Autumn's Blood: The Spirit Shifters, Book One (6 page)

He pushed his worries for the captive
shifters from his head. He couldn’t focus on that right now,
couldn’t allow his concern for a few individuals to distract him
from the bigger issues at hand. He needed to be right here, near
the lab, just in case this new scientist did what the others had
been unable to. If she failed, as her predecessors had, Dumas would
be running out of options. Yet he couldn’t help feeling like there
was something special about Autumn Anderson. When Dumas had been
explaining to her about the chromosome number, Blake’s wolf guide
had trotted up to Autumn, nuzzled its nose against her palm, and
placed its big, shaggy head in her lap. Of course, she couldn’t
have noticed anything, but for some reason she had chosen that
moment to turn to him. On some subconscious level, had the young
doctor been aware of the spirit in their midst?

The elevator doors slid open. Dumas
and Haverly stepped out, Blake following close behind. He stopped
short. Several other people waited in the room, facing the glass
wall which separated the captive shifters from the people who held
them prisoner.

His gut twisted at the sight of Calvin
Thorn standing among them. Though technically he and Cal were on
the same security team, no love was lost between the two men.
Calvin made little secret of the fact he coveted Blake’s job as
Dumas’ head of security.

Blake didn’t care about
that; the other man was welcome to the job just as soon as Blake
put an end to Dumas’ interest in shifters. But there was something
about the man that didn’t sit easy with him. He knew Cal had seen
plenty of active duty before coming to work for the department, and
he couldn’t help but feel the man had gotten a taste for the fight.
Though the man was presentable enough, with his well-built body,
blond hair, and square jaw, there was something about him that made
Blake uneasy. Calvin Thorn was hard. While Blake could act tough
when he needed to, Cal didn’t need to act.
Sometimes, Blake wondered if anything existed behind those
cold gray eyes.

But the two men accompanying Cal
weren’t part of the security team. They were part of
medical.

He didn’t like
this.
Why would security need to oversee
medical?
And why hadn’t he been
informed?

From the expression on Peter Haverly’s
face, the subtle way the other man’s jaw tightened and a muscle
twitched directly below his left eye, Blake guessed his comrade
hadn’t been expecting these new arrivals either.

Haverly narrowed his eyes at Dumas.
“What’s going on?”

“Doctor Anderson has all the samples
she’ll need, so we should do something more productive than just
have them sitting here. After all, we can’t send them back out into
the rest of the world.” He rubbed his hands together. “A good
old-fashioned autopsy. I want to see what happens to their bodies
when they change.”

Haverly stared at him in horror. “How
are you going to do that?”

“Open them up and get them to change
into whatever animal they can. I want to watch how their bones
alter, how their organs reform while they’re changing. I figured
we’d need some extra backup, which is why Thorn is
here.”

Blake could stay quiet no longer.
“They’re not going to be able to shift if they’re dead!”

“I don’t want them dead. It’s possible
to open someone up while they’re still alive, still
conscious.”

Haverly’s jaw clenched. “This is
unnecessary and barbaric!” he spat through gritted
teeth.

He and Blake exchanged a worried look.
They couldn’t stand by and let this happen.

Dumas rounded on Haverly. “I’m not
asking for your permission, Haverly. This is my project and I’ll
decide what happens.”

Calvin Thorn regarded the exchange, a
cold humor barely hidden beneath the restrained surface of his
expression.

The boy sat in the chair, his head
down. Silent tears ran down his face, his hands still shackled to
the armrests, rendering him unable to wipe the moisture away. A
desperate urge overtook Blake, a need to go and reassure him, offer
him some kind of comfort. But if he went in there, the boy would
recognize what he was and there was a chance of his cover being
blown. He shuddered to think what Dumas would do if he discovered
his head of security was one of those he seemed to both despise and
adore.

The head of the project nodded at
Calvin. The two medics waited with small, slender boxes which Blake
felt certain held hypodermic needles containing some kind of
sedative.

“Take the man,” Dumas instructed,
nodding toward the chambers.

Without a word, the men took the
passageway to the right, which lead behind the glass screen and to
the back of the holding cells. Cal folded his arms across his
chest, the expression on his face never changing.

Blake watched through the one-way
glass, his fists clenched. He was torn, desperately wanting to
shift and rip these people apart, but knowing he
couldn’t.

The captive man turned as if he’d
heard something, and the next moment a hidden door in the metal
wall at the back of his chamber opened. The men in white coats
entered the room, syringes in hand. The man’s eyes widened. He
struggled, yanking his bound feet and hands. The cuffs didn’t
budge.

He turned to the front and locked eyes
with Blake, though Blake knew he couldn’t see him through the
glass. The eye contact must be coincidence, the man had no way of
knowing another shifter stood on the other side.

The man’s eyes flared a golden
yellow.

Blake knew what that meant. He
launched forward, slamming his hand down on the button which
allowed him to speak into the chamber. “Get out! He’s
shifting!”

The world seemed to pause as the man’s
whole body tensed. His hair withered and vanished and what appeared
to be quills spiked from his body. He roared in pain as they
stabbed through his skin. His body yanked one way and the next,
then the quills unfurled.

Feathers,
Blake realized.

The man’s face changed, his nose and
mouth molding together and elongating, covered in a hard, brittle
material. His whole body shrank, his arms and legs slipping from
both his clothing and the ties which bound him. His clothes fell in
a pile on the floor.

The men took a couple of steps away,
their backs against the wall, looking on with a mixture of
amazement and horror. Where only moments before a man sat, now a
huge eagle stood perched on the chair. The bird was larger than any
of them had ever seen before, easily four times that of a regular
eagle.

