Meg glanced over briefly. “Don’t worry.” She turned back to Vaughn and signed, “I bit Brock.”
Vaughn stared at her for a moment, then replied, “Kinky.”
Meg laughed again.
“Okay, I’m both mad and relieved,” Tessa said. “What’s he saying?”
Meg ignored her this time.
“Please come out,” Meg signed.
“You’re sure it’s safe?” Vaughn asked.
“Promise.”
Vaughn slowly rose within the chamber. Meg jumped down from her odd perch.
“Give him some space,” she said.
Brock and Tessa did as she asked. They did as Meg asked. A jolt of exhilaration shot through her.
This was her pack, and she’d do anything to protect it.
The door to the stasis chamber opened a bit and Vaughn peered at her.
“You’re sure it’s safe?” he said.
“Yes, I’m—” She forgot what she was about to say when she could see him better.
His skin was gray in the darkness within the chamber, but there were white lines offsetting shaded clusters in a scale-like pattern.
She shook her head. The stress of everything must be playing tricks on her senses.
Vaughn stepped into the light. His skin was pink, if paler than usual, and there was nothing off about him at all. No lines, no clusters of…whatever that had been.
Definitely just the stress making her see things.
He lurched back when he noticed Tessa.
“It’s okay,” Meg said. “She won’t try to hurt you anymore.”
“It was never her trying to hurt you in the first place,” Brock growled.
“Whoa.” Vaughn ran his hands through his hair as he stared at Brock. “That is… That is freaky. Sorry, man, but…”
“Yeah.” Brock laughed. “Porter’s going to put me through a ton of tests. He’ll be so happy.”
“You might even say, he’ll be beside himself with joy,” Meg said.
Brock groaned.
Vaughn reached out and rested his hand on her shoulder. “I’ve never been more proud.”
Meg laughed, then threw her arms around Vaughn’s shoulders.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said.
“Me too.” He hugged her back, then pulled away far enough to look over at Brock. “What happened to the crazy werewolf that ran in here screaming, ‘curator’? Because that guy was super fantastic.”
“He’s dead,” Brock said.
Tessa added, “Jon and Nathan tore him apart.”
“Gross,” Vaughn said. “And awesome. Couldn’t have happened to a shittier guy. I’ll have to send Jon and Nathan a ‘Thank You’ card or something. I can send it along with the ‘In Sympathy’ for you.” He nodded toward Brock.
“‘In Sympathy’?” Brock asked.
“Yeah, you poor bastard.” Vaughn shook his head and spoke solemnly. “You’re right—Porter’s going to run every test he knows on you, and then come up with about a thousand more.”
When Vaughn grinned, everyone laughed.
“Porter will have to wait.” Meg stepped away from Vaughn so that she could wrap her arm around Brock’s waist. “We have a lot of work to do.”
“I kind of want to get out of here,” Vaughn said. “I’m already agoraphobic. If this experience makes me claustrophobic, too, I have no idea how I’ll handle that.”
“We can head up to the ranch, after we get Marcus out of stasis,” Meg said.
It was getting easier for her to tell others what she wanted. Especially now that she knew what she wanted for herself and for her loved ones.
She smiled at Tessa and Brock. “We want our pack together again.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The living room had never been so full. Dad was sitting in one of the leather reading chairs, pulled up as close as Tessa would let him be. She still didn’t trust herself, and after seeing the thoughts that Roy had been feeding her, Brock couldn’t blame her.
Tessa and Marcus were on the couch. Marcus had his arm around her and they were also holding hands. Brock would bet they were communicating through their link as well. Vaughn was sitting on the other side of Marcus, arms draped across the back of the couch and head hanging back.
Jon was standing by the door that led to the rest of the ranch and Nathan was by the sliding doors to the back yard. They seemed relaxed to the casual observer, but Brock noted their wide stances and the way their gazes swept the room at regular intervals.
With Marcus around, Brock was a lot more comfortable being near Tessa. But he wouldn’t be turning his back on either of his newest replicants anytime soon.
Porter was in another reading chair, holding one of Vaughn’s tablet computers on his lap and scrolling through data. Not much had changed there. But Dexter was hovering over Porter, arms crossed, staring down at him as if he could drill a hole into the back of Porter’s head with his eyes.
Was Dexter trying to reestablish a link? If so, he was either failing miserably or Porter was doing a great job not showing signs that they were also communicating silently.
With all the other seats taken, that left Brock in the overstuffed, oversized chair—with Meg sitting in his lap. He wasn’t about to complain.
Vaughn let out a loud groan. “Let’s never do that again, okay?”
“Agreed.” Porter didn’t look up from his tablet when he spoke.
“So, this isn’t normal for you guys, right?” Meg asked. “I mean, I imagine you have a lot going on, but please tell me life as a Blade isn’t always this exciting.”
“This is definitely not your typical Thursday,” Vaughn said.
Meg looked down at Brock. “Is it Thursday?”
He laughed.
“I have no idea,” Brock said. “I just woke up from a coma, remember?”
