by Jade Kerrion
He smiled slowly, his lethal intent clear. “It’s time for a long overdue family reunion.”
Danyael’s eyes flickered open and shut again, a pitiful defense against the blinding spotlights overhead. Shafts of pain pulsed through his skull, and he whispered a protest, a weak moan that he could not believe was his own voice.
“Danyael.” Galahad sounded relieved. “Can you stand? I need to get you out of here.”
Galahad’s anxiety battered at his psychic shields. He opened his eyes, though he kept them narrowed in an attempt to keep out most of the light. Galahad’s face shifted in and out of focus in front of him. “What…doing here?”
“Trying to get you out.” Galahad’s mouth tugged into a smile. “Here, let me help.” He slipped an arm around Danyael’s shoulders, but Danyael resisted, pulling away from him, cringing from the physical contact even in, or perhaps because of, his weakened state.
“Just need a moment,” Danyael whispered. He rolled onto his stomach and let his head hang over the side of the bed while he struggled against the nausea that swirled in his stomach. The nausea threatened to bring up the meager remnants of his last meal, which seemed like a lifetime ago.
Several moments passed before he inhaled deeply, grateful when his stomach did not lurch and his head did not spin. “I think I can manage.” He swung his feet over the side of the bed and stood up. Willpower kept him going—willpower and a general inability to know when to quit. “What time is it?”
“About seven in the morning.”
“The next day?” Danyael had lost track of several days once before when he overextended his healing powers and slipped into a near coma for nearly sixty-five hours.
“Yes, the next day. Can you walk? We have to go.”
He nodded, just a step behind Galahad, as Galahad led the way back toward the door. “Where are we?”
Galahad looked over his shoulder. “You don’t know? You’re at Pioneer Labs. This used to be my room.”
Shock flashed through Danyael. He looked around the bare, stark room; he had seen county prison cells with more furniture and personalization. It was a wonder Galahad had not gone stark raving mad while imprisoned in here. “How did I get here?”
“You don’t know that either?”
He shook his head slowly. “No, I…there was so much pain.” He lowered his eyes; that memory was vivid. He did not think he would survive it. “I just don’t remember. Jason…Jason’s here too. He was shot; I removed the bullet and healed him.”
Galahad’s eyes narrowed in disbelief and disgust. “We’re going to have a long talk one day about your proclivities for keeping alive people who want you dead. If that’s not suicidal, I don’t know what is.”
“He’s my brother.”
“He’d kill you if he had a chance. You need to be smarter about things like that if you intend to make it to the ripe old age of thirty.” Galahad reached for his access card, but before he could hold it over the security panel, the door slid open. He looked up at the two figures standing outside the door and froze.
Roland Rakehell and Michael Cochran.
Behind Galahad, Danyael stopped short as well. The faintest flicker of anguish seeped through Danyael’s emotional shields as he looked upon his father and recognized him for the first time.
“Step back slowly, Galahad. You too, Danyael,” Jason’s voice came from behind the two scientists. “Don’t crowd the doorway. We have a lot to talk about.”
Galahad backed away slowly, his eyes locked on the gun in Jason’s right hand. Danyael stepped back too, and Jason pushed Roland and Michael ahead of him into the suite.
Jason was the last to enter the suite. He locked the door behind him before turning to survey the four people who stood in a semi-circle in front of him. “I know what you’re capable of, Danyael.” His voice was a harsh snarl. “If I even so much as think you’re screwing with my emotions, I’ll shoot Galahad through the heart, and not even your healing powers will be able to bring him back. Do you understand?”
Danyael nodded wordlessly. It took all his energy to maintain his emotional shields against the hurricane force of Jason’s maelstrom of fury and hatred—a maelstrom he had personally agitated. He could not alter the path of Jason’s emotions anymore, not without significant effort, not without the kind of energy that he could no longer spare.
“Do you understand?” Jason roared, striding forward. He drove the side of his fist, clad around the pistol grip, into Danyael’s right cheek.
Danyael staggered, but he caught himself before he fell and straightened slowly.
