by Laura Taylor
“We’d like to try and find out which bloodline you come from,” Baron said, and from his tone, the idea seemed a most weighty one. “Two of the kidnapped shifters were male. They come from different bloodlines, so if you match one of them, we can assume he was your sire. We’ll know he ended up in London. And what his fate was.”
“The process for discovering your bloodline is difficult,” Caroline jumped in again. “And painful. And it can come with a few complications. It’s not something we ask lightly. But it is very important.”
Both alphas fell silent, giving Dee and Faeydir time to think that through. And it wasn’t a great surprise when Dee felt a nudge from the wolf, and found herself back in human form. Faeydir was unperturbed by the request, perfectly willing to assist another wolf in harm’s way, but Dee had questions. And to ask them, she needed to be in human form.
“What complications?” she asked first. According to what Mark had told her, it would have required a male shifter to exchange blood with her for her to become a shifter. So perhaps that’s what they had been doing in the lab – trying to mix her blood with the shifter’s in a way that got results. But after being confined in the lab, after being tortured there, subjecting herself to more pain, even for a good cause, was a daunting prospect. She had enough confidence in Baron and Caroline to believe they wouldn’t ask her to do this if there was going to be lasting damage, but…
Baron glanced at Caroline, then pulled up a chair, turning it around to straddle it. “If your blood matches one of the bloodlines, even if it’s not one of the missing shifters, then your name will be recorded in the genealogy of Il Trosa and you’ll be recognised as a pure blood. But…”
“There is a slight possibility…” Caroline paused as she took over the explanation, looking uncomfortable. “It’s not very common, but there are a few unregistered bloodlines. People were experimenting with ways to create shifters back in the Middle Ages when we were being hunted to near extinction. They still pop up now and then, mostly out of the Grey Watch, and some of them…” She gave Dee an apologetic look. “A few of them made mistakes. They tried to convert wolves into shifters, but the wolves weren’t purebred. They’d been mixed with domestic dogs. The results in a shifter can be messy.”
“This is what Raniesha was talking about at the ceremony,” Dee said, suddenly putting the pieces together. “You’re saying that if I’m not from a registered bloodline, people will assume I’m a half-breed.”
“Not all unregistered lines are half-breeds. Some of them did come from pure wolves. But yes, there’s a certain tendency to jump to conclusions about your origins. And a certain stigma associated with not having a traceable lineage. So we realise that we’re asking you to take a significant social risk in the possibility that your line can’t be traced.”
Faeydir had been quiet through all of this, and Dee gave her a nudge, wondering what she thought of this new possibility. Faeydir gave a mental shrug. She was a purebred wolf. She was certain of it. And if other people didn’t think so, why should she care?
Dee had to smile at that. It was refreshing to have her so unconcerned with social expectations. But Dee’s other concern remained, the fact that the procedure – whatever it involved – would be significantly painful.
Then she thought of the other shifters’ Dens. What if it was one of their own – Skip, or Tank, or Mark – who got snatched? She liked to think that any other wolf who might be able to help track them down would do so willingly, and that was what made up her mind. The kidnapped shifters would have people who cared about them, who wanted to know what had become of them, and it might be possible to rescue them, if they were still alive. Despite her fears, she couldn’t just leave them hanging.
“I’ll do it,” she announced. “So go on, hit me with the details. How much is it going to hurt?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Miller was typing a report on his laptop when the first alarm went off. A quick check with security revealed the problem – one of the sensors in the ventilation ducts had been set off. Likely a pigeon or a rat, they said, but they’d send someone to check it out nonetheless.
Two minutes later, Miller’s phone vibrated – an automatic message sent via the security system that informed him that one of the interior security doors was compromised. He wasn’t officially part of the security team here at the lab, Miller’s usual role consisting of acting as bodyguard for Jacob on his various travels or pursuing leads out of town, but while he was here, it was just as well for him to help keep an eye on things. He picked up his phone and dialled the head of security.
“What’s going on up there?”
“Don’t know,” came the reply. “Alarm system seems to have gone nuts. There’s nothing in the air ducts, and the main security door is closed, but the sensor keeps tripping the alarm. Maybe some water got into the control box-”
The conversation was suddenly interrupted as the fire alarm went off, sirens blaring throughout the entire building, and Miller watched as the staff around him began to pack up, closing laptops, locking filing cabinets, then traipsing in an orderly line out the door. For all their often-ruthless policies when dealing with their enemies, the Noturatii still knew how to take a fire alarm seriously. And with the amount of potentially explosive chemicals stored in the labs, no one wanted to be taking unnecessary risks.
Miller slammed his own laptop closed, but rather than heading for the door with the others, he instead made a beeline for Jacob’s office, next door to the administration area. “What the hell is going on?” he asked, barging into the room, not even bothering to knock. Jacob would have received automatic notifications of each alarm, along with corresponding updates from security.
“Get upstairs and help security,” Jacob barked, tapping furiously at his computer. “The sensors have been triggered in nine locations. The external cameras just went offline… what the fuck?” More furious typing as Jacob swore softly to himself. “They’ve hacked the security system. They’re setting off alarms at random, all over the fucking building!”