She wrapped her arms around his head and hugged it against her chest. “Don’t remind me.”
“I hate to ask this,” Dad said, “but is it really over? I mean, can we at least get a little break to…”
His voice trailed off and he looked to Tessa. She reached out to him and he gripped her hand tight, leaning forward to kiss the back of it. He didn’t seem to give a damn that it was her metal one.
“There’s a long road ahead.” Brock turned to Porter. “I’m guessing part of what’s keeping you occupied is figuring out the structural damage in sublevel 3.”
Porter nodded. “We’re not in imminent danger of structural collapse or anything, but that level’s toast. From what I can determine—which I must point out isn’t as much as usual, with only this one brain to work with—none of the other levels were affected.”
Vaughn lifted his head so he could glare at Porter. “I did design the place to withstand all kinds of attacks. There’s enough rock between each level to keep them all contained. And that’s in addition to the layers of materials meant to keep out the diggers, which I apparently should have built around the whole freaking cave.”
He sighed and shook his head. “I’m going to have to build another room around the entire ship now, complete with defense systems. Damn, that thing’s huge.”
“Language,” Dad said.
Vaughn’s eyebrows rose and his mouth dropped open. He snapped it shut, trying—and failing—to suppress a smile.
Dexter smirked at him. “Don’t act like you’re not thrilled at the idea of building a room around the ship.”
“I’d rather be exploring it,” Vaughn said.
“Let’s get the room built first,” Brock said. “It’ll be safer that way.”
Vaughn shrugged. “I guess building the new room and repairing sublevel 3 will be fun. But you try coming up with a plausible reason to reallocate several factories toward making the materials we’ll need and getting them all shipped here without raising too much suspicion.”
“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Porter said.
“I always do.” Vaughn leaned back and patt
ed Marcus’s back. “At least we’ll have plenty of manpower here. And woman-power.” He nodded toward Meg and she beamed back at him.
“Between replicants and werewolves, with your heightened strength, we should barely need to use my heavy machinery,” Vaughn continued. “And working on a project with Damien will be a good way to show him that there’s nothing to worry about from us.”
“And what’s going to show us that we have nothing to worry about from him?” Porter finally set aside his tablet.
“Damien’s a good guy,” Vaughn said.
“We know.” Dexter stepped forward, resting his arm on the back of Porter’s chair. “And that’s precisely the problem.”
“I don’t follow,” Vaughn said.
Brock spoke up. “He has a reputation among the Blades. Damien is very highly regarded. If he decides we’re dangerous or that the Blades were founded as a trick to get hunters off the streets—”
“He won’t.” Vaughn bristled, leaning forward with his hands resting on his thighs. “Damien doesn’t make snap judgments about people. He’s fair and reasonable and smart enough to figure out that we’re doing all that we do for the right reasons.”
Dexter smirked. “Gee, Vaughn, tell us how you really feel.”
Vaughn’s face turned pink as he glared at Dexter. Before Dexter could say anything else, Dad held up a hand and said, “Knock it off,” sharply.
Porter chuckled. “You’re in trouble.”
“Shut up,” Dexter said.
Hearing those two talk to each other might be weird for the others in the room. It was downright surreal for Brock.
None of the replicant pairs had really acknowledged each other’s existence before. They hadn’t needed to, because they shared it.
Seeing them interact was like watching someone talking to themselves. No, it was worse. It was like seeing two body parts suddenly start talking to each other.
Brock suppressed a shiver. He’d get used to it in time. They all would. But they had some things to overcome first.
He didn’t like the way Marcus was looking at him. He didn’t like the way Tessa was not looking at him. And he sure as hell didn’t like how Jon and Nathan kept staring at Meg.
At the same time, he was grateful for his problems. Problems were part of being alive—a reminder that he would be around to fix them.
He knew he’d work things out with Marcus and Tessa. Jon and Nathan… Well, they would all work together to figure out whatever was going on with them and get them the help they needed to adjust.
They also needed to figure out who or what had made Meg’s collar and how Roy had managed to gather and control all those trolls. Brock would never believe Roy could have managed that attack on his own.
Vaughn was undoubtedly already planning out repairs for the ranch and ways of making the ship more secure. And working as a team or a pack—whatever they wanted to call it—working as a family, Brock was sure they would be able to open up to the other Blades without alienating them.
His family was intact. Brock was damn sure he’d keep the Blades that way, too.
And that gave him the first problem for him to focus on.
He turned to Vaughn and said, “When does Damien arrive?”
—
Thank you so much for reading Progenitor, the second novel in The Blades of Janus series! Brock and his replicants have always fascinated me. I was so excited to delve deeper into what makes them work. I’m even more excited to move forward with this series and see how their newfound autonomy affects them all, and the rest of the Blades!
There are plenty of other adventures going on in Cassland. If you need a break from reality with some light-hearted, quick, quirky Science Fiction Romance novellas (with lots of “adult” scenes), check out my Department of Homeworld Security series. Or you can look at some “paranormal lite” romance with my The Summer Park Psychics series. Then again, if you’d rather have plenty of magic and monsters, you can visit my Forbidden Knights series. Read on for an excerpt of the first Forbidden Knights novel, Forbidden Instinct.
