by J. D. Tyler
“We have a new lead,” he revealed, studying her intently. “One that might take us to Micah and another of our teammates, Aric Savage, who was captured by this same group a few weeks ago during an op gone bad.”
“That’s the best news I’ve heard all year—the part about the lead, not the screwup.” A thrill of excitement fired her cop’s blood. “So, what’s the plan? When do we leave?”
“The plan is, Alpha Pack is going in to hopefully capture as many of the organization as possible, and rescue our men along with anyone else being held. You are staying here.”
Her spine straightened. “No damned way. I’m a cop, remember? I can’t get furry and I don’t have any cool supernatural talents, but it sounds to me like you guys need all the help you can get, what with losing your team members right and left.”
“You may be a cop, but in my world you’re a civilian. I can’t be responsible for getting you killed. What am I supposed to tell your brother when I bring him back and he learns that I allowed you to get hurt, or worse?”
Made sense when he put it like that. The Pack’s boss man didn’t want to take the heat if something happened to her.
“All right,” she said nonchalantly. “I can live with that. I wouldn’t want you to feel guilty if I got my ass shredded.”
Nick’s piercing blue eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why do I get the feeling I’ve been played?”
For the first time since meeting the Pack’s boss, she smiled. “I’d say you didn’t need to be a fuckin’ psychic to know that.”
As the door to his office closed behind Rowan Chase, Nick sat back in his chair and plowed a hand through his short hair with a weary sigh. The arrival of Micah’s sister was a complication he didn’t need right now. But he couldn’t deny that she was going to be very important to the team.
And to one man in particular.
A knock interrupted his thoughts and he glanced up to see the newest addition to Alpha Pack open the door and poke his head inside.
“Got a minute?”
“Sure, come on in.”
Kalen Black strolled inside and stood in front of Nick’s desk with his booted feet spread, arms crossed over his chest. As always, Nick fought not to stare at Goth-boy dressed in his usual black ensemble, but for better or worse, the young man commanded attention wherever he went.
Jet-black rock-star hair fell in messy layers around his face and to the shoulders of his battered leather duster. Underneath, he wore a mesh T-shirt and jeans tucked into calf-high boots adorned with silver buckles. Black-tipped nails graced the strong fingers digging into his biceps, and striking kohl-rimmed eyes the color of emeralds gazed back at Nick unflinchingly.
Their resident Sorcerer/Necromancer, who was also a panther shifter, was no attention seeker, though. A graduate of the School of Hard Knocks, Kalen simply didn’t give a damn what anyone thought of him. The kid possessed the most raw power of any being Nick had ever run across. And made him feel really goddamned old, which was the sad truth.
If the team knew just how old, they’d never believe it.
“The woman, Miss Chase,” Kalen prompted. “I’m assuming she’s related to the Pack member with the same last name?”
“Rowan is Micah’s sister,” Nick confirmed. “But since neither of us knew Micah I’m guessing you’re not really here to talk about the missing wolf or his sibling.”
The Sorcerer’s neutral expression darkened. Slowly, he lowered himself into one of the chairs opposite Nick, rested his elbows on his knees, and put his face in his hands. That was when Nick noticed that the silver pentagram pendant the younger man wore around his neck, was never without, was missing.
A shiver of dread shot through his veins, and he straightened. He’d learned to never ignore the faint beginnings of a vision. “Where’s your necklace?” he asked sharply.
Kalen’s head came up, his face etched with resignation. “Someone needed it more than I did.”
The sense of dread grew roots and began to flourish. “You gave it to Mackenzie? Damn it, kid—”
“That’s not up for discussion,” Kalen said firmly, holding up a hand. “I’m just here to let you know I’m leaving.”
“You’re what?”
“Look, I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Nobody else except my grandmother ever gave a shit about me, or even cared enough to give me a chance to do something with my life. But you were different,” the Sorcerer said quietly. “That means more to me than you’ll ever know, but it’s time for me to hit the road.”
