by Jade Kerrion
Zara flinched.
Xin turned away and walked out the door. "I'm through."
"Xin, we need your help."
"No, you don't. You have your GPS tracker here." She nudged her head condescendingly at Miriya.
"Xin, you're a material witness and a federal employee. You don't have the option of walking away," Alex warned.
"Watch me." Xin pulled the door shut behind her, plunging the room into silence.
"Can she?" Galahad asked quietly.
"Probably," Zara said. She ground her teeth. Losing Xin's cooperation over Danyael, of all people, was not just pointless; it was stupid.
"Can you stop her?" Galahad asked Alex.
"Unfortunately, no," Alex said. "Xin's not just any clone. She's cultivated from three-thousand-year-old genes. We don't even have an official classification for clones like her; they're too rare. Priceless. Like highly endangered species, she's protected by national and international law. If we try to make her do anything she doesn't want to do, she'll scream bloody murder, and the International Genetics and Ethics Council will come down on our heads like a ton of bricks. It'll take millions of dollars in legal fees to get out of the trouble she can get us into if we overstep our boundaries, and she knows it."
"Then let's focus on Danyael," Galahad said. "He's got a three-hour lead on us."
"He won't go far," Zara said confidently. "He can barely walk, and he has no survival skills."
"Don't count on it," Alex said. "The two survival skills anyone really needs are willpower and intelligence, and Danyael has both in abundance. Add to those his empathic powers, and he'll be a bigger challenge than you expect."
"We'll find him," Zara promised. She followed Miriya and Galahad to the door, but paused in the frame of the doorway. "How is Lucien?"
"He regained consciousness about an hour ago. He's in the house with his parents. I looked in on him, but they won't let us work on him."
"Won't let?"
"Physically, he's all right. Mentally, he's almost all right. The block in his mind doesn't hinder any intellectual functioning; it only inhibits his natural feelings toward Danyael."
"What does that mean?"
"He probably hates Danyael in direct proportion to how much he cared for him previously."
Zara's jaw dropped. "Lucien would have moved the world to save Danyael. To hate him in equal proportion? How is that even possible?"
"We're all susceptible to the emotions of others. For years, Lucien has been surrounded by people who hate Danyael, most notably his parents. Their emotions have never swayed him before, but whoever put the block in his head rerouted Lucien's emotions so that they now tap into his parents' perceptions of, and feelings toward, Danyael."
"So Lucien doesn't remember their friendship?"
"He does, but the emotions no longer match."
"He'd realize that."
"Of course, but there's nothing he can do. Emotions are so much more powerful than logic, the elemental emotions, like hate, especially so. Unless the block comes down, Lucien and Danyael are done."
The finality stunned her. "But you can do something, right, even if his parents won't permit it?"
"The block is deeply entrenched in Lucien's mind. It's not a task the council would undertake lightly, certainly not surreptitiously. A careless move could damage Lucien permanently. We couldn't risk it. Not even for Danyael."
"That means we don't have to worry about Lucien coming to Danyael's aid," Galahad said.
His voice was quiet, but the undercurrent in his tone chilled her. What was he thinking, feeling?
Galahad's eyes glittered with cold calculation. "Danyael's isolated. Losing Lucien's friendship will weaken him more than any physical injury. We can do this. We'll take him down."
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Danyael heard movement outside the toilet stall as people filed in and out of the men's restroom at the Greyhound terminal in Fort Lauderdale, but he did not allow himself to be distracted. Focus. Don't stop.
He bit back the cry of pain as he slathered antiseptic ointment over the open wounds in his left thigh. The injuries were not infected, at least that much was a blessing, but they would be, within a day or two, if he could not keep them clean and dry. Using his teeth, he tore surgical tape into thin strips. His fingers trembled from exhaustion and pain as he tried to rejoin torn flesh and muscles.
Focus. Don't feel.
