Touching Smoke (30 page)

Needle sharp spikes, each a foot long and the same hospital-white as the walls. They jetted from all sides, stabbing whoever got too close.

I yanked on my restraints. “You have me! Let him go!”

Maia giggled. “Why when we can use him again and again to make you do everything we want?”

“What do you want with me?”

If Maia was going to answer, she never got the chance to when the door opened and Garrison walked in, snappy suit covered by a spotless lab coat.

“Let Isaiah go!” I said at once. “You have me. I’ll do whatever you want. I won’t fight. Just let him go!”

Garrison moved briskly to stand next to my table, eyes chips of cold emeralds. “Four CC’s,” he said to Maia, all the while staring down at me as though I were a slab of already marinated meat.

“My pleasure!” Maia purred, brown eyes glinting with twisted delight. She turned on her heels and sauntered over to the wall on my right. Another panel appeared there, this one large and flat that slide out like a table. Light glowed from the surface, illuminating the steel instruments resting there. 

“Please,” I said, looking up into Garrison’s face. “I’m sorry I kicked you. I promise never to do it again. Just let Isaiah go, and I’ll do anything you ask.”

Maia returned then, several foil-wrapped packets in one hand and four very large glass tubes in the other. Her gaze stayed on my face as she passed Garrison what he needed, watching every flicker the way a cat watched a canary with a broken wing, bidding her time before pouncing.

The packets held the required tube and needle doctors used to extract blood. He opened another packet and removed a rubber band.

“Gloves,” he told Maia, who practically tripped over herself to do his bidding.

The rubber band was securely fastened around my upper arm. He tapped the curve of my inner elbow with two fingers.

“Please,” I tried again.

Maia appeared gloves in hand. Garrison snapped them on. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as the needle pierced my flesh.

“This could have been different, Fallon,” my eyes flew open, surprised he was speaking to me again. “We could have… I don’t want to hurt you.” He was looking at me with that strange look on his face, the one he’d worn yesterday morning at the breakfast table, like I somehow reminded him of something tragic.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, not bothering to conceal the quiver in my voice.

Something shifted on his expression. It became soft… loving. But that was nothing to the jolt of feeling his hand stroking my head. It was the act of a parent soothing an upset child.

“I won’t do it again,” I promised.

He sighed, opening his mouth, but Maia quickly interjected. “She’s lying, Boss! She’ll say anything to save
him.”

At the mention of Isaiah, Garrison’s gaze flickered to the screen, to where Isaiah was still standing trapped in that closet with the spikes. Anger blistered behind his glower. All signs of the loving man were gone when he turned to me again.

“You don’t even know why you’re so hell-bent on protecting him, do you?” he hissed. “You only want him as badly as you do because I willed it! Because I planted it in your head, in your genetic coding. You wouldn’t even…” he dragged in a sharp breath, relaxed himself before continuing. “He wouldn’t want you if you weren’t who you are. He only wants you because of me, take that away and you’ll mean nothing to him.”

Oh how I wished he’d just left me to the mercy of Maia. Whatever torture I could have suffered under her hands would have been a picnic compared to the punishing words hitting me square in the gut.

But he wasn’t finished. He leaned in close, smacking my face with the stench of fried bacon. “You were always defiant, even when what I did was for your own good. But I was right in the end, wasn’t I? He’ll betray you again.”

I blinked. “What?”

Garrison stiffened, jerking back. “We’re finished here.”

“What do you mean betray me again?”

He glowered at me, but spoke to Maia. “Get her dressed and bring her to the parlor.”

All merciless glee on Maia’s face vanished into a sullen, little girl pout. “But—”

“Parlor, Maia. I think it’s time we got a few things straight.”

Maia’s shoulders drooped. “Yes sir.”

The needle was removed from my arm. No band-aid was offered. The four vials of my blood was gathered up by Garrison, handled as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

“What about Isaiah?” I shouted after him when he made a beeline for the door.

He didn’t answer. The door snapped closed behind him and I was alone with Maia and the dark cloud hovering over her head.

“Don’t even think of doing anything funny, you hear me?” she pinched a black blossom just over the puncture mark left behind by the needle. I yelped. She smirked coldly, working agilely to unhook my straps. “This doesn’t mean anything you know. You’re still going to die in the end, and I’ll be right there, watching every minute of it.”

I was yanked off the table and shoved forcibly to where my dress lay in a black puddle on the floor, the only splash of color in the entire room next to the flat slippers. I pulled the garments on, dragging it over my head before ripping off the paper gown and tossing it aside.

The dress was a simple black with a U collar and teacup sleeves. It was somewhat cinched around the middle and fell just a little past my knees, but after being manhandled, the sleeves fell off my shoulders and there was a tear in the hem that went nearly to my hip. It wasn’t a big deal, I was still covered, but I didn’t like that it was wrecked.

“Come on!” Maia muttered, grabbing my arm and dragging me from the room before I had a chance to put my shoes on.

I let myself be hauled, reminding myself that they had Isaiah. If I wanted to see him out of there alive, I would have to play their game for a while longer.

Garrison was already sitting in a high back chair, waiting for us. He motioned me to the sofa on his left. “Isaiah will be joining us shortly.”

I sat, if for no other reason than to keep from pacing anxiously. My gaze flittered to the door, to the carpet beneath my tapping foot, to the door and back. I picked at a hangnail on my thumb with my teeth, my stomach wobbling. I shifted on the sofa, finding the cushions too stiff, too unyielding. My bare foot rapped harder, sending an erratic pattering sound through the otherwise silent room. A scuffling outside the parlor doors had me darting to my feet, my heart pressed into the walls of my throat. Isaiah was shoved into the room by two heavily armed men. He staggered on his feet, but kept upright by sheer willpower alone.

