Brit flinched and wrapped her fingers around the syringe. Back then she’d been so idealistic and passionate, so sure she could make the world better—stronger. Unfortunately, in a lab, weakness could be manufactured just as easily as strength, and the line between the two was often too faint to see until it was too late. Her mind was more powerful than any physical strength of any species of the Arcane, and her volatile emotions were an easy way to manipulate her. So she was forced to keep total control, to stay separate, view the world from a clinical perspective to protect not only herself but everyone else.
Brit turned to cast a look over her shoulder at the looming floor-to-ceiling windows lining one wall of Tag’s apartment, where he had been holding her while Incog’s team decided what to do with her. The horizon beyond the San Francisco skyline was lightening. Sunrise was only a few minutes away. A Drachon, Tag needed regular exposure to sunlight to maintain his core body temperature and metabolism. Once he began to absorb the ultraviolet radiation from the morning sun, his body would quickly break down the serum, and he would wake up. She needed to be gone by then.
She
had
to be gone by then because she knew…she knew if he caught her, he wouldn’t let her go again. And she couldn’t be sure she’d have the strength to fight him.
She shook herself to focus her mind and moved quickly to the sink in the kitchenette and flushed out the syringe, careful to be sure none of the serum remained. She scrubbed out the basin of the sink and rinsed it. This serum was too dangerous to risk even a minute amount being recovered. She should never have duplicated it, but she’d known it was only a matter of time before they discovered what she’d done. So she’d created the serum and had it hidden in the pocket of her lab coat when Tag came to escort her to his apartment at Incog.
Brit rushed back into the main living area and set the syringe on the coffee table where Tag would find it when he woke. She didn’t dare take it with her, but Tag would know to destroy it when he woke. Brit scanned the myriad of digital screens positioned on one wall, checking to be sure her path was clear. Tag managed most of the technical needs of Incog as well as maintained and monitored the security. She should know. The Neanderthal had become increasingly invasive in her lab with his security cameras.
And in her life with his overbearing protectiveness.
She hadn’t asked for it. She didn’t want his attention, but too often of late she found herself craving the sound of his voice rumbling in her mind and secretly reveled in the feel of him. It was a weakness she knew better than to encourage.
Emotion only made her vulnerable to manipulation, and that she would never allow again. Too many people could be hurt, killed. Too many had already suffered because of her. Too many deaths weighted her conscious. She’d sacrificed everything to ensure her research for the Triumvirate was destroyed, but recent events proved it had been continued—even advanced. Now it was being tested on members of the Arcane with disastrous results. Until she discovered what went wrong, it posed a threat to all the Arcane, specifically some of the crossbreeds under her care here at Incog. People who had taken her in as one of their own.
She couldn’t let them down, even if they assumed she already had.
One final glance at Tag strengthened her resolve. They all believed she’d betrayed them, and she mourned the loss of their trust, especially Tag’s, but if she didn’t collect the rest of the data, someone would die. Not for the first time since she’d confirmed her horrible suspicions, she wondered if the Triumvirate wasn’t using her research as a way to draw her out, to once again use her emotions to control her. This time she wasn’t alone, not in the strictest sense. Incog would come for her, if only to neutralize what they believed to be a security risk.
The halls of Incog were quiet and empty, and she swiftly navigated them. She had until dawn to reach the rendezvous location. There, one of two things would happen—her contact would help her by getting her the data she needed, or he would take her back to the Triumvirate. She was never certain which side of the line Irial would walk. Either way, the Incog operatives would be no more than two or three days behind her. It was a risk and an incredible long shot, but the alternative was the loss of three innocent lives.
Sirens echoed through the city, and the moist, chill air wrapped around her as her conservative flats met the sidewalk. She didn’t stop moving, and, as though on cue, a sleek black vehicle met her at the curb. She opened the door and slid onto the cool leather seat. It wasn’t until the vehicle pulled away into the sparse traffic that she finally looked back. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding her breath, but it burst out in a relieved gust as she looked up at the Incog building outlined against the pinkening sky.
