by Jade Kerrion
“I’ve got you,” Miriya confirmed, turning to follow Zara. Remember Alex’s instructions. Don’t alarm the public.
“It’s a little late for that.” Galahad’s gaze swept over the gang. Nineteen against one, enough to make it interesting, not enough to make it a challenge.
They did not come at him with guns, knives, or fists. “You’re a pretty boy, aren’t you?” one of them murmured as the group encircled him. Accents were softer in that part of the country. They would have been alluring, if the words did not turn his stomach. “Good thing we’re the sharing type. We’d hate to have you miss out on us.”
In spite of all the experiments inflicted upon him during his twenty-five years at Pioneer Labs, Galahad had never felt more like a thing than when the men closed in. Hands reached out, grasping, caressing. Bodies pressed against him. The gentle friction became insistent, then desperate.
Damn you, Danyael. Galahad inhaled deeply and pushed hard, clearing scant inches around him. Inches were enough. He reached for the twin daggers Zara had given him.
The circle of men fell back. For a long, silent moment, the gang, still confident in its numerical superiority, assessed him. Its leader spoke again. “So, you like it rough? We can oblige. Guys? Let’s see who gets to carve a pretty heart into his cheek.” Their weapons came out—switchblades and hunting knives.
Dagger in either hand, Galahad leapt out and dropped to the pavement, spinning like a dervish. Serrated blades sliced out as he whirled, cutting through denim and leather. The gang fell back, collapsing in upon itself as its members scrambled to get out of his way, their legs bleeding from multiple cuts.
“Get him!” the gang leader roared.
Don’t hurt them, Miriya warned. Too much, she amended as one collapsed, his hands pressed to the bleeding wounds in his lower abdomen.
He’ll need kidney dialysis for the rest of his life, but at least he’s alive. Galahad drove his dagger into another man’s chest. And that one still has one lung left to live off. If he doesn’t bleed to death first.
Galahad… Even Miriya’s mental voice sounded exasperated.
He gracefully sidestepped. The gang leader stumbled forward, his balance thrown off by his thwarted attack. Galahad drove his elbow into the man’s back and sent him sprawling to the ground. Galahad then pressed one knee into the gang leader’s lower back and pulled his head up. The man’s struggle to break free ceased when Galahad slid his dagger gently along the tender skin at the neckline. “You can fall back and take your injured to the hospital, or we can continue this, and more of you will die.”
“Get back, get back,” the leader implored.
The well-trained gang retreated. Its members stood around mutinously as Galahad pulled the gang leader to his feet and shoved him toward his friends. “Now get out of here,” he said, turning his back on them.
Miriya screamed. Watch out!
Galahad spun and dropped to one knee as a bullet slashed through the air, missing him by a hairsbreadth. He reached over his shoulder and flung forward. A dagger flew through the air, flipping end over end as it raced toward the gang leader. With a sneer on his face and the pistol in his hand, the gang leader sidestepped out of the flight path of the dagger, and directly into the path of another.
The second dagger sank deep into his heart. The pistol tumbled from his grasp. His hands closed weakly around the dagger hilt as the mocking smile melted off his face. He dropped to his knees and with a soft sigh, fell forward. His gang scattered. The ones who could still run vanished down the block, followed by the injured. Their dead leader was left behind.
Galahad retrieved his daggers and rejoined Miriya.
“Like your new toys?” she asked dryly as he wiped blood off the blade.
“I can understand why Zara enjoys them. They are much more visceral and satisfying than a gun.” He surveyed the scene with a faint smile. The ten humans in Tim’s team lay on the ground. Most were unconscious. The rest groaned in pain, their hands clutching at their heads. “That didn’t take you long.”
“Tim’s not very good at multi-tasking. Most men aren’t. He could not keep their shields up when Zara pounced him. Without psychic shields, his men were easy pickings.”
“What’s she doing now?” he asked. “Why is she sitting on top of him?”
“Playing. She’s probably trying to make him pee in his pants,” Miriya said with a snort of disgust. “Stop mucking around, Zara. We need to catch up with Danyael.”
