He walked down the long corridor and opened the door to the primate area. Large sums of money had gone into its creation. Boomer had never intended to house any primates. He’d set up the facility at first for large cats only, but there were so many animals in need that he couldn’t say no.
He didn’t mind. He had amassed more money than he could think to spend even with being immortal. The money was well spent helping animals, and that brought him joy. He’d only just found homes for all the primates, save one—a relative newcomer to the facility and one that would more than likely call the place home for good.
The moment Boomer’s thick-soled boots touched the ground within the primate room, he knew he was being stalked.
Hunted.
Watched from above.
None of Boomer’s inborn shifter traits kicked in, for they weren’t needed. The threat was hardly a real threat, though the little guy liked to believe he was fierce. Boomer pretended not to notice the slight movement in one of the trees to his side. The predator, if he dared to even call him that, was a chimpanzee Boomer had helped rescue from a testing facility not long back. Lil’ Duke, as they’d taken to calling the chimp, slinked his way along the branches of the trees inside the habitat, being extra quiet.
It had become a game of sorts with Boomer and the chimp. As the chimp neared him, Boomer couldn’t hide his smile. The chimp launched himself at Boomer, and he twisted, catching Lil’ Duke in his arms and spinning with him, laughing as he did.
The chimp shook his head as if upset he wasn’t able to get the jump on Boomer. “Maybe next time,” said Boomer, easing the chimp to the ground. “You nearly got me.”
Placing his small hand into Boomer’s much larger one, Lil’ Duke tugged, pulling Boomer in the direction of a playroom. In it was a collection of toys and clothing in which Lil’ Duke enjoyed playing dress up.
“Come on. I’ll play with you for just a bit,” he said. “The guys are coming over. It’s cards night.”
The chimp blew raspberries, making him laugh. The little chimp didn’t like card night and Boomer knew as much. It generally meant he had to go to his habitat and play by himself. Something he didn’t much care for.
“I know, I know, but it’s my turn to host,” said Boomer, winking. “And if I didn’t host then Duke would have to, and then I’d have to eat Mercy’s cooking. That woman cannot cook. She should be banned from kitchens forever. Remember the pie you ate? She baked it.”
At the mention of the pie he’d gorged himself on and then become violently ill, Lil’ Duke touched his stomach and rocked as if he might be sick—again.
“Yeah. See?” laughed Boomer. “Best I host tonight, buddy.”
Chapter Two
Haven Carey placed climbing rope onto the counter of the hardware store that still seemed to be doing well despite the fact she’d driven past a big box store just a few miles south. The place had old-town charm. She liked that. The counter itself once had a company logo on it, but it had long since worn away, now so smooth she wasn’t sure how her items didn’t slide off. A glass jar sat to the right of the register, and on it was a printed picture of a dog that needed some surgery. The owner was asking for donations. She had a huge soft spot for animals. Heck, she’d been dedicating her life to them before everything happened.
It all seemed like another life. Years ago. In reality, it had been weeks.
She shoved a five-dollar bill through the slit cut into the plastic lid and then set about placing another item on to the counter. The urge to donate more was there, but she couldn’t. Not right now. She was living on very little cash and her bill there would already be high enough. Stealing wasn’t an option for her. She’d already crossed enough lines. She wouldn’t cross that one too.
Not yet anyway.
Glancing around, Haven noticed details about the store others probably didn’t. For a hardware store, it needed its fair share of repairs. There was a leaky spot on the roof that had yellowed one of the drop tiles on the ceiling, and two of the shelving units appeared to have had better days. None of it took away from the charm. If circumstances were different, she’d probably want to settle in the tiny town. Call it home even.
She waited patiently as the man behind the counter rang up her items. He turned over the small fire-starting kit she was buying. It would be handier than matches. When matches got wet they were useless, and she didn’t feel much like spending another night in the cold.
Fire was a must.
She was already so cold all the time. At times, she felt like she’d do anything to stay warm, but nothing really worked anymore.
The man behind the counter picked up a large hunting knife and rang it up next, his eyebrow rising slightly. It must look like she was either going hiking in the deep wilderness for the next several weeks or she was a homicidal maniac who was about to go on a killing spree. Sadly, neither would be too far off the mark. She fidgeted slightly, uneasy about why she truly was making the purchases.
The older gentlemen glanced over the rim of his wire glasses, a question forming in his gaze. Haven prepared herself, ready to spew forth any lie necessary. He lifted an arrow and checked the price tag. “Going camping and hunting?”
“Yep,” she said, knowing it was best to stick as close to the truth as possible. Lies worked better that way. And she’d told her fair share of those in her lifetime. They’d started when she was barely in her teens, and hadn’t ended yet. Maybe they never would. Telling the man that she was currently living off the grid in hopes of exacting revenge on the men who killed her brother wasn’t an option. Though she imagined he got his fair share of off-the-grid nut jobs passing through.
She was just hoping to avoid being lumped in with them. She also didn’t need the authorities brought in. Too many questions. Not enough viable answers.
