by Lynn Graeme
“You gave me a look. Don’t deny it. What are you thinking?”
A casual shrug. “It’s no wonder you lack self-preservation instincts around me. You grew up surrounded with big cats bursting with testosterone.”
Terris stared at Jamal for a moment, speechless. Then she burst out laughing. The growly snow leopard had a sense of humor. Who knew?
Her laughter only elicited a frown on Jamal’s harsh, rugged face. Too late, though—Terris didn’t think she’d ever let herself be fooled by his ferocity again.
“If we could get back to the point… ?” he growled.
“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “As I was saying, shifter-related medical advances have progressed by leaps and bounds over the years, but in terms of prostheses we’re at a standstill. Shifters have had to make do with detachable dummy limbs, as we call them.”
A tic pulsed in Jamal’s jaw. “Look, I understand the complications. It’s not as if your fancy scientists can create a five-fingered prosthesis that can morph into a cheetah’s, wolf’s, or bear’s paw at will. There’s progress and then there’s fantasy. I get that.” He paused. “I didn’t mean to take my frustrations out on you.”
“Didn’t you?”
Jamal grunted, though it didn’t sound half as sullen as he had when they’d first met. He scratched his chin and grimaced as his fingernails scraped over several days’ growth of beard.
Terris gathered he was unused to this much stubble. “I’m sure if you asked the nurses they’ll be more than happy to provide you with a razor.”
Jamal shot her a sardonic look.
“Or maybe not,” she conceded wryly. “They might have developed trust issues due to your reputation.”
He stared at her smile, seemingly mesmerized. Then the moment was gone, and dark brows lowered once more. “You said you’re working on a prototype.”
“We are. We’re currently at the clinical trial stage of Moran BioSynth. So far we have a couple of participants involved. If you’re interested, and if after we assess you we find you a suitable candidate, you could be part of it as well.”
It took all of Terris’s self-control to contain her excitement. Having to remain mum about the project during years of research, patent registration, and development had been almost too much for her. Now they were nearing the end, with news of the project beginning to trickle down the industry as well as creating buzz among certain government agencies. Terris would’ve done a celebratory dance if she hadn’t been afraid of jinxing it.
It was an incredible, revolutionary invention—a prosthesis that actually shifted according to its user’s needs. Jamal had referred to it as fantasy, but now it was approaching reality. If Terris had her way she’d be shouting the news from the rooftops.
They could help so many people. Countless of amputee shifters had survived the last human-shifter war, and if Moran Industries succeeded in producing the world’s first shifter prosthesis, those amputees would finally have tangible options.
And hope. That fragile, precious commodity.
Jamal frowned. “You said you have two participants so far. Why so few? Surely there must be dozens eager to get involved and willing to keep it under wraps. And the more participants you have, the better.”
Terris hesitated. “There’s been a lack of willing participants.”
“Why?”
“They’re required to contribute DNA samples.”
A pause.
“Ah,” said Jamal.
Terris surreptitiously gauged his expression, but couldn’t decipher his feelings about the subject.
It was a controversial issue. Many shifters, especially the older generation, still recalled the cruel history of forced experimentation, when they’d been subjected to scalpels and chemicals as human scientists dispassionately took them apart. They still remembered what it was like to have their genetic information used against them—to categorize and document them, to deny them access. To hunt them down.
“The participant’s DNA is used to inform the prosthesis, so to speak,” Terris explained. “That’s how it reads cues as to when to shift and the type of animal to shift into. However, as you can imagine, we’ve hit a roadblock in finding shifters willing to contribute their samples.”
Jamal grunted. “Hits too close to home, for some.”
“I know. Not to mention the trials require long-term commitment, and that can be a deterrent as well.”
“How long are we talking about here? You said you’re close to the end.”
“We are, but we have to test it thoroughly to make sure BioSynth works on every type of shifter. Or, if not every shifter, then at least as wide a spectrum as possible. Even if we’re optimistic and expect everything to go smoothly, it can take several months to two years before we release a finished product that we’re satisfied with.”
“You consider two years optimistic?” Jamal appeared outraged. “Hell, that’s a bloody long time to wait for a new hand.”
“It’s the testing stage that’ll take the longest time. Getting fitted for a prosthesis takes up to one or two months. Remember, we’re not talking about detachable dummy limbs here. We’re talking about bioengineered limbs that are custom-made, personalized, and permanently attached to each individual shifter. Wolf, tiger, bear… . They all have different needs. They all move differently. So it’s not just DNA samples involved, there’re also skin grafts, multiple operations, full-body scans, then hours spent in the observation chamber… .”
Terris trailed to a stop and drew in a breath. This was when most of the people she approached for the project inevitably backed away. She laced her fingers together, trying not to betray her nerves. Jamal would pick up on her anxiety. He’d mock her for it. And this was so very important. She could help him, she knew she could.
Then Jamal’s mouth crooked up at the corner. The faintest trace of amusement, Terris realized with a start.
“So this BioSynth involves being taken apart and experimented on over a long, unspecified period of time, with faint hopes and fingers crossed that you don’t fuck up at the finish line. I bet there’s a mountain of waivers to sign.”
