Double Helix Collection: A Genetic Revolution Thriller

by Jade Kerrion

  “You’re looking at the chromosomes in the cell nucleus as they undergo cell division. Tell me what you see.”

  Galahad was silent for a moment. “Are they getting shorter?”

  “Yes, the telomeres—the DNA at the end of the chromosomes controls the aging process—and they typically get shorter with each cell division. Keep watching. What else do you see?”

  Galahad’s brow furrowed. “The cells are dividing again.”

  “Exactly.” Danyael snapped out the word like a steel trap closing around its prey. “Each time they replicate, the telomeres grow shorter. But more than that, his cells are also dying, much too quickly.” He glanced at the clone. “Something’s seriously wrong with his body. In effect, he’s going through an accelerated aging process—”

  Galahad stepped away from the microscope. “So, he’s not really as old as he looks.”

  “No. In fact, now that we know his cell division rate, we could probably calculate his real age by comparing the length of your telomeres against his.”

  “But my telomeres are supposedly longer than the average human’s.”

  “They are,” Danyael confirmed. “Rakehell made them artificially long; short of an unfortunate accident, you should live for about two or three hundred years. I suspect that those long telomeres are also keeping your clone alive in spite of the rapid cell division. He has a much longer potential lifespan to work through.”

  “But still, he’s going to age a great deal faster than the average human.”

  Danyael nodded. “At this rate, he’ll be decrepit in under five years.” The analyzer beeped, and Danyael moved over to the machine to study the report scrolling over the screen.

  “Well?” Galahad asked.

  “He’s your clone. He’s a perfect genetic match.”

  “Any laboratory markers tagged onto his telomeres?”

  “No. If there were, they might have been wiped out by his rapid cell division.”

  Galahad scowled. “But it makes no sense. If he is my clone, how could he be undergoing such rapid cell division when I’m not?”

  “Cell division can be externally triggered. Hormones, radiation…the analyzer wouldn’t pick up on it.”

  “So, you’re telling me that my clone is physically younger than I am, but is aging faster, and we don’t know where he came from.”

  “And he could be crazy.”

  “What?”

  Danyael turned around and leaned against the countertop. “A study was conducted several years ago on animals that were bombarded with hormones and radiation to accelerate their growth. The animals grew more quickly, but they were also…unstable.”

  “How so?”

  “Try sticking a child’s mind into an adult’s body; the animals suffered from profound immaturity, including an inability to accurately assess risk.”

  Galahad surveyed his clone. “Fantastic—unlimited genetic potential scrambled by insanity.”

  “Not a good combination, though he didn’t seem unstable when I spoke to him back at the clinic.”

  “What did he want from you?”

  “Access to people who could protect him.”

  “And you picked up no hint of a lie?”

  “No. He seemed to truly believe that he was you.”

  Galahad snorted. “Which would suggest that he is indeed unstable, even delusional.”

  “What are you going to do?” Danyael asked.

  “I suspect he knows a great deal more about the death of my genetic donors than he’s letting on. I’ll pick his brain apart. He will tell me everything he knows.”

  A low and seductive purr cut into their conversation. “Oh, look,” the female voice cooed, dripping acid. “Boys at play.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Zara Itani wasn’t quite ready to put her Glock away. Her finger still on the trigger, she stalked into the room and glared at Galahad. “I told you to stay the hell away from Danyael.”

  Galahad’s response was a faint smile. “Are you afraid for his life, or for mine?” He waved a hand at Danyael. “Does it look like he needs your protection?”

  She glanced Danyael’s way.

  Yes.

  Her stomach tightened into a knot. Fatigue was written into Danyael’s weary sag against his crutch, exhaustion in the dark shadows beneath his eyes, and pain into the tight line of his lips. Never mind what he looked like on the outside. Inside, he was dying.

  She swallowed hard past the lump in her throat, and turned her narrow-eyed gaze back on Galahad. Vibrant, he oozed health and life. Danyael might have been his physical donor, but Galahad was the only one who shone; Danyael had waned into shadow.

