by K H Lemoyne
“If they get into the house, slip off the safety, hold tight, keep your eyes open, and shoot for the center of the body. Shoot to kill. Keep shooting until you run out of bullets.” He’d even risked folding her for a few minutes to a remote location so she could practice first loading the bullets and then squeezing off a few shots. The recoil and the roar had unnerved her.
After laying a false trail, he’d taken them home and placed the gun in the drawer with a box of bullets. Heaven only knew where he’d purchased those. The gun had remained in the drawer for the last few months. Turen hadn’t pushed the issue again.
Mia took gun and the box of bullets, trying very hard to still her shaking fingers. Slowly she went through the steps to check the safety and load the weapon. What should have been a quick job took her forty minutes. At the end, she curled up in the middle of their bed, the gun fisted in her hands, and prayed through the tears streaming down her face.
***
The forty-five degree angle of the rock walls and the recessed crystals of light added to the odd symmetry of the cryo lab. Turen turned slowly in the dim light, checking the alcoves beside him and the aisles that fed away from his location.
No movement or disturbance broke the silence. In fact, nothing sounded but the beeps of the monitoring equipment. He glanced toward a panel on the far wall; the sensor alarms that should be resonating throughout the facility from his appearance were lit white, inactive. His good fortune posed a major threat. Sensors deactivated, the sisters in cryo risked attack, the free-access point allowing for intrusion.
Deliberate? No way to tell from the panel, and he didn’t have time for a thorough search, but the unexpected alteration in his plan gnawed at his gut.
He swung around again cautiously and grappled with whether only the situation or another presence had alerted his senses. Uncertain, he moved ahead. There wasn’t time to tackle this problem now. Something this critical required he come back later and rectify it.
Hands free for an altercation, he headed for the far end of the aisle to his right. Briet had been one of the last put into cryo. Her pod was the final one at the end of the section. The walls sloped from the floor in a gradual rise to the ceiling. Long tubular pods attached to the walls sustained life via fibers fed to each unit, with receptive data redistributed back to a centralized screen of intelligent plasma near the entrance to the lab.
Each active pod held a woman, a sister by birth or affection to the warriors of the Sanctum. A sheer crystal observation window covered the face and shoulders of each woman with privacy shields activated.
Salvatore’s opinion, and later dictate, posed that the female segment of their population required more protection.
Turen considered the notion insulting. Many of the sisters possessed as much power and physical strength as their brothers, all possessed as much fortitude. Though one thing each of his brethren agreed on over the long and waning years—a reluctance to witness their sisters suffer for years without their mates, especially with Maitea’s death and the threat of the virus. Until those situations were resolved, the grudging agreement from all was for the women to enter cryo stasis. None were forced to enter cryo, though many had not gone happily.
Turen still held serious misgivings about the decision.
Finding his mate in Mia only reinforced his doubts about Salvatore’s aim and motives related to the cryo resolution. Fresh perspective made him debate what threat the women posed for Salvatore to restrict them in such a convenient method. At least for now they were safe. To tip the scales without answers, support, and a plan would only open them to new risks.
The last pod on the right was dim. He narrowed his eyes as he checked the mechanism. The failsafe component attached to each pod should sound an alert of any damage to the unit or the need for replacement parts. In addition to electronic monitors, Tsu performed a routine monitor of this facility.
Turen raised his hand, palm up; the small sphere of flame he formed was enough to illuminate the pod’s interior. He slid back the privacy screen.
With a jerk, he dropped his hand. The flame dispersed, leaving him in darkness.
The alarm system he’d anticipated upon his arrival chose then to activate. Blaring sirens wrenched through the lab’s silence. A low, modulated voice streamed through a centralized speaker system.
“Sensor detection in segment B. Activation lockdown.”
Shit. The sweep had detected him and he couldn’t afford the questions if caught inside the lab. Not able to fold with lockdown in place, he raced down the aisles, arms pumping to squeeze through the portal of the lab doors before they snicked closed and locked.
He spun around in the corridor to check his exit options. His face connected with Ansgar’s fist. The impact launched him several yards down the hallway and landed him with a brutal jarring of bones on the stone floor.
Lifting to his elbows, he shook his head as mechanical whirs and clicks signaled the robot guard’s lock on him. A metal restraint slipped over his neck before he had time to open his mouth.
“I see you’ve decided to return. A little later than we agreed.” Salvatore’s voice rang in the corridor.
Turen took his time standing, taking quick stock of his disaster. Salvatore’s silver eyes remained impassive, but his expression and rigid stance reeked of confidence. Several more warriors stood at his back, weapons clutched. He stared at the face of each man and then pointedly at their weapons. An additional five robots flanked Turen. As if he had an opportunity for a break.
“All this for me? A little over the top, isn’t it, even for you, Salvatore?”
That earned him another fist, from Salvatore this time.
“You are beyond insolent, Turen.”
He moved his jaw, spit out a bit of blood and raised his face again, his wrists now restrained behind his back by the robots.
“What are you doing down here?” Salvatore’s voice returned to cold, calm.
“He was headed for the cryo lab.” The comment came from Ansgar before Turen had a chance to speak.