Don't feel? He swallowed a bitter chuckle as he leaned against the bathroom wall to catch his breath. He needed a moment to brace for the physical agony of taping the next wound. Not feeling was not an option. He was an alpha empath, but in that moment, he would have traded that fact, traded anything, everything, to be nobody. Nothing was worth the knowledge that he had endangered all his friends. He could only hope he had left them before they became targets, too.
Danyael sank onto the toilet seat and buried his face in his hands. Cold fingertips framed heated skin. One more open wound to seal, and he could bandage his entire left thigh. The last one was the worst, directly over---no, through his left hip. The torn flesh was the least of his worries; the dagger had torn through cartilage. I'm too young for hip replacement surgery, he mused with irony as he slowly swathed his leg in bandages. He stood carefully and tested his weight. His leg held. Barely.
His cell phone buzzed. He dug it out of his pocket and stared at it. There was a text message from an unlisted number: Locker 14-294. Turn off your phone.
He turned off his phone and limped from the men's restroom. Locker 14-294 was located in one of the lesser-traveled corridors in the bus terminal. He stared at the keypad of the locker in dismay. There had not been a numeric code in the text message, not that he could recall anyway. He tried 14294, but it did not work. Think. Focus.
His mind latched on to a stray thought, and he followed it. He held his hand over the keypad. His fingers moved in a familiar motion to punch in the personal identification number for his bank account. The security mechanism in the locker whirred, and the lock slid back.
His backpack was in the locker. In it were two changes of clothes, a wallet with a driver's license and credits cards in the name of Daniel Astor, and a great deal of cash. There was also a cell phone with a flashing message indicator.
He listened to the voicemail. The voice was computer-generated, but the instructions were clear. "Leave your cell phone in the locker. Lucien's mind is still blocked, and your friends have betrayed you. The council has offered to protect Galahad. In exchange, Galahad, Miriya, and Zara pledged to bring you in. I will do everything I can to help, but you need to move. Don't stop."
Don't stop. Don't feel.
Danyael shoved the new cell phone into the backpack and emptied his pockets. His old cell phone. The new wallet and credit cards that Phillip Evans had given him. Even the keys to his apartment.
He had no need for them anymore.
* * *
"What do you mean you can't find him?" Zara demanded as she gazed around the Fort Lauderdale Greyhound station on Northeast Third Street. She hated bus stations in the same way she hated New York City---too many people, most in dire need of a bath, packed into too little space. She glanced over her shoulder at Galahad and Miriya. Together they had found the Jet Ski Danyael abandoned at the beach and tracked down the cab driver who had given Danyael a ride to a pharmacy and then to the bus station.
Miriya scowled. "He's deliberately blocking me. His signal is faint, and when I get close enough, I lose the signal entirely. Psychic power is nothing more than energy. Energy travels in waves. They have specific frequencies---"
Galahad interjected, "And Danyael is emitting an opposing wave with reversed frequency. The crest of his wave interferes with the trough of yours, and they cancel out, leaving you with nothing. But he's a defense-class mutant and doesn't have the range you do, so while you can track him at a long distance, you lose his signal as you close in."
Zara looked at him with surprise. "How did you know t
hat?"
"Basic physics. I may be a lab rat, but I'm a highly trained lab rat."
Zara's gaze traveled across the bus terminal. "Are you sure he was here?"
"Directionally, more or less," Miriya said.
"Some GPS. You're an alpha telepath, for God's sake. He's just an empath."
"The next person who calls Danyael 'just an empath' is going to get a psi-blast that will make Hiroshima look like a firecracker. There is no 'just an empath' about him, all right? He's one of the most powerful alpha empaths in the world, and he has psychic defenses that put defense-class alpha telepaths to shame. He can kill with a touch. With a single touch. Our only protection from him is to hope that he likes us enough not to kill us; however, given how badly you've broken his heart, I'd say your chances of surviving a fight with him are about zero point two percent."
Zara's temper flared. "I broke his heart? He had it coming. He manipulated my feelings."
"He's a victim of circumstance."