“Answer me!” Jason shouted into Danyael’s face. “I said, do you understand?”
A single word: “Yes.”
Two sets of dark eyes locked, black hatred in one set, quiet pain in the other. It was Jason who first looked away as he took a few steps back. “I’m being remiss. You haven’t seen our father in a long time, Danyael. Perhaps some introductions are in order?”
“That won’t be necessary, Jason,” Roland said tersely. “What are you doing?”
Jason smiled. “How often does one get to be in the same room with the son he neglected, the son he believed was dead, and the son he created? We’re not going to waste this opportunity. I want you to choose, Father,” he said flatly, all traces of mocking humor disappearing from his voice. He waved his hand toward Galahad and Danyael. “If you could have only one, who would you choose?”
* * *
Danyael knew the answer.
No words were needed when he could sense his father’s scorn. Waves of disgust and loathing flowed out of his father, pounding against Danyael’s psychic shields, wearing them down with their intensity and persistency.
Did his father despise him because he was a mutant or because—despite the similarity in their appearance—he was a shadow of Galahad’s perfection? Perhaps it was because his life was a wreck, despite how far he thought he had managed to come.
The exact reason or reasons did not matter. His father did not want him. His mother had not wanted him either. Danyael looked up at Jason and stared down at the barrel of the gun pointed at him. His brother wanted him dead. His family, the last line of defense for most people, was resolutely set against him. Maybe they were all completely dysfunctional.
Or maybe he was. After all, he was the single common factor in all those ruined relationships, those ruined lives.
Was it my fault? He had ruined the collective lives of his family, the ones for whom he should have been the last line of defense. He had killed his own mother.
He could not change the past. There was nothing he could do, not in an entire lifetime, to make up for what he had done to them, nothing he could do to earn their forgiveness.
Nothing at all.
Galahad knew the answer.
Roland Rakehell looked steadily at him. He did not even spare a glance at Danyael. He did not even pretend to consider. Looking over at Danyael, Galahad saw the exact moment when Danyael’s heart broke. Anguish swirled in to mix with the quiet loneliness that seemed permanently etched into Danyael’s eyes. Galahad saw the long eyelashes lower over the dark eyes to conceal the pain, saw Danyael’s jaw tense, his hands clench into fists. Galahad had learned to read Danyael’s reactions over the course of only one day in his company. Danyael was bracing himself, reinforcing his shields, trying to keep his emotions, his heartache from breaking through.
Danyael was still trying to protect the people who hated him.
Galahad did not understand it, could never understand it, but he was starting to understand friendship, its risks and costs. And perhaps a little about its rewards.
He had never done before what he was attempting to do now, but there was nothing to be lost in trying. He reached out with his mind, casting his thoughts toward the copse of trees on the far southern side of the laboratory grounds. Help me.
In the shadow of the trees, something monstrous stirred.
Jason knew the answer. He knew the a
nswer long before his father gave voice to his decision. His father cared nothing for him. He would care even less for a son he had believed dead for more than twenty years. Luke—Danyael—had served his purpose as the physical template for Galahad. There was no use for him anymore.
In fact, Danyael was worth more dead than alive. With the original template destroyed, Galahad’s supremacy could not be challenged. His beauty would once again have no equal. With the original physical template destroyed, no one could challenge Roland Rakehell’s claim on creating the only perfect being in the world.
A slow grin spread over Jason’s face when his father made the pronouncement he had expected. “I choose Galahad.”
“Well, well, Danyael.” Jason looked into the dark eyes of his hated brother and saw quiet acceptance swirl in the depths. “It looks like you’ve lost.” He braced himself to feel something, anything. Surely Danyael would pull a crazy mutant stunt to save his own miserable life, but Jason felt nothing at all.
Apparently Danyael had chosen not to risk Galahad’s life by exercising his empathic abilities to save his own. Jason wondered why. “Grow a spine, baby brother.” He spit the words out like a curse. “They stole your genetic ID to create him. If you wanted revenge, you would be more than justified. You’re pitiful. Sickeningly pitiful.” His lips curled in disgust. “Our father doesn’t want you, so you’re going to die. But don’t worry. You won’t be alone for long. There are enough bullets here for all of us, for Galahad, for our beloved father, even for me. One happy family.” Insanity gleamed in the dark eyes. “We’ll be together forever.”
