by Keri Arthur
“So, if Stephan has access to all but Hopeworth, why haven’t you got the rest of it?”
“Because Stephan is currently home with Lyssa and his new son.”
“Lyssa’s had her kid? Hey, send her and Stephan my congrats! What did they name him?”
“Devyn Charles Oswald Stern.”
She blinked. “That’s one hell of a moniker for a little kid to carry.”
Gabriel grinned. “He’s the first grandson, so he was destined to carry the first name of both grandfathers. It’s something of a tradition.”
“And a nice one. The past is never forgotten that way.” There was sudden sympathy in his expression and she knew he was thinking about her lack of a past. Given that she didn’t particularly want to dwell on the reasons for that right now, she rushed on before he could say anything. “She didn’t have any problems, then?”
“Not as many as we expected. She’s had a bad pregnancy and isn’t strong—as you know, because you’ve met her—and it was an extremely long birth. But she’s fine. Tired, but fine.”
What she knew was that Lyssa was stronger than her family was giving her credit for. She had met the woman, and beneath that pale, frail build was a steely determination that was breathtaking. Anyone who could handle being kidnapped and isolated for six months and still come out of it sane could certainly cope with anything else life threw at her.
“So has the proud uncle been to see the newest addition to the family yet?”
He hesitated, and darkness flashed through his eyes. “Not yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because sometimes there are things more important than family.”
“Nothing is more important than family.” Says the woman who hasn’t got one, she thought with resignation.
“Some things are.”
And the brief glance he gave her made her pulse skip, then race. Did that glance imply what she thought it implied? Or were her overactive hormones making her read far too much into it?
“Like what?” she asked, as casually as she could.
“Like stopping a madman intent on starting a war.”
Amusement and perhaps a touch of disappointment ran through her. So much for her fantasies, she thought wryly. “So, you still think Wetherton has connections to Sethanon?”
“Do I believe it? Yes. Do I have any proof? No. Other than the body of the real Wetherton, and the fact that Sethanon was behind the attempt to replace the Prime Minister with a clone, that is.”
“And Wetherton’s connections to Hopeworth?”
“Could be a means for Sethanon to keep track of what is going on in there. Or maybe Wetherton is merely the go-between for Sethanon and his military source.”
She raised her eyebrows at that. “You think Blaine is working for Sethanon?”
“It’s not beyond the bounds of reason. I certainly don’t think it’s a coincidence that it was Blaine’s image the multi-shifter used.”
“Why?”
“Multi-shifters need to come in constant contact with someone to take that person’s shape. It takes a little time for cells to reconfigure, and the longer the contact, the more exact the image.”
“Really? Does it work the same for shapechangers? Or shapeshifters?”
He shook his head. “Shapechangers and shifters are born with their secondary form programmed into their cells. Multi-shifters have adaptable cells.”
“Fascinating.”
“Very.”
His voice was dry and she smiled. “Maybe not to you, because you grew up with it. Who actually knows what, exactly, I grew up with?” She paused, frowning a little. “You know, it seems odd to me that you all fear Sethanon, and yet you haven’t been able to find out a great deal about him in all the years you’ve been hunting him.”
“We do know a lot about his organization. We just don’t know much about the man himself.”
“Why not? I mean, you’ve captured his people, interrogated them, so surely they were able to give you something more concrete.”
“Only concrete in terms of his organization, his contacts, stuff like that. No one seems to know much about the man himself.”
“Don’t you find that a little surprising?”
“Not really. We’re talking about someone who can change his identity at will. It’s hard to trace someone when you can’t even pin down his true identity.” He grimaced. “Hell, for all we know, he could be one of the contacts we have under observation. Anything is possible when your form is mutable.”
She raised her eyebrows. “So he suddenly appears on the scene sixteen years ago and starts taking pot shots at the Federation and the SIU?”
“It’s a little more than potshots,” Gabriel said, his voice a little testy. “And his agenda—which he’s made perfectly clear in several messages he sent us—amounts to war.”
“And yet if he intended war, why hasn’t he just started it? Why warn you at all?”
“Because he enjoys an audience.” Gabriel shrugged. “And he probably enjoys watching us run around trying to find and stop him.”
“And it’s hard to stop someone when you have no idea who and what he is.”
“Exactly.”
She considered him, thinking about what she’d said, what he’d said, and drawing conclusions that she really didn’t like. Such as the fact that Sethanon’s appearance seemed to coincide with hers. True, it was probably little more than a coincidence, especially given the appearance of other Hopeworth rejects over the years, but it was still a disturbing thought. After a moment, she said, “It still doesn’t make sense, you know. I mean, if he wants a war, he could have started it years ago. What is he waiting for?”
“Who knows? It could be something as simple as the fact that it takes time to build a fighting force.”
Something inside her clicked, and her eyes widened. “Hopeworth.”
He frowned. “What?”
“Hopeworth is the key.” She reached out, grabbing his hand and wrapping her fingers around his. “That’s what he’s waiting for. Hopeworth has spent years making the perfect soldier, and from what we’ve seen recently, may finally be succeeding. That’s what he’s waiting for. This Sethanon of yours is planning to take over Hopeworth.”