"Victim? Danyael?" Zara laughed. "All Danyael leaves behind is a trail of victims, and if you can't see that, then you're another victim, blinded by his emotional manipulation."
"When is it emotional manipulation to crave closeness?" Miriya asked.
"When you can wring it out of people without making any commitment to a true relationship. But it doesn't even matter anymore. He absorbed my emotions."
Miriya's mouth dropped open. "He did what?"
"He absorbed my emotions."
"But...but why?"
It was a damned good question, and Zara had only one answer for it. "Because I asked."
"But that makes no sense. Why would he absorb your emotions after finally finding someone, other than Lucien, who could care for him?"
She had not cared for him. Not on her own volition. Anything she felt had been forced upon her. He had even confessed to it. All just one goddamned lie.
Galahad reappeared beside them. She had not even noticed when he had walked away. "Danyael was here. There's no visible evidence, but I can smell blood in the restroom."
"He probably stopped by a pharmacy for medical supplies after he fled from Lucien's house and then came here to clean up," Zara said. "He may still have his phone on him. We can track his signal, even if he's not using it."
"Xin's not talking to us anymore, last time I checked," Miriya said.
"Xin's not the only hacker I employ," Zara retorted. She pulled out her cell phone and called Ken Morrow.
"What's up, Zara?" Ken asked in his familiar southern drawl.
"I need you to stay on top of the location of this cell phone." She recited Danyael's cell phone number, startled by the sureness of her memory. "It belongs to Danyael Sabre. Track his credit cards too."
"Got it. I'll ping his cell phone's location. How long should I stay on top of this?"
"Until I tell you otherwise." She hung up the phone. "All right, that's done. We'll have GPS readings from his cell phone signal. We can use that information and Miriya's homing beacon to triangulate on his location." She glanced at her tablet. "The first coordinates are coming in now. He's west of the city."
"Any hits on his credit card?" Miriya asked.
Zara watched the data trickle in, maddeningly slow, like a dripping faucet. If Xin was on the job, Zara would already be drowning in data. She focused on the one valuable piece of information in the pile of trash Ken had sent to her. "We've got confirmation. Just before his credit cards were frozen, Danyael purchased a Greyhound ticket to Los Angeles."
* * *
Zara believed cross-country car trips were the most diabolical form of torment devised by the devil. While it was a nice change to be hunting instead of being hunted, she could not shake off the tension coiling in the pit of her stomach, tension that made it hard to think, to focus.
Tension that Danyael was no longer around to neutralize.
That stray thought spiked irritation through her. How much had Danyael altered without her being aware of it? She pressed on the pedal. The SUV accelerated, its dangerous speed matching her mood.
"Wait," Miriya called out sharply.
"What?"
"Turn the car around."
"What for?"
"Because I'm tracking Danyael again, and he's heading northeast."
"What do you mean?" Zara glanced briefly at the tablet resting on her lap. "His cell phone is still emitting a steady signal northwest, and we know he bought a ticket to LA."
"Screw his cell phone. His psychic signal---the one attached to his brain---is coming from the northeast."
Zara turned the steering wheel sharply and slammed on the brakes. The SUV swerved into the shoulder and screeched to a stop. She ground her teeth. "Damn it. Xin."
"What?"
"Xin got to him first. I bet she picked up his cell phone and credit cards and then used them to lay a false trail for us."
"She had a half-hour head start on us. How could she move so quickly?" Galahad asked.
"Xin's probably worked on it while I was still unconscious and you two were out in a helicopter over the Atlantic, though she couldn't have imagined she'd be working against us."
"Is she really that good?" Galahad asked.
"I try not to underestimate her. Miriya, do you have anything more specific than northeast?"
"No," Miriya said shortly.
"Not helpful."
"That's the reason we all have brains in addition to mutant powers. We know Danyael is headed northeast. What's out there that he would want?"
"Could he be heading home?" Galahad asked.
