Playing with Passion Theta Series Book 1

by Gayle Parness

  She took a sip and watched as he relaxed against the backrest of the bench, one arm stretched and resting behind her shoulders. Even in his disguise, Ingrid would be able to find him in a crowd of a thousand. Gene had a unique rhythm to his energy that always made her smile. Most thetas weren't aware they could sense each other's pulse with a little practice. It would be an easy skill to teach them and could come in handy.

  She glanced at the girl he'd indicated. "Go ahead, you might get lucky. She's cute.” His amused expression hit her like a stack of bricks. He was already getting lucky tonight. At least that was the way rebooting usually worked. Her stomach rolled over. She put her drink on the edge of the bench, thinking coffee had been a bad idea.

  With a blast from the air horn, the orange three-decker ferry pulled out of its slip carrying thousands of passengers, the lucky ones looking forward to a decent night out, others heading across the harbor to work their second or third job in order to put food on the table. She’d seen a few females pass by who were dressed in scanty attire, probably heading to the blood clubs, not realizing what really lay in wait beneath a vampire's sexy smile.

  "Will you tell me about Atlanta?" Gene whispered.

  The question got her attention, surprising her. “I don't like to talk about it. Mack told you not to ask."

  He shrugged. "I thought maybe you’d like to talk about it with a friend. No pressure.” The wind was blowing harder now, Ingrid’s straight black hair flying into her face. "You should have picked a shorter style. That’s gonna be bugging you all night."

  Gene tucked a clump behind her ear, tugging down her knit hat to hold it in place. It was chilly along the waterfront, much cooler and windier than it was by the troupe house.

  "New York weather is weird."

  "Sure is."

  “Feels angry, like me.”

  “You think of yourself as an angry person?”

  “Mack thinks so.” Her hands moved restlessly in her lap.

  Gene took one hand in his. “You’re lonely and you’ve been hurt.”

  “You too, but you don’t seem angry about it.”

  “My anger is the slow-burning kind. I never let it flare up around people I care about.”

  “So we're friends?"

  "I hope so." Gene smiled.

  "Maybe I’ll tell you about Atlanta one day.”

  "Fair enough."

  Gene had a rare gift. She'd never met anyone who could use Influence so smoothly, a power that most of the higher-ups didn't know thetas possessed. Gene charmed everyone with simply a smile and a twinge of power—totally against the rules, but hey, who was she to talk? He’d used it on waiters and cab drivers when they’d gone on their date, always receiving the best service. It was a harmless employment of power, a power that could be used in a much more sinister way.

  Ingrid considered the situation for a minute or two. A friend could ask a friend for help, right?

  "You look like you're planning something devious. Spill.” Gene was grinning.

  "I'm wondering how good a friend you really are."

  Gene tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "Depends. Mack’s taken good care of me. In another troupe, I would have been more vulnerable, just so much fresh meat. Our last Ingrid was only nineteen when I was placed here at sixteen. She was sweet and gentle and we…” He stopped, shrugging away whatever he’d been about to say. “Until meeting you, Mack and my former Ingrid are the only two thetas I'd ever considered to be real friends."

  "I seem to recall a recent comment regarding our friendship."

  “I know you're working on something The Director won't be happy about. I'm not going to sign up for some mission that could get us all killed."

  "You're smart, Gene."

  "I hear a but approaching."

  "I need your brain, Sherlock, I need your help. You and Mack."

  He hissed air between his teeth. "Spell it out, sugar. I won't rat on you, even if I refuse to go along with the deal."

  That's my boy. She grinned. "I'll tell you everything back at the house, but right now, I'm famished. Can we eat already?"

  “We’ll stay local tonight. It’ll give us more time later.” The sexy smile reminded her that he expected more than simply talk back in her room.

  “Is there any good Mexican food around here?” She wanted time to prepare her argument. She’d been unprepared with Mack, and it had ended up an epic fail. Well, almost.

  “Si, si Señorita. Muy delicioso.”

  They walked hand in hand in the direction of his favorite local restaurant, the people passing them on the street giving them a wide berth.

