by Zoe Chant
“Subject Seven is alive! He broke into my apartment...” The doctor detailed what had happened, then said, “No, I’m only in touch with you. Do you know anything about anyone else? They have to be warned... if it’s not too late already.”
There was a brief pause in which Justin wondered who he was talking to. It had to be either a doctor or a project manager, but that could be a lot of people.
Dr. Attanasio exclaimed, “Mr. Bianchi is out of his mind if he thinks he’s safe in London! You want to bet that an ocean is enough to stop Subject Seven? I wouldn’t! Tell Mr. Bianchi to hire every bodyguard he can lay his hands on.”
Another pause. “No, I don’t know if he ever touched any of us. I thought he hadn’t touched me... until now. So either we have a rat or he got our imprints on the sly or his power doesn’t work the way he said it did and all he ever needed to do was fucking smell us!”
I wish all we needed to do was scent our prey, hissed his snow leopard.
I wish I’d had the sense to pretend my power worked differently, Justin replied. I should’ve told them I needed to lay my entire palm on someone’s bare skin for five minutes. Then they’d have been less careful around me, and I could’ve gotten all their imprints.
A wave of self-reproach swept over him, so intense that he could taste the bitterness, like he’d chewed on an aspirin. It was such a simple idea, but it hadn’t occurred to him until it was too late. He hadn’t been smart or sneaky or quick enough to touch them all.
He hadn’t saved his buddies.
He’d betrayed Shane. He’d betrayed himself. He’d—
Pay attention, hissed his snow leopard. Our prey is speaking again.
Justin dragged his attention back to the doctor, who was saying, “What’s he doing there, anyway?”
Another pause. The doctor gave a bitter chuckle. “Of course. Mr. Bianchi’s getting fabulously wealthy dealing weapons, and I’m stuck making goddamn designer drugs. And I can’t ever go back to Apex, or Subject Seven will come back and... No, I told you, he didn’t say who he’d killed, let alone how he’d done it. But I saw his eyes. That’s not a man. That’s a predator. I’m staying right where I am. Anything else would be suicide.”
Dr. Attanasio said no more. The conversation was clearly over.
Justin rolled over and looked up at the darkening sky. At long last, he had a lead on one of the higher-up men at Apex, one he’d never been able to touch. London was a big city, but Justin felt confident that given enough time, he could find Mr. Bianchi there. And Mr. Bianchi might know where the base was, or know who did. If not, Justin could return to San Francisco and stalk Dr. Attanasio until he figured out who the doctor had been talking to.
No matter what, this was a big break. He should be glad. But he felt nothing but the pain that had been tearing him apart ever since he’d escaped Apex, a searing agony of rage and guilt, shame and loss, memories of a past he couldn’t stand to recall and fear for a future stretching out ahead of him like a million miles of bad road. It was in his ears like a shriek of metal on metal, in his chest like a knife in the heart, in his bones with an ache like he hadn’t slept in weeks. It was with him every moment of every day.
Except when he was invincible.
Don’t, hissed his snow leopard.
Justin barely heard him. Dr. Attanasio’s words were echoing inside his mind, loud enough to drown out everything else:
That’s not a man. That’s a predator.
All those cruel days and lonely nights at Apex, he’d dreamed and dreamed about escape. Then he’d gotten out, and realized that there was no escape. He could get away from Apex, but he couldn’t get away from himself. Everything he’d done—everything that had been done to him—everything he’d become—was irrevocable. He couldn’t change it. The best he could do was make himself not care.
Luckily, there was a way to do that.
Don’t! His snow leopard gave a low growl that probably would have made Dr. Attanasio faint with terror. You are doing it too much. It will kill you.
Justin tried to squelch his automatic response, but his snow leopard caught it anyway:
Who cares?
The big cat’s anger, fear, and frustration surged through Justin as he snarled in desperation, I care! I want to live!
At that, Justin felt guilty. He fished for some reply that his snow leopard would find reassuring and that would be honest. His inner predator was a part of him, after all; he couldn’t lie to himself.