The bird opened its beak and
screeched.

It spread its massive wings, spanning
almost half the room.

Dumas seemed to remember himself. He
pushed Blake out of the way to get to the microphone. “Sedate it!”
he yelled at the doctors.

They exchanged a glance and both
lunged forward. The bird flapped its wings and lifted into the air.
The men tried to grab hold of it, but it fought back. Huge talons
swiped at the men, opening a huge gash in one of their cheeks,
almost taking out an eye. The man cried out and fell back, his hand
clutched to his face, blood pouring from between his fingers. His
colleague took one look at the blood and dropped to the ground. The
bird dived at him with another screech, two-inch talons open to
grab him.

Dumas rounded on Blake and Cal. “Well?
What are you waiting for? Get in there!”

With uncertainty, Cal
looked between the scene behind the glass and Dumas. It wasn’t
often Blake had seen him rattled, but right now the other man
didn’t seem to know what to make of what was happening.
It’s the first time he’s witnessed a
shift,
Blake realized. Nevertheless,
Calvin’s hand automatically went to the weapon holstered on his
hip.

“What are you playing at?” Dumas
yelled, clearly frustrated with their lack of response. “You want
to hold each other’s hands?”

Still, Blake hesitated. He knew the
other shifter would be able to sense what he was, would feel the
extra heat radiating from his body. He didn’t want to go into the
chambers with the other shifter. If the man blew his cover, this
whole thing would be over.

Dumas glared at him and then reached
inside his jacket pocket and pulled out a small pistol. “Damn it.
If you want something done—”

Blake put out a hand to stop him. “I’m
on it.”

Calvin stood there, confusion written
on his face.

At a jog, Blake followed the same
route the two men in white coats had taken, running down a narrow
corridor which led to the back of the holding cells. He entered the
chamber through the same metal door as the two guys from
medical.

The bird sat on top of one of the men.
The man cowered, crying and gibbering, his arms held over his face
for protection. The bird’s bright, black eyes focused on Blake as
he entered the room.

He put his hands up in defense. “I’m
not going to hurt you.”

The bird opened its beak, revealing a
soft, pink palate, and screeched again. The sound echoed around the
small space, enough to make Blake’s ears hurt.

“You need to shift back,” he hissed.
“They’ll shoot you if you don’t.”

It spread its wings and flapped,
causing a gust of air to blow against Blake’s face and body. One of
the doctors cried out in alarm.

Blake spread out his hands, a pleading
gesture. “Please. Just shift back. If you don’t, they’ll kill you.
There’s no getting out of this place like this.” He stared into the
bird’s eyes, desperately trying to communicate what was in his
heart, in his head.

I’ll help you. As soon as
I can.

The bird ducked its smooth round head,
its wings still outstretched. It went rigid, shudders racking its
body. The feathers retracted, pulling back beneath the skin to
leave pink, smooth skin. The wings first reduced in size, and then
grew bigger, fingers sprouting where long wing-feathers had just
been. The beak shrank, molding back into the face to create a nose
and mouth. The bird’s eyes burned yellow and then returned to the
man’s normal color.

Now back in human form, the naked man
crouched on top of the doctor.

Blake didn’t care too greatly for the
injuries of the doctors who’d been intent on hurting the shifter,
but he didn’t want the shifter to be harmed. He approached with
caution, his hands held out. “Everything is going to be all right.
We’ll work this out.”

The man’s eyes narrowed. “How can you
say that?”

“I’ll do everything I can.”

“Get word to my family—”

Dumas’ voice blared into the room.
“Don’t talk to it, Blake. Just get them out of there!”

Blake grabbed the injured doctors,
and, using his huge strength, hoisted them out of the room, through
the small corridor and back into the surveillance unit where Dumas
waited. The men continued to cry, clutching their injuries. Blood
stained their white coats like a butcher’s apron.

“Goddamned freaks,” Dumas muttered. He
rounded on Blake. “What the hell was that all about?”

Blake glared back. “What?”

“All the ‘We’ll work this out’
bullshit.”

“I was trying to talk him down,
General. You almost had two dead men, and not to mention the
potential mutilation of an innocent man.” His eyes flicked to Cal.
“And at least I did something.”

Calvin’s shoulders squared and he
glared back at Blake.

Dumas’ face grew red. “I suggest you
take some time to get control of yourself, Sergeant.”

I’m more in control of
myself than I hope you’ll ever find out.

He could feel the desire to shift
burning at his nerve endings. He wanted nothing more than to call
his wolf to him and show Dumas exactly what he was dealing with.
But from behind Dumas’ shoulder, Haverly stared at Blake in
warning.

A groan came from the floor where
Blake had dropped the two guys from medical.

Dumas looked toward the noise and
wrinkled his nose. “And Christ, someone sort out a medic for these
two. They’re bleeding all over my floor.” He shook his head in
disgust and stormed from the room. Cal hurried after
him.

Haverly opened his mouth to speak, but
a glare from Blake shot him down. “Don’t say a word,” he snapped.
“You wouldn’t have done any different.”

The other man stared at him. “I think
Dumas is right. Go and cool down.”

BLAKE TROTTED DOWN the steps of the
building and stepped out onto the street. He walked quickly, his
head down, hands stuffed into his pockets. His emotions were in
turmoil. What would have happened if the man had been less able to
control his ability to shift? What if he’d been taken away and laid
out on a surgical table somewhere and cut open purely to placate
Dumas’ sick interests? Would he have been able to stand by
then?

He suddenly became aware of someone
behind him. He spun around to find the increasingly familiar form
of his cousin standing in the street. The other man’s long hair was
tied back, and he wore an easy grin.