Therian Prisoner

by Cyndi Friberg

  Warm fingers curved around the back of her neck and gently massaged. She looked up and tried to smile at Ian. The expression felt more like a grimace.

  “You okay?” His gold-flecked gaze was warm and caressing, but worry thinned his lips.

  “I just want this over,” she whispered.

  “Understood.”

  Paul Garran pushed a cotton ball against her skin as he smoothly withdrew the needle. “Press down on this for me,” he instructed, and she complied. He disconnected the last vial from the butterfly needle, dropped the needle into a sharps container then reached for the piece of tape he’d stuck to the edge of the tray earlier. After taping the cotton ball in place, he bent her elbow to maintain pressure on the tiny wound. “Do you have any questions for me?” His gloves made a sharp snap as he pulled them off and tossed them in the trash can.

  With kind, dark eyes and slightly shaggy gray hair, Paul made the perfect country doctor. The clinic was quaint and soothing, obviously designed to put the patient at ease. A much larger research facility was in an adjacent building. The lights had been on, indicating activity, but Ian brought her directly to the clinic. There were two houses on the property as well. The Garran family had dedicated their lives to the Therian nation, so the networks made sure they had cutting-edge technology and a generous operating budget so they could continue their work.

  “I have plenty of questions. You just won’t have answers until you’ve had time to analyze all that.” She motioned toward the capped swabs and vials of blood on the tray beside him.

  “It’s our top priority.” He paused for a smile. “We’ve about run out of options with Dhane. We’re hoping the new data will shed some light on the mystery. You’re a very brave young woman. Tell your mother I said hi.” He gathered the samples and departed, leaving the door open behind him.

  “That was fun.” She picked up her purse and stood as she swung it onto her shoulder. “If I never see a doctor’s office again, it will be too soon.”

  Ian allowed her to brood as they drove back to the sanctuary, but he stopped her before they went inside. “If you want the bed to yourself tonight, I understand. But until we know who took Carly and why, I’m not leaving you alone.”

  “Suit yourself.” Devon shrugged and headed for the side door of the visitor center. Even as wonderful as sex was with Ian, she was in no mood for intimacies. All she wanted was to crawl between the sheets of her own bed and go to sleep.

  She lived above the classrooms, which were on the second floor of the visitor center. More or less a studio apartment, her bedroom was separated from the living area by an open archway. He preceded her up the stairs and checked each room, the windows and closets before he let her enter.

  “Paranoid much?” She dropped her purse onto a chair and kicked off her shoes. “We might not know who crashed through that window, but we know who sanctioned the smash and grab. We had one of the backers’ minions and they wanted her back. There is really no mystery here.”

  “I’m not convinced it had anything to do with the backers.” His features were tight, yet his expression concealed the direction of his thoughts.

  “So tell me about this silver-haired ghost.” She’d heard Ian’s description of the intruder, but Kyle had interrupted before she could ask Payne why he thought the intruder was a ghost. “What would she want with Carly?”

  His agitation grew, setting him in motion. He paced her small apartment, looking very much like one of the animals caged downstairs. “The woman I saw is dead, so it couldn’t have actually been her. I suspect it was a relation. Perhaps a daughter or granddaughter.”

  It was obvious he didn’t want to talk about the specter, which indicated that the memories were unpleasant. She didn’t have the energy to coax the details out of him, so she just asked, “And what would the daughter or granddaughter want with Carly?”

  “Information, same as us.” Ian’s phone vibrated and he pulled it from his pocket. After a couple of text exchanges, he said, “Payne needs me. We’ll be just downstairs.”

  Too tired to think up another sarcastic remark, she just waved him on.

  He took a step toward the door then stopped. “Let me have your keys. That way you can lock up and go to bed. I don’t think this will take long, but I don’t know what Eli found.”

  She dug her keys out of her purse and handed them to Ian. “How did Payne know we’d returned?”

  “He didn’t. His first message was asking our ETA.” He rotated the handle lock but told her to slide the deadbolt after he shut the door.

  The precautions still felt silly. She was just too tired to argue. After locking the door, she undressed in the bathroom and slipped on an oversized t-shirt. She scrubbed her face and brushed her teeth, then climbed into bed. She was about to turn off the lamp when she noticed one of the sacred journals on the corner of the nightstand. Her mother was the only one with a key to this apartment, but when had she placed it there?

  Curious by nature, Devon picked up the leather-bound volume and reverently opened it to the section marked with the connecting ribbon. Neat lines of English filled the page and Devon felt a pang of sadness. This wasn’t one of the actual journals. It was her mother’s translation of the sacred text. Teaching Devon the ancient language had been grueling and frustrating for them both, but Erin obviously doubted that Devon had retained the knowledge.

  She snapped the book closed and set it back on the nightstand as old resentments compounded her fatigue. Granted she hadn’t been the perfect student, but her mother was too quick to dismiss her accomplishments. Not only did she maintain a personal journal as her mother had always insisted she do, she recorded her thoughts, feelings and observations in the ancient language.

  Whatever her mother wanted to teach her would wait until tomorrow. With a frustrated sigh, she reached over and turned off the lamp.

