Zophiel searched the human’s gaze, looking for a chink in her armor. She appeared bedraggled and tired, as if months of stress had finally taken their toll. Her common brown hair was echoed in her common brown eyes. She was average height and average build. So what had Osric seen in her? Zophiel had certainly seen nothing intriguing in the human. Carly had done nothing but whine since their arrival fifty minutes before. She’d screamed herself hoarse and struggled so hard Zophiel had been forced to render her unconscious mid-flight. Nehema had been waiting with a car several miles from the safe house and Zophiel had simply placed their captive in the backseat.
Now Carly was tied to a chair, which had been secured to a support post in the unfinished basement of Nehema’s modest suburban house. Hiding in plain sight had always served them well in the past and Zophiel saw no reason to change the strategy now. She’d lined the walls with layers of foam insulation to dampen conspicuous sounds, however. She was daring, not stupid.
“I have no interest in your body, so your usual tactics won’t work.” Zophiel kept her voice firm yet even, allowing no hint of emotion to seep through in her tone. “I want information and I will stop at nothing to get it. Your only choices are how much pain you’ll endure and how much damage you’ll sustain before you tell me everything I want to know.”
“I cannot tell you what I don’t know.”
A cruel smile spread across Zophiel’s lips. It had been ages since anyone was foolish enough to resist. This was going to be fun.
“Maybe she really doesn’t know.”
Zophiel turned her head sharply and glared at Nehema. She had never had the stomach for this sort of thing. “Go to bed. You don’t need to be here for this. It’s bound to give you nightmares.”
“But I can’t allow you to hurt her if she has no involvement in—”
“She’s their lead doctor. Don’t be a fool. She was involved in all of it.” Grabbing her sister by the arm, Zophiel dragged her toward the stairs leading out of the basement. “Go. To. Bed.”
Nehema hesitated another minute, then reluctantly climbed the stairs.
“Is she your mother or your, um, partner?” Shrewd curiosity gleamed in the human’s eyes, revealing a glimpse of her true self.
“She is no concern of yours.” Zophiel returned to her captive and walked in a slow circle, taking Carly in from every angle. “Tell me about the formula. I know it evolved over time. What was it first meant to do?”
“It’s all in my reports.” Carly stilled and what little color she had drained from her face. “Except the backers didn’t send you, did they?” She swallowed hard and watched Zophiel with new interest. “Who are you? You’re obviously Therian, but you’re not working with the cats. So… How did you know where to find me?” Her brows arched suddenly and she whispered, “Are you Nehema?”
Zophiel carefully guarded her reaction. Close, but no cigar. “Where did you hear that name?” The backers were ambitious and ruthless, but they had no reason to tell a human about their enemy. Further proof that Carly was more than just an employee.
Carly ignored her question and a triumphant light flashed within her dark eyes. “You are, aren’t you? Why do you hate the backers? Why did you blow up their supply convoy?”
Zophiel didn’t consider herself Therian, so she’d never been overly concerned with the backers’ twisted project. Nehema, on the other hand, couldn’t seem to avoid them. Her sister was obsessed with “saving” Therian females before their animal natures were defined. Nehema wouldn’t allow anyone or anything to stand in the way of her mission, but she lacked the savage instincts necessary to act upon her resolve.
Savagery was no problem for Zophiel. She loved her sister and even though she thought Nehema’s insistence on finding “reasonable” outlets for her brutal impulses was a waste of time, Zophiel fought most of Nehema’s battles for her. This latest conflict was the perfect example. Nehema had foolishly trusted General Milliner and his betrayal had left her fuming with impotent rage. Refusing to consider a more direct retaliation, Nehema had blown up the supply convoy. Now the backers were determined to find Nehema and permanently nullify the annoyance. Their renewed determination to kill her sister left Zophiel to set things right.
No one hurt Nehema without feeling the sting of Zophiel’s wrath.
“I’m asking the questions and you’re answering them. Now do not speak unless you’re providing information.” Stopping directly in front of Carly, Zophiel locked her hands behind her back. “Explain the difference between the formulas.”
“The test subjects refused to change forms, so we had to find a way to trigger and control their transformations. That was the purpose for the original formula.”