Salvatore’s eyes narrowed. He glanced from Ansgar to Turen with undisguised suspicion. “What were you planning?”
Ansgar leaned against the wall. “Whatever it was, at least he never made good on it.”
“You can’t be—” Salvatore was cut off by the swoosh of the cryo doors farther down the hall.
Everyone turned as Tsu exited, walked around the guards, and came to stand beside Ansgar. “There was no one else with me in the lab,” said Tsu.
Damn, he should have paid more attention to his instincts. What the hell was going on here?
“Over three months you’ve been gone, Turen. Where is the woman you were charged with capturing?”
“I was charged to find her for questioning.”
“You were charged to bring her here,” Salvatore ground out as he raised his fists.
“We disagree, Salvatore.”
“You do not have the option to disagree. Now where is she, and what are you doing here? A sabotage of the cryo labs, perhaps?” A peculiar lilt lent an odd inflection of joy to Salvatore’s voice. Turen frowned at the man.
“I don’t know where the woman is, but I would never put my sisters at risk.”
Salvatore gave him a steady look. “Three months,” he repeated. “You can’t possibly hope to say anything to convince us you haven’t betrayed us.”
“Because I don’t agree with your line of thinking, doesn’t make me a traitor to my people.”
“Actually it does.”
His muscles rigid in the hold of the machine guards, he worked to keep the thin, taut line of his mental composure from snapping. He was fucking tired of capture and restraint. His only hope was that some of his comrades had the common sense to see through Salvatore’s denouncement of him.
Ansgar’s bald-faced lie and attack had covered Turen’s exit from the lab—but to what end? Briet wouldn’t be out of the pod without her brother’s knowledge. Evidently
keeping Salvatore in the dark was enough incentive to align himself with Turen, but not enough to trust him. His memories of the council meeting connected Ansgar with the confirmation of Isa’s cremation. It had been more than a little horrifying to view Isa’s dead body intact in Briet’s pod.
And Tsu? Not one facet of the cryo lab escaped his meticulous scrutiny. Most of the brethren probably weren’t aware of the vigils Tsu kept over his sister’s pod and those of the others. He’d been the presence Turen detected in cryo. Now he feigned ignorance as well.
What was going on with his team?
Kamau and Grimm were thankfully absent from this scene.
“Silence will buy you nothing. You will rot in a cell until you are ready to give us information. It is what you are accustomed to, after all. If you choose to be stubborn, I will have to resort to an alternative. Trust me, Turen, you won’t relish the alternative.” Salvatore gave no outward sign, but the guards pulled at his arms to move him.
“Dictatorial bastard is not a management style, Salvatore.” Turen spat the words, frustration vying with anger.
The leader raised his fist but seemed to think better of it. The crowd in the corridor had grown. Turen witnessed the startled looks on the faces of several of the warriors. By now, almost every warrior was present. The unease was palpable.
Salvatore glanced around. “I will meet with the rest of you in the council room.”
The guards ushered Turen away unceremoniously and locked him in an internment cell in the lower bowels of the Sanctum’s stone structure. He rolled, stretched his neck, clenched his teeth, and sat up on the stone floor. The retention rooms hadn’t existed until Xavier had gone mad after the death of his wife.
Ironic. The brace on his neck was composed of the same material as the manacles Xavier used to imprison him. Now he was a prisoner for his own people, in the cell used for their fallen leader.
He closed his eyes in frustration, dropped his head back against the wall, and stared into space.
“I could use a little help here.” It was a desperate comment to no one in particular or perhaps to the whole universe.
He had to get back to Mia because Briet was no longer an option, and no matter what, he wasn’t going to let Mia become another victim of his people’s disaster.
CHAPTER 19
Mia walked the perimeter of her property, checking the security markers that corresponded to the physical map Turen left her. The remote sensor had blanked out after last night’s storm cut the power. Downed limbs and trees added to the havoc. Her plan wasn’t to leave the house, but the sensor hadn’t reinstated after the power returned. This check was her assurance the perimeter was still active despite the lack of response from the remote component.
Alone, she couldn’t control her worry. Turen had monitored their security. However, keeping safeguards in place was a task she could absorb.
Each marker, hidden and active every twenty feet, bordered her property. Each was a twenty-five pound metal composition of wires and gizmos she had yet to make sense of, though she understood the concept. These lumps issued signals, and combined with some electronics Turen baked together, monitored and deflected the vibration of folds in their private space. This combined with a camouflage of frequencies and wavelengths to cover their personal signatures from remote scanning and detection. He’d walked her through the process and would have explained the mechanics to her if there’d been more time in the last few days.
Troubleshooting was easy. She could determine the stream’s activation from the light buzz at calf height as she walked along the line.
Two more to go at the far side of the driveway and she would head in to put up her feet.
Passing the next to last one, she looked ahead.
Shit.
One of the younger trees lay on its side, ripped from the earth by the gale force winds, its roots, fingers thrust toward the sky. The final marker, previously nestled at the base of the tree, was half-buried beneath the trunk. Out of synch with the perimeter’s last segment, it left a large hole open and unshielded.
