by J. D. Tyler
Daria swept in ahead of Ryon, and he left the door cracked a bit before joining her at the computer. She settled into August’s black leather chair, retrieving the thumb drive case from her pack. She wiggled the mouse to wake up the sleeping machine, then stuck in the thumb drive. The password box immediately appeared on the screen.
Fingers flying, Daria tried the last several codes. Access denied. “Damn. Have any more secret access codes up your sleeve?”
“Try Project Malik, no spaces.”
She clicked out the word, pressed enter. They were in! “Another safety net, mate? My, you and Nick were busy boys,” she commented without looking up.
Intent on her purpose, she leaned forward. His affirmation fueled her desire to get that final piece of evidence, the ace in the hole. Ryon didn’t interfere. Her computer skills matched or surpassed his, and he knew she would’ve eventually broken into the main screen, even without Nick’s help.
Conscious of the minutes slipping away, he peered into the hallway. Still clear, but not for long. Any minute one of the guards would stroll to the pool to check in with the missing man. He and Daria might have a few more minutes before they realized the man wasn’t in the restroom, or in the kitchen pilfering a late-night snack.
Sweat beaded on Ryon’s forehead and neck, and not just from nerves. The room was unbearably hot, his leg killing him. Not a good sign. Forcing the discomfort from his mind, he walked back to Daria.
Hunched over, she punched in another series of numbers. Waited. Then, like a miracle, a spreadsheet filled the screen. All the information they needed, at their fingertips. Smiling, Daria raised a fist in victory.
“It’s all here. The drugs they used on the shifters, names of their victims—or test subjects as the assholes called them—names of doctors and others in their employ. All sorts of damning evidence.”
“God, this is so much more extensive than what we recovered from Bowman’s last testing site.” Something caught Ryon’s eye. “Look there. It says Medicinal Countermeasures for Morphing Agents, and it looks like a recipe. Does that mean what I think?”
“It’s an antidote,” she breathed. Typing fast, she opened a window and, following Ryon’s direction, began to send the all-important files to the Pack compound’s server.
He contacted his commander. Nick, we’ve got it! All the files are coming your way, and it looks like there’s a reversal drug for the shit they did to Ben and the others.
After a couple of seconds, the man answered in relief. Great job. As soon as it’s sent, get the hell out. Time is short. I’ll get our lab people working on the antidote and try to have it in hand when we fly out to pick you both up.
All right, and thanks. For everything.
Just go, and hurry.
A box flashed with the words Transfer Complete. Ryon kissed the top of her head. “I’m impressed, angel. Now let’s get going. I never want to see this place again.”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
Daria removed the thumb drive and secured it in the case again, hands trembling. Ryon could imagine what a monumental occasion this was for her, because it meant as much to him. Now Ben at least had a chance. She zipped the pack, logged off the computer, and turned to him.
“I can’t wait to see the government come down on his ass like a bad case of clap.”
A deep, taunting laugh reverberated against the walls, startling them both. August Bradford stepped into the office and flipped on the lights, a pistol trained on them.
Oh, Jesus.
Ryon froze and Daria pressed herself to his side. He didn’t dare glance at her. Sweat trickled down the side of his face. Swallowing his sickness and anger, he met his enemy’s black gaze without flinching.
August was a handsome man, with few lines on his face to hint at his age. He carried himself tall and straight, and wore an expression of faint amusement. He looked and acted the part of a spoiled, entitled man who must have very much enjoyed playing God along with Malik and Bowman.
“They wouldn’t be the first ones to try, dearest niece.” August looked from her back to Ryon, his smile chilling, voice dripping with meaning. “Place your weapons on the floor, nice and slow.”
They did, keeping their hands in sight, then straightened. Ryon didn’t respond right away, but took in the rest of August’s appearance. He was dressed in blue silk pajamas, his hair shooting in several directions, mussed from sleep. They’d surprised him, which might work in their favor. The fact that the guards hadn’t followed on his heels meant he had yet to alert them. That might prove their only chance for escape.
