Dawn Endeavor 1: Fallon's Flame

by Marie Harte

  Dawn Endeavor 1:

  Fallon's Flame

  Marie Harte

  Dawn Endeavor 1: Fallon's Flame

  Copyright © February 2010 by Marie Harte

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  eISBN 978-1-60737-524-1

  Editor: Ann M. Curtis

  Cover Artist: Justin James

  Printed in the United States of America

  Published by

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  This e-book is a work of fiction. While reference might be made to actual historical events or existing locations, the names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning

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  Chapter One

  Grinning around a fat lip and bloodied teeth, the large man waved a hunting knife in front of him. “Come on, you big prick. I dare you.”

  Jesse Fallon sighed and silently counted to ten before he did something stupid, like break the guy's neck. Granted, leaving the backwoods bar by himself after Tersch had instigated an earlier fight with this idiot and his many friends wasn't smart, but he'd been hoping to avoid more bloodshed. Though Tersch liked to engage in an out-and-out brawl at least once a week, Fallon preferred more peaceful means to alleviate the constant tension that threatened to pull him apart.

  He upped his internal count to twenty before answering, “Buddy, I don't know you, and I don't want to know you. Now step aside, before I shove your head up your ass.” If his headache hadn't been bothering him, he would have found a much more diplomatic way to defuse the situation. Instead he knowingly fanned the flames of aggression.

  Unfortunately his damned headache and the asshole's anger made his mental shields too thin to withstand the invasion of unwanted thought. Telepathy was such a bitch.

  The man's anger penetrated. Gonna find his truck, carve his tires, then his pretty face, the bruiser thought before yelling for reinforcements. “Back here!” Fallon didn't wait. He walked right up to the big man, ignored the knife slash to his forearm, and punched him in the face. His opponent fell in a heap on the ground at the exact moment several men jumped out of an approaching pickup. The overhead moon shone brightly in the nearly deserted parking lot, highlighting six burly men armed with bats, knives, and ham-handed fists. Ah. New challengers. The others had been carried out of the bar hours ago.

  “Terrific.” Fallon rubbed his temples as more unwelcome thoughts intruded.

  Take him from the front while Ben hits him from the back.

  Glad I brought a bat. This fucker's huge.

  Too bad the others are here. I wouldn't mind a piece of that ass. The images following that thought disgusted him.

  Fallon turned his hostility in the direction of the bully who liked to beat up, then rape his victims in secret. He broke the rapist's ribs before throwing him into the midst of two of the assholes wanting to fight.

  “Damn, Fallon. You couldn't have waited for me?” Tersch whined as he exited the bar in front of Hayashi.

  “Oh hell. I'll wait in the truck,” Hayashi muttered. “I should have stayed home with Jules.” The large Asian swallowed the ground on silent feet, not making a stir over the graveled lot as he moved to their truck.

  Fallon cursed Tersch's aptitude for trouble. “I was having a fine time. Beer, the possibility of some fun with a waitress or two.” He sidestepped a blow to his back and tripped the next guy attacking with a bat. “But you couldn't leave my happy time alone. Why do you insist on provoking them?”

  The giant blond snorted, his huge hands on his hips. The damned Viking stood several inches taller than Fallon and had muscles on top of muscles. He was hard enough to beat when normal, but changed, he was unstoppable. Fallon considered this ass whooping a favor to the locals too stubborn to back the hell down.

  “If you weren't such a pussy earlier, they wouldn't be trying this shit with you,” Tersch growled.

  “Communicating with my mouth instead of my fists isn't being a pussy.” “Dickless,” he added, sending the telepathic message to his irritable friend.

  Tersch's bright blue eyes blazed. “Oh, it's on.”

  Fallon shrugged. Better to help Tersch deal with his demons than let these idiots die at his hands.

  He knocked another one out of the way while Tersch put the remaining two out of commission.

  “Was that necessary?” Fallon sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, annoyed to see his brand-new shirt ripped where a knife had cut it. But his skin had already knit, healing without a scar. “Sometimes it's good to be a Circ.”

  Tersch grinned. “It's always good to be a Circ.” He swung a fist, which connected with Fallon's cheek, igniting Fallon's already shortened fuse.

  “Hell yeah, it's on. You're mine, you damned berserker.” Fallon tackled him, and they rolled over bodies, gravel, and each other as they indulged in a fight that had been brewing for hours.

  Twenty minutes later, Fallon limped back to the truck in a foul mood. Tersch walked beside him with a spring in his step, humming under his breath.

  “You kids done playing?” Hayashi asked from the truck's interior, his voice bored.

  Something classical played on the radio. As usual, Hayashi sat behind the wheel.

  Fallon grunted and shoved aside Tersch's helping hand. “Fuck off. I don't need help getting into the truck.”

  “Sorry.” The unrepentant bastard had the nerve to smile.

