B*E*A*S*T* of Burden

by Rebecca Goings

  "Easy, baby,” Noah said, descending the stairs behind her. “You'll make Marlie jealous."

  Lanie's eyes twinkled. “Ooh, Marlie! Where's your wife? I want to meet her."

  Rogan opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, he heard Marlie's gentle voice behind him.

  "I'm right here."

  Turning to look at her, he saw her standing near the back door with Wade, and he could tell she was avoiding his eyes.

  Lanie walked over to her, holding out her hand. “It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Noah's mate, Lanie Erickson."

  Marlie took her hand with a smile. “I'm Marlie Sil—Wolfe. Marlie Wolfe."

  Her use of his last name wasn't lost on Rogan, and his eyes widened. She'd just used his name! Perhaps she really did care about him. But he didn't have long to think on it before Noah was talking again.

  "Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm starving!” he exclaimed, clapping Rogan on the shoulder as he eased into the kitchen. Looking over Jet's shoulder, he said, “So ... what's the ETA?"

  "About five minutes."

  "Good. Any longer than that, and I'm risking an ulcer."

  Rogan watched out of the corner of his eye as one of the shifters introduced himself to Marlie.

  "My name is Jason,” he said with a grin.

  "Marlie,” she replied, shaking his hand politely.

  The man was taking too long to pull away, and Rogan growled as he walked over to them. “The name's Rogan,” he said, stepping between them. “I see you've met my wife."

  Jason nodded and chuckled. “Indeed I did. You're a lucky man."

  Looking behind him, Rogan caught Marlie's eye. “Yes, I am."

  "Breakfast!” Noah's loud bellow echoed throughout the house. “Who's gonna take Luke's plate?"

  "Who's Luke?” Rogan asked.

  "Our scientist friend."

  "I'll do it,” Rogan said, holding out his hand for the plate. “I knew a lot of B*E*A*S*T*'s scientists when I worked with Tam. I want to meet this guy."

  Noah shrugged. “Be my guest."

  * * * *

  When Rogan reached the top of the stairs, he came face to face with the shifter guarding the door to the master bedroom.

  "Oh, thank God,” the man said with a wide grin. “I thought I was going to die from hunger. You must be Rogan."

  "That's right."

  "Name's Tyler. Nice to finally meet you. I've heard so much."

  Rogan grinned. “Go on down. There's plenty of food for everyone. I'll watch this guy for a little while."

  "Thanks!” Tyler said, bounding down the steps.

  Once he was out of sight, Rogan knocked on the door and called out, “Breakfast!"

  "Come in."

  Testing the knob, Rogan found it unlocked and opened the door. The room was dark because the plywood on the windows didn't let in too much sunlight. A small lamp was lit as a man sat on an unmade, king-sized bed reading a book.

  "Ah, wonderful. I could smell the bacon and my mouth was watering."

  Once Rogan got a good look at the man's bespectacled face, his blood ran cold. This wasn't just some random scientist from B*E*A*S*T* sitting before him—it was Dr. Lucian Carver, the very man who'd given Tam his orders to kill Noah at any cost.

  "Jesus Christ,” Rogan whispered, amazed that he hadn't dropped the plate in his hand.

  "Not quite, Rogan,” Lucian said with a smirk, putting the book down on his lap. “I was wondering if I'd finally meet up with someone I knew from the agency."

  "What the hell are you doing here?"

  "Can't you see? I'm reading."

  "You know what I mean.” Rogan's eyes flashed, and he could feel his skin itching. It was all he could do to hold back the wolf that wanted to emerge and rip out Lucian's throat.

  "Well, I couldn't just let a bunch of rogue shifters kill me in the Colorado wilderness, now could I? I had to think of some kind of story they would believe."

  "You son of a bitch. How can you sit there so damn smug, knowing exactly what you put these men through?"

  "What you don't seem to understand, Rogan, is the fact that I created you. I created them. I created every shifter at B*E*A*S*T*, therefore I am your God, if you will. All I need to do is bide my time and the tide will turn."

  "God my ass!” Rogan exclaimed, throwing the plate of food against the wall so hard it shattered into pieces. “What the hell is preventing me from shifting right now and killing you where you sit?"