“There is,” she said guardedly.
“Which means you’re covering your asses. There’s no guarantee it’ll actually work, despite being so close. Really selling it there, Terris. Tell me, are you trying to dissuade me from joining your project?”
Terris flushed. “Of course not. But I’m ethically obligated to tell you the truth about what’s entailed. I won’t let you go into this blind. I’m providing you with information, and now it’s up to you which option you choose.”
“A yes or no checkbox.”
“Exactly.”
That faint, crooked smile of his abruptly turned bitter. Terris blinked, taken by surprise.
“I’m in,” Jamal growled.
Something wasn’t right. “Don’t you have more questions you’d like to ask me?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Doesn’t matter? Jamal, this is a serious decision here. One to be made after careful consideration rather than a whim—”
“So now you don’t want me as one of your guinea pigs? I’m not good enough, is that it?”
“No, but only a few minutes ago you were incredibly suspicious of my motives. We ought to resolve any doubts before you consent to a long-term—”
“It. Doesn’t. Matter.” Jamal shot her a piercing glare. His acerbic anger was back again, only this time it was mixed with despair and … what was that? Regret?
What in the world was going on?
“If I understand correctly,” Jamal said with exaggerated patience, “should your line of shifter prostheses come through, other agents in my situation will be able to use them and return to the field. They wouldn’t be forced to choose between a desk job or leaving the Council entirely. That fair to say?”
“That’s our hope, yes. Same goes with civilian shifters as well.”
“Then that’s settl
ed. We’re doing it. I’m in.”
Terris frowned. “Jamal, is the Council pressuring you to get involved in BioSynth?”
“The Council’s not forcing me to do anything. You need a test subject. I’m your man.”
“You’re not the Council’s lackey, Jamal. You have a choice.”
“And I choose this. What’s so hard to understand? I want to do this. I have to. I… .” He struggled, then continued, “I owe it to them.”
Terris stared. “Them?”
He was silent for so long that she thought he wouldn’t answer. Then the rage he’d been clutching so close to his chest seemed to drain away, leaving him looking cold and bleak. The sight of it shook Terris whole. She felt helpless, and was struck with the urge to reach for Jamal and provide comfort—anything to take away his hurt and pain.
Keep your distance, an inner voice warned. Don’t go down this road again.
His dark gaze fell on her, and despite herself, Terris felt her heart trip.
“Them,” Jamal rumbled, almost inaudible. “The other agents. The ones who fell, and the ones who had to clean up after my mistakes.”
Terris sucked in a breath. Whatever Council mission had happened to land Jamal in hospital, it tore at him deeper than just the pain of losing his hand.
“What happened, Jamal?”
He made a harsh cutting motion with the flat of his palm. “Confidential. Everything Council is confidential. You know that.”
“I can’t authorize you to participate in the trials if it turns out the Council is pressuring you … or punishing you.”
“I don’t give a damn! You’re the one without a choice now. You’ll enter my name into your precious participant list whether you like it or not.”
Terris narrowed her eyes. “And how do you propose to do that, Jamal? Get your agents to beat me up in a dark alley if I refuse?”
He stared at her, shocked out of his temper. “Is that what you think Council agents do? Attack innocent humans?”
She was instantly chastened. “No. I know the very essence of your cause is to prevent rogues and factions from harming humans and inciting another war.”
“Besides which, I don’t need my colleagues’ help to intimidate a pretty princess.”
“Princess?” Terris was insulted. “My father’s a lion, Jamal. I don’t intimidate easily.”
“Wouldn’t need to intimidate you at all. I’d just roll you over and pin you beneath me. Won’t let you go until you say yes.” A slyness glinted in his eyes. “Wouldn’t take much.”
A shocking, sultry heat bloomed between Terris’s legs. “So says the injured man.”
“Half-healed now. And I wouldn’t really have to move. I’d make you do all the work. I think you’d like working for it.”
Her face flamed.
“Ah, so pretty in pink.”
“Stop it.”
“I will once you sign me onto your list. As you can see, I meet the obvious criteria.” He lifted his bandaged arm. “I need a replacement. Apparently you can provide me with one. Maybe I’ll even test how well the new hand works between your legs. When do we start?”
Terris jolted up in her seat. “You will not speak to me that way.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’m undeserving of your precious pussy. I repeat, when do we start?”
Terris struggled to calm down. He was staring at her with that mocking look again, only this time laced with a feral heat in his eyes that riled her senses and stirred her blood. Her skin felt hot, her nerves trembling on edge. A curl of potent desire teased deep down where she suddenly needed to be touched.
Dammit.
“I said I’d consider you for BioSynth, Jamal. I didn’t say you were a shoo-in.”
“The hell I’m not. I’m ready. I’m willing. What the hell else do you need?”
She met his glare head-on. “It’s not just a question about being physically ready. It’s about being psychologically ready as well.”
A curse exploded out of him. “Great. Mental bullshit. Look, just file a request with the Council for copies of my psych evals. I know what I’m doing. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open.”
“At this rate, I don’t trust whatever hold the Council has on you.”