Most of the injuries from his earlier beating had healed. The ones leaking fresh blood onto his ruined shirt, they were new, fresh, and I knew from the gingerly way he crossed the room, if I looked beneath his clothes there would be new bruises throughout his body. I tapered my anger. I bottled it down, saving it for when it was needed most — our escape.

I went to him, hands reaching but too afraid to make contact with any part of him. “Are you hurt badly?”

He snorted, the sound muffled between his bulbous lips. “I’ve had worse.” I didn’t want to picture that. I couldn’t control the demon if I thought about him worse than standing before me soaked in his own blood. He looked at me, looked me over. “How are you? Are you hurt?”

I gave my head a slight shake. “I’m okay. I—”

“If we could please get started?” I had forgotten we had an audience.

Taking Isaiah’s hand, I led him back to the sofa. We sat. No one seemed to care that blood was seeping into the beige cushions under Isaiah.

“I’m hoping we could start over,” Garrison said evenly, watching us flatly over the tips of his steepled fingers.

“Yes!” I said quickly, squeezing Isaiah’s fingers to keep him quiet. “Yes, we—we want to start over as well. We don’t want any more trouble.”

Garrison sighed, dropping his hands into his lap. “I really don’t like using force. I really don’t. It kills me to see you hurt… Fallon,” he faltered, seemingly having forgotten my name. “Fallon,” he repeated as if reminding himself. “I will take care of you if you let me.”

“We would like that,” I said, forcing a smile.

Isaiah squeezed my fingers, hard.
What are you doing?
It said.
Trust me!
I thought as hard and loud as I could, and hoped he did his mind connection thing and heard me. It might have worked because he didn’t comment again.

“What are you going to do with us?” I asked, hesitant, practically walking on eggshells in fear of angering him.

Garrison thought about it a moment, staring off somewhere over my head in deliberation. “Talk,” he said at last.

My smile wobbled. “What about?”

He jerked a shoulder, climbing gingerly to his feet. “I’m sure you have questions.”

I had so many questions; I was surprised they hadn’t started leaking from my ears. But what was the point in asking? He rarely ever answered anything and when he did, it was usually in the form of a riddle. Plus, there was no question that I could ask that wouldn’t set him off again, and I couldn’t take another repeat performance of earlier.

“We have a few,” I confessed.

Garrison moved towards the teacart parked just inside the parlor doors. The soft clink of delicate china filled the room as he poured himself tea, stirred in a single lump of sugar and stirred. He brought the teacup back with him, setting it down gently on the table next to the armchair. He regained his seat, smoothed a hand down his front and waited for me to continue.

I took a deep breath. “I would like to know a little more about what was done to us,” I said, picking my words very carefully.

His head nodded as if it was a question he’d expected, and why shouldn’t he? We’d only been asking the same question since we were brought here. “A lot was done to you,” he said simply. “I suppose you could say that whatever I couldn’t fit into Isaiah, I slipped into your Petri dish, and that was quite a bit.” He shifted in his seat, plucking up his tea and taking a tiny sip. The cup made a soft clink when it was set back on the saucer.

“Like what?” I prompted when he fell into silence.

He seemed to consider this a moment. “Well, Isaiah was given the accelerated healing formula. This helps him to heal faster than most people do, but the side effects caused rapid growth stimuli. We weren’t sure what to expect when he grew ten years in a matter of twelve months, not just in looks, height and weight, but in his mental capacity and his speech. It was incredible.”

“So, how old is Isaiah exactly?” I wondered.

Garrison’s brows puckered in a thoughtful frown. “If I had to guess, I would say roughly eighteen, but that is a very sketchy estimate.”

“You don’t know?”

He sighed, stroking his chin. “Well, you were born a year after he was and you’re sixteen?”

“Seventeen,” I corrected.

He nodded slowly, going back to doing the math. “So, then yes, eighteen.”

“But you said he aged ten years his first year,” I said, trying to do my own math.

“Yes, in his physical and mental growth, but if we were counting in normal years, he’s eighteen.”

“And if we were counting the other way?” I asked.

He sighed, eyes rolling upwards as he mulled it over. “Well, after a year, he was ten. After two years, he was about eleven. His aging progress seemed to slow after two years and he aged fairly normal, but he was only two years old.”

“So he’s like thirty now?” I asked cautiously.

Garrison shook his head, flicking his wrist dismissively. “No, no! He’s still only eighteen. We don’t really count the rapid aging.”

“What else did you put in me?” Isaiah asked, breaking away from the topic of his age.

Garrison reached for his tea again. “Superhuman speed, reflexes, durability, strength, vision and lycanthropy. The telepathy and empathy were inserted after Fallon was born to match her brain waves.”

My eyes widened. “After?”

Garrison nodded. “The link only works between the two of you. Neither of you can hear other people or feel what they’re feeling. That’s something just between you.”

“Lycanthropy?” Isaiah interrupted. “What the hell is that?” I pressed his fingers, willing him to watch his tone.

Garrison, thankfully, missed the contempt in the question or he chose to ignore it. “Lycanthropy is the ability to turn into a wolf. It’s the only animal DNA we encoded into you.”

“The
only?”
Isaiah shouted, getting halfway to his feet before I pulled him down.

“What does that mean?” I quickly said.

Watching Isaiah, Garrison answered, “Your speed, your sense of smell, your strength, your ability to be a good hunter, a good protector, it comes from the DNA of an alpha wolf. Fallon has the alpha female gene, which, in a sense, connects all the dots where both of you are concerned. It’s what drives you to be together. It’s not the only thing, but it plays a key role. Granted, you won’t physically turn into a wolf or any such thing, but your senses are those of a feral wolf.”

Now Isaiah was holding me back from jumping to my feet. “I have animal parts in me?”