“I need those heating pads on him now. His DTs are starting. Do it now, ladies, before he rips his peroneus from his tibia.” It wasn’t just Niles Fury’s leg muscles they were going to have to worry about. His ribs made an audible crack as his obliques spasmed. Niles Fury screamed, helpless to stop the onslaught of muscular seizures. Ichor poured from partially healed wounds sutured together as his spine bowed, pulling him off the table. His left hip dislocated and a fresh new pain raced down his leg.
He needed the touch of his own, not Chetrah science. The heating pads hit him like scorching sandpaper. A poor substitute for flesh on flesh and the warmth spread by the sharing of metaphysical energy. As pain wrenched his body he tried to think of Haley and how she’d felt under him. His weight pressed against her, the sensation of her hands buried in his flesh...
Blood.
Her blood caught fire in his veins.
“Callahan, he’s slipping ... I need that propranolol now before we lose him...somebody open me a vein before I do it for you!”
Niles Fury felt his anger crumble and could feel beyond.
Brother, you were right. I have felt her blood in mine. She is our Augury.
Chapter 3
Colonel Dobson picked up the satellite phone on the third ring.
“Yes?” Formal hellos, how-are-yous and what-the-hell-do-you-wants were unnecessary. Only one man would be calling him from a number outside the Bureau military lines, and that was Richards, his head metaphysical biologist.
“I’ve got bad news both ways,” Richards said.
Dobson pulled the tattered cigar from his lips and smashed the smoldering end into the glass ash tray.
Smoking on the plane was prohibited.
He pulled out another two-hundred dollar Cuban and contemplated lighting it. He only had three left. Thank God he only smoked on the plane. It would be at least three days before his next shipment came in.
And nothing was as good as a Cuban. He could almost taste the sweat of the caramel-skinned whore who rolled the thing.
Even though the Gulfstream five-fifty gave a flawless ride, it was still flying. And every cell in Dobson’s body knew he was up in the air. No amount of fine furniture, luxury seating, or plush carpeting was going to change that. It bothered him, because wyrms were born with wings.
Down to three cigars, with six hours in his flight left to go, and now Richards was burning up his satellite phone with more melodrama. Probably the goddamned monsters eating each other again.
Dobson rolled the cigar with his tongue. “I told you, if you wait until they’re as crazy as a shit-house rat, one of them would wind up killing the other. You can’t starve these fuckers, Richards. It’s not like your dog. They’re eating machines. Keep em’ fed or kill em’. But quit calling me because you decided to go home early and thought half a day wouldn’t make a difference.”
“We’ve got sample Zero.”
Dobson grinned. “I thought you quit sampling the synthetics, Richards.”
Richards was quiet. Dobson could just imagine him, standing there in his pristine white lab coat, sweating like a pig on a spit.
“Sir, I’m clean.”
“Then what’s with the horseshit about having Garrett’s pet?”
“She’s here, sir. She’s here in the ADF.”
Dobson leaned forward in his seat. He dropped his voice even though he knew he was alone. The stewardess knew to stay the hell out unless he yanked her leash.
“Do not fuck with me, Richards. I am not in the mood to be fucked with.”
“I’m ... I’m not, sir.”
“Then tell me how you just happened to have the golden egg land in your lap when I’ve been trying to get my hands on her without causing a shit storm with the higher ups?” For how long? Months. And even now that he was head of the Military section, they told him “no”.
This had better be good. Real good.
Richards talked and Dobson listened. It was good, all right. She’d picked up the unwanted assignment of trying to get Niles Fury to confess a few more crimes before they lopped off his head this Friday.
For whatever reason, the son-of-a-bitch went AWOL and it had come down to a fight. The fact that he didn’t kill her was a plus. The fact that she couldn’t control him was disturbing. If a Female couldn’t control Niles, then how the hell were they ever going to break the bastard? But then maybe she needed practice. After all, she’d been raised by Humans. There were sure to be some shortfalls.
