by L. A. Banks
“Now that I do,” he went on, his intense, intelligent gaze riveted to hers, “once the new, synthetic string is created, what we do is insert it into a bacterial cell—where it displaces older flawed DNA and spontaneously boots up its own genetic program within the host.”
“Once it’s in the host,” Clarissa said, clearly unable to contain herself any longer, “the new cells follow the newly encoded instructions of the synthetic DNA. The cells and their offspring essentially begin cranking out the new product—which in this case is untainted blood.”
“It’s been used in medicines, such as those for malaria, Sasha,” Doc said, beaming. “We’ve used it in the United States for new fuels that might eventually replace environmentally hazardous petrochemicals, and we’re using it in applications as novel as textile manufacturing. All these years and all I needed was a comparison sample—I could kiss you, Captain!”
She smiled, unsure, but hating to crush their scientific enthusiasm. “And the downside is?”
“It could backfire.” Doc let out a hard sigh and rubbed his jaw, suddenly deflated.
They both knew that that was as much as Doc could or would say. But at this juncture, trying a biosyn cure was Shogun’s only chance.
“All right,” Sasha said, slowly processing the information they’d hit her between the eyes with. “So you make this string of new synthetic DNA, using the blood sample I got for you as a template . . . you then inject or, essentially, reprogram a germ—something that grows fast, spreads in a body like wildfire—and hope like hell it reboots the host’s body systems and then reprograms the host’s autoimmune system as a by-product. Did I get this right? And if that doesn’t work, the host succumbs to the contagion or dies, or maybe both.”
“Correct,” Doc said, he and Clarissa looking like Sasha had just popped their shiny new red balloon. “But the way I’ve seen your system fend off infection, if I add these additional elements to the anti-toxin—but this time within a holy water base so it can’t be tampered with . . .”
Sasha nodded. “You make it; I’ll bake it, Doc. Load me up with tranquilizer darts, and I’m out.”
CHAPTER 17
“That’s it. No arguments,” Sasha said, walking away from Woods and Fisher. “If you’d been back there with me and Doc, you’d know why I’m asking everybody to spend the night at NORAD.” She kept packing her gear to avoid looking at their eyes. “You can’t go the way I got out of the bayou with Doc. It’s too dangerous now.”
She looked up at Woods and Fisher, their eyes sharing a vision the way only a pack she-Shadow and her familiars could.
Woods stepped away and quietly punched the wall. “Like that makes me feel better, Trudeau?” He looked at Fisher, whose jaw had slowly gone slack as the vision entered his head.
Clarissa simply closed her eyes. Doc nodded. Winters and Bradley looked confused, but conceded that it had to be bad if even Doc was agreeing to this plan.
“You look alive and stay alive, Captain,” Doc said with a worried gaze. His eyes said everything that his mouth simply couldn’t at NORAD.
Hunter sat across from Silver Hawk and Sir Rodney, listening to the Fae captain describe what had happened. He stood as Rodney detailed each near miss, pacing as though caged.
“You got her to base, to the human military encampment?”
Rodney nodded. “She said she would return before sunset—my men are hidden in the trees, waiting to assist.”
“Although appreciated, what she needs is an able-bodied hunter to track down and exterminate the demon that’s waiting for her out there.” Hunter stood. “Me, a full pack—”
“No,” Silver Hawk said. “More death, more men at risk—your blood tainted, possibly, right before the tribunal where they are already predisposed to execute you. Unadvisable. Sasha is brave and smart and will—”
“She’ll come alone,” Hunter snarled. “She won’t risk her people to what’s out there!” he suddenly shouted, pointing toward the window in a hard snap. “She won’t even call my men, Bear and Crow; I know how Sasha thinks.”
A hard knock at the door temporarily stopped the dispute. Sir Rodney stood with Hunter and bid his men to open the door.
Hunter stared, his gaze narrowing with distrust as Lei strutted through the door flanked by a heavy retinue of armed guards.