“You might want to play nice with us, old man,” Ryon said flatly.
“All right, I’ll bite. Why would I want to play nice?”
“Because we just sent all of your files to an arm of the government that is very interested in stamping out every last trace of the heinous experiments you were involved in with Gene Bowman and the Unseelie, Malik, whom you knew was masquerading as rich entrepreneur Evan Kerrigan.”
Though the man maintained his smile, it tightened noticeably. “The government, you say? Well, there was your first mistake.”
“Now I’ll bite. How so?”
August cocked his head, studying Ryon. “You’re a shifter. Cat? Wolf?”
He saw no reason to lie. “Wolf.”
“Made, not born.”
“Yes.” He exchanged a quick look of confusion with Daria. Where was this going?
“Since you’re with an arm of the government, as you put it, I’ll assume it’s black ops. Am I correct in also assuming you were military before you were turned?”
“Navy SEAL,” he admitted, a cold ball forming in his stomach. This man was getting at something very bad, and they were about to learn what. “So, what does any of that mean?”
“Ah, Ryon Hunter, you’ve been wondering that for years, haven’t you?” August almost whispered, a clever light in his eyes.
A cold shock went through him. “How do you know my name? What are you trying to say?”
“Must I do all the work here? Connect the dots, boy. Haven’t you and your fellow SEALs who were attacked in Afghanistan and turned six years ago wondered why?”
Ryon stared at the man, his heart pounding in dread.
August chuckled, stepping closer. “Why did you all survive, when so many others died? How is it that a group of human men, each with Psy powers unbeknownst to the others, ended up in the same unit? How did it happen that they were attacked that day, thousands of miles from home, and no one but the men with the Psy abilities survived the slaughter? At some point, each of your team must have wondered why, why, why.”
Ryon groaned as the full import hit, and he nearly collapsed. “Mother of God. It’s true. We were set up.”
“Yes, young wolf. You were set up from the very beginning, down to the last man.” Glancing at the computer they’d hacked, he shook his head. “You might be able to help my niece’s hapless former fiancé, but in the end it won’t matter. Where do you think all of the information you’ve gone to so much trouble to obtain will go? In whose hands will it finally rest?”
“Someone high up,” he said desperately. “Someone who’ll stop you, maybe put you behind bars for the things you’ve done.”
August studied him for a long moment. Then he spoke quietly. “Did your team honestly think that Malik and Bowman were the end of the line? That we could possibly have put in place an operation of such a large scale without someone high up, as you say, calling the shots?”
“No,” Ryon whispered. “I won’t believe it.”
“Believe what you will. Malik had his own agenda and his own God complex. But the truth is, the tentacles of this thing go all the way to the top. To the fucking Oval Office. Are you following me, boy? It’s not one person, but several in key positions of power in the United States government.”
Ryon gripped the edge of the desk, sweat dripping onto the surface. Horror consumed him, robbed his speech.
&nbs
p; August nodded. “Everything was planned. Your team pulled together beautifully, and afterward we focused our research on other areas, such as how to create an even stronger, more lethal shifter. A legion of super-soldiers. Until things began to go wrong.”
“You mean until the Alpha Pack turned on its creator, and began to dismantle the project.”
Nick! Nick, did you know? Please, tell me you didn’t. The commander remained silent.
“Exactly. Thanks to someone of power who’s helping the Pack, guiding them from afar.” As though suddenly remembering the gun in his hand, he leveled it at them more squarely. “And you’re going to tell me who it is, or I’ll kill you both.”
August doesn’t know. He has no idea General Jarrod Grant is our ally.
“I don’t fucking think so, you sonofabitch!”
Moving fast, he launched himself at August.
The deafening blast of the gunshot, and Daria’s terrified scream, tore into Ryon as he fell.
Fourteen
Ryon yelled, throwing himself at August, and all hell broke loose.