  "Ever think about how weird it is that a lot of humans can sense we're not human——even with the awesome disguise? Wolves and vamps can’t tell ‘cause we mask our scents, but humans usually seem to know instantly," Ingrid commented quietly.

  "Guess I never thought about it. Maybe it’s like a mother always knowing her own child."

  "A hundred and fifty years ago humans were on top. Now they're dying out, suffering." A pale woman gathered her young daughter into her arms and quickly crossed the street, avoiding the two disguised thetas. "I don't want them to be afraid of us. We should look out for them. No one else does. When Gene Stone and I went out in Atlanta, we'd buy food and deliver it to shelters."

  Gene pecked her on the cheek. "Who knew there was a softy under all that smartass?”

  Ingrid elbowed him in the ribs, giggling. "Don't you dare ruin my rep."

  Passing the doorway of a boarded-up building, Ingrid noticed a man slumped on the ground. She crouched to see if he was hurt, but Gene grabbed her back against him. “What are you doing?” He sounded alarmed.

  “I want to see if he’s okay.”

  "He could be violent—even have a weapon."

  "Please. He might need medical help." After a glimpse at her determined expression, Gene released her with a scowl. She rested on one knee and felt for a pulse at his wrist. It was steady, but the male's skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

  The man jerked suddenly awake, startling her. He was younger than she’d thought at first, probably only around her age, and was dressed in ripped jeans and a worn tee shirt. But he was slim, maybe underfed, and his tired blue eyes held years of sorrow, much more than he should have experienced in his young life.

  The man widened his eyes in shock when he saw her clearly. “You really a theta?” She glanced up at Gene whose wide eyes told her he was as surprised as the stranger was. She nodded. No reason to hide it now. “Guess I must be dyin'." The young man rubbed his face and scooted backward as far as he could.

  "Do you need to see a doctor?" she asked.

  "No, and I don’t need a fantasy either." He stroked his arms to warm up and narrowed his gaze. "Could use a hot meal. And a job would be even better." He tried to stand, but didn't succeed. "Not that either of you give a shit.”

  Ingrid ignored his comment and fished a granola bar out of her purse. “We’ll get you something better to eat in a few minutes. What’s your name?”

  “Johnny.” He snatched it from her hand, wolfing it down in two bites. “My whole family’s hungry,” he mumbled as he chewed.

  “Do you live near here? I’ll have food delivered to your house.”

  Johnny's expression turned wary. "Yeah, and when the demons show up to kill us, will you get brownie points or somethin'?"

  "You can trust us."

  "Why would they come after you?" Gene asked.

  He shrugged. "I had the unmitigated gall to talk to the troupe thetas who live in the big house off Henderson Street."

  "Unmitigated gall, huh?" Gene's expression had turned scrutinizing.

  "We ain't all uneducated, trouper. 'Course, Dr. Dirt wouldn't like you talkin’ to me, neither, would he?"

  "Dr. Dirt?" Gene laughed.

  "The Director asshole you troupers bow down to."

  "We don't bow down to him." Ingrid snapped.

  "Uh huh. Tell me another one."r />
  Ingrid poked his shoulder. “Full name. Address. Now. I'll send enough for four."

  "Six."

  "For someone really hungry, you’re sure particular. Fine." She laughed at the size of his balls. This guy wasn't afraid of her. She liked that about him.

  He gave them the information, on the condition they didn't write it down, which wasn't a problem since Gene was one of those never-forget-anything-guys. They helped him stand and Ingrid reached out to feel his forehead, thinking he might have a fever. He jumped back a few steps, suddenly afraid.

  "Wait. I’m sorry. I wanted to see if you had a temperature.”

  She dug in her purse and pulled out the envelope of cash she carried with her whenever she went out, a habit she'd gotten into with Gene Stone.

  "No drugs. No gambling. This is for food, medicine or anything else that's necessary for survival. Understand?" Johnny nodded, his mouth hanging open and his gaze glued to the envelope. "It’s spelled, so I'll know if you spend it badly." Hopefully, he'd believe the lie.

