In Like a Lion (The Chimera Chronicles)

by Karin Shah [shifer]

  “No.” Ky glanced at the pajama-clad boys on the screen, faces glowing, bouncing off each other in excitement. “Couldn’t choke anything down.” Ky’s voice was harmonic and he cleared his throat, grasping for mastery over his dragon. “And that was five-hundred dollar scotch.”

  John shrugged and shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “It’s in a safe place.” He propped his backside against the desk, as if he hadn’t just stolen an unstable chimera’s only crutch. “I take it that doctor never called back?”

  Ky rifled through his hair with both hands in frustration. “No, and from the doctor’s reaction we can’t call the phone. We know where it is, but not what we’re marching into. Thalia’s working on more.”

  Happy squeals from the laptop drew both their attention. Ky’s mother was letting him hold baby Jake. The other boys crowded around, clamoring for turns. “Look at us. We doted on him.” His gruff partial laugh held no humor. “I swore I’d protect him—protect all of them.”

  He pushed back from the desk, pouncing to his feet. “I can’t just sit here. Hell, I should have searched for them myself from the beginning, instead of wasting my time with Mythic Corp.”

  “It took a professional more than ten years to find them.” John’s tone was repellently rational. “Even if you’d done better, which I doubt you could have, what could you have given them? A life on the run?”

  “At least we would have been together.” Ky paced. “Goddamnit, John. I built all of this”—he waved a hand around the room—“for them. To find them, to protect them, and Ethan’s probably dead. Jake’s locked up. Tyler and Connor are in a fucking war zone . . .”

  He blew out a stream of air. “I can’t wait any longer. I have to leave.”

  John grabbed at Ky’s arm, but seemed to think better of it and let his hand drop.

  Fuck it. His best friend was afraid to touch him.

  “We only just administered the new therapy to the female. If it works . . . Just give it ‘til Friday like we agreed.”

  Ky hesitated then let his head fall to his chest in a nod. “Until Friday, and not a moment longer.”

  Anjali’s tablet clattered as she set it on the little table outside Jake’s cell. The sound magnified for some reason. She’d studiously avoided looking at him since entering the cellblock, but now she turned and deflated. He lay on his cot as usual, but he wasn’t reading. He was asleep. A gusty sigh escaped her, her chest leaden with disappointment. Well, at least she would have his presence without his anger.

  She settled in to do some administrative work. Half an hour later, a reminder beeped on her phone. Her doctor’s appointment. She stood and collected her stuff, but dithered, reluctant to leave without smoothing things over with Jake.

  Finally, she set her tablet down again and went to the bars. He sprawled on the cot, head near the top, his large feet on the bottom edge, and she realized the bed was oversized, but not really enough. It must be uncomfortable to have his bare feet just on the end like that.

  He breathed evenly, his beautiful chest rising and falling. The clean lines of his face were almost softened by the black fans of his eyelashes and the dark scruff of late afternoon on his cheeks and chin. Maybe she shouldn’t wake him. She turned to gather her tablet. Her phone beeped again in her pocket. The reminder sounded like a fire alarm in her ears, but she glanced at Jake and he didn’t stir.

  A frown tugged her forehead. That was odd. She knew from their conversations he had hypersensitive hearing. The first reminder should have awakened him. “Jake?”

  No response. Not even a twitch. She raised her voice. “Jake!”

  Alarmed, she rang the intercom button on the wall.

  “Sanchez, here. What can I do for you, Doctor?”

  Sanchez’s voice was loud over the speaker, but a glance revealed Jake was still asleep.

  Worry gnawed at her with sharp, biting teeth. Asleep? Or unconscious?

  “I can’t seem to wake J— Mr. Finn.”

  “Yeah. He wasn’t taking his medication, so Mr. Kincaid had it administered through his food.”

  Anjali bit her nail. “I see. Thank you.”

  She slid out her phone. She had to get moving or she’d miss her appointment, but she just couldn’t leave him like this. Mr. Kincaid answered on the first ring.

  “Anjali, how are things going?”

  “I was just wondering that myself. I went to interview Jake and he was unconscious.”