Nick studied Kalen for several long moments. The slump of the man’s shoulders, the tightening around his mouth and the weariness in his eyes told Nick that his newest recruit didn’t want to go but felt he must. “No. Not acceptable.”
The other man blinked. “I can’t stay. You don’t understand.”
“So fill me in on the problem and we’ll deal with it.”
“I don’t think it’s going to be that simple.” A sad laugh escaped his lips. “As if anything would be where I’m concerned.”
“Tell me, son,” he urged, injecting all the warmth and confidence into his voice that he could muster. After a long moment, the younger man nodded.
“My pentagram was given to me by my grandmother,” he began, gazing at his boots. “She once told me it had been crafted centuries ago by a master Sorcerer, and spelled as a protection against even the most powerful evil. I was never sure about any of that until recently, but it was a gift from her and so it was special to me.”
Nick frowned. “Then why did you give it to Mac?”
“Because she needs the protection and it’s the strongest—the only—talisman I have to give.”
“Why does she need protection? Does this have to do with the attack?” A couple of weeks ago, Kalen and Mackenzie had gone into town separately and had run into trouble in the form of one of those nasty winged creatures with the big mouth full of sharp teeth, like the one he had locked in the basement cell. The two of them had nearly been killed by the damned thing, and would’ve been if Kalen hadn’t gained the upper hand and dispatched it to hell.
“Yeah. Remember, it scratched her and bit me. What I didn’t tell you is Mackenzie started hearing a voice. A sinister one telling her to do all sorts of bad shit.” His expression was bleak. “I tried everything, every spell I knew, but I couldn’t get rid of it. The bastard, whoever he is, was driving her crazy. Literally.”
Nick stood and made his way around the desk, parking his butt on the edge and telling himself not to lambast the younger man for keeping this from him for so long. What mattered now was getting answers. He waited.
“So I put the pentagram around Mackenzie’s neck and told her never to take it off. Seems to be working.”
“Okay, so if she’s fine, why do you feel the need to leave?”
“Because now the bastard is in my head,” Kalen said miserably. “He’s a very distinct, intelligent being. Those big-mouthed ghoul fuckers work for him.”
Nick stared at him, stunned. “He admitted this?”
“Yes, and that’s not all. He said he knew that by driving Mac out of her mind, he’d force me to give her the pendant, leaving me vulnerable to his machinations. I’m the one he wanted all along. He somehow knows way too much about me, wants to use me—and I’m afraid he’s slowly winning the battle.”
The dread that had taken root morphed into fear. What entity was such a great physical force in the universe that it could manipulate a Sorcerer who had few equals?
There were only two possible beings on that list, and either of them taking control of Kalen would spell disaster for everyone. And why? What is his ultimate goal?
First, they had to contain the threat.
“Kalen,” he said, “I can’t let you leave. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
The Sorcerer stared at him for a long moment, then swallowed hard. “If I go, you’ll hunt me down and kill me.”
“If you go rogue and fight us, y
es. I’ll have no other choice. But if you stay, we’ll monitor you and do all we can to free you of his influence, whoever he is.”
“Then I guess I have no other choice but to stay,” he said bitterly.
“There’s always a choice.”
“What’s going to happen to me?” Green eyes pinned Nick, begging for the truth.
The vision that had been threatening finally exploded in Nick’s brain. His head fell back as the office vanished and he found himself racked with pain, kneeling in the middle of a field as cold rain lashed down like needles and lightning split the sky, then zipped down to scorch the ground.
All around him, his men battled unearthly creatures from hell and beyond. Losing ground with every passing minute. Facing their doom.
And on a high pinnacle stood the Sorcerer with his staff, soaking wet. Screaming to the heavens for help that would not come.
A detonation shook the ground and all was lost in a maelstrom of wind and rain. Of blood and tears. The world fell away.
“Nick!”
Dead. Was he dead?
“Nicky!”