Bad news, three guards had been critically injured. Bad news, one of the other guards had started calling friends and family about the hoe-down and now the ADF was fast becoming a Channel Five special report.
Good news, Niles Fury was still alive because they hadn’t run out of Dopram or Propanolol yet. His body was slow on the healing scale because they couldn’t risk pulling the pin for more than a few seconds.
Bad news, the strawberry blond with the tight ass wouldn’t be doing Dobson any favors any time soon. Seems Niles Fury had a little more get up and go in him than they thought and managed to rip out the inside of her arm. They went ahead and let her bleed out. It was easier to dump a body than have to worry about her getting sour grapes and going to the press over a violation of ethical science.
Ethical science, my ass. These were goddamn monsters of the man-eating kind. Dobson was doing the world a favor.
Good news, sample Zero was alive: breathing, detained and waiting for his arrival.
Bad news, someone had squealed to Garrett, the Center’s Senior Special Agent.
As far as Dobson was concerned, the Center for Folk and Kin Relations was nothing but a warehouse of minority reports. Someone needed to do the world a favor and burn that place down.
“How much time can you buy me?” Dobson was only--he checked the digital flight map on the display next to his chair--an hour and fifteen minutes outside of Atlanta. If he could get there before Garrett left, Dobson could pull rank, and send his wyrm-loving-ass right back to that cesspool he called a job.
“We’ve already stalled Garrett for an hour out front. He’s heading downstairs right now. So an hour and thirty minutes tops if we make him do the paper work in triplicate.”
“How fucking long has she been there?” Because even Superman didn’t move that fast.
“Two hours, maybe three, I don’t--”
“Three fucking hours? Three hours! Why the hell wasn’t I notified?” Christ, he wasn’t even off the ground when she’d shown up. Just fucking great!
“We were a little busy with Niles, sir. It took everyone on staff to...”
“Listen here, Richards, you keep him there two hours or I’m going to soak your ass in synthetic Temporal and put you in with those Males we’ve got in cell C.”
Richards made a strangled, unhappy sound.
“Do it, Richards. You’re only one of dozens of meta-biologists. I can replace you.”
Dobson cut the call and sat there staring at the receiver, trying to decide what to do. He paged the cabin.
“And what can we do for you this fine morning, Colonel Dobson?”
“Turn the plane around.”
Silence.
This was the problem with non-military men. They all had to stop and think about the orders he gave. Dobson didn’t pay them to think. Hell, he didn’t even pay them to reply. They were paid to do, and yet it never failed. They always found some way to make him repeat himself and sound like a goddamned parrot.
“Did you hear me or do I need to come up there so you can read my lips?”
“Yes, sir. Turning the bird around now, sir.”
Dobson hung up and dialed the Bureau’s switchboard.
On that line there was no automated ‘press one for English, two for Olde Tongue’ bullshit. The internal line went right to a real, I’ll-be-go-to-hell, live person.
Unfortunately she sounded like a female version of Barney the Dinosaur with all her happy-to-help-you crap. In spite of that fact, it was better t
han a machine.
“This is Colonel Dobson, ID eight-four-five-seven-nine. I need you to give me the number, then connect me to Garrett. No matter where he is.”
Little Miss Happy didn’t dally. Must have been a military brat.
The line rang.
Dobson had sample Zero. With enough plasma and a core sample of her ulysiss gland, he could get the virus retrofitted into an airborne stage. That was the only way this was going to work. Beijing proved that. There were just too many survivors from trying to deliver it by direct contact and because of that Mount Everest-sized fuck up, Dobson was still dealing with the clean-up thirty years later.
Six rings and it clicked to voice mail. Dobson hung up and dialed again.
You’d think the Triads would be grateful for the ninety percent kill ratio. How the hell was Dobson supposed to know having a fifteen percent DNA complement with wyrms would kill just as quick as a pure-bred? Wasn’t his fault they didn’t do a better job screening members. You’d think they’d appreciate the clean slate. Preservation of the Human race and all that.