Zara turned her head and looked out the window. She could see Galahad's reflection in the side mirror. With his dark hair and green eyes, he did not look much like Danyael any longer, which she supposed could mean she no longer had credible excuses or explanations for the stray memories of Danyael. She might have to come up with more inventive reasons.
What are you doing, Danyael? Where are you going?
She remembered his looking away from her in that one moment when she had needed him to look at her. I need to know I matter to you too, that you're not going to throw away my life...your own life...just for Lucien.
"Lucien," Zara said quietly, "Danyael's not going to let Lucien go. Danyael's on his way to Boston."
"What's in Boston?" Galahad asked.
"Andrea Hunter."
"Council-trained alpha telepath," Miriya added. "Damn it."
Zara pulled the car back on the road. She would have to turn around at the next exit. "Have you ever met her?"
"She's a cold bitch. Worse than you."
"Flattering."
"If she allies with Danyael, we'll have a serious fight on our hands. As if she's not trouble enough, Andrea's boy toy, John Pendleton, is a council-trained alpha telekinetic. If Andrea decides to get involved, John likely will too."
"Have the council trained ever worked together?"
"All of them? No. Danyael's a loner, and for the most part has avoided other mutants. There's another council trained, a pre-cognitive, Erin Byrne. She's a socialite in D.C."
"I know of her," Zara said. "I didn't realize she was an alpha pre-cog and council trained."
"Most people don't know she's a mutant. She's not much different from Danyael in purpose, but their tactics differ. He keeps a low profile. Her defense is in the spotlight."
"Will they help him?"
Miriya hesitated. "Typically, I'd say no. They're self-centered bastards, all of them. They don't even like the council. But if Danyael tells them that the council has betrayed him, they're likely to step up to the challenge, if only out of self-interest. If the council tosses Danyael to the wolves, it wouldn't hesitate to do the same to the other council trained too."
"So why won't Danyael call them? Why would he take a cross-country trip?" Zara asked.
Miriya's lips twisted into a crooked smile. "How do you know he hasn't already called them?"
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Erin Byrne leaned a
gainst the side of the suede couch and stretched her feet out in front of her. Toes peeked out from under the cashmere throw. She wriggled them, smiling indulgently at the cheery sight. It was early afternoon and unseasonably cold. The sunlight streaming in through the windows offered light but no heat, at least none that she could appreciate. Instead, her well-trained staff had lit the logs in the fireplace.
The warmth wrapped coziness around her. The air filled with the scent of pine. The crackling of flames against wood, even the occasional popping as burnt wood and embers settled in the ornate stonework fireplace, soothed her. Her novel loosely held in her hand, she closed her eyes and allowed her mind to drift.
Subtler sensations availed themselves to her. The aroma wafting from chamomile and lavender-infused tea. Ginger and cinnamon from her freshly baked cookies. The nearly silent flutter of a raven's wings outside the window. In her mind's eye, she could see the flash of stark black feathers against pristine snow. Instead of jarring her out of her near-trance, it lured her deeper. The powerful wings beat rhythmically, easing gradually into slow motion. She could see the path each feather traced through the air, feel the breath of its passing.
Black feathers blurred into raven hair. The bird's black eyes morphed into human eyes, the color transforming into an unusual shade of green with hints of onyx undertones. The blur of motion around the compelling eyes sharpened, took shape, and became recognizable features.
Startled, she recoiled. Movement flickered beneath her closed eyelids.
It was Danyael Sabre, yet it was not Danyael. The altered color of hair and eyes were irrelevant. The glitter in the eyes was not. The gleam of boundless ambition assured her that the vision was not of Danyael. The alpha empath had never known "ambition." He had never possessed the luxury of desiring a future beyond the constraints placed upon him.
Then who?
The answers came in images. Monsters, distortions of humanity, prowling through the streets, destroying at will. A burning laboratory. Two scientists standing over Danyael---no, not Danyael. It was the other man who looked like Danyael, and that time he had pale blond hair and dark eyes. That time, he was Danyael's perfect mirror image.