  * * * * *

  Using her wings to redirect the moonlight away from her body, Zophiel cocooned herself in shadow. She perched on the roof of the visitor center and peered in through a small window. Devon was alone in the small bedroom, but for how long? None of these windows were large enough to wrestle a struggling woman through and, from everything Zophiel had been told, Devon was guaranteed to struggle.

  The raptor had just left but he couldn’t have gone far. No Therian male would leave his woman unprotected and their body language made it obvious they were a couple. Careful to keep herself concealed within the protection of her wings, Zophiel climbed down the side of the building. The windows on the ground floor were large enough for her purpose, but undoubtedly they were rigged with some sort of alarm. A surprise attack had worked for her once. It was unlikely she’d get away with it again.

  A light switched on in the back corner of the room, drawing Zophiel’s attention. The raptor used a keypad to deactivate the alarm then opened the back door. Rather than leaving, as Zophiel had expected, the raptor stepped aside so his visitor could enter the room.

  Zophiel narrowed her gaze on the newcomer as her heart lurched with disbelief. It couldn’t be, and yet she’d know that face anywhere. She’d seen those sculpted feature contorted in agony and watched as release clouded those amazing golden eyes. Payne. His name echoed through her mind and his head came up, his expression suddenly alert.

  She ducked to one side of the window and pressed back against the building. Why was he here? His pride was in Europe. No, an even better question was, why was he still alive? The average Therian lived one hundred and twenty-five years. He should have died decades ago.

  She heard the back door open and muffled voices. Damn it. She could not risk discovery, not by someone who knew all her secrets. With a frustrated curse, she unfolded her wings and stepped away from the building. She jumped into the air and propelled herself straight up, thankful for the cloud cover.

  Flapping her wings as hard and as fast as she could, she left the sanctuary far behind. This was a complication she didn’t need. Now she would have to find
a way of snatching Devon without being seen by Payne. Had the cougars called him in because of his connection to her? No. Payne believed she was dead. There was nothing to connect the person Payne knew with the person who’d abducted the human doctor. This was an unfortunate coincidence, nothing more.

  Zophiel’s emotions were still in turmoil as she landed in the park adjacent to the house she shared with Nehema. Pausing long enough to absorb her wings, Zophiel strode across the grass and headed straight for the front door. The door was locked, so Zophiel rang the bell, annoyed by Nehema’s paranoia.

  Nehema pulled open the door, her expression tense and troubled. “Where did you go? That woman has been wailing nonstop since you left.”

  “She’s gagged and the basement is insulated. How much noise can she make?”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Well, we’ve got a bigger problem than Carly Ides. Payne is at the sanctuary.”

  “Payne?” Confusion creased Nehema’s brow for a moment then her eyes widened and her lips formed a perfect O. “That’s not possible. Is it? It’s been much too long.”

  “I can’t explain how, but it was him.”

  Nehema shook her head and shoved both hands into the pockets of her fluffy blue robe. With her feet encased in matching slippers and her graying hair in disarray, Nehema looked every inch the suburban grandmother, not the driving force behind a paramilitary campaign intent on the destruction of Therian males. Zophiel was sick of the suburban grandmother. All the hand-wringing and continual complaints made Zophiel restless and edgy. If she couldn’t find a way to reenergize her sister’s ruthless huntress, it might be time to consider a separation.

  “If it was really Payne, we need to leave the state,” Nehema concluded. “Maybe go back to Canada for a while. Things are completely out of control.”

  “Not a chance.” Zophiel tossed her long silver braid over her shoulder and grinned. “Things are just getting interesting.”

  Fear darkened Nehema’s green eyes, making them appear almost brown. “I don’t think I can go through it again. The last time you gave in to your dark side, it cost us both dearly. I know you can’t change who you are, but you don’t have to be controlled by his impulses.”

  “Go ahead. Say it.” She narrowed her gaze as she slowly crossed the room. “I don’t have to act like a demon just because I was sired by one.”

  Nehema licked her lips and began a subtle retreat. “We both have something dark inside us. I fight my animal nature every hour of every day. I know you can find the strength to do the same.”

  “But that’s the difference between you and me. I don’t want to fight my ‘dark side’. I embrace it and allow it to empower me.”

  “It’s sinful. It’s evil.” Nehema began her familiar tirade. “Each time you abandon yourself to that darkness a piece of your true self dies.”

  “But what if the darkness is my true self? After all, I have a Therian nature from our mother as well as my father’s demonic legacy. It’s simple mathematics. I’m more evil than good.”

  The color drained from Nehema’s face and she pressed her hand against her throat. “Don’t say such things. They’re blasphemous. Mother was innocent. She was brutalized by a being from the pit of hell and she—”

  “That’s your story, not hers. She was seduced by a demon. That much is irrefutable, but he didn’t brutalize her. In fact she sneaked away to be with him several times before I was conceived.”

  Nehema put her hands over her ears and shook her head. “I will not listen to these lies. Mother was blinded by his evil magic. She didn’t realize she’d been deceived until it was too late.”