Zara’s smile was warmly seductive as she patted Tim’s cheek gently with the blade of her dagger. Even from a distance, Galahad could see Tim cringe. The surrounding streetlights flashed quicksilver against the blade as she drew it tenderly across his cheek. Blood welled up as steel parted skin. “Why is she carving her name on his cheek?” Galahad asked quietly.
Miriya sighed. “Humans can be so childish.” She raised her voice. “Zara, we need to get out of here before the local cops show up. We have federal authority, but explanations can take awhile. Are you finished?”
“Almost. If you get in our way again, I will hunt you down and kill you. Understood?”
Tim nodded, his eyes wide.
Zara pushed to her feet and rejoined them.
“Did you have fun?” Miriya asked.
“Enough to forgive Danyael for subjecting us to a road trip,” Zara said. She dug the car keys out of her pocket and pressed the remote to unlock the car.
Miriya slid into the backseat of their SUV. “You’ve got a lot of balls making a enemy of an alpha telepath. You better learn how to create stronger psychic shields. I won’t always be around to protect you.”
“I won’t need your protection much longer. The members of the Mutant Assault Group are stupidly tenacious. He’s going to follow us, and I’ll have an excuse to kill him then.”
Miriya chuckled softly. “When have you ever needed an excuse?”
“The timing wasn’t right. I attacked him without provocation, which makes it hard to credibly say ‘oops.’ I need another opportunity to accidentally kill him. The administrative inquiries into the deaths of alpha mutants are tedious.”
“They’re following their general’s orders, Zara,” Miriya reminded her.
“Obedience is no excuse for stupidity, and ripping Danyael’s memory in public qualifies as gross stupidity,” Zara said. Surprisingly, her voice caught. “Tim deserves a Darwin Award for what he did, and I’m going to hand deliver it.”
Miriya leaned forward and jabbed her small fist into Galahad’s shoulder. “Stop taking notes.”
“What?” Galahad asked.
“Stop anchoring.”
“Anchoring?”
“To Zara. If a creaky old humanities professor from a liberal arts college had rescued you from Pioneer Labs, you wouldn’t be wondering if you were created to be the perfect killer.”
His mouth twitched. “So much for the privacy of my thoughts.”
Miriya did not bother to apologize. “You’re like a duckling. You imprinted on the first non-lab person you saw, who turned out to be a mercenary for whom the line between life and death has been so badly scuffed over that it is, for all intents and purposes, nonexistent.”
“Perhaps, but a humanities professor wouldn’t have helped me escape from Pioneer Labs.”
“That’s probably true,” Miriya conceded.
“I find this conversation about me deeply fascinating,” Zara said, her voice cool.
Miriya arched an eyebrow. “What I find fascinating is how Danyael, who is trained in every possible way to save lives, could have fallen in love with someone so diametrically opposed to everything he believes in.”
Danyael loved Zara? Galahad glanced sharply at Zara, but her expression of perfect indifference gave nothing away.
Miriya continued with a casualness that struck Galahad as out of place, considering the seriousness of the topic. “I know you accused Danyael of manipulating your feelings. I wonder if perhaps it was the other way around, and you manipulate
d his.” There was a brief, tense silence before Miriya exploded. “You bitch!” She lunged and pulled viciously on Zara’s dark hair.
The SUV swerved erratically. “Get off me! And stay out of my head!” Zara said, regaining control of the vehicle and guiding it onto the shoulder. She cut the engine and turned around in her seat. “Whatever happened between Danyael and me stays between Danyael and me.”
“It’s a game to you, isn’t it?” Miriya said, her voice snapping with anger. “Show a little kindness. Make the affection-starved empath care for you. Makes him easier to manipulate and drag around the country to use as bait.”
“Bait for what?” Galahad asked quietly.
“Bait for the authorities who were hunting for you,” Miriya said. “You know, Zara, if you’d told Danyael the truth, he would have helped you anyway, but at least he’d have known better than to fall in love with you. Could have saved both of you a ton of trouble.”
