by K H Lemoyne
“It has only been ten years. Why such a strong opposition? You do not even have a sister in cryo, Kamau,” said Leonis.
Ansgar was glad Leonis had the good grace to wince with the callousness of his remark.
“They are all sisters of my heart. As they are to you, Leonis, and to every male warrior of our race. Turen included.” Kamau’s brows pulled together; his jaw clenched. “The years divide us from our true mission. I know our sisters wouldn’t appreciate being considered fragile or their contribution minor. Their loss in our community creates too much disparity.”
“And they deserve a voice,” Ansgar added. As a scowl clouded Leonis’s features, he cut him off. “Be honest, Leo, the women will be angry to find Isabella and Turen are lost to us. That we considered them too vulnerable to consider their input.”
“They would never have supported Salvatore’s decision to back Isabella’s request to pursue Turen,” added Kamau.
Ansgar rubbed his chin and looked away. “Ironic, Turen didn’t support the renouncing of Xavier or advocate the cryo option or condone Isa’s pursuit of mating, and now he’s disappeared.”
“Do you have proof of what you imply?” Leonis responded slowly. “Be careful, Ansgar, our people have enough difficulties without unjustified accusations.”
“The accusations against Turen and Xavier have little proof as well, yet they are supported.”
Kamau’s hawk stepped back to the chair rail and pattered back and forth as the tension rose in the room. Kamau stroked his finger down the bird’s spotted breast feathers to ease her. The gesture did nothing to dispel the friction from the conversation.
“Salvatore’s approach has been to safeguard our women. Sisters,” Leonis said pointedly. “He saw no harm in allowing Isabella to try. If indeed Turen has fallen or joined Xavier, then the women would be at greater risk now.”
“By the same token, if Xavier and his mate were turned to madness by a drug secretly given, as Xavier claimed, then the cryo won’t protect the women. It means we have a traitor, and that leaves them, us, vulnerable.” Ansgar tried to rein in his anger and failed. His frustration over too many tragedies and no sound solutions made him want to break something.
Leonis sighed. “Being out of cryo didn’t protect Isabella.”
With a shake of his head, Ansgar countered, “She was stubborn and willful in her pursuits. Her immaturity put her in harm’s way, not her physical freedom. She’d have benefited from the other women’s guidance.”
“You discount any involvement from Turen,” Leonis added quietly.
“I’d trust him with my life.” Ansgar glared back.
“Would you trust him with your sister’s?” Leonis’s question dropped like a stone. “We have no proof of Xavier’s accusation. He attacks his own people. He exists in the human world in a manner of defilement, mimicking a human mobster. His creation and use of genetic anomalies, the hybrids, obscure any credence his allegations may have had.”
Ansgar shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
Discussion of Xavier’s charges had developed a silent rift among the Guardians. Turen’s team refused to lose hope for their former leader, even as they rallied in defense against the forces he brought down upon their heads.
Whether Leonis could feel the right of their sentiment didn’t matter, because he’d always push for proof of Xavier’s claim. Ansgar didn’t have any. Turen had found none. The Guardian race was no better off now than when Xavier’s wife and baby had suffered their horrific deaths.
Leonis continued. “The agreement was not to bring the women out until there is a change. The situation has only degraded. We have to trust they are safer where they are, for the time being.”
“I will take care of Isabella’s belongings.” Kamau rose, slid on his glove to gather his bird, gave Leonis a nod and left.
Determined not to glance Leonis’s way, Ansgar stood, prepared to follow his comrade from the room.
“Ansgar.”
He tensed and halted at Leonis’s call, but didn’t turn back.
“Bring me proof. I can act on proof.”
Ansgar gave a tight nod and pulled the door closed behind him.
CHAPTER 3
Turen shuffled along the stone floor and kept his head bowed. He cast discreet glances to one side of the hall, then the other, while his hybrid guards escorted him back to his cell from another encounter with Rasheer.
