Betrayal's Shadow (9 page)

With a sigh, she moved the potatoes, carrots, and onions into the simmering pot on the stove, wiped her hands, and came to sit beside him. “I know you’re worried, but I’m as safe here as anywhere. And I can do more good here.”

He pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I have a really bad feeling about this. You didn’t see Isa’s body. I can’t shake the belief you’d be safer with the others.”

“Your fear is talking. I can’t waste years of my life in limbo when I can be doing something worthwhile. If they lock me away with the others it won’t make me safe.”

“Why risk this, Briet? We carry enough burdens for these humans as it is.”

She rested her hand on his shoulder with a squeeze. “I have to follow my own counsel on what is best for me. I’m truly thankful my brother supports me.” She stroked his shoulder when he refused to look at her. “I’m sorry for the toll it takes on you. It’s not only about giving back to humanity. This is what I need to be doing. I make a difference, Ansgar.”

He met her gaze. “What if you came back to the Sanctum? You could continue your research there. You’d have Grimm to help you.”

She shook her head. Her short blonde hair shimmered in spikes about her jawline. “Grimm has his own work. Besides, we both know I’d be overruled and forced into cryo with the others.”

“There are those who would support you.” He waved a hand, disgusted with himself for pleading.

She gave him a sad smile in return. “Perhaps, before Turen disappeared. Before Isa’s death. Not even support from Grimm, Tsu, and Kamau would be enough to help me now.”

He let out a heavy breath. She was right. Not that he’d truly expected her to agree or perhaps even wanted her to. He needed to hear her logic combined with the conviction in her voice, because fear of losing the sister he’d raised from a little girl ate at his gut with every breath he took.

When he’d seen Isa’s body, what terrified him beyond words was imagining Briet’s face superimposed over the corpse.

“Even Leonis wouldn’t support my request to stay out of cryo at this point, would he?”

“No.” That was a sore point. The man revolved in a constant repetition of “needing proof.” He refused to acknowledge what the rest of them could clearly feel. They weren’t human. Their senses, their intuition, should count for more than paranoia.

“Hmm, another falling out with him?” She shook his shoulder to get his attention. “I’m careful. I don’t stay with any project for very long. I cover my tracks, but…” She glanced around the kitchen as if it offered her a way to ease his worry. “I’ve learned so much working with the drug trials and hospital studies. This may be of value to us someday. It has definitely been of help to the children cured. This is the value we were intended to provide with our special skills, aside from our children.”

“Our people should not have to fade out of existence for the sake of
value
. Our people should not have to suffer the loss of generations of our history, of our future. Our people shouldn’t be on the brink of extinction.” He clasped her shoulders. “You should be able to have a mate, just as
they
all marry and have children—just as they are all able to breed.”

She bit her lip. “Don’t hold back.”

He turned away from the concern in her huge brown eyes.

She pulled him back to face her. When he refused to turn back, she gave a quick, light jerk to the long braid that ran down his back. “Ansgar, you’re right, but I can’t fix the problems our people face. I can try to move forward and not falter. Securing our women to safeguard them for a mating that may never happen isn’t the answer. It weakens us.”

“I only agree with you as long as you’re safe, Pip.” He leaned close to rest his forehead against hers. “The problem is, once that is no longer the case, it will be too late to fix. You are not expendable. I can’t be here enough to safeguard you.”

“I can watch out for myself.” She smiled. “What happened to my carefree, fun-loving brother?”

“He’s been mired down in death and betrayal.”

“Betrayal?” A frown pulled between her brows and clouded her expression. “Do you doubt Turen?”

“Leonis asked me the same thing.” Ansgar shook his head. “I would trust him with my life. I can’t risk you with anyone.” He watched the swirl of gold shift in the brown of his sister’s eyes and knew she couldn’t logic away his concern.

“And because you trust no one, that gave you pause? Really, Ansgar, surely you recognize the truth. You wouldn’t trust my own mate with me.”

He raised an eyebrow and rolled his shoulders in an attempt to pass off what she said but cracked a smile. She was right.

She patted her hands on her knees. “Let’s deal with this after dinner. Are you hungry?”

He shrugged. “I could eat.”

“On a scale of one to ten?”

“Eight.” He glanced toward the pot on the stove and then inhaled the aroma that filled the room. “Okay, nine.”

She laughed. “Let me put some toast on for the chowder, and we’ll eat. We’ll pretend it’s a normal meal, like the old days.”

“Briet, we haven’t had a
normal
anything in two hundred years.”

“Pretend with me.”

Her smile warmed the mood. He didn’t have the heart to dash her dreams.

CHAPTER 6

Mia squinted against the sun streaming across her face from the slats in the blinds. She flipped over in bed and cracked open an eye at the clock. Eleven in white digital numbers stood out flat against the black background.

How did she sleep so late?

She burrowed under the sheet and rubbed her face in the pillow. The artificial smell of her dryer sheet confirmed she was home in her own bed. Pulling her hand from under the pillow, she twisted it and searched for the scrape on her finger. A pink, puckered scar curved around the knuckle of her index finger, a fresh mark.

Was the prisoner fantasy or reality? She could float in denial, but denial never sat well with her. At least not anymore, she thought wryly, as she noted the clothes, not nightgown, that covered her body. Blood-smudged clothes. An empty water bottle snuggled intimately next to her hip under the sheet.

He’d better not be carrying any diseases. She would have to ask, though she doubted he’d be insulted. Turen seemed too controlled to express annoyance at such a question. He only backed off from the big questions, like who, what, and why. His brief skimming of the facts didn’t explain her nocturnal travels or answer what he was desperate enough to find that he would endure capture and torture.

She might not be able to stop her visits, but if they continued she was going to get some answers.