His finger tightened on the trigger.
“Danyael’s here,” Miriya announced the moment she stepped out of the car. She could sense the low hum of his power signature, shimmering beneath his shields, as she did a quick mental sweep of the area. Her jaw dropped, her green eyes wide with confusion and unexpected delight. “And Galahad!”
“Galahad?” Zara turned to her. “He’s alive? He’s here?” Her voice surged with hope.
Miriya nodded. “This way.” She raced toward the western wing, following Danyael’s power signature like a homing beacon. Zara and Lucien kept pace beside her, and within seconds, they stood outside the reinforced windows of Galahad’s suite, looking in with growing horror at the tableau unfolding within.
Zara’s violet eyes sought out and locked on Galahad. Lucien sought out Danyael. It was Miriya whose telepathic ability picked up on the low, inhuman moan first.
Brother…brother….
She spun around and saw five massive, hideous shapes amble out of the surroundings woods straight toward them.
“Lucien!” she shouted.
There was a flash of light from the barrel of the Glock. Danyael lurched and dropped to his knees, a hand pressed against his chest. He lowered his head to stare at the blood seeping out from between his trembling fingers.
Lucien’s mind went blank with shock. “Danyael! No!”
The Glock spit out a single bullet, and Danyael jerked from the shocking impact, his dark eyes wide and ablaze with pain. The world inched into slow motion as adrenaline raced through his system, trying to stimulate a flight-or-fight response. His left hand pressed against the wound that the bullet had torn through his flesh. His legs trembled and gave out beneath him as he crumpled to his knees.
Strong arms caught him as he fell. Michael Cochran’s brown eyes stared down at him. His lips moved but Danyael could not make out the blur of sound through the cacophony pounding in his skull. A flurry of motion surged across the room. Galahad had launched himself at Jason the moment Jason had fired the gun, and in seconds, had both disarmed and disabled him. Galahad pushed Jason face first into the carpet and then jammed his knee into his back to keep him there.
Roland Rakehell rushed like an anxious mother hen to Galahad, examining him for nonexistent injuries while blind to the son who lay bleeding several feet away. “You know why I choose you. You’re perfect. We made you perfect.”
“To hell with perfect. Danyael’s your son!” Galahad snarled, pushing Roland away. His voice roiled with anger and disgust. “Your own flesh and blood. How could you not choose him?”
“He’s nothing to me. He never was.”
Danyael closed his eyes at his father’s words and allowed the heartache to wash over him. Almost over now. It’ll be all right. It’s almost over.
Every breath was agony, like a knife slicing through his lungs. Blood gushed out between his fingers, keeping pace with the beating of his heart. The bullet had pierced his vena cava. Unconsciousness was less than thirty seconds away, death less than two minutes.
“Hang in there.” Michael pressed his hand over Danyael’s. “We’ll get help; just hang in there.”
Not enough time. Danyael’s field of vision blurred as he slipped into hypovolemic shock from his rapidly dropping blood volume. I need to finish this….
The pale morning light washing in through the open windows disappeared as massive shadows moved to block the sun. Galahad glanced up as the five abominations closed in on Pioneer Laboratories. Outside, Lucien, Zara, and Miriya turned to face the creatures in a battle they had no chance of winning, but the abominations lumbered past them and crashed through the reinforced glass window. Brother.
Brothers. Galahad acknowledged the five creatures that had fought and killed scores of people in an attempt to reach him, to save him from the humans who were known for their cruelty.
Kill. Their eyes glittered with anticipation as their gazes shuttled back and forth between Roland Rakehell and Michael Cochran.