Hand clenched, he focused his will. The building power rode a cresting wave as his sense of smell surged inside him and vibrations resonated beneath his skin.
The manacle’s metal heated and then cooled. He swallowed back frustration. Given that he refused to leave until he had information on Xavier, he had time to master the blasted metal. Rational or not, Isa’s death only intensified his need to find proof of betrayal within the Guardian ranks. Or proof of Xavier’s madness. Either would suffice.
Alert, memorizing everything he witnessed, he squandered no precious moments outside his cell. He paid attention to the myriad tunnels and levels of the compound, committing each to memory. He catalogued the number of guards and their patterns, security details and shift changes. Quick glimpses of the central warehouse cavern had confirmed pallet upon pallet of shipments. Whether all contained drugs, he’d never been close enough to confirm.
The information wasn’t what he’d come for, but one never knew what could be useful.
Twelve, thirteen…fourteen doors and three other points of egress before he reached the stairs to the upper chambers. He plodded along and matched the hybrid’s slow gait to provide time for his reconnaissance.
A scent lingering near the stairwell caused him to falter. The fragrance, sweet and light, teased at the back of his memory, both familiar and unknown.
One staggered step and he halted, a sparkle on the floor catching his attention.
The hybrid guard in lockstep with him paused and then ambled in a circle on its four tentacles. The pulsing jellied head contracted with one simulated sniff before the hybrid stopped. It lights blinked yellow and orange in spastic rhythm along the computerized implant, while the thick tentacle feet wiggled and twitched. One rose, a gray paw searching the air.
An equally frenzied reaction issued from the second hybrid.
Not good. Turen shifted between the two.
Something had kicked off a hunger surge in both hybrids. The unnatural combination of a biological core intertwined with a computerized control produced a creature trapped between organic and synthetic. The biological half possessed the instincts to kill and eat, while the computer functions provided analysis, feedback and enhanced attack capabilities. Balance between the two sides was delicate at best.
The scent and the hybrid’s fight response twisted through Turen’s thoughts before realization hit in a deep, sharp chill down his spine.
Retaliation erupted on instinct and he rammed into the hybrid beside him. The backlash from the closest tentacle crushed him to his knees.
A quick skim of his hands across the floor captured the shiny bit. He rocked onto his fists and the balls of his feet to steady himself as he scanned for his next move.
Senses active, he reached out to the darkness of the tunnels around him—sound, taste, and smell, all sharp. All ready. The manacles clipped his powers, but little quelled his ingrained instincts.
Someone was there. Whoever it was didn’t belong in this dungeon. The sweet scent held no wrapper of the hate and despair that saturated the air of Xavier’s compound. The innocence was reminiscent of his previous evening’s nocturnal visitor.
The hybrid pulled hard on Turen’s chains. With the momentum, he headbutted it in the underbelly of the plasma head, far too close for comfort to the gnashing rows of teeth.
The reciprocating swipe sent him airborne. He landed on his side several feet down the hallway, closer to the stairwell, closer to his cellblock and farther from the scent.
With a quick shake of his head, he cleared his vision, and righted
himself before he launched at the second creature. It earned him more abuse but advanced his position another dozen feet.
Rows of triangular teeth and saliva flashed before his face. The reek of decayed fish stung in his nostrils as the creature hovered above him.
“Cease.” The command rang from the end of the hallway.
Three of Xavier’s human guards emerged from an intersecting hallway thirty feet away, fully armed. Four civilians walked between them, three-foot-square wooden crates poised over each of their shoulders, their legs bent and their backs bowed to ease their burdens.
A mass of gray and gloss sped down the hall. The barbed end of one tentacle smashed through one of the crates. Small plastic bags showered over the man beneath the crate to pile on the floor. White dust floated slowly, covering wood splinters and plastic in a fresh snowfall of powder. A tentacle wrapped around the neck of the human pack mule and dragged him into Turen’s tunnel.