She’d spend some time in jail, for sure. Then she would spend time on a slab being examined for being a freak of nature.
The man rang up her rope and then the box of ammunition. “Looks like you’re expecting big game?”
“Oh yeah,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. If she commented too much, her anger would take over. She couldn’t have that. Rage was her personal demon. Once it had hold of her it was difficult to find herself again. And Haven didn’t much care for whatever it was she carried deep within her. If she ever let it free, she worried it would go on a killing rampage. One she’d never pull back from. “Really big game.”
“Don’t get too many ladies coming through here wanting to hunt and camp,” said the man, ringing up another item. “It’s refreshing. Good character building. If I was forty years younger, I’d ask you out proper. You’re one heck of a catch.”
She couldn’t hide her smile. He was sweet. But if he knew what she really needed the gear for, he’d never sell it to her. First, he’d call the police, and then when he heard the whole story, he’d probably close up shop, get out of town and enter survival mode. It’s what most humans would do.
If they were smart.
Monsters were real.
She was living proof of that.
Haven stiffened, remembering the look of fear and horror on the faces of her adoptive parents when her brother had first shown he was something more than human. When he’d lost control and shifted into a huge wolf in their living room right before leaping through the picture window and taking off into the night. She would never forget their expressions. Never forget the smell of their fear as it rolled off them in waves. Worse than that, her own confusion over it all. Her own shock and horror. The guilt rode her to this very day.
Adopted at the age of four to the loving young couple who desperately wanted children, Haven and her brother, and fraternal twin, Harper, had been spoiled to near rotten status. They’d been inseparable, and until their teens one would not be found without the other close by. They were loved and cared for, and couldn’t have asked for a more storybook upbringing. But all that changed when they entered puberty. They’d had so
many more issues than simple teenage hormones and the birds and bees.
Life would have been so simple if they’d only had to contend with pimples and the addition of body hair. Normal kids didn’t know how lucky they had it, how easy that transitional period was for them. Normal kids had no worries about claws erecting at random from their fingertips. About sprouting fangs. About turning into an animal with no real understanding of how or why. And they didn’t have to look at those who loved them and know they were a letdown and, more importantly, that the people who swore to love them and care for them were terrified of them.
Worse than that, normal kids didn’t make phone calls home, begging their sisters to come for them because when they returned to human form they were covered in someone else’s blood—sure they’d done the unthinkable.
Taken a human life.
Haven nearly choked up, thinking about Harper and how hard it had all been on him. She’d not had it that bad. Not even close. Yes, she was more than human, but she’d never fully shifted forms into that of an animal. She’d never lost control and killed someone. She’d been close, but stopped before going too far. Harper couldn’t say the same.
“But you’re going to now,” she said, before glancing at the man at the register and smiling.
He looked confused. “Ma’am?”
“Sorry. Thinking out loud.”
He winked. “I do that often myself. Got your total for you. Will that be cash or charge?”
“Cash,” she answered, knowing that in order to stay off the grid she couldn’t leave a paper trail. “Thank you for your help.”
“My pleasure. Would you like help out to your car with it all?”
“I think I’ve got it, but thanks.” She paid the man and then grabbed her bags. As she headed for the door, her inner alarms went off, alerting her to a danger near her. She pushed the door open and the bell chimed at the same moment she caught a familiar scent.
“Gotcha,” she said with a slight smile that faded fast as the noonday sun found her. She flinched, the bite of it making her step back into the comfort of the overhang shading the store. Her hands were full so she couldn’t grab her sunglasses and put them on to help ease some of the sting.
Sheer will and determination forced her to put one foot in front of the other as she made her way in the direction of her car, pausing only when the familiar scent intensified. She looked across the street and spotted a tall, redheaded man there, wearing a kilt and biker boots. The t-shirt he had on read Want to see what’s under my kilt? Ask.
She groaned. Men were such idiots. She’d been following this particular idiot around for the past few days and already had a pretty good idea of just how much of a ladies man he was. The tall, dark-haired one who was with him was a new addition. She’d not seen him before, but his surly expression meant she’d heard of him—he had to be the grumpy one she’d been told of. Heard of how lethal he could be.
How lethal they all could be.
They were stone-cold killers and they were going to pay for taking Harper’s life. Pay for what they’d done to him. Had she not been holding two large bags, she might have given in and touched her stomach, the visions of the horrors she’d found when searching for her brother all coming back at her hard. Even the sun couldn’t burn them away from her.
They’d butchered him.
Sick bastards.
She’d kill them here and now, but she needed them to lead her to the one with the piercings. The one the anonymous tipster had told her about. The Goth, punk-looking one. He was the one who had delivered the killing blow to Harper. And he was the one who would pay first. She was ready now. She had all the supplies she needed to track and wait them all out indefinitely if need be. There would be no rest for her. Not until they all answered for their crimes.