  “How did you know we were here?” Galahad asked.

  “Danyael’s former flame called me.” If jealously sneaked into her voice, she supposed it couldn’t be helped.

  “Who?” Danyael asked.

  Zara’s gaze darted back to Danyael’s face. Amazing. He had actually sounded genuinely confused. Could it be that there truly was nothing between Danyael and that much-too-pretty in vitro? “Chloe Larson-Sullivan.”

  “Senator Sullivan’s daughter,” Danyael explained, apparently for Galahad’s benefit. “We dated briefly when we were undergraduates at Harvard. She was at the clinic earlier in the evening.”

  “It seems that she was spying on you even after she pretended to leave. She called me and said that Galahad showed up at the clinic…twice.” Zara glanced at the unconscious man on the table. “Now I know she wasn’t seeing things. Who is he?”

  “My clone,” Galahad said.

  “How can that be? Your genetic code has only been public for three years.”

  “Accelerated aging, or so Danyael’s analysis suggests. How did you get through security?”

  Zara smiled. “Chloe called me, and I called Xin. She handled the security issues. Girls have their toys too, and some are more effective at remote play than others.” She glanced at the clone and then looked at Galahad. “Which one of you killed the senator?”

  Danyael sighed.

  She could almost hear his thoughts in that sound of weary frustration. No tact. She chuckled. You can’t change me, Danyael, any more than I can change you. I know better now.

  Galahad shifted his weight. “All I did was speak to him.”

  Danyael’s incredulous gaze flashed to Galahad. “You saw the senator?”

  “Probably within an hour of his death.” Galahad shook his head. “I left him alive and in no danger.”

  “But—”

  “I didn’t kill him.”

  Zara snorted. “No one is going to believe you.”

  Galahad shrugged. “The fact is I gained nothing by his death, especially not after I had convinced him to run for president and to appoint me to his cabinet when he won.”

  Zara’s jaw dropped. “You did what? Why on Earth would you go into politics?”

  “Isn’t that where the power is?” Galahad turned his back on Zara and paced the short length of the research station. “Legislation stripped me of my humanity twenty-eight years ago. A presidential edict returned it two and a half decades later. My status as a human is apparently in the hands of fickle men who use it as a tool to keep the populace happy.” His eyes glittered, dark and dangerous. “I will not be controlled. My humanity, my life is mine, and I intend to protect it.”

  “Wow,” Zara murmured. “You’re even crazier than I thought. Perhaps we should get Chloe back here for the confession.”

  Danyael looked up sharply. “Wait. Chloe’s here?”

  “Yes, we came here together and then split up to look for you.”

  Danyael shot out the door. She had never seen anyone move so fast on crutches before. She scrambled after him. “Danyael?”

  He threw a glance back at her. Alarm and fear flickered in his dark eyes. “The abomination is in the eastern wing.”

  Her jaw dropped. “What?” She rushed ahead of Danyael, Galahad easily keeping pace beside her. They raced around a c
orner. The steel doors that barred the entrance to the eastern wing were open. Damn it.

  A woman’s scream pierced the silence.

  Zara skidded, spinning through a turn in mid-stride as she burst through a door, her Glock in her hand.

  The abomination, ten feet of nightmares made real, was larger than she remembered. The creature, its claws dripping with blood, looked at her across the length of the room and then dropped Chloe’s body to the floor. Its upper lip curled back, revealing six-inch long incisors.

  A shotgun might have dented its skin but her Glock could not stop a charging abomination. Her aim shifted up to its eye.

  “No, don’t fire.” Galahad’s hand closed around her wrist. He placed himself between her and the abomination and took several slow steps forward. “It’s all right,” he said quietly. His gaze never left the abomination’s face. “Step away from the woman. We just want to get her out of here.”

  The harsh lines of the abomination’s face softened as Galahad spoke, the tension easing out of it until, for a moment, it appeared almost human.

  And then Danyael limped into the room.

