by I. T. Lucas
They rarely called.
Syssi wished she could blame Africa for that, but it was nothing new. Her parents had always been too busy with their careers, their social life... each other.
Andrew had been the responsible adult in their household, practically raising Syssi and their younger brother, Jacob.
Their mother had had Andrew at twenty-eight, and had given up on conceiving again when long years had gone by and nothing had happened. It hadn’t been a big heartbreak. With her workload, raising even one child had been difficult. Lucky for Andrew, their grandparents had stepped in, providing the care he had needed. Syssi’s arrival had been a miracle, the pregnancy taking Anita by surprise at the age of forty-two. A year later, she had been blessed again with another miracle. Jacob.
The two babies had been welcomed and loved but left mostly to the care of nannies. By the time they had arrived, their parents had been too established in their routines to make any changes for their sake.
“Dad sends their love. He says he has enough material to publish his first book, and he promises to send us the files to look through and choose the pictures we like most.”
“I wonder when that will happen. You know him; lots of promises and little delivery.” Syssi could not help sounding bitter. Their dad had been promising to drag their mother away from her work for a few days back home. Syssi was still waiting... two years later. She had hoped they would at least show up for her graduation, wishing they’d surprise her at the last minute. How naive of her. They never had.
“How are you doing, Andrew? Still bored at your desk job?”
It had been a while since he’d been sent away on one of his assignments abroad, and being stuck in the office usually made him restless.
Syssi had often wondered about Andrew’s frequent trips. After retiring from a hush-hush Special Ops unit, he had joined the Internal Antiterrorism Department—supposedly as an analyst. Why then, had he been spending months at a time abroad? Doing what? Research?
“Actually, I’m swamped with work here, and truth be told, I’m tired of living out of a suitcase. I think you’ll have to tolerate my annoying presence in your life for a little longer this time.”
Andrew sounded happy to stay home... Intriguing... Was it possible he’d finally met someone?
“There must be a woman involved. I can think of no other reason for you to sound so cheerful about staying put. So tell me, who is she? Did you find someone special?” Syssi asked hopefully.
Andrew chuckled. “No, there is no one special. Who’s crazy enough to stick around me?”
“You’re a great guy, Andrew. Someday, you’ll make some lucky girl very happy.”
“I doubt it.”
“You’ll see. I have a feeling... Soon.”
When Syssi had a feeling, those who knew her listened. Her premonitions had a freakish tendency to come to pass.
“I hope you’re kidding because if you’re not, you are scaring the shit out of me. You know I’m not built for anything serious!”
It was funny how scared he sounded. The brave warrior afraid of being snared by some mystery woman. “Nah, just messing with you,” she lied.
“Wow! You had me there for a moment.” Andrew took a deep breath and exhaled it forcefully, exaggerating his relief... Or maybe not.
“I have to let you go. I have to get back to work and deal with a pesky problem.” Syssi sighed.
“Need me to come beat that problem up? I will, you know...”
“I just might take you up on that offer,” Syssi answered, not sure she meant it as a joke. “Bye, Andrew.”
Andrew leaned back in the swivel chair and laced his fingers behind his head. He wondered what Syssi wasn’t telling him. The pesky problem was probably a guy, he smiled knowingly.
Nothing new there.
Syssi was so lovely, there would always be some poor schmuck making a pest of himself over her.
Maybe he should visit that lab after all, and not just to admire the infamous Dr. Amanda Dokani.
7
Amanda
“Promise me that you are not going to drive like a lunatic.” Syssi put her hands on her hips and glared at Amanda.
Folding her tall frame into the driver seat of her Porsche, Amanda buckled up and lowered the passenger side window. “Would you get in already? You’re jumpy because of the nightmares, not my driving.”
With a frown, Syssi opened the door and leaned against the frame. “If you don’t promise, I’m not getting in. I’d rather walk.”
“I’ll be good. But only until I drop you off. After that I’m going to drive this baby like it should be driven.”
Syssi got in and turned to look at her, worry lines furrowing her forehead. “You should be careful. Remember my premonition?”
Amanda shrugged. “You don’t know what or when or how. I’d rather live dangerously than not at all.”
With a wince, Syssi looked away.
Oh, shit, she shouldn’t have said it. Hurting the girl’s feelings hadn’t been her intention. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t take it personally.”
“No, you’re right. I’m too cautious. I don’t go on dates because I’m afraid the guys will end up being jerks, or boring. Worse, I’m anxious about having to tell a guy that I don’t want another date even before I went on the first one. Pathetic. My money is in a savings account, earning zero interest, because I don’t want to chance losing any of it in the stock market. I could’ve doubled what I have if I trusted my gut and bought Apple stock even though it was already high.” She let out a sigh and slumped in her seat.
“What you need is a pattern interrupt. Something to zap you out of your comfort zone and force you into action.” Amanda knew exactly what that something was, or rather who, but he’d refused to cooperate.
She needed to come up with a plan of how to get these two together in the same room. Kian was basically in the same situation as Syssi.