Haven watched as three men—the redhead, a blond with pink ends, and the surly-looking man with dark brown hair—all entered a liquor store. She hurried to her tiny beater of a car and loaded in the supplies she’d need. Then she climbed in the driver’s side, pushed her sunglasses on, flipped the visor to protect her more from the sun’s rays, and then she waited, watching the liquor store through her rearview mirror. She’d follow them to wherever they were headed, and if possible she’d make her move tonight, to hell with tracking them longer and getting to know her enemy better.
She clutched the steering wheel and it made a strange cracking noise. She stiffened and glanced up in the rearview mirror, paying attention to her reflection. With slow movements she eased her sunglasses down.
“Shit,” she murmured, noting that her normal dark brown eyes were now icy blue. A sign she was losing control. The next step would be black. And when they turned black that meant she had lost all control. Several long, deep breaths later and her eyes flickered before returning to normal. She glanced around, nervous someone may have noticed.
No one seemed to.
She had to shift on her seat, away from the window, as the sun moved her way, shining in on her. It seemed like forever ago when she’d had no issues with the sun. No problems with her eyes burning and her skin feeling as though it was just this side of igniting in full sun exposure. She never used to get a sunburn with only about ten minutes of exposure to full light. Now no sunscreen helped. Only fully clothing herself with long sleeves and pants or full skirts and sunglasses seemed to ease it somewhat.
She stiffened as she thought of Harper. He’d never suffered like she did with the sun. He seemed to relish the light—always wanting to be in it. Lowering her head, she held in the tears wanting to come for him. For what they’d had. They’d been each other’s everything and now he was gone.
Ripped away by monsters.
The monsters in question exited the store and Haven had to force herself to remain calm. The urge to run up to them and start pummeling on them was overwhelming. All the rage and anger she’d been holding in since she’d learned of Harper’s passing was coming to a head and fast.
“Deep breaths and wait,” she said to herself. “You want the Goth one first.”
They entered a large black SUV and pulled away. She waited long enough to avoid looking obvious and then pulled out, following a safe distance behind them. For elite super soldiers, they hadn’t noticed her yet and if they had, they hadn’t let on.
Maybe it was a trap. She didn’t care. All she wanted was a chance at avenging her brother’s death. And tonight she’d take it. The sun was setting fast and soon darkness would fall. She’d use it to her advantage.
Chapter Three
“Is it done?” asked Pierre, or Master, as he demanded all save Thor call him, his voice loud and bringing with it a pull that commanded attention and obedience, something all who served him were eager to do. Well, almost all. Thor had been struggling with as much for some time now.
Silently.
Pierre stepped out from behind his large cherry desk and smoothed the front of his smoking jacket, concerned, as always, about his appearance. He moved straight for Thor and then stood within touching distance. “Thor, you have quickly become one of my favorites.”
Thor fought the urge to recoil as the master’s hand brushed through his hair. He loved the master. All did. Why was it he wanted to leap back? Why did he want to avoid contact? Was he broken? Was he one of the defective models? Panic welled in him. He was a general in the fight against those in the wrong. Those who were trying to stop the rise of the superior race—supernaturals. He couldn’t be defective. Could he?
Pierre stepped closer, his breath moving over Thor’s cheek. “Such a prize. What a beautiful man you are. Tall, strong and blond. You are indeed a Thor if ever I created one. You might be my finest one to date. Remind me to thank Krauss for seeing to it I received you. I had no idea he would bestow such a gift upon me for my assistance in his workings.”
I am not a gift to anyone, asshole, Thor thought, and then gasped at the near outburst. To voice such a thing would be a death sentence—if he were lucky. Torture, if he
wasn’t. Still, the rage built at a rate Thor wasn’t sure he could contain. He had to fight to keep his claws from erecting from his fingertips. The urge to slice through the master’s jugular was nearly all-consuming. He had to squeeze his hands, his nails biting into his flesh as every primal instinct he had screamed at him to lunge, to attack, to show no mercy.
No!
He tore his gaze from the master and fought to calm his breathing. He would not hurt the one who had given him new life. Who had saved him from those who would kill them all. The Immortal Ops and the PSI-Ops—they all were the enemy. Each and every one of them. They wanted to kill supernaturals and let human filth rule the world.
That could never be.
Humans were like locusts, covering the earth in numbers it could not sustain, and giving nothing back. They were takers and users. Their time was drawing to an end, they just didn’t realize it. They weren’t smart enough.
“Thor, I asked you a question,” said Master, a curious look in his cold gaze. Did he know what Thor had been thinking? Could the master read it on his face? “Is it done?”
“It is,” responded Thor, keeping his voice even. He had overseen the request himself, though he didn’t understand the master’s obsession with the woman they’d been sent to warn of danger and then turn to their cause. For nearly two months Master had ordered Thor to look in on the woman, call her, feed her information on the enemy. She had soaked it up because she had lost all hope, something Thor found himself sympathizing with at times. He never voiced as much. That, combined with his new need to recoil from Master, was a dangerous combination. He was to be a good soldier, obey and follow orders, not think for himself. He’d seen others do as much in his time with Master and it ended horribly for them.
Act of Submission Page 2