  “Well, at least one of you is in a better mood.” Hayashi grinned over his shoulder at the finger Fallon gave him. He engaged Tersch in conversation on the ride home, seeking details about the fight, which Tersch was all too happy to give him. While they drove, Fallon fought his aches as his body healed and tried to relax, glad he didn't need to join in on the conversation.

  The last three years of his life had been fraught with danger. Hell, if he were honest, he'd been in one scrape after another since joining the navy and becoming a SEAL. Fallon hated to admit it, but he liked trouble. He found nothing as invigorating as a challenge. Reading minds paled next to saving people and protecting his country. Volunteering for the top secret Project Dawn had been a no-brainer, especially when his team leader and fellow SEALs said yes.

  Becoming a Circ did have its advantages. Project Dawn had turned him into a super soldier, or super sailor, as he liked to call himself. He was now faster, stronger, and had better instincts than a normal person. Hell, he could hold his breath underwater for an hour. If not for those more unfortunate side e
ffects to the project, he'd consider being a Circ perfection.

  Pain splintered his brain again, and he gritted his teeth to avoid groaning out loud. His telepathy, while occasionally handy, took its toll if he used it too much. The shields he worked hard to hold in place prevented him from hearing thoughts when he went out on the town, but his brain didn't like the extra stimulation. He was just grateful his fellow Circs had learned to shield themselves from him, so he didn't have to work so hard at home.

  He didn't like showing weakness, not even around men he considered family. It didn't help that everyone seemed so damned capable. Hayashi rarely complained about anything. Jules, his team leader, handled missions with a calm assurance. Even when the team had been under Dr.

  Elliot Pearl's evil thumb, Jules had protected them and promised an escape from Pearl's hellish labs, which he'd delivered. Tersch, for all his violent ways, only needed a bit of physical relief to become his jovial if boisterous self.

  Fallon, however, constantly felt pressured to keep up with the others, as if he were the weak link striving not to slow anyone down.

  “So quiet back there. I didn't hurt you too bad, did I?” Tersch asked in a deep voice.

  Hayashi coughed, probably to cover a laugh.

  “Shut up, Frederik.” Fallon turned his head and rested his forehead on the cold glass of his window, hoping the cold would numb the throbbing.

  “I hate when you call me that.” Tersch glared over his shoulder.

  “I know.”

  The ocean rolled by as Hayashi accelerated. Winter approached Emerald Isle, North Carolina, in a fierce whip of wind and pelting rain. At the promise of the first clear night they'd had in a week, Fallon and the others had ventured out to take advantage of the crisp night air, as well as their recent breather from six months of nonstop training. The training aside, he appreciated the southern climate more than he'd liked living in Jersey. Two years in Trenton had made him long for anything south of the Mason-Dixon Line.

  They passed several condominiums, as well as new beach houses being reconstructed in the aftermath of the last tropical storm to hit the area. Turning away from Cape Carteret, they continued along Route 58 inland, away from the ocean toward the Croatan National Forest. A perfect place to hide creatures that were neither man nor beast, but something in between. Those

  “unfortunate side effects” of the project, he thought with a brief burst of humor, wondering what the world would think if it knew the popular green cartoonish monster was in actuality a military brainchild, not green, and fully capable of thinking for itself.

  He glanced at his friends in the front seat. Make that, capable of thinking for themselves.

  Hayashi continued to drive through a small spatter of raindrops. At least the constant swipe of windshield wipers lulled Fallon's temper, if not his headache. He couldn't wait to get back and relax in the one place he felt truly at home.

  The large mansion they occupied served its purpose well enough. Near enough to the Marine Corps base at Camp Lejeune and the air station at Cherry Point, he and his team could use air, ground, or water for transport.

  Hayashi pulled up to a gate, inched the truck to a halt, and punched in a few numbers on the dash. Once the gates opened, he drove up the winding drive. The large estate housed a ten-thousand-square-foot home, big enough to contain four Circs with varying temperaments and give each of them the privacy their secret organization demanded.

  The truck pulled to a stop outside the front door. The small droplets of rain turned into a larger, faster deluge.

  “Need me to carry you in, princess?” Tersch offered.

  Fallon ignored him and sucked up the pain as he exited the truck. He stopped so suddenly, Hayashi crashed into him.

  “What—”

  He held out a hand and concentrated past the agony in his brain and the cold rain leeching away his warmth. “Admiral London's inside with Jules,” he said, hearing the admiral's thoughts as he spoke with their team leader. “And someone else.” Someone who made him hurt far worse than any bruising Tersch had given him that evening.

  He sagged and would have fallen had Hayashi and Tersch not grabbed his arms. He heard Hayashi snap his fingers in front of his face.

  “Hell. Let's get him inside.”

  Fallon had a hard time seeing past the burst of color beneath his eyelids. Sounds and images bombarded his tired mind like pricks of lightning—all piercing and unavoidable.