TEN
GABRIEL STARED AT SAM FOR a moment, then said almost automatically, “He couldn’t.”
And yet even as he denied it, his mind raced with the possibility. It was something they’d never even contemplated. Yet, in a twisted way, it made perfect sense. If Sethanon intended to start a war against a well-armed, well-informed alliance of nonhumans like the Federation, then it would pay to get fighters that were stronger, faster and better than those nonhumans. And that’s exactly what Hopeworth was breeding.
“He could if he’s a multi-shifter,” she said, her eyes bright in the pale light. “Remember, we have two Blaines running around.”
“Yeah, but that’s not something that could be done long-term.”
“Why not? Stephan’s been doing it for years to stay in charge of the SIU, hasn’t he?”
“Hopeworth is an entirely different beast than the SIU. I doubt an imitator would go unnoticed for very long in an installation that specializes in interspecies and psi-talent development. Especially when the original is still running around.”
“But if he’s got people on the inside and the outside—people like Wetherton—tracking Blaine’s movements, then it is totally possible.”
“Only if Blaine didn’t live on the base, and he does.”
“But he doesn’t stay on the base all the time. And who says this Sethanon of yours isn’t also living on the base? You’re the one who said whoever is posing as Blaine has to be in close contact to ensure a good replication.”
That was true. And it was definitely an idea they would have to investigate. Though given the tight security on all Hopeworth information and records, it was going to be nearly impossible to get any information there. But the base itself was an entirely diffe
rent proposition. They could certainly watch all the comings and goings. Gabriel shifted so that he was facing her full on, but he didn’t dislodge her grip on his hand. There was something almost comforting in her touch—comforting in a way that was sexual and yet not.
In the early morning light, her skin was almost as luminous as her eyes. With her fiery hair covered by the hood of her dark coat, she appeared almost ghostly. His grip on her hand tightened a little, and the fingers of his free hand itched with the sudden need to caress her cheek. To feel the softness of her skin. To reassure himself that she was real and here, and not already beginning to fade away into nothingness as Karl had warned.
“Why are you so positive about this?” he asked.
When she hesitated and looked away, he reached out and touched her chin, drawing her gaze back to his. She licked her lips, and he found his gaze drawn to the movement. Not good, he thought, and yet he couldn’t pull his gaze away.
“How the hell can I be sure?” She hesitated again. “But I’m right. I know I’m right.”
“Because you were at Hopeworth with the man who is now Sethanon?” The question came out of nowhere, and he had to wonder if it was an instinctive reaction to the pull he was feeling toward her.
And yet, at the same time, it was a natural question. She was obviously connected to Hopeworth, and there was definitely a connection to Sethanon somewhere along the line. Otherwise, why would the man have spent so much time over the years keeping an eye on her? Maybe even protecting her?
She gasped and jerked away from his grasp. Part of him regretted the loss of her touch. Part of him didn’t. And he couldn’t help noticing that, despite her reaction, there was no hurt in her eyes, no surprise, which suggested she’d contemplated the question herself, however lightly.
“That’s not true,” she said. Yet her eyes said, Please don’t let it be true.
“Sam, think about it. Your memories started at the age of fourteen. At that very same time, Sethanon made his first appearance. And, coincidentally, just before either event, a project named Penumbra was destroyed by a fire to the point that there were absolutely no records left. There wasn’t even enough DNA left to identify who, exactly, died in that fire. Normal fires don’t burn that hot. Not without help.”
She was staring at him, eyes wide and somewhat distant, like she was seeing things he couldn’t even begin to guess at. He wondered what she was remembering, wished that she’d tell him. But he’d done very little in recent months to encourage trust, and for the first time he regretted it. Truly regretted it.
“Fire is not my element.”
The words were said softly, almost automatically. He frowned. “Were they Joe’s?”
She blinked, and life came flooding back into her eyes. “Joe was never at Hopeworth. At least, the man I know now as Joe wasn’t. Joshua was.”
“What if Joe is a shapeshifter? He could have been there as someone else.”
“He’s a shapechanger. A crow. Are you saying he’s one of those rare types who is both shifter and changer?”
“Maybe.” And what if it went beyond that? You could be a multi-shifter and, on rare occasions, even a multi-changer, but he’d never heard of a multi-shifter-changer.
But then, up until Rose Pierce began killing off Hopeworth rejects, he’d never heard of a male-female shifter, either.
“Hopeworth doesn’t traffic in the normal,” she said.
“No, they don’t.” He hesitated. “Your dreams haven’t made any connections between Joe and Joshua, have they? Was Joshua one of the instructors?”
“No, and no.” Her sudden smile held very little warmth. “If I can believe the nanny, Joshua is actually my twin brother.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A test-tube twin, or the real thing?”
Sam shrugged. “Considering I have no idea about the manner of my birth, I can’t really comment. And Mary never said either way. Nor did I think to ask.”
“But what do your instincts say?”
“My instincts and my dreams make me believe that Mary is telling the truth—that he’s my brother. My real brother. The other half of me.” She hesitated. “But since I still don’t know whether my dreams can be trusted, I wouldn’t rely on them as the truth just yet.”