The voice mail clicked on again. That asshole was avoiding his calls. Dobson punched in the priority code and heard the beep-beep of the push-to-talk override.
“I know you’re there, Garrett. I can hear your Senior Special Agent status echoing all over my holding facility.”
“Good afternoon, Colonel Dobson. I was just standing here speaking to one of your guards. Seems he can’t find the key code to open the cell you’re holding my Agent in.” The echo disappeared which meant he’d switched the walkie-talkie off. “Misunderstandings do happen.”
Arrogant bastard.
“Way I hear it, your Agent was getting busy with my prisoner. I told you, Garrett. You cannot take the animal out of the forest, dress it up, and expect it to do anything but dump your trash and shit on your rug.” He stood up, looked out the window and resisted the urge to motivate the pilot by putting a hole in the co-pilots head.
Never know when you’re gonna need a spare.
“As you know, Colonel, Haley Night is Kin. The whole ‘touchy-feely’ thing is Kin. It’s their nature. I saw the video tape--”
“Did you see all of it?”
“I saw enough of it to know she handled this interview like any other. If nothing else, she was conservative.”
Conservative? Dobson stared at the phone. The cigar in his mouth rolled from right to left. Garrett said something, but he missed it. He was too busy trying to think of who he could call to hang his ass out to dry.
But the truth was, Garrett also had connections. Mr. Senior Special Agent of the monster squad somehow kept blocking any and all of Dobson’s attempts to get Haley moved to I-O status. With I-O status, Dobson would be in charge of her miserable hide, and that meant if he wanted to make her disappear he could.
Dobson put the phone back to his ear. “Garrett, get out of my building.”
“Not without my Agent.”
“Do not start this pissing contest with me, soldier. You will not win.”
“Colonel, with all due respect, Haley is property of the CFKR. And I’m the head of the CFKR. Last time I checked, my branch of the Bureau is completely separate from any and all military I-O operations. While you may have jurisdiction over the vast majority of Bureau affairs, this isn’t one of them. You know it. I know it. And the Bureau knows it. So you have two options here. You can either release my Agent to me, or I’m going to make a phone call.” His voice went dangerous. “And you will not like the results of that call.”
Cursing, Dobson slung the satellite phone and sent it careening into the wet bar.
Chapter 4
Haley had the distinct feeling she was falling and came awake with a start.
If she had been falling, it was too late to stop it because the concrete floor was kissing the side of her head. She waited a moment, trying to get the feel of her body and assess the damage. There was only a dull ache in her chest. Probably where the Alchemist had hit her with the triton.
She tested her fingers, toes, and then went on to move a limb. Everything responded. Which meant the falling had been a part of the nightmare.
Although, after looking at where she was, maybe the falling had been the good part of the dream and this was the nightmare.
The room was large and looked more like a concrete hole than anything else. There was a pipe sticking out of the far wall. The concave circular dip and drain in the center suggested it was a shower. The large hole, a few yards over, could only be the other appliance normally found in the household bathroom.
Haley strained her ears, listening to the silence. It was an abnormal, manufactured sense of stillness. The kind which comes from extreme ground depth and about twenty yards of solid concrete. She turned her head hoping the view would change.
Nope.
Walls were just as gray on this side as they were on the other.
She pulled herself up. Her legs felt a little shaky, but what did she expect? Her body had used up almost all her resources healing the injuries she’d gotten from facing off with Niles.
Haley continued her self-inventory since nothing critical was missing. Her blazer was shredded, as was most of her blouse, thanks to the large burn hole in the front. And her skirt was so not coming back from the dead on this one. However, her nine-hundred dollar Pradas looked like they could do a round on the show room floor. Who says you don’t get what you pay for?
The muffled sound of arguing trickled in from behind the only part of the wall that looked like it could function as a doorway. Haley moved closer and scented the air. Except for the smells she wore on her skin and clothing from the melee, the room offered nothing except damp concrete.
The arguing got louder.