  Mr. Kincaid tutted. “Ahh, must be a dosage error. I’ll talk to the techs.”

  Anjali sucked her cheek. A dosage error? They’d held Jake for years and they didn’t know what dosage he required? She was getting damn sick of being lied to. “Actually, I wanted to run another blood panel, to examine his ANA specifically.” She prayed he didn’t know that test was simply an indicator of inflammation. “I need him off medication for that.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line for a long moment. “We do have procedures for taking samples while he’s awake, but they’re rather . . . draconian. I hope you won’t be shocked. We can’t risk an escape for everyone’s safety. Especially Finn’s.”

  “I understand.”

  “The medicine will be out of his system in twelve hours. We’ll see you in the morning.”

  Twelve hours. Anjali inhaled long and slow. Plenty of time to prepare.

  The sight of Jake in chains as they led him into her lab at 9:00 a.m. the next morning hit her like a sledgehammer to the solar plexus. She’d seen heavily restrained men on TV, legs and arms shackled and chained to a leather strap around their waist, but Jake’s chains were thicker by a factor of four. She wouldn’t have been able to take a step, but Jake barely shuffled. As always, his feet were bare and he wore only scrub pants. She swallowed. She’d never seen him without a barrier between them. He seemed simply too gorgeous and powerful to exist in reality, like one of those idealized paintings they did of superheroes.

  Anders laid a baton on Jake’s naked shoulder and guided him to a massive hook hanging on the far wall. She’d never even noticed the gleaming, wicked-looking thing before. The Hulk-like guard took out a key and unlocked the fastener holding Jake’s hands at his waist, stretching Jake’s spectacular arms up over his head and looping the chains on the hook. Anders then stooped and locked the leg restraints to a bolt on the floor before taking up a post in the corner out of the way.

  Anjali eased a hand into her lab coat pocket and fingered the vial of blood she’d drawn from herself after her doctor’s appointment the night before. All she had to do was get Jake’s blood and switch it when the guard wasn’t paying attention. If the earlier results were fake, they’d never discover the deception. If they’d actually tested the blood, well, mix-ups happened in labs everyday.

  She almost jumped when Anders’ phone rang. Glass clinked as she set out her materials, trying not to seem as if she listened to his conversation. From his responses, their boss was on the line.

  “Yes, sir.” Anders hung up and glanced at her, sliding his phone into a holder on his belt with a click. “I’m sorry, Dr. Mehta. Mr. Kincaid needs me elsewhere.” He ran his icy gaze over Jake. “He should be completely secure. Hit the panic button if something happens.”

  Anjali schooled the smile that threatened to erupt, her pulse doing little leaps of joy. “Absolutely. I’m sure, it’ll be fine.” Now, she only had to hide the switch from the camera. She turned back toward Jake, ignoring the tiny voice that suggested Anders’ departure was too good to be true.

  As soon as the blond guard left, Anjali spun to face Jake.

  His head was lowered, his hair hiding his remarkable eyes, but there was something terribly erotic about having him served up this way, his arms over his head, chest sculpted down to the ridges of his chiseled abdomen. The cold, sterile lines of the lab only emphasized his incredible aura of strength and power.

  Whew. Anjali held back the urge to fan herself. Better get this over with.

  The smell of latex f
illed her nose as she snapped on her gloves, then picked up the rubbery tourniquet. She moved to Jake and stopped in consternation. How the hell had they gotten blood from him this way?

  “Umm.” She licked her lips. “I need your arms down. Do I need to call someone?”

  He tossed his head, shifting the strands of inky hair, allowing his eyes to peek through. “I can’t free them from the hook myself, but I’ll let you do it.”

  “You will?” Remembering the last time they’d been that close, Anjali’s lungs suddenly found oxygen too slippery to grasp.

  Jake’s voice sounded raspy. “I’m just coming down from all those drugs Kincaid pumped in me. I don’t need to be shocked by a cattle prod.”

  Despite her misgivings about her employer, she couldn’t help defending the older man. “Mr. Kincaid has—”

  “Been my jailer for most of my life. I’d prefer not to talk about him. Let’s just get this over with.”