“But what if they are the truth?”
She stared at him for a moment, then looked away again—but not before he’d seen the sheen of tears in her eyes. “I don’t want them to be the truth. I don’t want to be just another product from some mad scientist’s production line.”
He gently forced her to look at him again. “Whether you are or not doesn’t matter, Sam. The scientists may have given you life, but they haven’t made you what you are.”
“And just what am I?” she said, and for the first time there was a hint of desperation in her voice. “Am I a military weapon gone wrong, or one that is merely waiting for the right trigger?”
“What you are,” he said softly, “is a warm, bright woman with a past that is undefined. But military creation or not, you are not the sum of your making. You have a mind and a soul that are all your own, and they are not evil. You could never be evil.”
Her gaze searched his. “Are you sure of that? Truly sure? Because if my dreams are to be believed, I did some pretty horrible things in that place.”
Maybe it was a trick of the light, or maybe the car had somehow shrunk, because suddenly her face seemed nearer to his, her lips nearer still. The urge to close the gap between them, to caress her mouth with his own, rose with a vengeance from somewhere deep inside. Suddenly he was drowning in the desire to kiss her and fighting for control.
“We all do what we must to survive,” he said softly and gently brushed several strands of hair away from her warm cheek. She trembled slightly under the caress, but her gaze didn’t leave his. And there was a challenging light in her eyes, as if she were daring him to acknowledge what was happening. Daring him to do what he wanted to do.
He didn’t. He just said, “In your case, I doubt you would have done anything that you were not forced to do.”
“I’m not so sure about that.”
“I am.”
And with that, he gave up the fight.
He kissed her slowly, passionately, as if he had all the time in the world and this kiss was not their first, but rather one of many. And it felt fantastic. As her smell entwined him, filling his every breath with the richness of vanilla and cinnamon, he groaned and deepened the kiss, wanting, needing, to taste every inch of her. As his desire fled south, she answered in kind, her hands sliding up his chest and around his neck, until she was holding him as if she never meant to let him go. It made him hunger to taste her more fully, to skim his tongue across her warm, pale skin, exploring and savoring every bit of her.
God, this kiss felt so right, so scarily right, unlike anything he’d ever experienced before—even with Andrea—that it shook him to his very core. Andrea had been his soul mate; he’d been so certain of that all his life. But if that were true, he shouldn’t be feeling the completeness he was feeling with this kiss, this woman, no matter how deep the attraction.
And yet he was.
So had he been wrong so long ago, as Jessie had said, or was this connection, this rightness, something altogether different? Perhaps something due to the storm bond and the shadow walker genes that ran in her blood and apparently in his?
He didn’t know.
But one thing was certain. Now that he’d experienced it, he had to explore it. He had no option. He was a shapechanger, and part of that heritage was the fierce desire to find the one woman who was his other half, his destiny. This kiss had woken that part of him, and there was no turning away. Especially after all these years of being convinced that his soul mate was dead and buried.
And while now was not the time for such thoughts or such explorations, the fact was, he could no longer ignore what was between them, could no longer push her away.
But could he breach the fences he’d
spent so long creating?
He pulled back from her just enough to allow some breathing room between them.
“I’m sorry—”
She placed a hand on his lips, stopping the rest of his words. “Don’t apologize for something I’ve wanted for a long time now.”
He wasn’t apologizing for the kiss, despite his reservations and uncertainty, but rather his timing—which pretty much stunk—and his treatment of her over the past few months. One kiss shouldn’t have changed anything, yet it had. But really, what was the point of explaining that? She probably wouldn’t believe him anyway. Hell, he was finding it hard to believe. “Then I won’t.”
She smiled. “Good.”
He glanced at the road ahead and saw, with surprise, that they were almost at Greensborough. The nursing home where Mary Elliot was being looked after was only five minutes or so away. Time sure flew when you were kissing your partner. Or rather, ex-partner. “I think we need to talk.”
“I agree, but not here or now. Later, over brunch.”
He nodded and retreated to his side of the car. But her scent still seemed to surround him, filling his every breath, forcing him to fight desire. “So, tell me about this Mary. How did you find her in the first place?”
A ghost of a smile touched her lips. She was obviously well aware that he was trying to distract himself. “Joe gave me a pin with two figures on it—an abstract man and woman standing side by side, one dark, one light. He said that by seeking its image I’d find our murderer. He also said that I’d find the first stepping-stone to my past.”
“So the pin led you to Mary Elliot?”
She nodded. “And to the truth about Rose Pierce.”
“Which begs the question, how did he know?”
She sighed. “Maybe he is military. He walked like military, if that makes sense.”
“So, in reality, he could be Blaine?”
“In reality, he’s a changer, as I said. A crow.”
“Crow feathers were found at the scene of Kathryn Douglass’s murder.” And he seriously doubted it was a coincidence. Everything about this case seemed—one way or another—to be tying back to her, Hopeworth and this mysterious Joe. Or Joshua, as the case may be. He had no doubt the two were one and the same.