  This was an old argument, one that no longer held any appeal for Zophiel. “Believe what you like. I know the truth. Denying my demonic nature is as pointless as you denying you’re Therian.”

  “I am not Therian.” Nehema suddenly straightened and indignation brightened her eyes. “I have never intentionally transformed, therefore I am still human.”

  Zophiel rubbed the back of her neck. She’d heard the denial so often she should be used to it, but annoyance turned to irritation and finally cold determination spread through her entire body. “Humans don’t live for a hundred and seventy-five years.”

  Nehema’s chin came up and she glared at Zophiel. “Perhaps my life has been expanded until I accomplish my goal. I have never been this close before. Once the backers determine how transformation occurs, the genetic mutation can be reversed. The curse will be broken and future generations will be free to live as they were meant to live.”

  “There are two gaping holes in your objective.” She held up her index finger. “One, Therians don’t want to be ‘cured’ and two,” she held up her middle finger, “the backers want to control transformation, not suppress it.”

  “At some point they will have to suppress it.” Nehema tossed her head, sending her hair cascading over her shoulders. She hadn’t looked this animated in months. Zophiel should have provoked her sooner. “Any weapon is most effective when you have exclusive control over it.”

  “Have you really thought about what that means?” She paused, hoping her sister would accept the inevitable conclusion. When Nehema’s expression remained defiant, Zophiel spelled it out. “At some point the backers will take control of you.”

  “I’m not Therian! I am no threat to them.”

  Zophiel grabbed Nehema’s upper arm and dragged her into the kitchen. “I think it’s time you find out a little more about your precious backers. Milliner and Osric have convinced you that their goals are not that different from yours, but you’ve been deceived.”

  “I’m not stupid.” Nehema tugged against her hold, but Zophiel was stronger. “I know what they’re trying to accomplish and I’ll only allow things to progress so far. Once they’ve unlocked the genetic strain that controls transformation, I’ll take control of the project.”

  “You’re a fool. They’ve been able to control transformation for years.” Zophiel unlocked the basement door then headed down the stairs, dragging Nehema behind her. Carly came alive as soon as she saw the sisters. The doctor tugged against her bonds and begged to be released. At least that’s what Zophiel presumed she was saying. Carly’s words were hopelessly garbled by the gag.

  She’ll blame it all on the backers, but my research is clear. Carly Ides was not only the driving force behind many of their advancements, she was their willing spy.

  Nehema glared at her but didn’t reply.

  Positioning Nehema directly in front of Carly, Zophiel finally let her sister go. Nehema glanced toward the stairs then heaved a sigh and turned back to the human. “Remove her gag, so I can question her.”

  Zophiel moved behind Carly and loosened the gag. “Answer her questions truthfully or we’ll pick up where I left off.”

  “I told you everything you wanted to know. You promised to release me. Why am I still your prisoner?”

  Nehema ignored the human’s outburst and began her interrogation. “Can the backers control a Therian’s ability to shift?”

  After a frustrated sigh, Carly said, “It depends on what you mean by control. They can trigger the change or prevent the transformation from being reversed, but they have no influence over what form is manifested.”

  “Can they enable a human to shift?”

  Carly shook her head. “Not yet. Therians are a separate species. The genetic differences are still vast.”

  They’d be here all night if she waited for Nehema to ask the right questions. “Tell my sister about the gen three serum.”

  Nehema paused for another glare then looked back at the doctor, expectation clear in her expression.

  “We realized the gen two formula had triggered the acquisition phase of Devon’s cycle, but the effects wore off as soon as she—”

  “Acquisition phase?” Nehema looked at Zophiel and asked, “What is she talking about?”

  “They’ve identified two separate biological cycles that result in t
he same symptoms. Therians think it’s all reproductive heat, but when a female is undefined, what actually takes place in her body is very different. Rather than trying to attract the best father for her children, a latent female is trying to locate the strongest nature to incorporate into her own being.”

  “What does this have to do with Devon?”

  Rather than allow the human to ramble through endless medical terms, Zophiel cut to the heart of the matter. “If gen three works the way it’s supposed to, Devon will be able to absorb as many animal natures as she wants. She’ll remain in acquisition mode until she’s given the counteragent to the gen three serum.”

  “They’ve created an Omni Prime?” Nehema finally sounded appropriately shocked. Her hand pressed over her mouth as she glanced into the distance.

  “The formula was given to eleven undefined females. Devon was the only one who survived.” The warning in Carly’s tone was unmistakable. “The formula is still extremely volatile.”

  Zophiel looked from Nehema to Carly and back. The Omni Prime had never seemed real to Nehema or Zophiel. There were even whispers that the famed power resided in their bloodline. They’d heard stories of past glory and undeveloped potential, but gossip was easily dismissed when there was no actual evidence to back up the claims.

  Had these foolish humans stumbled upon a way to unlock the legendary power?

  Dragging her gaze back to Carly, Nehema asked, “Where is this counteragent?”

  Of course that would be Nehema’s first question. She skimmed right over the incredible possibilities and wanted to shut it down. Zophiel wanted to shake her. How could anyone be so myopic?

  “The cats have it,” Carly told Nehema. “They just don’t know what they have.”