A gunshot blasted the air, and the two men crashed to the floor, grappling for the weapon. They rolled, and Ryon landed a punch to August’s jaw with his free hand. Daria bent and snatched the SIG off the floor, hoping to get a shot at August.
“Daria, go! There’s no time!” Ryon shouted.
She hesitated, but knew he was right. A crash sounded somewhere in the house, followed by pounding feet. If she distracted him by not following his order, he’d lose focus on the fight and they would both die for nothing. She hated leaving the pack with their supplies, but they had no choice now. Speed was everything, and all they had to do now was make the rendezvous point. Praying Ryon would follow, she turned, released her wolf and shifted, and dove headfirst through the plate-glass window.
Daria’s first thought was that that stunt always looked so easy in the movies. Her second, that she’d probably scalped her hide on the glass even through her thick fur. She rolled to her feet, shaking off her clothes and the shards of glass that rained like confetti, and hit the ground running as though the hounds of hell were on her heels.
Shouts. Curses. Rapid-fire gunshots.
The security floodlights bathed the compound, bright as daytime. Any second she expected a bullet to plow into her back and end her life. Or Ryon’s. God, where was he?
Two men were closing in fast on her right, shouting, “Stop!”
No freaking way was she going to do that, so why did the bad guys always yell something so stupid? She saw them raise their rifles. A scream welled in her throat, but came out as a pitiful whimper. Her headlong flight, along with sheer terror, had sucked the air from her lungs. The back wall loomed near, but she wasn’t going to make it. They were going to kill her.
Daria braced herself, but no bullets ripped through her body. Swiveling her head as she ran, she saw Ryon coming across the lawn after her, half-limping, rifle trained on the two goons. Their bodies jerked, and fell. He stopped, spun, and sprayed more bullets toward the shattered office window.
Reaching the wall, Daria’s wolf had no trouble scaling it in about two seconds flat, and she flung herself over. Three steps, and she was plunged into total darkness. Chest heaving, she halted and tried to figure her next move. A thud and a crunch of leaves alerted her that someone had come over the wall. She swung around in terror.
“Daria?” Ryon called.
Thank God. She shifted and held out a hand. “Right here. Take about three steps.”
“All right,” he said, breathing hard. “Let me put on the night vision goggles and I’ll come to you. Are you hurt?”
“I—I’m not sure. Maybe my head, from the glass. Lost my clothes when I shifted and ran, too. What about you?”
A hesitation. “I’m fine. Okay, I see you.” He stepped up and grabbed her hand. “I’ve got on the goggles, and I’ll lead the way. You’re going to have to trust me to be our eyes, but I promise I won’t let anything happen to you. Hang on tight to the strap on my pack. If you accidentally lose your hold, yell and I’ll get you.”
“Wouldn’t it be better just to ditch our stuff now, shift, and run to meet the team in wolf form? We’re done with the op, and we’d make better time.”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t hold my shift, baby,” he rasped. “I’m too sick.”
“It’s okay,” she reassured him. “We’ll make it.”
“Here, put these on.” Rustling in the pack, he threw a spare set of clothes at her, and some shoes.
They were hers, and she realized he’d grabbed her pack as well as his, plus the weapons. Bless him. Ryon muttered an oath and moved around her, placing her left hand on his pack. She found the strap and locked it in a death grip, the SIG in her right hand.
Daria tugged on the strap. “Ready.”
Ryon starting walking fast, beating a path through the forest. She couldn’t see a damned thing, and had to console herself with the fact that he could see just fine. If they ran into August’s men or some other vile creature, Ryon would know.
Daria stumbled upon occasion but managed, for the most part. He was careful to move slowly and tell her when to step over a fallen tree or duck to avoid a branch in the face. Even so, having her movement restricted by hanging on to him proved a tedious way to hike. Before long, her arms and shoulders ached. Better than getting lost, however.
The tough trek helped focus her attention away from what she really longed to do—find a nice, soft bed and sleep for a year with her mate curled around her like a second skin.