  Then a soothing voice filtered through—feminine, powerful, alien. He didn't like the invasion and fought to rid himself of it.

  “Dude, move faster,” Tersch grumbled.

  “He'll be fine. Fallon, quit trying to make Tersch feel guilty for pounding you. You know how he gets.”

  Fallon wanted to tell Hayashi he wasn't acting, but he couldn't form words, nor could he send a telepathic message without breaking the mental shield he strove to maintain. The female's strange thought patterns threatened to undo him.

  “Fallon?” Jules's commanding voice reached him through a fog as someone lowered him onto a couch.

  “Here, let me.” A soft hand grazed his forehead, and the pain vanished as if it had never been. Fallon blinked up into eyes he wouldn't soon forget. Dark, unfathomably deep, and set inside a mature, feminine face full of mystery and strength.

  The woman had dark brown skin as smooth as a baby's. Her age seemed indeterminate, anywhere from forty to sixty; he couldn't tell. Laugh lines crinkled at the corners of her eyes, but other than that, she seemed like an ebony statue of calm. Short, dark hair frosted with gray framed her face with regal care.

  A strand of delicate pearls surrounded her neck, and a single pearl graced each earlobe.

  She wore a navy blue suit, her skirt showing off trim legs and slender ankles. When she straightened, he noted she wore no-nonsense pumps that matched her dress. They put her at a petite five feet four, if that.

  “Better now?” she asked, her voice soft yet firm, resonating with an energy he couldn't identify but wanted to understand.

  “Yeah,” he rasped and tried to stand.

  Tersch yanked him to his feet. “Hell, Fallon. Next time you want a lady's attention, just ask for it.” “You sure you're okay?”

  “I'm good, thanks.” Fallon cleared his throat, embarrassed to be the focus of so much attention. “Sorry. I think I had too much to drink.”

  Hayashi and Tersch said nothing. Jules frowned. Jules could always tell when he was lying. He never drank to excess. Still, Jules didn't say anything aloud. “Careful. She's strong.

  And way weird.”

  Admiral London cleared his throat. “I'm sorry to have come at such an odd hour, but operationally it's been a busy month. I've come to impart some important information. Jules, perhaps the conference room would be best for this.”

  Jules nodded. Their leader, Julian Hawkins, had patience, ability, and a keen perception of others. His obvious leadership had garnered him the attention of Captain William Delancey, Admiral London's old protégé. Invited to participate in Project Dawn, Jules had followed his captain's recommendation and allowed himself to be the first one infected with the Circe serum.

  The U.S. Navy's first Circ, but definitely not its last.

  Jules led Admiral London and the woman to their secure conference room. Fallon and the others followed. Jules punched in the code on the door keypad, and the group entered and sat, waiting on the admiral.

  “There's no easy way to put this.”

  Fallon noticed Jules's frown. He must have seen something in the admiral's aura that bothered him. For Fallon's part, he couldn't hear a whisper of the man's thoughts.

  His gaze met the woman's. She raised a brow, as if questioning his attention. Fallon sent Jules an apology. “I can't read him at all. I think she's blocking me.”

  “Admiral, please, just say whatever it is you need to say,” Jules said quietly.

  “I can't handle your assignments and my new duties at the Pentagon any longer. While i
t's been a true joy to be so close to the thick of things again, I have to get back to the bigger picture.” The admiral drew in a deep breath. “To that end, I've chosen Mrs. Alicia Sharpe to replace me.”

  As one, all four Circs turned their attention to the unassuming older woman studying them with placid interest.

  “I've known Alicia for over thirty years. She's a problem solver for our government. She's not NSA, CIA, nor does she belong to any other agency. She's not a scientist either. Alicia is here to manage the group. She'll be handpicking your assignments from now on, as well as a new staff to better suit Circ needs.” The admiral made eye contact with every one of them, his green-eyed gaze serious. “I trust her with my life and with yours. She won't let you down. I don't expect any of you to let her down either.”

  “Aye, aye, Admiral,” Jules answered without a qualm. Jules trusted the admiral implicitly.

  Fallon wished he could be so lucky.

  Fallon felt uneasy, especially when the admiral favored Mrs. Sharpe with a warm smile. A sudden image of the woman, years younger and wearing nothing but a string of pearls as she bent over Geoffrey London, hit him hard.

  He choked on his shock and shielded himself from seeing anything more. He was astonished to have seen anything at all.

  “Fallon?” Hayashi murmured.

  “Sorry, dry throat.” God, his eyes were going to burn out. Seeing the admiral naked and aroused wasn't his idea of a good time. But he had to admit, Mrs. Sharpe had been a definite stunner in her younger years.

  She gave him a small smile before composing herself, and her lack of embarrassment tempered his discomfort.

  “Geoffrey, I'm pleased to have your endorsement.”