  In quick succession, recognition and hate flashed into the abomination’s red-rimmed eyes. With a roar, it charged, knocking Galahad to the side and bowling Zara over before she could get off a single shot. It lunged at Danyael, who stood unarmed and unafraid, his hand outstretched.

  “No!” Galahad screamed. “Don’t kill it!”

  Danyael’s gaze flicked to Galahad and then back to the abomination. His bare hand made contact—skin against skin.

  Zara knew what Danyael could do, yet until that moment, she had never looked into his face in the moment when he unleashed the darkest side of his empathic powers—the ability to drive a living being to suicide.

  She expected to see something on his face, but nothing happened. Danyael’s expression did not change.

  How could he channel death without so much as a flicker of pity?

  The abomination collapsed in upon itself, a piteous moan whispering from its misshapen lips. Its eyes flared wide, filled with gut-wrenching misery and despair.

  Galahad’s face was pale, his expression stricken. Zara braced herself. An abomination’s suicide would be spectacular and gory in a way that only monsters could attain.

  “I’m so sorry,” Danyael murmured.

  The abomination whimpered. The sound echoed with loss and heartache. Its hands clenched and flexed, the motion seemingly reflexive. Its face contorted, the hideous lines oddly softened by sorrow. As she watched, the abomination’s acute grief eased, as if whittled down by the power of an alpha empath.

  “It’s all right,” Danyael murmured, perhaps unknowingly echoing Galahad’s words. “You’re not alone anymore.”

  Zara held her breath when the abomination reached out as if through quicksand—slow yet determined. The clawed hand, still dripping with Chloe’s blood, landed with infinite gentleness on Danyael’s head in a gesture of forgiveness and benediction.

  For a moment, the abomination and the alpha empath stood in the center of the room, unmoving, and then the abomination stepped away, lumbering to Galahad.

  Danyael limped to Chloe and dropped awkwardly on one knee beside her.

  Zara hurried to his side. “Is she alive?”

  “Yes, I’ve got her.” Danyael’s tone was dismissive. He was already tuning her out, his attention obviously focused on saving Chloe’s life and healing her injuries.

  Zara stepped back, ignoring the ache that throbbed in her chest; she would only be in the way. She glanced at the hulking form of the abomination towering over Galahad. The monster seemed under control, alternating between a protective guardian and a playful, albeit oversized, puppy.

  She walked toward Galahad.

  The abomination ignored her.

  “What just happened?” she asked.

  Galahad’s dark eyes were troubled. “He recognized Danyael.”

  “From where?”

  “Don’t you remember? You were there. Three years ago, Danyael killed one of the six abominations who had followed me to Lucien’s house.”

  She glanced at the creature. “It remembered?”

  “Apparently, though it appears that they’ve made their peace with each other.” He fell silent briefly. “I thought Danyael was going to kill him.”

  “We should have known better, though.” Her mouth twisted into a scowl. “Danyael only kills under extreme provocation. Getting charged by a abomination intent on killing him obviously isn’t enough of a reason.”

  “Did he refrain because I asked?” Galahad asked.

  A flippant response was on the edge of her tongue, but the expression on Galahad’s face held it back. He looked stunned; there was no other way to describe the incredulity that mingled with hope. He needed the truth. Perhaps he deserved it.

  Zara sighed, nodding. “Yes.”

  “But why?”

  “Because he trusts your judgment.”

  Galahad glanced at Danyael. “But he doesn’t trust me. I don’t understand.”

  Zara shrugged. She kept her voice low. “Me neither. I’ve known him as long as you have—admittedly, for half of that time, he was in prison or with the Mutant Assault Group—but most days, I don’t get him either. Danyael is, hands down, the most infuriating man I’ve ever known.” Or loved.

  The abomination surged forward, a blur of motion, talons extended.

  Only then did Zara hear the shot ring out.

  A bullet slammed into the creature—a bullet that would have pierced Danyael’s skull if the abomination had not thrown itself between Danyael and an assassin’s gun.

  The abomination roared, its momentum unchecked by the bullets that pounded into him. In two quick steps, it reached Galahad’s clone.