Then she became aware of something. “Ryon, stop and listen.”
He did, and they stood, drinking in the usual nighttime symphony.
“They’re not following us. Damn.”
Dread pricked at her. “And that’s a bad thing? What’re you thinking?”
“My best guess is that August’s calling in his men who are already out there looking for us. If I were him, I’d have them form a dragnet around us. That’s why they aren’t giving chase. He’s not worried about catching us.”
Ryon let out a deep breath, which ended on a slight wheeze. He coughed a couple of times, then slumped sideways. When he didn’t fall, she reached out with her gun hand and came into contact with bark. He was leaning against a tree.
She frowned. “What happened back there between you and my uncle? Are you really all right?”
“I wanted to send him to the devil where he belongs, but his men were storming the house. I had to either let him go and run, or stay to finish him, and die.”
His voice was thick and strange, not like Ryon at all. She didn’t like it one bit.
“How’s the leg?” she pressed.
“Still holding me upright.”
Okay, but not for long. “Are we stopping here? You need to rest.”
“We’re not making camp tonight. Have to . . . keep moving.” Another cough, and a shudder.
Daria stuck the SIG in the waistband of her fatigues and reached for him. Her fingers found his neck, and skimmed up to his stubbled cheek. “You’re burning up!”
“No help for it.” He straightened, relaying his plan as though he wasn’t about to collapse. “Listen, we have to divert from our course in a major way, or they’re going to surround us.”
“How about turning just to the south?” she suggested.
Ryon nodded. “When we locate a suitable place for the helicopter to lift us out, I’ll tell Nick, and the guys will be on the way. Shouldn’t take them but a couple of hours to get to us.”
“Sounds like you’ve got us covered. It’s your show.”
Indeed, it had been, from the second he exploded into her life. Ryon, infuriating her, capturing her heart, then wringing it like an old dishrag. If he didn’t get help soon, she’d lose her mate. It was that horribly simple.
After a few hours, the forest began to lighten enough to see. He took off the goggles and she no longer had to hang on to him. When she was finally able to st
udy Ryon from behind, even her limited view couldn’t hide his condition.
Sweat dripped off the ends of his blond hair, making it appear darker, and his T-shirt was soaked. She wasn’t so dry herself, but she didn’t have a sky-high fever. He walked stiffly, stumbling now and then, boots dragging as though every step caused agony. And he never once complained.
Around midmorning, the banks of the river appeared. Ryon, however, kept to the cover of the trees, pushing them hard and not stopping for a break until nearly noon. When he did, he slung his pack and rifle to the ground, backed against a tree, and slid to the ground without a word. He removed two bottles of water from his pack and offered one to her.
Daria took it gratefully, forcing herself not to gulp. Ryon drained his in a few swallows. Her stomach growled, and she fetched a couple of the stolen granola bars, holding one out to him. To her dismay, he shook his head and closed his eyes, tilting his head back.
She ate hers, worried about the lines of strain on his face. He had purple smudges under his eyes, and his cheeks were flushed. Finishing the snack, she wiped her palms and scooted next to him.
“Drop your pants, honey. Let’s have a look at the leg.”
With a heavy sigh, he worked them down to his calves and leaned back again, not even bothering to make a joke about her need for him to get naked. Her gaze dropped to his right thigh and she received a violent shock. A small, neat hole marred the flesh about three inches above the bandages.
“You’ve been shot!” she exclaimed. “Dammit, Ryon, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because there’s nothing you can do. It hurts, but it’s not bleeding much, and I can walk.”
“Yes, I can do something, even if it’s not much. You’re going to take some aspirin, even if I have to shove them down your throat. Do you understand?” she insisted.
In his weakened state, he wouldn’t win this one, Daria told herself as she dug for them. Shaking out four pills, she handed them to him, along with her water. He scowled, and she returned it. As she predicted, he gave first.
“Well, I guess they won’t kill me any faster.”
