never answered any of his questions.
When the guard turned and
strode toward him, Omar kicked, missed his intended target, and then kicked again. The guard gave no reaction. There was no sneer, no threats, no response whatsoever.
He looked…dazed, unfocused.
“Follow me, young wolf.” The guard’s voice was disembodied, as if it weren’t his own and then he turned and began to walk away.
Slack jawed, Omar just stood there. Was this some sort of trick? Should he follow the guard or go back into his cell?
The guard was moving away from him, fast.
“Here’s to stupid ideas,” Omar murmured as he hurried to catch up. He was a dead man anyway. If this proved to be a trick, then he would only die sooner rather than later. Maybe that was a better option than continually being experimented on.
Omar shivered thinking about the countless injections he had endured. He hated needles to begin with. Now he downright loathed them.
The guard stopped, holding his arm up. It was such a mechanical move that Omar hesitated. What in the hell was wrong with this man?
Footsteps could be heard coming toward them.
Omar glanced up at the guard, who turned and began to walk down a different hallway. Omar followed. He could hear voices. Someone was having a conversation. Omar strained to listen. They weren’t close enough, but having changeling hearing, he could pick up a few words.
“The test subject is proving a disappointment. His destruction has been ordered.”
Were they talking about him? How could anyone talk about taking a life so casually? The thought enraged him, but there was nothing Omar could do about his fury. He was too busy following the creepy, dazed guard.
They waited in a small alcove for what felt like hours, but were actually only a few minutes before the guard began to walk again.
“What in the hell is going on?” Omar finally asked.
The guard turned, his blue eyes still unfocused. “Do not speak, lest we get caught.”
Somehow Omar doubted the guard was this intelligent. Most of the humans around him—aside from the scientists—were dumb as doorknobs. But there was a shimmering intelligence almost glowing in the man’s eyes. It was as if—nah, that was crazy. There was no way this man’s eyes were reflecting someone else’s. That was too farfetched even for Omar’s conspiracy theory mind.
There was no such thing as possessing someone’s body.
Movement drew Omar’s attention. He glanced to his left to see another guard standing there. The second guard glanced at them, his eyes raking over Omar’s naked form.
Omar felt violated just from the man’s lascivious look. As badly as he wanted to read the man the riot act, he remained quiet.
“Taking the prisoner somewhere, Walker?” the guard eye-raping Omar asked.
Walker nodded. “He is needed in the infirmary. His arm is severely broken.”
Omar glanced up at Walker. The man could have let him know he was supposed to fake a broken arm. Luckily, Omar’s arms were dangling at his side. He left them dangling there.
The man laughed. “Did Smitty get carried away with him?” Again with the eye-raping thing.
Omar had a feeling that this guard wanted the chance to find out, in a private room where no one would hear Omar’s screams. Thankfully, the doctors of this detention center didn’t want their test subjects violated lest the heinous act interfere with their precious work.
But Omar had a feeling that if he was sanctioned to be destroyed, every damn guard in here would have a go at him, sexually or beating the crap out of him. He hadn’t been on his best behavior since being captured. Omar had fractured a few ribs and even killed one of his guards.
The man in front of him looked like he was itching to pay Omar back.
Omar was stunned when he heard a low growl coming from Walker. The man shouldn’t be defending him. “Something along those regards,” Walker replied before continuing on.
Omar hurried along, but glanced over his shoulder. The guard was watching Omar’s naked ass.
Sick pervert.
“Listen,” Omar whispered in a subvocal voice, somehow knowing the guard could hear him, “whoever you are, you can’t talk that damn proper. You’ll give yourself away.”
The guard’s head tilted slightly, telling Omar he heard the warning.
Walker opened a door and walked inside, Omar following closely. He came to a screeching halt when he saw where he was.
A morgue.
“What the fuck?” he gasped as he began to back away. “Was this some sort of sick trick?”
“No trick,” Walker answered in that distant voice. “Get into one of the body bags and you will be transported out of here.”
“Not on your fucking life!”
Walker turned, giving Omar his full glare, and that was when Omar saw pinpricks of red in the man’s pupils. He knew what that meant, but Omar wasn’t about to stand here and examine why a vampire was helping him. He wasn’t even sure how a vampire could enthrall someone without standing in front of its victim.
“I am growing weaker the longer you take. If we do not leave here soon, you will be caught.”