“Too bad.”
“Do you know the reason the Council reached out to us? It wasn’t just on account of being convinced by Agent Saba. The Council told us that if BioSynth is a success, it wants to set up a contract to supply our prostheses to all current and future affected agents.”
“So? There are a damn lot of us who need it. You just don’t see us”—she noticed him stumble on that last word, as if realizing he now had to include himself in the us—“because we’re stuck inside pushing paperwork. If there’s a chance we can get back on active duty again… .” He bit his lip, then an anguished look came to his face. “I need to do this. Look, I’m sorry for what I said about you. About your pus—” He colored. “Anyway, I’m sorry. Don’t shut me out because I can’t keep my mouth clean.”
Terris shot him a withering look. “I’m not that much of a princess, Jamal. Nor am I that petty. I just need to know you’re doing this of your own volition. If there’s even a qualm of doubt or misgiving in your mind, I need you to be honest with me. I will go toe-to-toe with you—for you—regardless. You’re under no obligation to do the Council’s bidding. Don’t worry about the Council. I don’t care how much or how far it pushes, I’ll push right back.”
She meant it, too. She might be fully human, but her father was a shifter. He’d taught her how to fight, even without claws.
Jamal stared at Terris as if she’d grown horns on her head.
“You really have no self-preservation skills,” he said at last.
Terris bristled. “Excuse me?”
“You think you can take on the Council? What bubble have you been living in for the last ten years? Sweetheart, the Council would tear you apart before you’d even drawn your next breath. Your own mother wouldn’t be able to identify the remains.”
“I’m not afraid.”
“More fool you. Besides which, the point is moot. I know exactly what I’m doing. I’m not being forced to do anything. You want to hear it out loud? Fine. I’m doing this for me. I don’t want to live with this”—he flipped up his right wrist—“for the rest of my fucking life. You know what? Fuck you. Forget the Council, fuck you. You’re condemning me to this half-life if you’re shutting me out of this project. That’s what you’re doing. I’m the one you’ll have to fight, sweetheart, not the Council.”
Terris got up from her chair and paced the private room. Jamal was getting emotional. They both were. He had an excuse, though. He’d just suffered through indescribable trauma and was struggling to adjust to his new situation. She knew that. Just as she knew what that felt like.
Her heartbeat slowed, as did her pacing. She turned around to face Jamal. She realized he’d been staring at her in tense silence, waiting for her verdict.
She had the power and means to change his life, Terris realized, and he didn’t like it. Jamal seemed like a man who fought tooth and claw for what he wanted, and to be forced to plead his case in order to regain his life must be galling.
Terris was instantly ashamed of herself. How could she put him through the wringer like this, when she herself had been granted a second chance? How could she give him any less than what she’d received?
“Now it’s my turn to apologize.” Terris steadied her breath and laced her hands together. “You don’t have to prove yourself to me. This isn’t about that. I’m sorry for making it seem like it was. I … I understand your frustration. I understand wanting to do something about it. To not just lie there and take it.”
“Do you?” Jamal regarded her skeptically.
“You have no idea.” She tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. “I was once where you are now. Scared and confused, confined to a hospital bed, faced with the prospect that my life would never be the sa
me again. And, truth be told, I was right. Everything changed.”
She returned her gaze to Jamal and saw that he’d grown still. Dark eyes sharpened and scanned her from head to toe.
“I had to make some difficult choices when I was young,” she murmured. “I was lucky I had my parents to help me through it all. I’d like to help you through this as well, if you’ll let me.”
“What are you talking about?” he demanded.
“My leg, Jamal. I have a prosthetic leg.”
*
Jamal opened his mouth, then snapped it shut. Then did it again. He stared at Terris, blank and uncomprehending. A wall of white noise seemed to surround him, muffling his senses so that he couldn’t hear a thing, couldn’t process a single thought beyond the barrage of instinctive denials forming on the tip of his tongue.
But even as some part of him broached a strident protest at what Terris was telling him, his gaze fell down to her legs all the same. Long and shapely, curves visible even while covered by her dress. Covered to just below the knee by its silk hem.
A sudden recollection seared through Jamal’s thoughts like wildfire, of the way Terris had carefully draped the folds when she’d sat down on the chair earlier. Smoothing the material down over her knees just-so.
At the time, he’d thought she was simply being fussy, but no—the arrangement had been deliberate.
In the short time since he’d lost his hand, Jamal had reacted with jeers and fury whenever he perceived anyone staring at his stump for too long. He hated it, took offense at even the most innocent glance. Now, however, he couldn’t keep from staring at Terris’s legs. His gaze darted back and forth, wondering, analyzing in disbelief.
“It’s the left one.”
Jamal didn’t need a mirror to know a dull flush burnished his cheeks. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“No, it’s all right. I should actually show you. It might help prompt… .” Terris trailed off, then shook her head and began lifting the hem of her dress.
Jamal’s heart rate instantly ratcheted, and he wanted to kick himself for the response. What kind of sick bastard was he? Damn, damn, damn. Just because a woman was casually hiking her skirts up her thigh didn’t mean he had to react to it.