He settled on, I have no intention of dying just yet.
It was true, as far as it went: he had no intention of dying until he’d destroyed Apex and could be sure they’d never harm anyone again. After that, he didn’t care what happened to him. But since he was wildly unlikely to survive going up against an entire black ops agency all by himself, he didn’t have to worry about the “after that.”
He closed his eyes and pictured himself standing alone on a vast, featureless plain of blinding white. An ice field. He imagined the ice creeping up over his feet and up his legs, at first so cold that it burned, and then numbing. When the ice reached his heart, the burning flared into agony. Justin gritted his teeth, knowing that the pain would be brief. A moment later his heart went numb, and a blessed calm washed over him.
He opened his eyes. He was alone on the roof, as alone as he’d been on his imaginary ice field. Justin couldn’t feel his snow leopard. He couldn’t feel anything at all. No guilt, no anger, no shame, just a cool readiness to do whatever was needed.
No pain.
He could recall anything that had happened to him at Apex, and feel nothing. If someone shot him, he’d feel nothing. He wouldn’t get hungry or tired. He didn’t need to eat or sleep. He was unstoppable.
Invincible.
I wish I could be like this all the time, Justin thought as he headed back for the stairs. It feels so much better.
The only reason he didn’t was that if he stayed invincible too long, he’d die.
You have to eat and sleep to live, and when he was invincible, he not only didn’t need to, he couldn’t. And while a man could go a month or so without food, Apex experiments had shown that if he went for more than a week without sleep, his body started dangerously breaking down.
Don’t worry, he said silently, though he knew his snow leopard couldn’t hear or speak. I won’t keep it up long enough to do any damage. Just a few hours. Eight, max.
Justin imagined he could hear the big cat’s angry hiss:
Liar.
Chapter One
Fiona
The maid of honor speech had gone perfectly, with everyone laughing or dabbing at their eyes in all the right places. Now Fiona Payne lifted her glass to conclude it. “A toast!”
The wedding guests raised their glasses and held them aloft. Grace was radiant in the unique bridal gown Raluca had designed, of white silk with black lace and pink ribbons. Her chunky black leather heels peeked out from the bottom of the gown’s artistically tattered hem. Rafa stood beaming with his arm around her and the sunshine glinting off his glossy hair. Everyone seemed happy, from Rafa’s lion shifter relatives to Grace’s theatre friends to Rafa and Fiona’s teammates from Protection, Inc.
And their teammates’ mates.
Hal, the huge bear shifter and boss of Protection, Inc., sat beside his mate, the brave paramedic Ellie, with his huge hand resting protectively over her pregnant belly. Nick, the ex-gangster werewolf, leaned back in his seat with one arm around his dragon shifter mate Raluca. Lucas, the dragon shifter and former prince, sat with red-headed Journey, who was bedecked in the gold and jewels he’d given her. And Shane, the quiet panther shifter who was Fiona’s best friend on the team, was partnered with the leopard shifter Catalina, who was so much his other half that she’d joined the team to work by his side.
Of the original bodyguard team, only Destiny and Fiona were still unmatched. But it was surely just a matter of time before Destiny would find her own mate. And then Fiona would be left al
one.
I won’t be completely alone, Fiona told herself firmly. I’ll still have Protection, Inc.
Her snow leopard stirred within her. A pack is good, but not enough. We need our mate.
Hush, Fiona scolded her inner predator. We don’t need anyone. Neediness is weakness. Belatedly, she added, And Protection, Inc. is a private security agency—a team. Just because we’re all shifters doesn’t make it a pack. Only wolves have packs.
She suddenly realized that she’d fallen silent in mid-toast, while everyone looked at her expectantly. Hoping Grace wasn’t regretting choosing her as maid of honor, Fiona concluded smoothly, “Here’s to a couple who truly earned their happily ever after. To Grace and Rafa!”
“To Grace and Rafa,” chorused the guests, and drank.