Nick’s eyes snapped open and he gasped, sucking air into his lungs. Kalen was crouched on the floor in front of him, shaking his shoulders, face panicked. “I’m okay,” he croaked.
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” No.
“Jesus,” Kalen breathed. Standing, he took a step back. “You scared the crap out of me.”
“Sorry, kid.” He took a few steadying breaths.
“Nick, am I going to die?” he asked softly.
Oh, God. Don’t you understand I wouldn’t tell you even if I could? “We all die sometime. But I know what you mean, and I honestly can’t tell you because I didn’t see that.”
Technically, it was true.
“Am I going to hurt any of my friends? Innocents?”
“I don’t know.”
Seconds passed in heavy silence.
“All right.” Kalen sighed. “I’ll stay.”
“Good. Keep me posted on any developments with the creature. In the meantime, be ready to roll. I have a feeling that lead on where Aric and Micah are being held just may pan out, and soon.”
“Will do.”
With that, the Sorcerer walked out and left Nick alone.
So alone. As he’d been for the past two and a half centuries.
Three
The fierce arguing reached Aric’s ears long before the combatants came into view. A woman’s and a man’s voices. No, two or three men. Beryl and who else? He couldn’t make out their angry words over the roaring in his ears and the pounding in his head, and decided it didn’t matter, anyway. There wasn’t much left of him but a slab of meat hanging in chains, and the wicked stepsister would carve up the rest soon enough.
Was there anyone on the planet who gave a damn what happened to him?
He wasn’t a guy normally given to loads of introspection, but there was nothing to do in this hellhole but think. The longer he remained their special guest, the more the twin demons of doubt and fear eroded his confidence, unraveled the threads holding together his sanity.
But maybe losing his mind wouldn’t be a bad deal.
As footsteps neared him, he lifted his chin slightly to peer at the group through the fall of his long, dirty red hair. He wished he hadn’t, because even more than Beryl, the sight of three men, two in lab coats and one meathead that was obviously the hired muscle, chilled his soul the way nothing else could have.
Except for their heated conversation.
“. . . better be glad I’m not making a phone call,” one of the men said coldly. He was average in height and looks, brown hair. Outside of this place, nobody would give him a second glance.
“Do it, Bowman,” Beryl retorted with a self-satisfied smirk. “And see who he blames. You’re the employee, not me. You’ll face his wrath for letting a test subject get away.”
Dr. Gene Bowman of NewLife Technology. The former supervisor of Jaxon Law’s new mate, Kira Locke. Sweat rolled down Aric’s face.
Bowman remained unmoved. “If you honestly think spreading your legs for some demon is going to protect you from any fallout from what you’ve done, you’re sadly deluded. This project is much bigger and more significant than your petty games. What we’re on the verge of accomplishing is huge, and he’ll let nothing get in the way—especially not a slutty, mediocre witch who’s easily replaced in his bed.”
Aric missed Beryl’s pissed-off retort. His brain was too busy reeling at the overload of information. Demon? Was that a slur against Orson Chappell, or had Bowman meant “demon” in the literal sense? Anything was possible—including the idea that Chappell was not the head of the snake, something Nick and the team had feared. Whoever the head slimeball might be, Beryl was sleeping with him.
Bowman turned to the muscleman and the other guy in the lab coat. “Get him down from there and take him to the lab for prep.”
Before that moment, he’d only thought he’d known fear.
The taller doctor and the meathead released his wrists, allowing him to drop. Arms dead from little circulation, limp as cooked noodles, he face-planted on the dirty concrete floor with his legs still attached to the wall, spread-eagle.
It was the single most degrading moment of his life.
Then the doc and the muscle guy hauled him up, easy as pie considering all the weight he’d lost, one taking him under the arms, one getting his ankles. Carried faceup, naked body on display and nobody caring, his carcass no better than a number to write down in their sordid files.
After an ascent in an elevator, he tried to keep track of the twists and turns they made, but he was simply too exhausted. Disheartened. Several minutes later, he found himself in a stark space that distinctly resembled an operating room.