Omar glanced at the body bag sitting on one of the gurneys. Could he really do this? Could he hide inside a body bag and be carried out of here?
“We are running out of time,” Walker warned.
With great hesitation, and insurmountable fear, Omar spread the body bag out and then climbed up onto the table, slipping inside the bag. Walker began to zip the thing up, the sound echoing in the room, feeling as if Omar’s fate was being zipped right along with the zipper.
It felt so final.
“Do not move one inch until this bag is once again opened.”
Omar nodded, settling back as bile began to fill his throat. He glanced up at the guard with his military cut and his unfocused eyes. “Who sent you?”
The guard drew the zipper to Omar’s neck before answering. “Freedman.” And then the zipper closed Omar into darkness. He shivered, knowing exactly what he was enclosed in.
“No movements.”
Omar tried his best to still his shaking limbs as the gurney began to move. Freedman sent Walker to rescue him? How? Omar had thought the soldier had forgotten about him. He had thought Freedman had given up trying to find a way to get him out.
Somehow, Omar knew Freedman hadn’t turned his back on him, but Omar knew this place was a virtual fortress. There shouldn’t have been a way out. Omar should have died behind these walls.
One of the gurney’s wheels squeaked as he was pushed along. Omar began to feel as if he were suffocating inside the bag. It was a death bag, and he was being carted along inside of it.
He needed air. He needed out of this bag. Omar couldn’t do this.
“Be still or I will kill you myself,” the distant voice warned in a low tone.
Omar stopped struggling, but couldn’t stop himself from feeling trapped. This would be the perfect mind fuck if the guard were playing some kind of sick game. But Omar had seen the red in the man’s eyes.
This wasn’t a game.
He was really being rescued.
That thought settled his nerves some. His stomach wouldn’t stop tying into painful knots until they were far away from the detention center. Driving to the next country would do.
The gurney bumped and jerked, making Omar suck in his breath. How were they going to get out of here? How was Walker going to explain taking the body bag away? Omar was pretty sure getting rid of dead bodies wasn’t this guy’s duty.
Maybe it was. But not knowing if they were going to be caught was giving Omar a massive migraine. He sucked in his breath and held it when the bag was lifted into the air.
“Whoa,” someone said, and Omar knew it wasn’t Walker’s voice. “Where are you going with that?”
There was a moment of silence, as if Walker were thinking about his answer, and then his voice came out with confidence. “One of Sellers’s labs asked for this body. Something about needing the dead changeling for further studies.”
/>
“Where’s your paperwork?” the unfamiliar voice asked. “I can’t let you take that body out of here without signed documents.”
Omar bit his tongue in order not to shout. The scream was just behind his lips. He also locked every muscle in place in order not to move, to try and fight his way out of the bag and out of the center.
“You will find a quiet room to rest in. You have not seen us here, nor will you try and stop me from leaving,” Walker said in a weird, distant tone. Whoever this vampire was, Omar was downright impressed. He shouldn’t be. The unknown guy guiding Walker was a vampire, after all.
But damn if the man wasn’t good at enthralling people from a distance. It occurred to Omar that if the vampire grew weak from using Walker as a puppet, then he must be damn near drained from using Walker to enthrall someone else.
They were indeed running out of time. If the vampire grew too weak, Omar was fucked.
He heard footsteps fading away and knew the guard who wanted paperwork was leaving. He wanted to ask if Walker could finish the rescue, but remained quiet. He didn’t know if there was anyone else close by.
Omar was lowered onto a hard surface and he assumed it was some sort of vehicle. At least, he prayed it was, because if they didn’t get out of here soon, Walker would go back to being Walker, and Omar would get shot between the eyes.
“I am growing very weak. We must hurry and finish this,” Walker said softly. “Remember my warning.”
Stay still until someone opened the bag. Yeah, he remembered. It wasn’t like Omar was going to let himself out and get comfortable in the passenger’s seat.
Omar’s nose started to itch, but he fought his instinct to scratch.
A motor roared to life and then they were moving.
God, please let this work.
The vehicle was moving along at a steady pace, and Omar almost let out a breath of relief until the vehicle came to a stop. They hadn’t been moving long enough to be free of the center.
“Transporting a cadaver,” Walker said. “Captain O’Hanlon’s orders.”
Omar’s head began to pound as he nerves wound up tight. The vehicle still hadn’t moved.