  "I don't know. What is preventing you?"

  Rogan knew the man was taunting him. Every nerve ending in his body prickled—screaming, pleading, demanding that he shift and end Lucian's pathetic life. But the same doubt that had prevented him from killing Sean held him back now. He was not a killer. He hadn't let B*E*A*S*T* turn him into one, and he'd be damned if he would turn himself into one.

  "I'm not like you,” Rogan spat, stepping closer to the bed. “I'm not a killer."

  "Oh, I beg to differ,” Lucian said, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the edge of the bed sheet.

  The man wasn't even breaking a sweat, and Rogan realized his scent was calm as well. He wasn't intimidated in the least.

  "You've killed plenty of times, Rogan. You just don't want to remember it."

  "You're lying."

  "No, I'm not. We pitted you against Sean, and that's the fight we let you remember. But there were others, Rogan. Other fights that you don't remember because we wiped them from your memory. Oh, you're a killer all right, Wolfe. Cold-blooded and ruthless."

  Tears blurred Rogan's vision as his temper rose. “You're a liar."

  "Am I? Can you prove it?"

  Rogan ran both hands through his hair. He couldn't. There was no way he could refute Lucian's words. Thinking back to his time with B*E*A*S*T*, he couldn't remember a damn thing that would lend proof to what he'd just been told.

  "No,” he finally said through gritted teeth.

  Lucian chuckled. “So much hate inside of you. You're trembling with it, aren't you? But I know something you don't know, Number 105."

  "What's that?” Rogan asked, taking another step forward. One more step and he'd be able to pounce on the scientist and end this right here and now.

  "When we brainwashed you—all of you—we implanted a safe word within your brain. All I have to do is utter it, and you'll be in a catatonic state. And you can't do a damned thing about it. Why do you think I'm not afraid of any of you? I could have escaped whenever I wanted."

  The tears in Rogan's eyes finally spilled over as the implication of what Lucian had just said hit him like a ton of bricks. “Then why didn't you escape, you bastard?"

  "Who could pass up the opportunity to reunite the three shifters who infiltrated and destroyed the B*E*A*S*T* compound? I have you all under one roof now. All I have to do is say the word, and I could kill you all myself."

  "I dare you to do it, old man,” Rogan said, feeling cocky despite the situation. “I think you're bluffing."

  Lucian grinned. It was the last thing Rogan remembered.

  Twenty Eight

  Lucian chuckled to himself. The wolf stood stock still, staring straight ahead with his eyes glazed over. Lucian couldn't help but pat himself on the back for a job well done. The safe word had been his idea, and the proof that it still worked was standing right in front of him.

  Of course, Covington had no idea Lucian had programmed the shifters with a safe word. Lucian wasn't so ignorant that he didn't know Covington planned to pull the research out from under him once the final tests had been made. The senator wanted the shifters to be America's new defense system, capable of infiltrating enemy countries and assassinating leaders and politicians as he saw fit.

  But Lucian had a different vision for the shifters of B*E*A*S*T*. Bank robbers. Bodyguards. Terrorists. Assassins. Any agenda he could think of could be carried out with the monsters Lucian himself had created. Covington dreamed of ultimate power and ruling through fear. Lucian's dream was
n't nearly as ambitious, but he did see a bright and wealthy future ahead of him. Imagine what other countries would pay for the shifters! The possibilities were endless.

  No, Covington could never know about the safe word. If he ever found out, he'd do away with Lucian in a heartbeat. Even when the compound in Colorado had been falling down around his ears, Lucian hadn't used his ace in the hole so as to keep it a secret from Covington. Revealing it would have put Lucian's life in much more danger than it was in from the shifters.

  And actually, the coup in Colorado had actually helped his cause. Ever since, Covington had been preoccupied with finding and eliminating the escaped shifters before things got out of hand, and that meant Lucian would be able to take over the other three compounds without Clive Covington even noticing. Lucian looked forward to the day when he could wrestle the agency from Covington's grasp—with an army of loyal shifters behind him.