Fiona took a final glance at her glass. Lucas had provided a bottle of dragonfire, the unique liquor finished with a breath of flame from an actual dragon. The orange-red liquor seethed and rolled like liquid flame, sending up wisps of smoke. She inhaled its sensual aroma of fruit and fire as she tilted it to her lips.
Fiona was no stranger to high society and its expensive, sophisticated drinks. She’d had Dom Perignon champagne that cost two thousand dollars per bottle, and rare whiskey aged for eighty years beneath a Scottish castle. But nothing she’d ever drunk came close to dragonfire. It tasted of cherries harvested under a summer sun, of roses dark as blood and bright as fire, of dreams and hopes and desire, and it slid down her throat like molten gold.
She stood alone with the heat of dragonfire warming her body, watching the mated pairs turn to each other and kiss. They were her closest friends—her only friends—but she felt like an outsider. Being in the midst of all that love and intimacy, when she knew she’d never experience it for herself, was like getting stabbed by a million tiny daggers, right in the heart.
No, she thought. Not daggers. Shards of ice.
She could see her reflection in her empty glass: a woman with skin as pale as frost and hair as white as snow, in a dress the color of a frozen lake.
I’m the snow queen, she thought. I have a lump of ice where my heart should be. I’m meant to live in the frozen peaks where nothing grows. I’m only a spy down here where it’s warm. Some day everyone will find out what I really am and send me back where I belong.
Most of the time, she could focus on her work hard enough to forget about that. But not now. Fiona wished the couples all the best, but she also wished she was anywhere else.
You just have to get through today, she reminded herself. Tomorrow, you’ll be going on another undercover mission.
One more day, and instead of drinking rare liquor while wearing an exquisite designer gown, she’d be risking her life spying on a ruthless international arms dealer who sold weapons to terrorists, gangsters, and even small dictatorships.
She couldn’t wait.
Fiona stood before a man who’d order her killed with a snap of his fingers if she made one false move. Mr. Elson hadn’t risen to the top of the world of international organized crime by accident; he was ruthless, suspicious, and intelligent. The FBI had been trying to get an undercover operative into his syndicate for years. Some had failed. Others had gotten in, then turned up dead. In desperation, they’d contacted Protection, Inc. for help.
And so Fiona had insinuated herself into the syndicate by posing as an unscrupulous spy for hire. She’d proved herself to Mr. Elson, she hoped, by providing him with accurate information on some of his competitors. Another month or two undercover, and she should have enough information to pass on to the FBI to allow them to take down him, his syndicate, and several other criminal groups in the bargain.
All she had to do was keep her cool. But then, that was what she did best.
Cool, her snow leopard purred. Calm. Cold.
“What have you got for me?” Fiona asked. Her voice was flat, colorless, almost bored. Like her lack of makeup and gray business suit, her voice matched her persona as the perfect spy: emotionless and unmemorable. An invisible woman.
Mr. Elson laced his fingers together, irresistibly reminding her of Marlon Brando in The Godfather.
Which is basically what he is, she thought. Only minus the part where he cares about his family. As far as she could tell, the only thing Mr. Elson cared about was getting richer.
“There’s a man who’s recently become a person of interest,” the arms dealer replied. “He broke up a deal I was trying to make in London. He destroyed merchandise worth a million dollars, and took the million in cash from the people I was trying to make the deal with.”
Merchandise, she thought. Meaning illegal weapons.
Whoever the man was, he had to be very tough—and very reckless—to have gone up against representatives from two different organized crime factions.
She let none of those thoughts show in her face. “What would you like me to do with him?”
“Your usual. Insinuate yourself into his life. Or bed.” He gave her an unpleasant leer. “But you can pose as anyone you like. If it makes sense, you can tell him up-front that you’re working for me.”
Fiona allowed her real surprise to widen her eyes. “I can?”
Mr. Elson seemed amused. “If it helps your mission, which is to recruit him. If he’s after money or power or revenge—you know, the usual things people want—tell him I’ll give it to him. Along with forgiveness for busting up my deal. If you think revealing who you’re working for will put him off, don’t do it right away. Find out what his goal is, and convince him it’s the same as yours. When you think the time is right, let me know, and I’ll send in someone else to make you both an offer.”