“I’m requesting diplomatic courtesy,” she said coolly, glancing around Hunter’s quarters. “Since it does appear that we are linked by blood and by an alliance, and the leadership of both wolf Federations is at risk, I request a private meeting—which is my due before tonight’s tribunal.”
Gear hitched high on her shoulder and armed to the teeth, Sasha’s biggest issue was getting the brass to get off her back long enough for her to clear the base, lose their GPS surveillance, and head into the first shadow she saw. By now she knew how to listen for the high-pitched whine of microtransistors in her clothing that no human could hear—Hunter had shown her that when they’d first met. Those got stripped out of her clothes, first and foremost, on the sly.
All she had to do was pull her vehicle to a blind of trees or find a tunnel, and what could they do? It didn’t matter that they could see her on satellite down to four inches on the ground or read her license plate from an orbiting big eye in the sky. What they’d never fathom was her going into a tunnel or a cave or a dense stand of trees and not coming out. She loved it!
If she hadn’t been worried about traveling with her human squad, a stop at NAS in New Orleans wouldn’t have been necessary. She and Doc could have exited right outside NORAD and saved hours of transportation delays. But that hadn’t been possible.
Still, the return was gonna be tricky. First off, there was the not-so-small problem of a demon-wolf in the shadow lands. She understood how Dexter and his crew could travel through those pathways—after all, they had been Shadow Wolves that caught the contagion. But how in the hell did a Werewolf get to barrel through the shadow lands? Unheard of.
Even Hunter and Shogun’s father wasn’t allowed in until he was actually dead, a spirit, and only then because his spirit was honorable, he’d had a link to the North American Clan, and he’d had a pure heart . . . but he couldn’t breach the divide as a living, breathing Werewolf. This was a conundrum to take to Silver Hawk at some later date and time. For now, she had to cover her own ass as she ran through the mist.
The second problem—which was quickly approaching—was how she might find Sir Rodney’s men in order to get on the safe, cobbled Fae path. The bayou was a bitch right now. Plus, with all her evidence and techno-gear in a black gym bag, going wolf was out of the question. Her human would have to kick ass and take names.
Sasha kept running, the hazy, half-gray tones of the shadow lands disorienting. She clutched her amulet, feeling its warmth and comfort, praying for safe passage, a safe exit, and that what she carried with her was a cure.
Hunter watched the others leave and shut the door behind them from a very remote place in his mind. So much of him wanted to rip Lei’s lungs out of her chest, he had to stand by the window on the other side of the room.
Exotic beauty or not, she was sick and extremely dangerous. She cocked her head as though posing a question. Hunter stared at her, not caring that his canines were beginning to show.
“For your safety,” he said in a near growl, answering her nonverbal question about his stance so far away.
“I’m flattered,” she said, going to the edge of his bed and sitting.
“Don’t be.” He walked to the table, then flung a chair in her direction for her to sit there instead. “What do you want?”
“A truce,” she said calmly, standing and going to the rudely offered chair. Her voice was mellow and casual, as though they were longtime friends.
“How convenient,” Hunter said with a snarl.
“No,” she said pointedly, raising her forefinger. “Prudent is the word.”
He didn’t answer her, just stared at her.
“Have
you been to see my brother?” Her hypnotic gaze raked Hunter from head to toe.
“Stop playing games. You know I have.”
“You fed him what he needed to stop some of the suffering.”
“You know that, too,” Hunter said, beginning to circle her as his agitation escalated.
“That was honorable.”
“What would you know about that word?”
Lei smiled. “That’s fair, given some of the circumstances in the past . . . but now we must move forward.”
Hunter stopped moving and folded his arms over his chest. “You’re ready to form an alliance after trying to have me assassinated?” He looked at her, incredulous, and then laughed.
“And you returned the favor by infecting my dying brother,” she said, her voice losing some of its casual charm. “Therefore, we’re even. Fair exchange is no robbery.”
“Who taught you that, the Vampires?”
Lei smiled, but her eyes narrowed. “In politics, many alliances must be made over the years . . . many cultures must be studied. One must also know one’s enemy.” She gave him a slight bow from where she sat.