  But for now, he needed to call Covington and let him know where he was. The old man was probably pissed beyond measure, and now was not the time to enact his plan anyway. Lucian needed to play along awhile longer, until the time was right.

  He dug his hand into the pocket of Rogan's jeans. Once his fingers brushed Rogan's cell phone, he pulled it out and grinned from ear to ear as he flipped it open. He dialed Covington's number and listened while it rang once, then twice.

  "Covington,” came the irritated voice on the other end.

  "Clive, you will not believe where I am or who I've got with me,” Lucian said, still grinning.

  "Carver? Is that you?"

  "Indeed it is."

  "Where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you for weeks. Do you know the kind of money I've wasted trying to find you?"

  "I'm sorry I couldn't contact you before now, but my plan has finally come full circle."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "I've got them, Clive. All three of them. Together under one roof."

  Silence answered him. Then, “You have ALL of them?"

  "Yes!” Lucian scratched the top of his head as he paced, pushing his round glasses back up his nose. “Rogan, Noah, and Wade."

  Covington began to laugh. “Christ, Carver. Where are you?"

  "Portland."

  "Oregon?"

  "Right on the Columbia River. I can even give you directions."

  "Excellent. Carver, I don't want you to do a thing, just get the hell out of there. I'm going to send Sean to deal with them. You hear me?"

  "Loud and clear."

  "I knew you wouldn't disappoint me."

  "Does this mean I get a raise?"

  Covington chuckled humorlessly into the phone. “That's up to Sean."

  * * * *

  Sean was livid. He'd scoured Anchorage high and low for the past few days, and still no sign of the damned traitors. Their trail hadn't just turned cold, it had frozen solid.

  "Shit!” he yelled, tossing the television in his motel room to the floor. He tried hard to get a rein on his raging emotions. If he didn't find Rogan soon, Covington was going to have him killed, no doubt about it. Then he would be on the run from that asshole.

  Sean hadn't gotten any sleep the night before, choosing instead to see if Rogan and his ilk were emerging at nighttime to throw him off the scent. Still there was nothing—no leads, no black Hummer, nothing that could possibly lead Sean to them. They must have left the city.

  After the serum had worn off a few days ago, Sean had been able to return to his human form and dress quickly just as a car had approached him on Glenn Highway. After flagging down the car, he'd posed as a stranded motorist until the driver had emerged from his car, then he'd killed the man, satiating his growling belly with the warm, delicate meat of the man's bowels. Even thinking of it now had his stomach rumbling. More and more it seemed as if normal food didn't satisfy him. He wanted to eat fresh, raw meat. As often as he could.

  Once he'd eaten his fill, he'd climbed into the car and driven to the city of Anchorage not too far away, getting himself a motel room and frustrating the shit out of himself. Why couldn't he find that damned wolf?

  Sean's cell phone rang, and the LCD panel told him it was Covington. With a sigh, he contemplated letting it go to voicemail, but he knew that'd only piss off the old man even more. And he didn't need any more heat on his tail.

  Flipping the phone open, he merely uttered, “Yeah?"

  "Sean, get your ass on the next flight out to Portland."

  That shocked the shit out of him. “What for?"

  "Have you wondered why you can't find Rogan in Alaska?” Covington asked sarcastically. “It's because he and Wade fled to Portland, Oregon when you weren't looking. So get on a damned plane and don't fail me this time. Do you have a pen?"

  Sean's mind raced. Portland? The bastard had fled to Portland? What the bloody hell? Stumbling to the end table by the bed, Sean grabbed a pen and ripped off the back cover of the nearby phone book.

  "Okay, I have a pen."

  "They're in a house right on the Columbia River..."

  As Sean wrote down the directions, he wondered how in God's name Covington had gotten his intel, but he didn't question it. Once he hung up the phone, he marched out of the motel room and didn't look back.

  He had a score to settle, and it was high time he settled it once and for all.

  Twenty Nine

  When Rogan came to, he was standing in the middle of an empty room. The loud shriek of the smoke detector pierced his ears, and he had to cover them for fear of going deaf. What the hell just happened? His brain was so foggy he couldn't quite get his bearings. He'd been talking to someone ... but who?