“Get back, you son of a bitch.” The rifle tip’s poke didn’t prod the hybrid into retreat.
Turen braced himself, the chain between him and the remaining hybrid pulled taut. The creature attempted to override his programming to join his partner. The testosterone and fear secreted by the men beckoned the hybrid closer with an offering of flesh.
The guard let loose a round at the attacking hybrid’s tentacle. He succeeded only in enraging the creature.
With blurring speed, the tentacle lifted the victim by the neck. A second tentacle skewered him through the stomach and dragged him beneath the head’s gyrating teeth. With the efficiency of a wood chipper, the teeth carved through flesh and bone. The harsh grind and slosh of teeth worked against the skull and echoed amidst the screams and whimpers of the other transport personnel.
The men shoved unsuccessfully at the guards to escape, causing more fervor in the second hybrid. Turen wrapped the chains around his fists, barely able to hold back the creature.
Several rounds of bullets pumped into the creature feasting. A few minutes later, surrounded by a dusting of shell casings, the hybrid lay inert on the floor. The digital colors blinked yellow on the hybrid’s computer panels, but no organic parts moved.
From experience, Turen knew it was down, not dead. The second creature swiveled as if gauging the odds against the armed guards. A blanket of red and orange lights beeped on its computer sensor, but it remained immobile, self-preservation intact, though spittle dripped from its teeth.
The hacking sound of the men vomiting remained the only noise in the hallway.
“Get moving.” The guard aimed the gun at the hybrid beside Turen and motioned for them to continue. He tapped his headset, weapon still trained to the hybrid’s head while they sidled by. “Reprogram needed for the guard dog on level four.”
A solid yank from the hybrid’s tentacle pulled Turen abruptly down the stairs the second they were out of range. The threat of the guard’s retaliation hadn’t proved a long-lasting deterrent for violence.
These creatures had tried to break through the Sanctum’s defense barriers years ago. The teeth could rip apart his people as easily as the hybrid had killed the drug trafficker. The Guardians had been fortunate not to lose anyone in the attacks. The hybrids hunted in packs yet held no allegiance to a hierarchy or each other. The strongest control mechanism was their regular feeding schedule.
Luckily for Turen, there seemed to be computerized commands that initiated painful consequences if those teeth touched him. He’d tested their reactions. They had injured him but never seriously. Attack against him resulted in a shrill noise and violent electrical charges emitted from their computer panels, always stopping them short of eating him.
If Rasheer and Xavier wanted him dead, Turen would be more concerned about his lethal guards. For now, someone wanted him alive.
The hybrid batted him into his cell. The locks turned with a clang. Turen broke his fall with his hands and rolled onto his back. In the light from the narrow slats at the top of his cell’s door, he lifted his prize.
The small bit of diamond and gold glittered in the light. He rolled the item between his thumb and forefinger, brought it to his face, and breathed in the scent.
Sweet.
***
Mia blinked. A second night of dreams? Stark fluorescent lights, strung in small wire cages and suspended from the hallway’s rock ceiling, illuminated an intersection twenty feet from her position. The light and technology clashed with the vision several feet away.
Massive gray tentacles slithered across the stone floor. The textured pads along the underside of the tentacles scraped across the stone and inched their way along. They continued in a blind search along the floor and walls. Four tentacles swayed to support an opaque bulbous head wider around than the rain barrel outside her garage. Through the mucous-colored head, circular rows of teeth were sickeningly visible at the base. The teeth appeared to roll in a rhythm farther into the head, a paper shredder to feed its belly. Burrowed deep within the gelatinous head, sat a metallic plate with tiny lights that flickered.
Mia swallowed hard but it didn’t wipe away her current nightmare.
The two creatures surrounded a man. Tall and bare-chested, the prisoner stood rigid. His hair hung in dark strands above his broad shoulders. Chains secured to manacles tethered his wrists and ankles, the end links wrapped in the grip of a gray limb. Long, bloody stripes marred the bare, muscular flesh along his arms and chest, but the man held his shoulders back, his fists before him. Defiance radiated in every sinuous movement of muscle over bone.