“Stay out of my head.”
“Not a chance, now that I know for sure what a first-class bitch you are. I’d hate to be manipulated the way you manipulated Danyael.”
“You did it for me,” Galahad said. It was not a question.
“Yes,” Zara said. No apologies. No explanations.
He knew better than to expect them of her; they weren’t her style. Yet, her terse answer reassured him. Danyael had not yet secured the assassin’s loyalty or affection.
Galahad placed his hand against her upper arm. His gentle, firm touch was a caress. “Was it worth it?” he asked. “Am I worth it?”
To his surprise, she hesitated, longer than he would have liked. “After your birth, the International Genetics and Ethics Council banned recombinant DNA research on human beings. Your perfect DNA is priceless. There is no one like you, and there never will be.”
She had not answered the real question: in her eyes, was he worth more than Danyael? A week earlier, she had loathed Danyael, her sorrow over Carlos’s death exacerbated by the repulsive effect of Danyael’s psychic shields. But just then, her violet eyes were thoughtful, almost wistful. Galahad frowned. What had Danyael done to her in that one week? How had the alpha empath so quickly turned Zara’s loathing to love?
And did loyalty align with love? Galahad suspected that it did.
He had to remind Zara that her loyalty was misplaced and her affection unrequited. His melodic tenor was pitched low, evoking the illusion of intimacy. “What about Danyael? He’s given up everything to save Lucien.”
Zara tensed. The softly regretful gleam in her eyes vanished. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin as she stared out ahead of her, never taking her gaze off the road. “That’s because he is nothing without Lucien. Danyael had years to make something of himself, but…” She released her breath in a soft sigh. “…he didn’t.”
“He’s had his chance.”
“Yes,” Zara agreed. She did not hesitate.
Galahad inhaled deeply. He looked out the window as Zara pulled onto the road. Behind them, Miriya brooded in silence.
Turmoil churned the questions through his mind. Danyael had done so much for him. The alpha empath had paid dearly to help him flee the country, but Danyael was no longer necessary. Situations changed. The alpha empath stood in his way, the final obstacle, the only obstacle, to his time, his chance, his life. Galahad saw his ghostly reflection in the glass. Danyael’s face stared back at him. How much would his freedom cost, and would anyone, other than Danyael, pay the price?
CHAPTER THIRTY
The sunlight playing over closed eyelids lured Danyael from drug-induced sleep. His long eyelashes fluttered and lifted slowly. Dark eyes, dazed and disoriented, struggled to focus. With care, he sat up. His muscles ached, sore and tender from an uncomfortable night, as well as the aftereffects of the drug. His left leg felt stiff, the pain mercifully contained to a dull ache.
The view outside the window transformed as highway conceded to urban streets. He crosschecked the time on his cell phone with the bus schedule. It was 7:30 in the morning. He was in Raleigh, North Carolina, an interminably long way from Boston.
Traveling by bus had seemed like the only way to keep a low profile. To some extent, being in a crowd kept him safe. Still, he wondered if there were faster, safer ways to get to Boston. How could he maintain that pace, risking encounters with Zara and the assault group at every turn? What if he made a mistake? Lost control? Killed someone else deliberately, by accident, or by proxy?
He sent a text message on his cell phone. Is Zara all right?
Yes.
He released the breath he had not even realized he had been holding. Thank God. The assault group?
Still on your tail. Just slightly delayed by their run-in with the terrible trio.
A faint smile curved Danyael’s lips. The description of them was not too far off.
Text flashed across the screen: Are you all right?
He stared at cell phone. What could he say? There was only one answer that came naturally, but still, he hesitated. Moments passed in silence. His fingers moved slowly across the virtual keypad. I’ll be all right.
He let the words sit and allowed them to settle, before he finally hit the Send button.
The bus pulled into the terminal. Danyael did not move from his seat as passengers filed off the bus. He weighed the need to clean his injuries relative to the twenty-five-minute layover and decided against it. He finished the last of the water from the bottle he had purchased in Orlando, relaxed in his seat, and closed his eyes.