  The scent of something burning wafted to him, and he raced out of the room to see the hallway filled with white smoke. Bounding down the stairs, Rogan was greeted by a strange scene. Every single shifter was frozen—some standing, others sitting, but all of them doing absolutely nothing but staring straight ahead.

  The smoke was coming from the bacon burning on the stove. Rogan dashed into the kitchen, pushing a frozen Jet out of the way to dump the bacon into the sink. Once Jet hit the counter on the other side of the kitchen, he came to his senses, covering his own ears.

  "What the hell happened?” he shouted.

  "I don't know, but go stop that damned noise!” Rogan looked around frantically for his wife. She wasn't in the kitchen or the dining room, but once he rounded the couch to the living room, he found both Marlie and Lanie, out cold on the floor. A small pool of dried blood was underneath Marlie's head.

  "Marlie!” he shouted, grabbing her shoulders and shaking her. “Marlie, sweetheart. Can you hear me?"

  She moaned, and her eyes fluttered just as the smoke detector stopped it's shrieking. The other shifters began to come to at that moment, and Noah stumbled out of his chair.

  "Lanie?” he called out.

  "She's over here, Tiger,” Rogan said, pulling his wife into his arms.

  "Shit! Lanie, are you all right?” Noah dropped to his knees beside Rogan. “What happened?"

  "I don't know,” Rogan said, inspecting Marlie's head.

  She groaned but opened her eyes and whispered, “Rogan?"

  "Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

  "My head ... aches.” She reached up with her hand, but Rogan stopped her.

  "Don't touch it, honey. You've got a gash. I'll have to see if you need stitches."

  "Are you all right?” she asked, her face grimacing with pain.

  Rogan's heart twisted inside of him. She was the one wounded and still she asked about him. “Yeah, I'm fine, Marlie. I'm fine if you are."

  He pulled her close and hugged her, kissing the top of her head gently. He shuddered to think what he would have done if she'd really been hurt.

  "What happened?” she asked.

  Rogan looked at Noah cradling Lanie in much the same way. She seemed to have a headache as well but was none the worse for wear. Suddenly, Rogan remembered the last thing that had
happened before he'd blanked out.

  "Noah, you're not going to believe this,” he said.

  "What?"

  "The man you had upstairs—the scientist. His name's not Luke. It's Lucian—Dr. Lucian Carver. He was the man who gave Tam his orders to kill you."

  "What the f—?” Noah's eyes flashed, and Rogan could smell his sudden anger. “I'm going to kill him!"

  He moved as if to stand, but Rogan's hand on his arm stopped him. “Won't do you any good to go up there. He's gone."

  "Gone? What do you mean gone?"

  "I mean he's gone, Noah!” Rogan exclaimed. “I went in there to give him his breakfast, and I recognized him. Then he began spouting stories about some kind of ‘safe word’ he could utter that would make the shifters go into a catatonic state. I think from what we just witnessed, he was telling me the truth."

  "Holy shit!"

  "It gets worse,” Rogan went on. “His plan was to get us all under one roof again. He's escaped, and my hunch is he's alerted the big wigs behind B*E*A*S*T* as to where we are."

  Marlie clutched Rogan's shirt with a vengeance. “You mean we've got to run again?"

  He glanced at her and his gaze softened. “I don't know what else to do."

  "Is it ever going to end?” she asked.

  "Not as long as the bad guys are after us.” He felt her shiver in his arms. “But for now, we're going to get you looked after. You got a first aid kit around here, Tiger?"

  "In the bathroom.” Noah replied.

  Rogan scooped Marlie into his arms and walked with her down the hall.

  "My head is spinning,” she said.

  "I know,” he whispered, lowering her to sit on the lid of the toilet. “That bastard probably hit you with something to knock you out since the safe word wouldn't have worked on you and Lanie. Do you remember anything?"

  Marlie shook her head then sucked in her breath between her teeth at the motion. “No. Just a blinding pain and then darkness."

  With a sigh, Rogan pulled out the alcohol and cotton balls. “This is going to sting, sweetheart.” She cried out at the first contact of the alcohol on her scalp, and he said, “I don't think you'll need stitches. Just be careful when you brush your hair."