  "Whatever's in that envelope is gonna save some lives, Ma'am. I won’t waste one cent."

  “Ma'am? That’s a lot nicer than trouper.” His attitude had done a one-eighty.

  Johnny shrugged. “You’re a lot nicer too, now that you’re giving me a wad of cash.”

  She and Gene both laughed. “You know where our house is?" He nodded again. "Come by tomorrow and ask for Alan. He’ll make sure you get a job somewhere.”

  Johnny finally smiled, a dimple appearing like magic by the right corner of his mouth. He brushed off his clothes, embarrassed. “Figures I'd meet the most beautiful ingénue in the country when I look like shit and smell even worse."

  "How do you know which actor I am? I could be the male diva for all you know." Humans might not know that thetas could change their sex when they morphed.

  "We have an underground e-mag. You and Gene Stone saved a lot of lives in Atlanta. What other theta could you be?”

  But we’re disguised,” Gene protested.

  Johnny laughed. “And walking down the street like you own it. Humans walk in fear. Always. You wanna look human? Look scared.” A crease formed between his brows. “Why do you come out to help people, anyway? It's dangerous."

  “Because no one should go hungry or have to live in a cardboard box or watch their kid die of some treatable illness. A mother and father shouldn't have to hand over...hand over their kids...” Gene pulled her closer, rubbing her back, comforting her in that sweet way he had.

  Johnny stared at Ingrid for a brief moment, eye to eye, maybe making some kind of decision. "Thank you.” He took the envelope, nodded at Gene and ran off, disappearing around a pair of oak trees on the corner.

  “He seemed to be feeling a lot better all of a sudden.” Gene turned to Ingrid, annoyed. “We’re not supposed to speak to the norms. There was something not right about that guy.”

  Placing a finger over her lips, she said, "Our secret." Gene shook his head, but Ingrid tugged on a lock of his hair to get his attention. “There’s nothing normal about watching your family starve to death.”

  “That guy was hiding something.”

  “Who isn’t?”

  He draped an arm over her shoulder, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head. "You’re always surprising me."

  "They're humans, not norms. We should try to remember that our parents were human too." Every theta was born from two human parents. Sometimes only one child in the family was a theta, sometimes all of them. No matter how many, the parents had to deliver them to the closest institute on their third birthday or risk death.

  When Gene and Ingrid arrived at the restaurant, they took care of business, ordering dinner for eight to be delivered to Johnny’s address. As per Gene’s request, they were seated at a cozy and private table near the back.

  “I’m afraid I’ve given away my cash, so dinner’s on you. Even Johnny’s.”

  Gene laughed and nodded. "I can handle it."

  Theta troupes were paid an extravagant salary to disguise the fact that they were slaves and not employees of The Director. The surprisingly vocal underground media bashed the slave mongers of the world, mostly vampires and the more powerful wolf packs. Learning that thetas were performing because they were forced was not something The Director wanted broadcast along the underground airwaves. He’d lose ticket sales and might have to spend time cleaning out the hidden dens where these underground groups were based. It was easier to pay the troupe good wages, placing the money in bank accounts that could be accessed with an eye scan and a thumbprint. Ingrid was sure the arrogant prick didn’t keep track of troupe funds, since it had never occurred to him that they might try to take their money and escape.

  Ingrid ordered chicken enchiladas in green sauce and two house margaritas while Gene enjoyed a juicy buffalo burger and drank down two beers chosen from a list as long as Ingrid's arm. A solo acoustic guitarist played romantic Latin music in the corner by the fireplace.

  "I see why you like it here. Nice place to bring a date."

  "You picked a hot disguise. Every male in the joint has his eyes on you." When she'd morphed, she'd chosen one of her favorite looks, a redhead with bright blue eyes and long slender limbs. The short summery dress and spiky heels showed her legs off to perfection. "You look lovely, although I'm never sure if that's a proper thing to say to a female in disguise. You might take it as a negative comparison."