“And I convince him we should take it.” She nodded. “Got it.”
He held up his hand. “I’m not done. I would prefer to have him working for me. But right now, he’s a loose cannon. I don’t want him running around, making trouble for me whenever he feels like it. So if you can’t recruit him, I want you to kill him.”
Fiona frowned slightly, but behind the mild dismay she displayed, her thoughts spun rapidly. If she’d only been wearing a wire, she’d have had him right then and there. Unfortunately, he always had people searched before they came into his presence, so she wasn’t. She could testify that he’d said it, but it would be his word against hers. But if he went so far as to hand her a murder weapon, she’d have both testimony and a piece of physical evidence to back her up.
But she’d never claimed to be an assassin, so it would be out of character not to protest. “I’m not a hit man.”
The arms dealer gave her a sharp look that made her heartbeat speed up. “Are you saying you won’t do it?”
“I’m saying I’m not the best person for an assassination,” she returned calmly. “And you always hire the best, don’t you?”
“I’m not demanding that you do anything that requires special skills. I know you’re not a sniper. Or a kung fu master.” He gave her an oily smile, as if the idea of her being able to shoot accurately or fight with her bare hands and feet was absurd.
Little do you know, Fiona thought. She’d learned to shoot and fight from the best: Hal and Rafa, who were former Navy SEALs, Destiny, an Army sharpshooter, and Shane, who really was a martial arts master, though of karate rather than kung fu.
Taking her silence for agreement, he went on, “But if you can plant a bug in someone’s coat pocket, you’re more than capable of dropping something into someone’s drink. I just want to know that you will, if I give you the order.”
“I will. But if it comes to that, I want danger pay. Double my daily rate. And not just for that one day. For the whole assignment.”
“Done.”
Inwardly, she relaxed. The greedy demand for a murder bonus had clearly convinced him that she was the heartless criminal she was posing as.
“I should have asked for triple,” she remarked.
He let out that oily chuckle again. “Too late. You’ve already agreed. And while I’m certain you’re
far too intelligent to dream of either breathing a word about this assignment to anyone, or double-crossing me and taking your target to someone else, I must remind you that the consequences of that would be... unpleasant.”
“You’re right,” Fiona said, deadpan. “I am far too intelligent.”
“Excellent. Now for the dossier.” He opened a folder on his desk, showing her a black and white photo obviously taken from a security camera. One man was throwing another up against the wall. The attacker’s back was turned; the other man looked terrified.
“Here’s the target attacking one of my men,” Mr. Elson said. “His real name is unknown. Based on his skill set, I suspect that he’s a former government operative who went rogue. That might be an in for you. Tell him you hate the government too, and you should get along like a house on fire.”
Fiona took the folder. She found more security camera shots that didn’t show the man’s face, and a detailed report on his encounter with Mr. Elson’s men, which she skimmed and mentally summed up as “One guy kicked all of our asses, how the hell did he do that?” Then she flipped a page over, and found a shot that showed him in profile.
He was strikingly handsome, even in grainy black and white, with sharp features that looked like they’d been carved in marble. His skin was very pale, his eyes and hair very dark. His face was an expressionless mask, revealing nothing.
Fiona barely stopped herself from letting her shock show on her face. She knew him. Or, more accurately, she recognized him. The month before, she’d been kidnapped and held at gunpoint by a gang. That man had appeared out of nowhere to rescue her. He’d asked her not to tell anyone he’d been there, and she’d kept that promise.
Afterward, she’d found herself lying awake at night, going over the encounter in her mind. So many things about the man had been so mysterious. He’d been wounded in the shoot-out, but had claimed he didn’t feel any pain. She’d felt an odd jolt when their eyes had met and again when their hands had touched, and she could have sworn he’d felt it too. He’d saved her life. And before she’d been able to learn anything about him, even his name, he’d vanished.