“Shifters?” Miller asked, drawing his gun and making sure he was standing between Jacob and the door. If anyone tried to get in here, they were going to have to go through him. But before Jacob could reply, another thought suddenly occurred to him. “Or the Khuli?” he asked suspiciously. “Head office said she was due to arrive tomorrow. What if she’s come early and wants to stir up a little trouble on the way?”
“Why the fuck would a Khuli hack security?” Jacob demanded, then threw up his hands in disgust. “They’ve locked me out of my own fucking system! Get up to the server. Take it offline manually. Just leave the local network connected. Then get up to street level and help security. There are only so many access points to the building. The intruders can’t get too far.”
Miller hurried out of Jacob’s office and headed for the upper levels. The server room was on the first floor below ground, and he took the quickest route, knowing the hallways of this building like the back of his hand.
“Fuck.” In keeping with the tight security the Noturatii insisted upon, there were security doors throughout the building, and he came to the first set leading up to the next level to find it locked. He tapped in his security code… and wasn’t entirely surprised when nothing happened. Back down the hall and around the corner… and bloody hell, what the fuck was going on? The next security door was locked as well, but this time, a dozen staff were trapped behind it, caught between it and a fire door that had inexplicably become sealed shut. Two of the administration women saw him standing there and rushed over, banging on the door with their fists, yelling for him to help them.
There was nothing he could do from here, he realised. Whoever was hacking their system was an expert, locking doors, shutting down access routes, and he shuddered to think what would happen if this wasn’t the Khuli and they were actually under attack. Their guards wouldn’t be able to move through the building, or worse, they could get stuck in a very similar
trap themselves. Damn it…
He set off again, at a fast jog this time, dreading finding out what other chaos their intruder had caused.
In the end it took him twenty minutes to make it to the server room, at one point having to climb into a ventilation duct and crawl over the top of a security gate – no doubt setting off more alarms himself in the process.
But finally, he made it to the right office, tapped in the access code and stood to have his retina scanned, relieved when the door opened. He strode over to the server cupboard and yanked the door open, quickly switching off the wireless router, shutting down that access route for a potential hacker, then he set about searching for the network cables to disconnect the system from the internet. He unplugged one wire and reached for the second… and then he froze.
He couldn’t have said what it was that alerted him to the presence behind him. There was no noise, no stray rustle of fabric or exhale of air, no shadow cast where there shouldn’t have been one. But the Satva Khuli was standing behind him in the office. He would have bet his life on it.
Deliberately, he relaxed his posture, standing up straight and easing back from the computer. And then, without turning around, he said, “I assume all the alarms are your doing?”
The laugh that floated back at him was young and girlish, and as creepy as hell for that very reason. “You’re good. Even better than I was expecting.” The voice, on the other hand, had nothing remotely childlike in it. It was the calm, even tone of a predator, slightly threatening, with just a touch of seduction to it.
“May I turn around?”
“You may.” Miller did, slowly. The woman standing before him was nothing like what he’d expected. They’d been given next to no details on the Khuli that was to arrive – even a name had been absent, as the Satva Khuli referred to themselves as just that. This woman was to be addressed as ‘Ma’am’, or ‘Li Khuli’, literally, ‘The Tiger’. But in trying to imagine the type of woman who’d dedicate her life to wholesale slaughter, he’d pictured a Russian mafia type, long black hair, poised and seductive, or perhaps an Asian warrior, straight out of a samurai movie.
The woman before him was short, maybe five foot two – much shorter than he’d expected for an elite warrior – with skin a shade darker than his own and tightly curled hair, cut close to her head. She wore a variety of weapons, knives, handguns, brass knuckles, but he had little doubt that she would be just as lethal if she were stripped completely naked and stuck out in the middle of a snowstorm. There was no sign of the team of assassins she’d brought with her, but that didn’t mean anything one way or another.
“How did you guess it was me?”
“I assumed that an elite assassin would not just walk in the front door at the time everyone was expecting her.”
“Clever. But your boss doesn’t seem to share your insights,” she said, with just a hint of disapproval, and Miller realised she must have been eavesdropping on his conversation with Jacob earlier.
“Is Jacob…?” In danger, he wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure how to phrase it without giving her ideas. Was he alive? Was he currently unharmed?
“He’s safe and well in his office,” the Khuli replied, picking up on his train of thought. “Just a little more pissed off, now that he can’t actually leave it.”
Miller nodded, not sure what else to say.
“Do you know,” the woman went on, not taking her eyes off him, “that it took me and my team only a touch over fifteen minutes to lock down this entire building?” At his startled look, she grinned. “Oh yes. Every staff member is contained. Every security guard is neutralised. I haven’t killed anyone,” she said, when Miller’s expression went from surprised to alarmed, “but not from lack of opportunity. Your security staff are really quite useless.”
“My apologies, Ma’am,” Miller said diffidently. “Clearly we need to do better.”