He sensed movement all around him, but nothing that triggered an empathic alarm. God, he was tired. He could stay hyper alert for only so long. He rubbed his temples as a headache throbbed. It escalated sharply to a migraine. Next to him, the seat shifted, sank as someone sat. “Hello, Miriya,” he said quietly, without opening his eyes.
“Blocking the frequency of my psychic hook works great in concept until I’m right next to you and the resonance triggers a migraine in both of us. You could stop blocking me, you know.”
He shook his head. “You can drop the hook, if you want the pain to stop.”
“You’re not going to make this easy for me, are you?”
Danyael opened his eyes slightly and flashed Miriya a humorless smile. “I can handle the pain. Can you?”
“Women have a higher tolerance for pain.”
“In general, that’s true, but I’ve had far more practice than you.”
“Don’t make this difficult, Danyael.”
He sighed inaudibly.
Miriya continued, “It’s done. We’ve found you. Let’s get off the bus.”
“Finding isn’t keeping. I thought you knew that.”
“I can keep this bus from leaving.” Miriya glanced at the bus driver.
Danyael followed her gaze.
The bus driver sat stiffly, his eyes glazed, his face expressionless.
Danyael shrugged. “Only if you’re conscious.” He touched Miriya gently.
Miriya’s green eyes flared wide, then fluttered closed. Her body slumped in the seat.
He sighed again. The mutant-equivalent of flexing muscles was pointless. The only benefit he could see was that with Miriya unconscious, his migraine had vanished too.
In the front of the bus, the driver blinked hard. He shook his head sharply and started the engine as if nothing were amiss. The bus pulled out of the terminal.
Danyael glanced out and saw Zara and Galahad running to their SUV. Having fun yet, guys?
He adjusted the angle of Miriya’s head so that she would not wake with a crick in her neck. An elderly man walking along the aisle smiled indulgently at them. With Miriya’s head resting against his shoulder and a peaceful expression on her face, they jointly created the illusion of perfect companionship, Danyael reflected wryly. If only the humans knew better.
Miriya did not stir for three hours. He knew the instant she regained consciousness. The migraine flared again. “Had a good nap?” Danyael asked ti
ghtly.
“Great.” Miriya rubbed her temples. She winced. “Can you do me a favor, please? Stop blocking me for a while?” She exhaled noisily, her shoulders sagging in relief. “Thanks. I really hate waking up with a headache. What exactly did you do to me?”
“Transferred pain. Blasted you unconscious.”
Her voice quivered. “Why didn’t you just do that to Jake? Why did you have to drop your inner shields?”
He looked up sharply. “Jake Hansen?”
“Yes. And Randy Russo too. You killed them both. Why?”
“I…” his voice trailed into silence. Oh, God. His breath caught in horror. What had he done? He had killed the council’s enforcers. “I…didn’t know. Alex promised me twenty-four hours—”
“You’re lying,” Miriya said flatly.
Danyael shook his head desperately. He needed her to believe. He needed someone to believe him. “They attacked me. I never saw who they were.”
“And you didn’t give a damn whom you might have killed?”
“My shields were collapsing. I had to do something.”
“And ‘kill’ is your default response?”
“The last time my shields were smashed, I lost two days of memories.”
“Not good enough, Danyael. Not even close.”
“I didn’t know! Why did the council attack me without warning?”
Miriya shook from anger. “You’re lying.”
He took her hand in his. “Scan my memories,” he said, deliberately opening his mind to her.
He knew the risk he was taking. She could psi-blast him, and he would have no defenses against her. Miriya’s mind brushed against his. She could have been gentle, but she was not. He arched his back in pain as talons raked through his mind. His fingers dug into the armrest, clenching hard. He bit back a curse.
The pain vanished.
He slumped in the seat, shoulders sagging in exhaustion. He buried his face in his trembling hands and dragged his psychic shields over his mind and emotions.
“I’m so sorry,” Miriya murmured. She sniffed back a tear.
He was silent until he was certain he could keep his voice steady. “About Jake and Randy, I’m sorry.”