It was then he noticed the drain in the tiled floor.
When they placed him on his back on a steel table, he began to struggle, attempted to call his fire or his wolf. Anything. But the “gifts” he usually cursed had deserted him when they counted most, and his rebellion was short-lived. A needle slid into the crook of his right arm and a cold burn seeped through the limb, stretched icy fingers across his chest. Suddenly he had trouble breathing, whether from the medication or sheer panic he didn’t know.
The freeze slowly crept across his stomach, to his groin and legs. With the cold was the realization that he couldn’t move at all—though his mind remained aware.
Bowman’s hated, innocuous face appeared over him, smiling faintly. “Console yourself with the thought that this is for the greater triumph of mankind. Now relax.” To the other doctor, he said, “Note that the experimentation on number five fifty-two has commenced.”
“Wh-what’re you doin’ to me?” he slurred. His tongue felt heavy as a wet blanket, his thoughts growing sluggish. He peered at a bright light overhead and it quadrupled, as did the faces above him.
No one answered his question. His legs were spread and fastened with restraints, and so were his wrists at his sides.
A scalpel appeared in Bowman’s hand as he continued to dictate the procedure and findings to someone Aric couldn’t see. “Subject is malnourished and dehydrated, with cuts and lesions in the late stages of infection over forty percent of his body. Taking samples of the subject’s DNA and semen to determine their viability to our cause.”
Semen? What the fuck?
“Percentage of probability of scheduling subject five fifty-two for termination?” a robotlike voice intoned.
“Will advise.”
“Thank you, doctor.”
Yeah? Fuck you very much, doc.
Focused on his task, Bowman answered with only a grunt as he lowered the scalpel to the center of Aric’s chest, just a millimeter south of his sternum. Aric’s instinct was to struggle, try to yank on his bonds, get his hands free and torch them all, but again, absolutely nothing happened. He could only watch as the small blade sliced gradually into his skin, parting the surface like
hot butter. There was pressure but no pain, an odd and frightening thing when a maniac had total access to his body and he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop the asshole.
The pressure increased, the knife digging deeper. So deep he swore the doc was cutting straight to his heart. Maybe he was. Apparently satisfied with this cut, the doc removed the now-bloodied knife, laid it on a nearby tray and held out his hand for a new instrument. A large pair of what Aric thought of as oversized tweezers were slapped into Bowman’s palm and he pried apart the sliced flesh, inserting the points. A strange tugging sensation in his chest, now accompanied by some pain, took his breath away.
Bowman lifted the tweezers. Aric’s eyes widened to see a piece of his own tissue dangling from the instrument. If he’d been capable, he would’ve gotten violently sick. As it was, the procedure was repeated twice more while Aric tried desperately to think of anything but what they were doing to him. The medication didn’t prevent him from closing his eyes, but he couldn’t stop watching.
The last sample of flesh was handed to an assistant. “Log in and test the heart tissue samples from test subject five fifty-two. I want to know if his DNA and gene strands are compatible to merge with human subject two twenty-nine.”
“Yes, doctor.” The assistant disappeared.
And something chilling occurred to Aric—the fact that Bowman hadn’t bothered to put him to sleep, was openly discussing the procedure when he and his bosses knew that Alpha Pack was onto them, meant that Aric wasn’t supposed to survive.
When they were done using his body, they would kill him.
Bowman continued, moving down to stand next to Aric’s spread legs. “Now obtaining semen sample from five fifty-two.”
The scalpel was handed back to Bowman, and Aric’s brain reeled in horror as the doctor’s latex-covered hand lifted his testicles. Only when the knife descended did he realize that the numbing agent must be wearing off. Fucking bastards!
The pain was extraordinary, both bone-cold and white-hot, like nothing he’d ever felt. Not even when he’d been attacked and turned into a wolf. In spite of the paralyzing medication, his back arched off the table.