A hard half smile graced his face. “The Art of War.”
She seemed shocked but pleased.
“I do know my enemies very well,” he said, looking at her with an unblinking gaze.
“As do I,” she said, no smile on her face now. “But you and I both know that within hours, our collective threat—the Vampires—will call for an open wolf hunt against both federations on North American soil, trying to pin circumstantial evidence of two human deaths on our leadership. My dear brother is—”
“Innocent,” Hunter said flatly. “Our brother.” He walked deeper into the chamber to avoid snatching her by her throat. “Shogun hasn’t even been found guilty yet, hasn’t taken a bullet or been made cold in his grave, and you’re already in my quarters trying to strike a deal for your continued rule?”
“The inevitable is upon us,” she said in a falsely sad tone. “We must look out for the greater good of the—”
“Then confess, bitch!” Hunter yelled, losing patience and turning over the table between them. “Even if Shogun goes full blow tonight, I’ll stand at the tribunal and recount all that I know to exonerate his name. Our father didn’t become a flesh-eater, and neither did Shogun—I was down in the dungeons, and human remains had been nowhere near Shogun. I would have smelled that in what he upchucked, would have smelled it in his sweat! I don’t care that he wanted Sasha—the two issues are mutually exclusive! You can’t use that as leverage, and you most certainly can’t use your body to lure me. Get out! The only way I’ll ever concede to an alliance with you if Shogun dies is if you confess that you’ve been feeding a demon—your mother!”
Lei stood and smoothed her flowing red-and-gold silk robes. She calmly lifted her chin, eyes glittering with defiance and unspent rage. “I’m so sorry you feel that way.”
Sasha cut a zigzag path, a Glock in one hand, her precious gym bag in the other. Speed pressed down on her lungs, sweat stung her eyes, while fatigue clawed at her abdomen and limbs. But she had to keep moving. The second she broke the plane between the shadow lands and the bayou, she could feel herself being hunted.
Demon scent lingered in the air. The underbrush had eyes—she couldn’t see them, but she could feel them. Something moved, and lightning reflexes made her squeeze off rounds.
“Hold your fire!” a strong voice bellowed from the treetops. “You’ll kill a guard!”
Her body slumped from sheer relief. Sir Rodney gave her a scowl, and then his expression brightened as he jumped down from a high limb.
“Good God, woman . . . how does the big alpha ever stand you?”
“These meds never leave my sight or my hand,” Sasha said, her gaze flicking between Hunter and Silver Hawk. “You gentlemen hold the other evidence while I’m gone, but I’m going down there solo.”
She’d already explained to them what Doc and Clarissa had concocted, as well as the other slim bits of evidence she had. Right now she was in no mood for any macho dramatics. She was going to see Shogun before the sun set whether they liked it or not.
Hunter blocked the door. “He doesn’t want—”
“Do you know that for a fact?” she said, crossing her arms and challenging Hunter. “Did he specifically say, Don’t send Sasha Trudeau down here, huh?”
“No, but—”
“You can’t be the one to shoot him up with syn-DNA, Hunter!” Sasha yelled, her nerves raw. “You’re already a suspect for trying to infect him in the first place! They might not even allow me down there with this stuff, but I stand a better chance as a woman going with a gun in my waistband than you do, brother.”
She still wanted to snarl when the guards came to escort her to the dungeons. Her nerves weren’t just rubbed raw, they were threadbare. The process of getting down into the main cell area where Shogun was being held was almost as daunting as what her senses ultimately had to process.
The acrid scent of demon infestation made her eyes water; finally she used her forearm to cover her face as they walked. She breathed into her fatigue jacket sleeve in shallow sips and watched the guards pull out kerchiefs to wrap their faces without even breaking their stride. By the time she reached the small area where guards played cards and drank ale wearing kerchiefs, she wanted to vomit. But that urge gave way: what her eyes took in broke her heart.