Mia did a quick timeline calculation. The storm hit its peak about six hours after Turen’s departure and passed through quickly. She’d still been awake when the final winds had died down and the power cut out—meaning maybe an hour or two of exposure. All she needed was to get the marker back in place and the circuit should close on its own.
She knelt gingerly, one hand to her belly, the other braced against the tree until she’d eased her bulk to the ground. With no tools and little time, she dug in the dirt under the tree trunk with her hands. Working for several minutes didn’t provide enough room to free the lump.
A donut-shaped hole capped each unit, the round slip protruding from the dirt and roots. Bracing her legs, she struggled into a squat and bit back a laugh. Hell, she couldn’t reach her shoes to tie them. How was she going to reach and pull on this bit of metal?
She brushed back the hair from her face, blew out a breath, and glanced around. No idea popped out of thin air. Drops of water shook from a limb nearby. The light breeze sprayed her. She slapped at the moisture on her jacket and paused at the germ of an idea.
Quickly shrugging off the jacket, she threaded a sleeve through the donut and resumed a modified crouch. A fistful of jacket held tight in each hand, she pulled as she rose from her squat. It made no difference. The marker didn’t budge, stuck righteously tight in the sodden soil.
After a deep breath, she tried again and managed a few bare inches of movement, not quite enough to reinstate the barrier. The gnarled base of the trunk pressed over the marker’s edge, keeping it in place. She contemplated how to move it when a sharp twinge jabbed in her side.
No.
She rubbed to ease the ache, quickly gauging the distance to the corresponding markers. A little more and it should complete the circuit. Then she would be back to the house.
With one more deep breath, she shuffled backward, her pulling enough for the buzz to tingle along her skin as the marker synchronized in line and closed the final section of the perimeter.
Thank goodness.
Another pain shot along the right side of her belly as she stood. Longer and sharper than the first, it left her hunched over and gasping for breath.
She shook her head. It didn’t work to dissipate the pain or will it away. “Not now.” She rubbed at her belly. The same location as the previous episodes, the same pain, but always before, she had some control—at least in the beginning.
Turning, she took two steps when the pain ripped through her again and brought her to her knees. “Come on, baby, can’t be now. Too soon. Dad’s not here. Remember, we have an agreement. Dad needs to be here.”
With slow shallow breaths, she waited, pushing back the dark reality that she’d never made it through one of these episodes without Turen. A hitch caught in her throat with the next onslaught. This pain level ratcheted above the previous ones.
Can’t. Give. In.
Hands braced to push up, she clenched her teeth only to collapse on her back to the ground as she tried not to fight through the paralyzing sensation of the next assault, letting it roll over her. Her legs locked, refusing to respond to her commands to stretch and move. She grabbed her stomach to ease the torture, but there was no end. Searing fire bit beneath the surface of her flesh. She rolled to her side. Pinpoints of pain lashed through her body, whipping at her nerves without mercy. The fire that radiated from her side sapped her strength and immobilized her on the damp ground.
“No.” The words dragged from her mouth as she sucked needed air into her lungs. No time to move, no time for help, less time to think. She wrapped her memory around Turen’s heartbeat and screamed his name.
A whimper broke free. She squinted against the pain and tried to shimmy on her side toward the house. It stood fifty yards away. If she could only make her muscles stop seizing to cooperate in the effort. The next scream of his name burst from her lips only to end in another pitiful cry
.
No response, no heartbeat, not a flutter and yet she screamed again only to be met by dead space, dead air.
“Damn it. Please, somebody help me.”
If she kept moving. Move, Mia. You can do it. You’ve been through worse.
Or perhaps not. The pain lanced again and robbed her of air.
Just move.
Her mind struggled through the haze. There was nothing natural about this pain. Nothing she’d read had prepared her for this. Fear percolated in her mind with the certainty that something was terribly wrong. This wasn’t labor. This wasn’t normal.
Dampness cooled the skin under her pants, and she felt fluid ooze between her legs.
“No.” Seven months was too early for her water to break. She reached down for confirmation and stared in horror at the blood coating her fingers. She cradled her belly as new pains radiated from her side.
“Not my baby. God, please, no. Turen.” Her tears garbled the words. Even speaking made the pain worse. If she held still, it was only white-hot blinding pain. If she moved, it was an explosive, angry sizzling monster. She needed help now. Turen wasn’t coming. Her fears weren’t worth risking her baby’s life. And she had promised.
“Grimm,” she whispered, the struggle harsh, her voice too hoarse with the effort to breathe to call out clearly. She focused on the memory of his heartbeat beneath her hand from the night of the battle. Part of her needed him to show. The other part was terrified he would do just that.
Her pain had a wonderful way of cutting through the conflict. “Grimm,” she screamed as she filled her mind with him. Sobs strangled her speech to a hush. “Grimm, please help me.”
***
Mia jerked and opened her eyes as a hand brushed the hair from her face, and fingers gently pressed the wrist of her blood-covered hand. The eyes above her had haunted her dreams for months. They stared at her now, so green under brows furrowed in deep concern. She bit back another scream as tears flowed. “Please.”