  Anjali nodded, pressing her lips together. Fair or not, he had a point.

  “You’ll need a stepstool or a chair.”

  Well, he was certainly being helpful. Scanning the room, she discovered a folded stepstool tucked in a corner and quickly set it up. In order to reach his wrists she was going to have to get close. Very close. His hard chest would be inches from hers, his mouth would be near enough to feel his breath on her face.

  She could do this. She just had to be quick. She stepped up, wobbling a bit, but caught herself with her hand on the base of the hook before she could fall against him.

  “What’s that?” Jake’s voice was hard and tight.

  She glanced at him, then followed his gaze back up to the portion of her forearm exposed by the receding arm of her lab coat. A dark bruise marred the skin. She yanked her sleeve back over the mark, hiding it from those penetrating eyes. “It’s nothing. I got a bit jostled around the other day.”

  She’d given more blood last night than the vial she’d taken for Jake but that wasn’t worth thinking about.

  She brought her other hand up and hoisted Jake’s chained wrists off the hook, telling herself she couldn’t feel his body heat though her clothes. She wished she could pretend his scent, wild and potent, giving rise to images of sun-heated grasslands, didn’t make her dizzy. Didn’t prickle across her nerves like plush fur dragged across hypersensitive skin.

  With his wrists unhooked, she stepped off the stool, tucking it away as he dropped his arms. Trying not to think what it would feel like if she stepped forward and let those corded arms loop around her.

  She emptied her mind, losing herself in the routine of swabbing his skin, allowing the alcohol to dry and applying the tourniquet. If she concentrated hard enough, she could ignore the buzz of attraction between them. She’d drawn blood hundreds of times. He wasn’t a man who sent her hormones into overdrive. He was just an arm with a vein. After she’d filled the vial with blood, she let her hand fall out of camera range and switched the vials, fighting the urge to glance at the camera. Jake’s eyes narrowed as he noted the switch, but he didn’t say anything.

  She pressed a gauze pad to the tiny wound, and removed the needle, applying pressure. After a few seconds, she lifted the pad to see if stasis had occurred and reared back. The break in the skin from the needle was gone, as if it had never happened. She probed the area, pulling it taut with her gloved hand, then stripped off the gloves and thumbed his skin, searching for the puncture, but there was only smooth, golden epidermis.

  “What?” Jake’s gaze flicked her way.

  Anjali shook her head and fingered his corded forearm. “You’re healed.”

  He shrugged and glanced away.

  She studied him for a long moment. “Why do you do that?”

  “Heal?” He released one of his dry, almost laughs. “You’re the doctor.”

  “No. Why won’t you look at me?”

  “Most people find my eyes . . . upsetting.”

  Anjali bit her lip. She was going to hate herself for saying this, but . . . “Blue or gold, I—I think they’re beautiful.”

  His head came up and she didn’t hate herself at all as his honeyed gaze met hers. His pupils were so dark against the molten sunlight of his irises. Air became scarce. Beautiful was an understatement. There were no words for eyes like his. She could stare into their depths forever. Especially now, surrounded by the heat of him, his strong presence, his heady scent.

  She was suddenly aware of how close she stood, of his arm beneath her hand. Before she could step back, he pressed forward as near as his shackles would allow and his mouth found hers. Her knees dissolved and, body weightless, she leaned into his kiss, the thrilling pressure of his lips moving over hers, hot, sweet, and forbidden, sweeping her away. There was a tiny warning bell ringing in her head, that she could get fired for this—should be fired for this, that they were on camera for the whole world to see, but oh, God. His mouth was pure magic on hers. She had never felt anything like this. A simple kiss. Nothing but his lips and hers, and yet, she shuddered with pleasure, shockwaves rippling through her from her mouth to her toes and everywhere in-between.

  He drew back, those marvelous eyes completely blue, and all she could do was frame his face with her hands.

  She just studied him for a several seconds. She wanted to say something. Wanted him to say something, but her body and mind were still clouded by his kiss and she didn’t want to break the spell.