The driver didn’t acknowledge her, and she studied his profile. He was human. And humming to the low sounds from the radio. Oblivious. She envied him that. With a sigh, Brit sat back against the seat and stared out the window as the streets of the Bay Area rolled away behind them and the Golden Gate Bridge loomed ahead. By the time they arrived at a remote airfield, she was once again coolly in control of herself.
There was a small plane on the tarmac and a nondescript sedan idling nearby. She studied it impassively as her driver exited and circled the car to open her door. He silently climbed back into his vehicle and drove away, leaving her standing there. A frown marred her forehead as she watched his taillights fade into the predawn light. It was too late to have second thoughts or any thoughts save those that would get her closer to a cure.
Determination squared her shoulders, and she approached the vehicle. Darkly tinted windows protected the identity of those inside. As she got closer, the driver’s door opened. The man who got out wasn’t big, not in comparison to the crossbreed agents she treated at Incog, but he was lithe and undoubtedly dangerous. By his posture she would guess him to be a Guardian, most likely full blood. Guardians, one of the four known species of the Arcane, were the most animalistic of them all. Violent. She nodded politely to him when he opened the rear door.
She didn’t think, didn’t pause, just ducked in.
“Hello, Dr. Mahoney. It’s been a long time.”
Brit studied the man before her as she settled herself in the seat. Irial Carrick. He’d been the emissary the Triumvirate had sent for her all those years ago, the demon that brokered the deal of a lifetime. He’d been younger then. Determined. Driven. Now he looked older. Harder. Colder. The difference was minuscule but significant. He was now exactly what had driven him then, the embodiment of absolute purpose. It showed in the lines of his face, in the power that radiated from him. Very little of the man remained, his humanity no more than a residue that clung to him. The years had seasoned him.
She had no sympathy for him.
“Mr. Carrick.” She inclined her head. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure.”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, I didn’t imagine you would. As you probably guessed, I’ve been ordered to persuade you to return. My bosses are rather…determined to reacquire you, I’m afraid.”
“You mean the Triumvirate.” Brit sneered. Over five hundred years ago, the three Elemental witches had invoked blood magic with most of the Arcane families, creating a blood bond, a magic that had encoded into their very DNA. Now the witches could siphon off the life force of every line that had entered into that pact. It made them unbelievably strong as well as immortal. Unfortunately it left their victims with short life spans. And a host of other medical issues, Brit suspected. It also created a violent and sometime bloody struggle between the Rebels and the witches. As was true with most Elementals, the Triumvirate was power hungry and insatiable. They had wanted to find a way through science to force the rebel bloodlines of each species that did not participate in the blood-magic pact to become victim to it as well.
And she had helped them.
The ARSA Project was named for the ARSA gene she’d isolated and connected to the blood-magic phenomenon. Despite her extreme intelligence she still hadn’t been smart enough to truly grasp what they would do with such knowledge. Once she understood they wanted her to synthesize the gene so they could introduce it in the unaffected Arcane, she hadn’t known what to do, so she’d turned to her parents. They’d sacrificed everything to help her destroy her research.
Brit tilted her head to study him. Her control was absolute. None of the pain from the past touched her. She felt disengaged. Clear. Precise. “I thought ARSA was terminated, but it has come to my attention that too much of it survived.”
He cocked a pale brow. She couldn’t read his expression, but she knew it wasn’t surprise. “One can’t have everything, Dr. Mahoney. You couldn’t have been so naive as to believe the Triumvirate would give both you and your research up. There was an unexpected substitute willing to do what you would not.”
Brit crossed her arms over her chest. “Let me make an educated guess, Mr. Carrick. The gene became unstable and your
substitute
”—she sneered the word—“cannot find a means to stabilize the mutation. Is that why you sent Katya Schaffer into Incog? You knew I would recognize my own research, be compelled to save her?”