I would prefer you far from here and safe
.

She would, too. Yet the memory of his voice made her skin tingle, and she rolled over to quell the sensation. Far away, safe, and still, wide-awake in broad daylight, her body reacted as if he was beside her. A total stranger, one whose face she’d never seen in full light, had the power to send sexual heat whipping through her with only the recollection of his voice. Mia ground her face into the sheets and contemplated a cold shower.

Thirty minutes later, she walked down the hallway to her office, coffee cup in hand. The sun had shifted. It streamed in her office windows, seeming to follow her around the house. Sunbeams lit whitewashed patches on the worn hardwood floor. The last green of summer leaves on the trees and bushes bordering her property, a good half mile away, laced her view from the tall windows. Cocooned in solitude, with no living soul within shouting distance of the house, she’d always considered herself safe.

Do you have family, friends, coworkers who will miss you if you do not return?

Mia shivered and shook off the disquiet the question caused. She was self-sufficient, worked hard, even if she did live alone. Friends were scattered around the country, a mere touch of the keyboard away. However, none would notice for several days, weeks, maybe, if she was gone.

Would he miss her if she didn’t return?

He’d meant to ground her in fear, convince her to run if she could. The man’s motives were transparent as glass. With the recollection, darkness threatened the morning’s bright lining.

She shifted the paperwork on her desk. Two articles needed final edits and revisions by tomorrow. A proposal for a non-fiction book she’d procrastinated on was late on delivery to her publisher. An unmarked folder needed evaluation for future projects.

She dragged her projects folder to the top and flipped it open. Several sheets ripped from the local paper and printouts from the Internet slid across the manila background. All constituted her brainstorming and research into an exposé on women’s options and realistic expectations from classes in self-defense. She pulled three from the stack to read the instructors’ bios. Her exposé would deal with sword and staff proficiencies. A bit esoteric, but the uniqueness of the weapons appealed to her, and at a high level, the article might interest others.

Mia tapped a finger on top of the folder. She’d put off pursuing the project because she wanted more than interviews and opinions. Both the discipline and the practice had intrigued her. Instead of pursuing her interest, she’d allowed criticism to daunt her.

Not from instructors. Although, honestly, she wasn’t sure they would take her as a pupil.

“You have no martial arts experience, and the field is dominated by men.” She could still hear Alex’s voice. He’d scowled at her idea. “It’s such a violent, non-feminine pursuit.”

However, Alex wasn’t here anymore. Alex hadn’t been here for a long time.

Life was short. Her nighttime terrors proved that. If she didn’t come back one night, she was going to make damn sure she’d done everything she could to achieve her desires.

New motto—no regrets.

Mia flipped open her cell phone and punched out the number of the first instructor.

Worst case, she would get an interview. Best case, maybe one of the instructors would walk her through the techniques after a demonstration and give her an opening to make her request.

Ten minutes later, she snapped the phone shut with a grin. The last instructor had time for an interview in two hours.

She finished off her revisions, prioritized her emails, and grabbed her purse and keys.

Nope, no more regrets.

CHAPTER 7

Turen ground his teeth as he struggled against the four pairs of hands forcing him into a high-backed wooden chair. With his forearms shackled to the sturdy arms, neither his muscles nor his will could power past the metal manacles or the new leather ones.

He let out a grunt when Shank’s fist hit his neck.

All the guards under Xavier’s command were dangerous, some unpredictably violent, but most were motivated by paychecks before emotions.

Shank mimicked Rasheer in twisted moral fiber and mental instability, driven by a primal need to cause pain. Swift retaliation and refusal to submit were the only ways to deal with the sorry excuse for overblown testosterone in a giant’s body. Turen clenched his jaw and lurched, bringing the whole chair up in his lunge toward the man.

“Shit.” Curses erupted from one of the two guards, but they forced the chair back in place. A third bent on one knee to lock metal strips around the chair’s bottom rail to the floor.

Shank raised his fist for another strike.

The guard securing the clamps caught Shank’s fist in a solid hold. “Cut it the fuck out. We have orders that he be unmarked and conscious. Back off.”

Shank’s eyes narrowed. His glare flicked between his restrained fist and Turen. Calculation rolled across the man’s features, clearly deliberating before he locked down the hate twisting his features, and stepped back in a feigned sign of obedience. The door behind them slammed open, and Shank dropped his gaze to the floor. Turen bit back a smile of victory.

Everyone else froze.

Boots rang out on the stone floor as Xavier rounded the chair. Six feet eight and two hundred and eighty pounds of muscle encased in black leather pants and vest made an impression on everyone. Always had, thought Turen.

Xavier didn’t spare a glance at him or acknowledge Shank’s behavior, but his expression harbored a dark scowl while the guards departed.

He placed a wooden case before him on the table. Once the door closed, he extracted several vials, syringes, and a length of rubber tubing.

Turen pressed his shoulders against the back of the chair and waited.

His comrade hadn’t changed much. Multiple thick black braids hung in ropes from his head. They barely moved as he flipped the covers from the vials and set them on the table. Almost every feature, from the rigid width of his jaw to the iron muscles of his shoulders, matched the image of the Spanish warrior who’d saved Turen as a boy, trained him as a youth, fought beside him, and led their people.

Xavier turned and his eyebrow arched, almost urging Turen to speak.

He didn’t. Turen could only stare at the glaring sign of annihilation in his former leader’s eyes, solid black except for the silver striations that permeated the iris and sclera. Gone was the golden honey hue that had matched Xavier’s sister, Sagari. This dense, deep blackness, the color of the abyss, had infected the man after the death of his mate and unborn child. The darkness, a mix of madness and rage so thick it could suck the life out of anyone foolish enough to look too close.