His days consisted of work and his nights of meaningless hookups. Day in and day out. He’d never taken a vacation, had never gone to see a concert or a play, and he’d been to the movie theaters exactly once. Kian wasn’t living, he was functioning. He just wasn’t aware of it.
Amanda was betting that once Kian and Syssi laid eyes on each other, the encounter would shock both of them out of their stagnation. It was only a gut feeling, but it was a strong one. She just knew that they would make each other happy.
But she was getting ahead of herself. One thing at a time.
First she needed to get them together, then let nature take its course on the express lane to the nearest bedroom. After that was accomplished it was a matter of waiting to see if Syssi transitioned.
Amanda believed she would.
Leaving the university grounds, she accelerated, and the Porsche glided along at what she considered an excruciatingly slow pace. It was late, and most of the rush-hour traffic was over. There was no reason to go so slow. With a quick glance at Syssi, Amanda let her foot press down on the gas pedal a little. The girl didn’t notice a thing. She was busy looking out the window and moping.
Amanda kept accelerating until she was cruising at a more reasonable speed.
Turning her head toward her forlorn passenger, she was about to tease Syssi about her bad mood, when suddenly a stupid suicidal squirrel decided that it was a good day to die.
The furry thing jumped from a low hanging tree branch, right in front of her car. Amanda slammed on the brakes and the car swerved, skidding out of control. She managed to right the Porsche a split second too late, hitting a water hydrant head on.
Metal groaned, Syssi cried out, and Amanda held her breath, waiting for the airbags to deploy and the hydrant to erupt in a geyser. But the impact hadn’t been powerful enough to cause either. Evidently, she’d managed to slow down sufficiently to avoid more serious damage.
Throwing the door open, Amanda unbuckled and got out, rushing around to open Syssi’s door. “Are you
hurt?” The impact had been mild, but humans were so damn fragile.
Syssi tried to shake her head, then winced, rubbing the spot where the seatbelt had cut into the skin of her neck.
“Hold on, darling. I got you.” Amanda leaned inside and unbuckled her.
“What happened?” Syssi asked.
“A good for nothing stupid squirrel. I should’ve just ran him over.”
“Don’t say that!”
“Just kidding. But I’m mad as hell. I have plans for tonight.” Amanda went over to the front and examined the damage. “Not as bad as I thought. It’s just cosmetic.” She got inside and turned on the ignition. “It’s good that the Porsche’s engine is in the back. Get inside, Syssi.”
“What about the hydrant?”
“It’s fine. Let’s go.”
Amanda waited for Syssi to buckle up before backing away from the hydrant and easing into traffic.
She’d better call Onidu and tell him to get her a loaner. Pressing a button on the steering wheel, she called home.
“Onidu, darling. I had an unfortunate fender bender with a hydrant. I need you to get me a rental.”
“Of course, Mistress. Are you well? Do you require medical attention?”
“I’m perfectly fine. But my beautiful car isn’t. Would you take care of it for me?”
“Naturally, Mistress.”
“Thank you.” Amanda ended the call.
“Who was it?” Syssi asked.
“Onidu? He is my butler.”
“Figures,” Syssi murmured under her breath, thinking Amanda couldn’t hear her.
When they reached Syssi’s place, Amanda parked next to the curb and turned to her personal seer. “So that was it, I guess,” she said.
“That was what?”
“The bad thing you were predicting was going to happen. I was in danger and it wasn’t life-threatening. To either of us.” She winked. “Case closed.”
Syssi shook her head and winced, rubbing her neck again. “I don’t think so. Not unless parting with your Porsche for a couple of days is a monumental, life-changing event for you.”
“So what is your advice, my sage oracle?” Amanda asked as Syssi stepped out onto the sidewalk.
“Just be careful and watchful. There isn’t much else you can do.”
8
Mark
“To us!” Mark saluted.
Mark’s team from SDPD was celebrating their latest breakthrough at Rouges.
The local bar catered to a mixed crowd: students from nearby Stanford, young professionals from Palo Alto, and the occasional riffraff. Most days of the week a live band provided entertainment. Except tonight.
Tuesdays, the band was off, so the place was not as packed and not as loud. Which was why they had chosen tonight for their celebration.
“Peace, love, and rock ’n’ roll!” Logan downed a shot.
To outsiders, SDPD stood for Software Development Programming Department. Only those on the inside were privy to the special programming that the firm masquerading as a gaming developer was really working on.
In fact, the Strategic Defense Programming Division was a civilian outlet serving the federal government, its substantial pool of genius tasked with the development of viruses that could disable enemy weapon systems—specifically, WMDs—weapons of mass destruction.
Top programmers, gifted hackers, and brilliant mathematicians were secretively lured into its fold. Some were seduced by promises of big money, others by a chance of changing the world, and a few were simply blackmailed.
Once in, they were never let out.
Not that anyone really wanted out.
Realizing the significance of what they were working on, they knew there couldn’t be a higher calling or a greater purpose for their skills.
They were literally saving the world. Regrettably, as anonymous heroes.
“To Mark!” Armando raised his sixth shot of tequila. “Our boy genius. The one and only. The king of hacking. May he keep producing more fine lines of code!” He downed the shot, his cheering friends banging the table as they tossed back their drinks.