Katya was mated to one of the agents at Incog—a Drachon, who was very protective of his pregnant mate. Incog found Katya in a Triumvirate lab, and she’d been the subject of a long process of genetic manipulation. In fact, most of her life had been one continuous experiment, one Brit had developed—no, theorized—while working in the Triumvirate labs. The attempt to infect Katya with the blood-magic gene had been successful but unstable. The gene had mutated, and her body was rejecting it. It was killing her.
“The Triumvirate thought it would play God once again, but this time it’s not working, it’s killing. An innocent woman is dying, Mr. Carrick.” Brit reached into her pocket and pulled out a black-and-white image she’d printed from the security system—one of Katya smiling over her shoulder at Raife, her mate. Brit threw it onto the immaculate crease in his suit pants. “If I don’t get their data and find out what they did wrong, that woman, her mate, and their unborn child will die.”
Something flickered across Irial’s face as he lowered his glacier-blue gaze to the image. Was there a softening in those flinty eyes? Something very human moved through their depths as he picked up the paper. It was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a strange expression. She didn’t know if it was the miniscule lowering of his eyelids or the tic of a muscle in his cheek, but the angles of his face appeared lethal. Whatever the hell had just happened, she would bet he didn’t know about the effects of the human trials, which could mean the Triumvirate didn’t either. She pressed, hoping Irial Carrick had more humanity than she had initially credited him with.
“I might be able to save them, but only if I can get that data and return to Incog. Without me, they will certainly die. This was my research. Only I can fix it, but I need that data. Whatever your original intentions were, Ms. Schaffer’s appearance in my lab couldn’t have been just a coincidence.”
“No,” he finally responded, his cold gaze lifting to meet hers, “her appearance was no coincidence. However, Ms. Schaffer was not part of the Triumvirate’s plan to bring you back to the fold. It appears her presence merely accelerated it. You see, we were positive you would contact us; we just hadn’t expected it so soon.” He set the printed image down gently next to him and picked up a manila envelope from the seat on the opposite side. He tapped it on his knee as he stared at her. “No, I’m sorry to say
this
was the lure they hoped to snare you with.”
Brit stared at the thick envelope in his hand. A dark premonition settled over her flesh like diving into the chill waters of the Bay, and she shrugged away a shiver. Her fingers shook as she took the envelope.
With a frown, Brit peeled back the flap and eased the papers from the creamy envelope. It was a medical file. Dread was thick and suffocating, a murky sludge that flowed up into her stomach and lungs as she began to read through the information.
It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. This was just an attempt to manipulate her again. If they hadn’t sent Katya to lure her out and they knew the trials were unsuccessful, they would be desperate to have her finish the research. That was all this was—an act of desperation. She’d seen Meghann die, felt the life drain from her. Brit shook her head and thrust the papers back at Irial without looking further than the first few sheets. “I’m afraid I’m not as naive as I once was. Meghann is dead.”
Irial accepted the file and carefully replaced it in the envelope. He set it aside and picked something else up, cradling it in his hand. “We anticipated this reaction.” He offered her a slim, square device that fit easily in his palm.
Brit swallowed down the dread that now rose up into her throat, coating her mouth with the foul taste of fear. She opened the small digital player, and Irial reached across to press a button, filling the screen with an image she never thought to see again.
Meghann. She was older, her hair a dark auburn instead of the bright red it had once been. It hung in thick strands around a pale face that was unmistakable. She was dressed in blue scrubs and was strapped to a medical chair. Brown eyes glared with clear mutiny at someone off-screen. She jerked at her bonds as she swiveled her head to look in the camera.
“Tell them to fuck off, Bree. Don’t help them with shit.” She raised her chin. “They can’t kill me, and they know it.”
Irial folded the screen closed before she could see any more. Irial’s face remained impassive as he nodded to the driver behind her.
Brit felt the pinch of the needle and couldn’t say she was surprised. As the sedative began to pull her under, she frowned. Meghann was alive. Her sister was alive.
IRIAL CARRICK WATCHED the doctor slowly succumb to the tranquilizer. She was cold and controlled. Her dark red hair carefully pulled back away from her face, her attire tidy and conservative. Quite the change from the hellion she’d been at sixteen, emotionally volatile and so very brilliant.