  She giggled. "It's a compliment to my morphing skills."

  "A female of many talents." The comment hung in the air for a few seconds, but Gene didn't elaborate and Ingrid didn’t ask.

  Trying to avoid the subject of their imminent rebooting session for as long as possible, Ingrid maneuvered the conversation from favorite movies, music and books to anecdotes about her life in the various troupes she'd worked with.

  "The Hudson River Troupe will be my last."

  Gene's eyes widened for a moment, then narrowed as he leaned close and whispered. "Sounds like you're thinking of getting out of the business." She stopped chewing. "Nothing to say?” She stayed silent, kicking herself for letting anything slip. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation.

  Gene scanned the check with his H-tab and left cash for the server, clasping her hand a little too firmly. "Time to leave."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Rem shifted from foot to foot, his highly charged body not designed for standing still. Wearing only loose fitting pants, his yellowed skin tone shone under the skylight, a glistening mass of scars and bruises. Rem and his brother, Zarek, were two of the Director’s favorites.

  “Your report?” The Director was resting in the hot tub, a massive indoor spa designed to fit five humans comfortably, but only one archdemon in true form. He was over seven feet tall, leanly muscled, his skin unblemished and glowing with health. His blonde locks hung to his shoulders, his teal eyes glittering with intelligence. His wings were unfurled behind him, beautifully shaded in golds and reds.

  He allowed no one but his top generals to see him in this form. They were immune to his magnetism and would not be absorbed. In his rough form, he could travel the world without incident if he so chose, but like this, he would kill each living creature who glanced his way, even the animals.

  No, this form he saved for the End of Days. He’d lost count of the worlds he’d demolished.

  “The rebel scum have been busy, sir. They led an attack with another group of human field workers on the Flatbush Wolf Pack last night, killing all but three. The alpha survived. We captured two of the street criminals. Unfortunately, a few farm workers escaped.

  “Did they give a reason for the attack?

  “Some crap about their children being killed and their childcare females raped while the men and other women were working in the fields.”

  “Is this true?”

  “Yeah, the alpha admitted it. They were high and horny.” The demon chuckled, his bright red hair braided and brushing the floor. His generals
also had wings, but they were not able to absorb the energy of other races—forced to rely on him alone for their survival.

  “You and your lieutenants may have the humans. We’ll send their remains back as a warning for other humans not to blindly follow the rebels.

  “What about the wolf pack?”

  “Inform Joseph Herron that he must control his packs. I can’t lose farm laborers because his ruffians decide to take drugs.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want you and your brother Zarek to lead the hunt against these disorganized rebel groups. Their activities are a hindrance to my fiscal plans.”

  “Yes, Director. We will hunt tonight and every night.” Rem bowed, his long braid moving of its own accord to wrap around his waist.

  “Excellent. You have done well, Rem, but I expect to have further information on the rebels within the fortnight.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “If you please me, you will be rewarded. What do you desire?”

  He didn’t hesitate for a moment. “The female theta. Ingrid Hudson.”

  The Director chuckled. “Get in line. Why of all things do you wish to play with her?”

  “I wish to break a formidable enemy, to find out the depths of her magic. You do not permit me to attack the alpha wolves and master vampires, or the fae who keep to their secret sidhes because some of them are your allies. But the theta’s full powers are unknown. I would sharpen my skills on her flesh. I would taste her fear and drink down her blood. I would discover the truth of her body and her soul.”

  “If she displeases me again, I might consider it, although there are others whose needs must be met first. I could reward you with the Mystic Ingrid. She is also lovely.”

  “Yes, she is, lord. You have given her to my brother demons in the past.”

  “You wish to experience a theta untouched by demonkind?”

  “Yes, lord.”

  “Ingrid Hudson is mine to destroy.”

  Rem hesitated. To be allowed to kill one’s enemy was the greatest of gifts, but The Director was correct. Rem did not deserve this. He was still young and had not earned such a reward. Perhaps he might earn the privilege if he stopped the small groups of rebels causing trouble in Brooklyn and Queens.