Gasoline was spreading onto the street…
June 15 — 2:44 PM
In five minutes, Miranda’s car would be a crumpled wreck. She checked her seatbelt with a shaking hand—again—to make sure it was fastened tight, then gripped the wheel hard enough to make her knuckles turn white.
A familiar silver minivan came into view ahead. She hadn’t met the driver, but recognized the soccer-mom’s short bobbed haircut. Miranda would never forget the woman’s face—or the faces of the three children inside. Two of them were on the passenger’s side. One of those was an infant.
The SUV is going to hit them from that side.
Her vision had been absolutely certain on that point. She glanced at the clock, then stepped on the gas.
2:46 PM. She had three minutes to get in front of them and slow them down. Three minutes to beat them to the intersection and be the one in front of the SUV that was about to speed through a red light. If she did everything right, the accident would only take out her car.
Her heart pounded in her throat, making it hard to swallow. She couldn’t let herself panic. She knew she would make it through this. She’d seen it.
How did mom do this, knowing she wouldn’t make it out?
Miranda couldn’t think about the past. If she started to cry, it would blur her vision, dull her reflexes, and facilitate a family reunion she wasn’t ready for. The present—and the specific future she was trying to create—needed her full attention.
Her ancient car struggled to catch up as the minivan accelerated. She managed to get behind it, then swerved into the left lane, crossing the double lines. She jerked the wheel back to the right just in time to avoid a head-on collision with a blue pick-up truck.
“Beeeep! Beep-beep!” She sang along with the pick-up’s horn, knowing precisely how it would sound. Other cars joined the chorus.
“Everybody’s a critic,” she muttered under her breath. “I’m trying to save lives here.”
She slowed, herding the soccer-mom behind her. The minivan’s horn persisted.
“Yes, I know. I’m being an ass.” She glanced into her rear-view mirror, taking in the angry expression of the woman behind her. “But I’m also saving yours.”
Almost time…
She knew she had to steer away from the SUV right before it crashed into her. Maybe that act was going to offset the force of its impact or something. If she didn’t time it right…
She would time it right.
A dark shape loomed in her peripheral vision and she jerked the wheel hard to the left. The first crash of metal hit her ears as she was hit. The second followed a split-second later—the minivan plowing into the back end of the SUV that had struck Miranda’s car.
The world was set to tumble-dry as the street rolled around and around through the front windshield. Her car balanced on two tires for a last moment of teetering suspense before finishing its final roll and falling to the ground, upside-down. The roof crunched ominously, several inches closer to her head than it used to be—or maybe it was that she was hanging from the driver’s seat, her seatbelt the only thing that kept her in place.
Probably both.
Tires screeched. People screamed. Horns kept blaring.
She laughed. It sounded hysterical, even to her. Tears ran over her temples and into her hair. Her eyes burned. She wanted to unbuckle her seatbelt, but couldn’t will herself to let go of the steering wheel. She felt oddly disconnected from her body.
Is this what shock feels like?
It didn’t matter that she’d known she would walk away from the accident. She’d dreamt this version of the future over and over before waking. But the primal part of her brain had basically seen her chewed up and spit out by a saber-toothed tiger. It was still processing the events.
She hadn’t bothered to count all the iterations of what could be. In the end, there was only one possibility that didn’t end in deat
h. Miranda had to be in that intersection at the exact moment of the accident. It had to be her.
Mom would be so proud…
Her tears came harder.
Why couldn’t people believe? Miranda wished she could tell people about her visions and let them make their own decisions. She should be able to walk away. Maybe actually have a life of her own, find someone who could understand and support her.
Darren’s face popped into her mind’s eye.
If only…
Sweet, smart, gorgeous Darren—with his jet black hair and steel gray eyes—who laughed at her jokes, even if he didn’t make many of his own.
Getting to know him had made her happy, which was terrifying. She never knew when her visions would call for a sacrifice, and he somehow seemed the type who would throw himself on a grenade for others. She didn’t think she was strong enough to endure another vision that sent someone she cared about to their death.
She shouldn’t let him get too close. But she couldn’t stay away.
No one at the accident scene was having trouble staying away from her car. They probably thought she was dead, and no one wanted to be the one to find her gruesome remains. If she hadn’t known to turn her wheel just before the moment of impact, they would have been right.
The surreal cast to her perception started to fade. Her skin tingled and her heart kept pounding in her throat. Each beat sent a spike of pain through her head. She needed to get out of her car.
All she could see through the cracked glass of the front windshield were people’s feet as they hurried around the intersection. She noticed a pair heading straight toward her. Black dress shoes polished to a high sheen and nice slacks.
The man stopped just outside her door, probably bracing himself for the worst. She considered making a funny face to lighten the mood, and let out another semi-hysterical sounding laugh. She cut it short as he knelt next to her open window.
Oh, wow…
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