  Finally, she had to step back and it was at that moment that Anders returned. His big, loud presence dispersing the fragile, lingering haze of desire.

  Minutes later, Jake was gone. Sighing, she busied herself with straightening her materials, trying to ignore the ache in her throat, but nothing helped. The room was too sterile, too hard-edged and way too empty. She’d worked by herself in labs for years. Why now did she feel so alone?

  She sank into a rolling desk chair and buried her face in her hands. She should be running Jake’s blood, but what was the point? She’d seen him heal. No normal person healed that fast.

  She shook her head and stood. She had to go to someone. She’d put off talking to Mr. Kincaid long enough. Maybe he hadn’t told her because he didn’t think she’d believe him. This whole thing would no doubt be cleared up by one simple conversation.

  She headed for the elevator, this time thankful to find it vacant.

  When the doors opened at the fourth floor, she saw that Darcy was once more away from her desk. She checked her watch. Ugh. Lunchtime. Mr. Kincaid probably wouldn’t be in his office either.

  She peered down the long hall.

  His door was slightly ajar and she could see his gray-suited shoulder.

  He was in. Oh, goody. She shook her head and strode forward, a grim smile pasted on her face. He spoke on the phone.

  She raised her hand to knock on the door.

  “—told you, you’ll never control him.”

  Anjali froze, her hand millimeters from the smooth dark surface of the door. He was talking about Jake. He had to be. She leaned forward.

  “I don’t care what your bosses say,” Mr. Kincaid continued after pausing to listen to whoever was on the other end of the line, his normally cultured voice frayed around the edges. “The only safe plan is mine. As soon as we have what we need, Finn has to be terminated.”

  Anjali blinked. Had she heard what she thought she’d heard?

  Had her employer, the respected philanthropist Gareth Kincaid, just ordered a man’s death?

  No. She must have misheard.

  And yet, there was no way in the hell the words Finn has to be terminated could be misconstrued. He wasn’t an employee. He couldn’t be fired. Terminated in this case could mean only one thing. Killed.

  Her stomach heaved. The walls lurched, closing in. Her hands grappled for Darcy’s desk. The hall seemed to darken and stretch away as an oppressive feeling of imminent threat overwhelmed her.

  She had to warn Jake. But how? His cell was bugged and a camera watched him 24/7. Would h
e even believe her?

  She couldn’t think. She had to get out of here.

  After a white-knuckled drive home, Anjali threw her keys down, kicked off her shoes, and rubbed her arms, pacing her tiny apartment, shocked by the violence of her emotions.

  She’d heard a man she liked and respected casually calling for a man’s death.

  Her research for the Kincaid group was the rock she relied on to keep herself moored to the rest of the world, to other people. Without it, what did she have?

  Feelings of betrayal rocked through her. She hadn’t realized how much she had come to regard Gareth Kincaid almost like a father figure. His duplicity stung more than it should.

  She shoved her recriminations away. A man’s life was at stake. How could she waste time with her own petty concerns? She had to concentrate on the best way to help Jake.

  But what should she do? What could she do?

  Call the police?

  She snorted at that, a stunted laugh withered in her chest. Then she’d be the one restrained for the safety of others.

  The words reminded her of her conversation with Kyle Mara and his response to the information that his brother was in a secure facility. He’d sworn.

  The words had been what you might expect, but the tone of his voice had been odd. She’d brushed past it at the time, but thinking back, his inflection had held less sorrow and more resolve. As if he’d almost been expecting her answer, and now he would have to deal with the implications.

  Her hands trembled as she reached for the phone. Kyle Mara knew his brother could transform.

  She grabbed the phone, only to close her eyes with hopelessness. She had been speaking on Jake’s phone, not hers. She didn’t have his number.

  Poor Jake. So far, she made a pretty pathetic rescuer.

  Ten minutes later, Anjali gazed at the screen of her laptop and released a sigh of relief. After fruitlessly searching for a personal phone number, she’d finally gotten a break. An online newspaper article mentioned a Kyle Mara. A mover and shaker in New York City, his number was unlisted, but he owned the Three-headed Dog, an Irish-style pub catering to other movers and shakers.