  The man screamed only once, a sound that ended in a bloody gurgle when incisors tore through his throat. A gun tumbled from his lifeless fingers.

  It was over in a moment, unspeakable tragedy averted by a monster’s heroism.

  Danyael dragged himself to his feet, his calm equilibrium apparently unshaken by his near miss. He reached for his crutch and limped forward. His face was paler than usual, his eyes unfocused from exhaustion—healing Chloe’s injuries had clearly taken its toll. He glanced at the dead clone and then turned to the wounded abomination, placing a hand gently on its arm. Danyael’s eyes closed, his brow furrowing. “I need to remove the bullets before I heal you.” His eyes opened and he looked up into the creature’s face. “Come with me.”

  Zara frowned. “Danyael—”

  “Find Chloe a place to rest, and stay with her until she wakes.”

  Galahad waited until Danyael left the room, the abomination trailing behind him like an obedient pet. “For someone so low-key, Danyael is surprisingly authoritative when he chooses to be,” Galahad said.

  “Yes. Like I said, infuriating.” Her cell phone vibrated in her pocket. She tugged it out, stared at the number on the screen, and accepted the call. “Xin, why didn’t you tell me about the abomination running loose in Pioneer Labs?”

  “It wasn’t running loose; it was sealed in the eastern wing. You habitually turn left when searching a building, and your path would have taken you to the western wing.”

  “You were counting on a habit to save my life?”

  “Good habits save lives.” Xin’s nonchalant tone set Zara’s teeth on edge.

  “But if the abomination was sealed in the eastern wing, how did Chloe get in? Please tell me you had better security than a twist of a doorknob.”

  “Possibly.”

  “You’re monitoring the building, aren’t you?” Zara glanced up at a tiny camera swiveling in a corner of the ceiling. “You’ve got eyes in every room. You unlocked the door of the eastern wing the same way you unlocked the front door for us, didn’t you?” She slammed the palm of her hand against a wall. “Chloe could have died!”

  “She was where she shouldn’t have been.”

  “You
don’t kill people for that.”

  “Idiocy kills more people than you realize. She is interfering in affairs that she has no right to meddle with.”

  “Her father was killed. She’s trying to figure out—”

  Xin’s voice turned icy. “Do you know how close I was to tracking down the organization behind the assassination of Galahad’s donors? Chloe threw my plans completely off track. By going to Danyael, she painted a target on his back and threw her father’s assassins into a panic. True to form, the moment Danyael got involved, all hell broke loose. Before you jump to Chloe’s defense, I suggest you consider what you did lose, and worse, what you could have lost. The one key to the mysterious deaths of Galahad’s genetic donors had his throat ripped out, and—”

  “I could have lost Danyael.” Fear hollowed out a pit in Zara’s stomach.

  “That’s right. At that point, I suspect you would have personally put a bullet in Chloe’s brain.”

  More than likely.

  “Worse, Chloe turned the press loose, and there’s no more hiding the fact that twenty-six seemingly natural deaths have a common thread; they were Galahad’s genetic donors. The government can’t sit back and do nothing, especially not when a senator has been killed. Galahad is going to be a hunted man; his movements will be curtailed, which means that my effectiveness is likewise limited.”

  Zara shot Galahad an incredulous glance. “You’re working for Xin?”

  He smiled. “We’re working together to clear my name.”

  Xin continued. “Galahad’s of no earthly use to me in prison. He is the single largest threat to the organization that is hunting his donors—psychologically, if not physically—and I need him to track them down. The media hounds that Chloe turned loose are on their way to Pioneer Labs; they’ll be there in about twenty minutes, and the feds won’t be far behind.”

  “I can get Galahad out of here.” Zara shook her head against the sense of déjà vu. The conversation sounded oddly similar to a conversation she had with Xin when she freed Galahad. This time, however, going on the run with Galahad was a less appealing concept. She had far larger concerns, specifically an alpha empath named Danyael Sabre. Danyael needed her help now, not Galahad.