She pressed farther back into the darkness of her corridor.
Minutes before, she had been in the safety of her own bed and confident she was free of the previous night’s terror. Now, she tensed every muscle in her body to force down the bile and squelch the sounds that threatened to escape from her throat.
One of the creatures stirred and spun, obviously searching as it slithered closer to her tunnel. The colored lights flashed faster across the head’s metallic plate.
Please, no. Even breathing created too much to risk. Something was wrong with her psyche if she produced these creatures in her dreams. With a hard squeeze, she dug her fingers into her nightgown for a hold on sanity. Or to wake up, whatever worked. She forced herself to watch because the risk of not knowing would be worse.
The man changed direction and planted a shoulder into the creature that turned toward her. Muscles bunched with the effort to lift the entire length of chain, he shifted position.
His actions appeared purposeful, though the hair across his eyes hid his expression.
Mia held her breath. To challenge the creatures was insane or stupid or both.
The feat of taunting his captors earned him a punch to the shoulder from a tentacle. His brutal crash to the floor landed him where she had appeared from home only moments ago.
With one harsh pull, the man and his captors disappeared from her sight. In sick relief, Mia shrank against the wall of her dark hallway. The cold stone floor chilled her feet, and the rough-hewn rock gouged tiny spikes of pain into her flesh. Both confirmed her dream a reality.
The dark felt safer, but pools of light on the floor from the adjoining hallway swam too close. The white puddles shivered from left to right, holding concert with an increased volume of shuffles and grunts from the far end of the corridor. The disorienting motion of the lights and echo of noises reinitiated the bitter churn of her stomach and tight clench of her throat.
Repetitive gunfire rang out in the corridor, followed by a string of shouts and high-pitched screams. She froze, crouched on the floor, arms gripped about her legs. Her pulse thrummed in her head; its rapid presence gave no comfort.
She prided herself on calm and logic, but the shivers that racked her arms bordered on hysteria. She scrambled farther back and hoped fight or flight would be an option instead of immobilization from terror.
The group that passed in the connecting hallway was human. The man in the lead carried an assault
rifle, nose aimed at the ground. Two machetes crisscrossed over his back were an advertisement for his deadly career choice.
A second man in black fatigues dragged a body by the scruff of its shirt collar. Death a certainty, given the corpse was headless. Blood speckled the khaki shirt in a morbid camouflage pattern.
Those things eat humans. Mia covered her mouth and nose to keep from vomiting.
Not far behind several more men followed, all weathered with tans, each dressed in the same khaki outfits minus the blood. The men’s necks strained beneath the burden of the wooden crates on their backs. Their heads swiveled while searching in the dark recesses of her tunnel. Wide eyes and dilated pupils identified them as recipients of terror overload.
She recognized the signs. She braced for an unexpected attack, tension locking her joints. Every noise registered, but the entourage moved farther away. Prolonged silence finally confirmed she was alone.
Mia sank to the floor and lifted her shaking hands. She turned them back and forth. They looked the right size. The bandage was still there from the packing box cut. Definitely hers.
Too bad.
The dream would be less threatening if she’d evolved into someone who could take on a big gross squid with metal teeth.
She exhaled, leaned her head against the wall, and closed her eyes. Her body remained tense, her attention still focused on sounds from the hallway.
Priority one: figure out how she had ended her dream the first time? She needed to be done with nightmares.
One slow, deep breath filtered into her lungs, a hard struggle against the tight ribbon of fear. She counted to ten and tried to relax. The first was easy; the second impossible.
In an effort to empty her mind, she searched for the blue skies while she flexed her hands on her knees in forced calm. Last night she’d gotten home. She could do it again.
The cold brace of the rock against the back of her skull and beneath her feet signaled no success. Have to do this.