Either the people involved were too far away, or the walls were a lot thicker than she imagined.
Haley was betting on thick walls.
Really thick walls.
Silence.
She strained her ears and heard nothing but the echo of her own body. Her hearts beating, her pulse moving ... the concrete door slid open with a sharp grind and she jerked back.
An Alchemist stood staring, pin rifle in her right hand and “fuck you” written all over her face. Her black eyes danced up and down like she was surveying the scene and trying to decide the most painful way to do the deed.
The burning phosphorus smell, associated with Alchemy, permeated the air around her like the tobacco scent of a two-pack-a-day smoker. Haley couldn’t help it. She took a step back. The Alchemist didn’t raise her weapon, but she did step away from the opening.
It took Haley a moment to recognize the almost seven-foot-tall-line-backer of a Human, her boss Pip Garrett, as he stepped into view.
Garrett’s cold steely eyes did a quick once over of the room and his lips effectively disappeared into an angry slash across his square jaw. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Haley tugged at her blazer’s remains. Humans had hang ups about flashing too much skin, along with all the touchy-feely stuff. Garrett was more used to dragon behavior than most, but there was no need push it. Especially not today. Especially not now.
“Are you sure?” His gray eyes gave her a quick scan. Not in a sexual way. Not Garrett. His expression said he was just checking to make sure nothing non-Human was hanging out anywhere. “Seems the Alchemy team in charge of this place is convinced you’re in rage and need to be contained.”
“I’m fine, sir.” Haley felt her face flush. Garrett always could make her self-conscious about the nature of her people. Although, with the way so many of them acted, it really wasn’t that difficult.
“That’s what I told them. ‘Haley Night has been with the Bureau almost as long as I’ve been alive. She has more control than most Kin I’ve seen. Haley Night doesn’t rage; she’s a professional, a Female, a Class Four and my Agent.’”
Haley ran a hand through her curls. It did nothing to help the serious bird’s nest starting to form. She looked
at Garrett. He was still staring at her.
The fact he had not asked her if she was ready to leave did not go unnoticed. Maybe he wasn’t quite convinced she didn’t belong here.
“Pip...”
“Don’t call me that.”
Yeah, Garrett did not like anyone using his first name. Whatever possessed his parents to call him that was beyond Haley. Pip was what you named a three pound Chihuahua, not a three hundred pound man.
Of course, Humans go through a lot of anatomical changes. Maybe he did look like a “Pip” when he was born.
“Garrett, sir. I’m fine.” Haley crossed her arms and tried to forget the fact her clothes made her look like a contestant on Survivor.
Garrett gave her one more up and down then nodded. “Come with me.”
Haley all but ran out of the room.
It took a lot less time getting out than it did getting in. The guards had suddenly gone A-OK with no ID inspection. Section eight point what-ever didn’t seem to apply when it came to pissed off Senior Special Agents. And Garrett was pissed. His scent was hot like peppers.
When the last steel door slid open it took every ounce of dignity and professionalism Haley had to keep from throwing herself across the ground and rolling in the sunlight. Blue September skies never looked so good.
She looked at her watch. The face was smashed.
Garrett said, “It’s three o’clock.” He watched her from the corner of his eye.
“Damn. I missed my class.”
“I told them you were sick. Put it off till next Wednesday. I figured you’d have your act together by then.”
They stopped at the first series of external check points and waited for the chain link gate to slide open.
Haley looked at him. “What’s that supposed to mean, sir?”
He didn’t answer her right away; he waited for the buzzer to sound, the gate to open, and for them to get halfway across the walk to the second check point. “Three guards are in the hospital. One of them was taken out on Life Flight. He’s messed up pretty bad. Won’t ever be the same again. Has a wife and two kids.” They stopped at the second gate and the Alchemists on the catwalk took their time letting them out. The exit was half the distance of the other two check points. With the guard tower in front and the barrier behind them, it formed a perfect box, effectively sandwiching them between two gates.
City of Dragons: Blood Bonds Page 4