“Clearly. You yourself were the only person to give me the run around. And yet here we are, face to face.”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
She stood there for a moment longer, seeming to weigh him carefully. “I think I’m going to enjoy working with you,” she said finally, and Miller felt a cold thrill of fear run up his spine. She stepped to the side, removing herself from the path between Miller and the door. “You may go.”
Miller nodded to her respectfully, not entirely convinced she wasn’t going to behead him the moment he moved. “Ma’am.” Back straight, head up, he walked quickly past her and marched straight out the door, without looking back.
Out on the manor’s back lawn, the waxing moon was high, casting a faint silvery glow over the grass. The entire Den was gathered, making Dee the centre of attention again – something she wished would stop happening. They stood in a loose circle around her, Baron and Caroline front and centre. Heron and Skip stood beside them, Heron calm and poised, Skip looking a little green.
A low table was set up, nineteen small cups laid out, each containing a measure of spiced mead. Four of them, Dee now knew, also contained a small dose of opium.
Baron picked up one of the four cups set to the side and brought it to Dee. “May Sirius guide your days and guard your nights,” he said as he handed her the cup. She took it, holding it carefully in her shaking hands. The ritual words and presentation were repeated as he gave a cup to Caroline, Heron and Skip, and then he stood back.
“May Il Trosa join us in our quest,” Caroline recited to the rest of the gathered crowd. “Wake us with the dawn. Measure our steps each day. And wait for us at the setting of the sun.”
In single file, the shifters each stepped up to the table, took a cup and stood back, forming a circle again.
“To Sirius and the perpetuation of the shifters.” Baron lifted his cup, then drained the contents in a single swallow. Dee followed suit, along with the rest of the Den, and winced at the bitter taste of the opium, still detectable beneath the sweetness of the mead.
Baron stepped forward to take her cup, then gestured to the wooden chair at the centre of the circle.
Ignoring her rapidly beating heart, Dee seated herself and stretched out her arm over an archaic looking device. At first glance it appeared to be nothing more than a small table, but closer examination revealed a much scarier truth. There was a slit running the length of the wood, dark stains marring the colour, and a cuff at each end, designed to hold a person’s wrist and elbow tightly.
Baron secured the cuffs, gently but firmly, and Dee experienced a moment’s terror as it brought back memories of the lab, of being tied to the table…
“Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?”
Dee opened her eyes, not having realised she had closed them, and found that she was breathing quickly, loudly. She made an effort to control her breathing. “I’m sure.”
“We’ll begin with Caroline,” Baron told her. He addressed the Den. “The Test of Sires begins. Caroline was sired by the line of Ranor. Her sire was Eric von Brandt. His sire was Eloise Franstead.”
Baron took up a wicked looking knife and stepped towards to Dee. “Steady,” he breathed into her ear, then reached down with a firm hand and pinned her wrist to the table. She let out a shriek as the knife cut deep. She tried to pull away, jerked her arm against the heavy wood, and tears sprang to her eyes as the blood welled up and overflowed. Caroline stepped forward quickly, and Dee was barely aware that she’d cut her own wrist in the same manner. Christ, the nerve of these people.
Caroline placed her wrist parallel to Dee’s, their blood mingling. When she’d been told about this ritual, she’d asked a dozen or more questions about the hygiene of this. HIV, hepatitis, herpes, rabies, all manner of illnesses, but the answer had been the same each time. Shifters weren’t subject to the common illnesses of humans. Mixing their blood did have side effects, but infection was not one of them. And everyone in the Den had been vaccinated for rabies, Caroline had added, when Dee brought that one up. There was no way she could catch anything from any
of them.
Even so, something in Dee was still repulsed at the idea, a lifetime of caution and warnings reinforcing the idea that this was wrong, and she shuddered as Caroline pressed her wrist firmly against her own.
A slithering sensation pulsed against her wrist, causing her to try and pull away again, distaste curling her lips, then a spark of heat, and Dee closed her eyes, knowing that this was the part that was going to hurt.
The only way to test a shifter’s sire was to attempt to mix their blood with another line. If there was no reaction, the two shifters had the same bloodline. But if they were different…
Dee screamed suddenly, as white-hot agony burst through her entire body, the opium dulling the pain, but certainly not blocking it out completely. Her back arched, muscles convulsing, the heavy table rocking as her slight weight heaved against it. In her mind, Faeydir snarled, but seemed to be coping reasonably well. She pressed herself forward, not to shift, but to lend her strength to Dee, and she was surprised when it actually made the pain easier to bear.
Caroline withdrew quickly, tremors rocking her own form, though her reaction seemed less severe than Dee’s. The fire in her veins faded slowly, then flared up again just when she thought it was over. Dee came to a minute later, slumped over the table, sweating, breathing hard, while the Den stood still as statues all around her.
God, no wonder John had refused to go through this, she thought dimly, seeing his impassive face in the crowd. He didn’t know who had sired him, didn’t know which bloodline he was from, and after it had been described to her, without a pressing reason for following through, Dee would have turned down the experience herself.
She glanced around the circle and found Mark. He was looking a lot less calm than John. Jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, his eyes were locked onto her, though he didn’t seem to be seeing her. His lips moved in half-formed words, but Dee couldn’t make out what he was saying.