Mark felt a ripple of apprehension course through him. The salute was generic enough not to divulge anything specific and yet, potentially, it could have clued someone in.
SDPD, and Mark in particular, had provided the basis for the most famous computer virus in history. The virus that had infiltrated and damaged a dangerous rogue regime’s nuclear facilities.
It was just the beginning.
They were well on their way to developing something even better. Soon, there would be no advanced weaponry that they couldn’t disable, providing a safety net for the US and its trusted allies.
Naturally, some governments and terrorist organizations didn’t appreciate their work, therefore Mark’s life and that of his coworkers depended on their anonymity.
They were supposed to be invisible.
Heck, they were not supposed to even exist.
They were all drunk.
Well, everyone except for Svetlana, who was a bottomless pit. The tiny Russian mathematician had an off-the-charts IQ and a not-so-secret crush on Mark.
Holding her shot glass, she stood up to her full height of five feet nothing and saluted; “To Mark!” Then downing the straight shot of Absolut vodka she favored, proceeded to drop herself onto his lap, wiggling her tiny butt to get more comfortable or perhaps stir something up.
Mark tensed. Wrapping his arm around her waist to steady her, he held her in place, preventing her from burrowing further.
The girl took it as a sign of encouragement. Turning to face him, she planted a wet kiss on his lips.
The guys went wild, whooping and whistling. “Svetlana! Svetlana! Svetlana!” They cheered her on.
Getting bold, she straddled him, took his cheeks in both hands, and licked his bottom lip with her small pink tongue, urging him to let her in.
Gently, not wishing to offend her, he pushed her away and rearranged her position so she remained seated only on one of his thighs. Holding on to her waist, he reached for his drink and saluted. “To the team!”
“To the team!” the guys shouted.
Dejected, Svetlana pushed up from his thigh, and the sad look she pinned on him made him wince.
It was a shame that she chose him as her object of desire. Any of the other guys would’ve loved for her to get frisky with them. Svetlana was a pretty little thing, with skin so white it seemed translucent, huge, pale blue eyes, and long, wavy, white-blond hair. She was just a kid, really, barely over the minimum drinking age.
Mark liked the girl, just not in the way she liked him.
Winking at her, he playfully smacked her butt. As he had intended, Svetlana perceived the gesture as him flirting back. Smiling, the hurt look gone from her big blue eyes, she turned and went back to her seat.
Mark exhaled quietly. Being gay wasn’t a big deal to anyone anymore, but he was a product of a different era and preferred to keep it private.
No one needed to know.
He didn’t flirt with other gays or go to gay bars. Instead, he’d found a lucrative escort service that provided partners to affluent men like himself. As these establishments went, it was discreet, costly, and offered a good selection of prime healthy studs.
For Mark, it was the perfect solution. He made shitloads of money he didn’t need; his shares in the family business were more than enough to keep him in style. So why not spend it on his insatiable appetite? Safely and prudently.
He even had a tryst scheduled for later tonight and needed to leave soon to get ready.
Mark was excited.
Jason’s web profile had been promising. The guy was young, handsome, and a student at Stanford, which promised he wouldn’t be a complete dolt. Mark had no patience with stupidity. To him, it was as big of a turn-off as an offensive body odor or a potbelly.
At nine o’clock, Mark excused himself claiming a headache. He left after a round of cheerful, drun
k hugs from his friends and a lingering one from Svetlana.
As he waited outside the club for the cab that would take him home, he sought to sober up in the night’s cool air. Except, his buzz was more about the thrill of anticipation than any lingering intoxication.
He got home with twenty minutes to spare—just enough time to grab a quick shower, decide on a flattering pair of slacks and a button-down shirt, and set his living room to the right atmosphere. His guest being a paid escort, the effort wasn’t necessary. Nevertheless, as this was the extent of his love life, Mark was determined to get the most out of it.
Thinking about the wicked seduction he had planned for tonight, Mark paced around his living room impatiently.
At the sound of a knock, he took a deep breath, and with a last quick glance at the mirror by the front door, hurried to open it for his guest.
The young man standing on his front porch looked nothing like the guy in the picture on the escort service’s website.
Mark’s neck tingled. Something was wrong.
“You’re not Jason,” he said, debating if he should slam the door in the guy’s face.
“Sorry, Jason could not make it tonight. I’m Gideon, his replacement.” The man forced a fake smile that did not reach his eyes.
Something was definitely off.
The guy was handsome enough; tall, with broad shoulders and muscular arms, but he wasn’t gay. Mark had centuries of experience and an innate sense about these things. He could sniff out a gay man from a mile away.
Gideon, if this was his real name, definitely wasn’t one.
There was something oddly familiar about the guy’s aggressive vibe, though, and Mark’s sensation of dread grew worse. A moment later, an adrenaline surge tightened his gut as he finally recognized it for what it was. His body’s natural alarm system had been triggered by the presence of another immortal male.
Except, this one wasn’t a member of his clan. And as the only other immortals Mark knew of were his clan’s mortal enemies—the Doomers—this man meant him harm.