Shogun was lying on the floor, curled in a tight, shivering ball. He’d upchucked huge chunks of raw deer, which lay in nasty puddles of bile and mucus. A cold sweat covered his now deathly pale skin. Matted hair covered his face, and his spine was so twisted and knotted that she wondered if he could still stand. Sunken ribs jutted out as though he’d been starved to death, and his feet were elongated half paws, the bottoms callused where the pads would soon fill in.
“Oh . . . Shogun,” she whispered and rushed over to the bars.
“Careful, little lady,” the lead guard said, issuing a muffled warning from beneath his tight kerchief. “This one’s been a monster all night. Can’t tell when he’ll wake up or the sun will set down here. No windows, for obvious reasons. But you don’t want to be in limb-ripping range. He’ll take an arm—been hankering and begging for human flesh since the deer came back up on him.”
Sasha backed up as Shogun stirred, and the guard who had spoken motioned to several of the men that they could run down the long corridor for a moment to get some fresh air.
“I’ll be careful,” she said. “I just wanted to say good-bye to my friend.”
“That one, love, you can’t kiss through the bars, mind you—he’ll rip off your face.” The guard motioned to the deer, wiping nausea sweat from his brow.
“I know,” Sasha said, allowing real tears to well in her eyes. “But still, can we have a minute if I promise not to get near the bars?” She motioned to the heavy locks. “What can I do at this point—and why the hell would I want to do it? Letting him out would be my death sentence.”
The guards eyed their superior, pleading without words for a breath of fresh air. After a moment he nodded.
“Five minutes—but you stay back.”
“I promise I will.” She had barely finished her sentence when the room cleared.
She watched Shogun drag himself up to a half-sitting position. From behind a tangled curtain of matted hair, sunken, glowing eyes appeared. He smiled a sinister smile, his once beautiful mouth a mangle of twisted, yellow teeth.
“You came to say good-bye,” he said in a frightening, demonic growl. “How touching.”
“I came to save your life,” she said, quickly extracting a small dart gun from the front groin section of her fatigues, and then frantically hiking up her T-shirt to pull duct tape off two darts hidden beneath her breasts. “Rush the bars.”
He laughed as she loaded the tranquilizer gun with meds and slowly stood. “Come closer . . . I can barely get up, much less rush the bars.”
Pain sei
zed her heart as she watched him jonesing for flesh, but as she heard the guards slow, meandering footfalls beginning to return, she stepped in close enough for Shogun to reach her.
In a lightning-swift move he crashed against the silver with a sizzling howl. She screamed for dramatic effect, stepped back with Shadow Wolf speed, and hit him once in the jugular and once in the chest with a med dart, then stashed her gun. He released an angry howl and snatched the darts out, flinging them deep within the cell in the pile of carnage behind him. If she’d been full human or any other slow-moving entity, she wouldn’t have had a face.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he growled and cursed her. Two big tears rolled down her cheeks. She glimpsed his cell floor, glad that his rage had buried the evidence in a place that she was sure no guard would go snooping. The two darts had rolled away to God knew where.
Thankfully, the guard returned in a running huff late enough to see her on the other side of the room hugging herself. No one frisked her; they smelled the silver sizzle and saw the burns on Shogun’s hands and face, and incorrectly made their own assessment. So much for due diligence.
She gave them her most pitiful expression—it was no act—and allowed the tears to fall. “I just wanted to say good-bye. He was my friend.”
The return to her room felt like the longest walk in her life. She wished for a moment that the shadows within Sir Rodney’s enchanted world were real so she could duck into one of them and have a really good cry. But if it were that easy, she and Hunter and Silver Hawk would have been long gone.
Melting down beyond theatrical effects to hide that she was packing a dart weapon wasn’t an option. As it was, they’d taken her other weapons from her as she left the bayou for the cobbled path, allowing her to protect herself on the way back, but giving her no opportunity to dispute the tribunal’s verdict, if it wasn’t to her liking. She’d known that this would be the case going in, and had made provisions. Still, without her gear she felt naked.