No, wait…Galahad instructed, looking up at Lucien, Zara, and Miriya as they clambered in through the broken window. Lucien rushed to Danyael’s side, and Zara to Galahad’s. Miriya knelt beside Danyael, her green eyes abstracted as she reached out with her mind and searched Danyael’s fading consciousness. She pulled out a cell phone and hit the speed dial. “Danyael’s got a minute to live. Where the bloody hell is the team? We need a healer here, now!”
Danyael whispered into Miriya’s mind. Jason, Father, touch them.
She hung up the phone and looked up sharply. “Bring Jason here. His father too.”
Galahad wrested an unwilling Jason Rakehell to his feet and dragged him over to Danyael. Roland Rakehell cast a single glance at the cool menace in Zara’s eyes and complied without a struggle.
Need to touch them.
“Closer,” Miriya ordered. “Here, Danyael,” she said, her tone gentler as she placed Danyael’s bloodied, misshapen left hand on Jason’s wrist and his right hand on his father’s.
“What is he doing?”
Miriya looked up at Lucien. “Killing them, I hope,” she said simply.
Danyael’s inner shields—the emotional barricade sheltering the painful memories that fueled his most lethal powers—never dropped. They never even faltered. When he unleashed his empathic powers, it was with agonizing slowness. With exquisite precision, he sieved through their emotions, balancing the ones he could adjust, absorbing the ones he could not.
Miriya was the first to gasp in surprise and horror, as her mind, linked with Danyael’s, understood his intent. “Danyael,” she breathed, tears filling her eyes. “What are you doing?” You can’t do this. They hate each other, and you. The emotions you absorb from them will turn into self-hatred. You can’t live with that in you. You can’t live like that. No one can.
It doesn’t matter. I’m dying, Miriya. If I can give them back each other…
“You stupid, stupid man,” Miriya whispered. They don’t deserve this.
Everyone deserves a second chance. Luce gave me mine. I can give them theirs.
He arched in pain, throwing his head back as his powers— dangerously unstable—surged through the emotional connection he had created between his father and his brother. He stood at the nexus, filtering and absorbing all the twisted emotions that had defined their relationship with each other. Each emotion he pulled into himself wrenched and
tore through him in ways that made the physical injury he had suffered, the injury that would actually kill him, seem trivial in comparison. Just a bit more. Almost there. He drew in a strangled gasp of air and his eyes opened, glassy with anguish. A silent, agonized scream caught in his throat.
“What’s going on?” Lucien yanked Danyael’s hands away from Jason and Roland. The physical and emotional connection broken, Danyael slumped over in Michael’s arms. His dark eyes fluttered closed. His breathing was rapid, shallow. Blood pumped out of the bullet wound, keeping pace with the beat of his faltering heart.
Miriya slipped her hand into his limp hand. She reinforced her connection to him, wrapping her most formidable psychic shields around Danyael’s mind, bracing for the moment when he died, when all his shields dropped. Her shields were going to be the only thing standing between everyone in the vicinity and mass suicide.
She looked up at Lucien, tears in her eyes. She did not need words. Lucien knew the end was near too. His eyes seared with the anticipated loss of his closest friend as he slipped his hand into Danyael’s other hand and lowered his forehead gently to touch Danyael’s forehead in a final gesture of friendship, of farewell.
Danyael’s skin was cold, clammy. He did not even have the strength to shiver any more.
“Luce,” he whispered, his breath rattling in his throat. His eyes were closed, but for a single moment, a smile lingered on his lips before fading slowly as he stopped fighting the irresistible riptide of darkness and allowed it to carry him away.
16
Miriya winced. Danyael’s shields were collapsing, disintegrating, at first slowly and then with increasing speed. The pressure against her mind mounted. She closed her eyes, reached for Lucien’s hands, and held on to him, trying to draw strength from him. If she faltered, they were all dead.
Miriya, open the goddamned door!
“Get the door!” she ordered and bit down on her lower lip as the pressure pounded through her mind. Motion swirled around her. Someone must have unlocked and opened the door, because the suite was suddenly flooded with a host of familiar power signatures. The pressure around her mind lightened as another telepath linked to her, reinforcing her shields and sharing the burden of protecting Danyael’s mind.