Transformation was as fundamental to Therians as breathing. Having someone else control when and if they were able to transform would be horrible, unthinkable. “Was the formula successful?”
“It took several tries, but yes. In the end we were able to trigger and reverse their transformations whenever we wanted.”
It took considerable effort not to reveal how appalling she found the concept. But Carly’s story had just begun, so Zophiel suppressed any hint of emotion. “Go on. What did the next formula do?”
“The generation two formula was supposed to make them more manageable, more susceptible to suggestions. That was the general’s primary interest. Their abilities meant nothing if he couldn’t control them.” Carly squirmed on the chair, tugging against the cords binding her arms and legs.
Her stubbornness amused Zophiel. There was no way the human could break free, so why did she keep trying? “And was generation two successful?”
The doctor sighed and stopped struggling. She’d either accepted her captivity or worn herself out. Zophiel wasn’t sure which. “It’s more complicated than yes or no. Some test subjects were extremely susceptible to suggestion while others were completely immune to gen two’s effects.”
“Were you able to determine why there was such a wide variation in results?”
“Why became less important as the main side effect pushed the entire project in a different direction.”
“Explain.”
“I’m cooperating.” Carly sat up as straight as her bonds allowed and looked into Zophiel’s eyes. “I will continue to cooperate, but I’d like to know who you are and why you kidnapped me.”
“Who I am is irrelevant and my purpose is self-evident. Now answer the question.”
“If I’m going to provide you with valuable information, I require—”
“You’re not in a position to require anything.” Without warning Zophiel transformed her fingernails into long, pointed claws. She swiped Carly’s face and left distinct crimson scratches across her fair skin. The human hadn’t so much as yelped, but she trembled with her silent sobs. “I suspect pain doesn’t intimidate you, but you’re a vain little thing. If you hesitate again, I’ll remove your nose then lay open the crest of each cheek. Are these secrets really worth permanent disfigurement?”
“Gen two triggered sexual frenzy in almost every test subject.” Carly’s voice was flat and mechanical, but she’d provided the answer without hesitation. “We realized the frenzy itself could be used to control the subjects, so the mind control aspect became less important. I refined the serum and carefully monitored the test subjects who were most responsive to the new formula. An unexpected pattern emerged.”
“Stop being coy. I bore easily.”
“You’re asking me to explain the past four years in a few sentences.” Her tone remained calm, but her lips thinned, accenting the lines bracketing her mouth. “It really is complicated.”
“Then skip to the good parts or I’ll find another way of entertaining myself.” She slid the tip of her claw along Carly’s jaw and watched blood bead in the shallow cut.
Tears escaped the corners of Carly’s eyes and her chin began to quiver. “There are two distinctly different biological cycles with exactly the same symptoms. The gen two serum
triggered one cycle in defined females and another in undefined females. I don’t think Therians are aware that there’s a difference.”
Zophiel raised her hand to her mouth and licked the blood off her claw. “Are you speaking of Therian heat and bonding fever?”
“I’m not familiar with those terms, but what we trigger is not dissimilar to the seasonal heat experienced by domestic felines and canines.”
It was Zophiel’s turn to sigh. Obviously there were no simple answers. Each statement the human made only left her with more questions. “You said there were two biological cycles. Explain what you mean.”
“This is extremely uncomfortable. Will you please untie me?”
“No.” When Zophiel said nothing more, the human began to sulk. Zophiel grabbed her hair and twisted hard. Carly cried out and instinctively jerked against her bonds. “Start talking or I start cutting.” She hooked her claw inside the human’s nostril and pulled just hard enough to draw blood.
Carly froze, staring straight ahead, barely breathing. “On the surface it all looked the same. Females and males all became aggressive and desperate for sex. But hormone levels, blood chemistry, even brain function were all vastly different.”
“Start with the defined females. How did their bodies react?” She moved her claw away from the human’s face and released her hair. Controlling her captive was just as thrilling as actually inflicting pain. But they were no idle threats. If Carly continued to resist, Zophiel would carve up the human’s body and let her bleed to death.
“Not only did males become sexually aroused, their sperm count also doubled.”
“And with the undefined females?”
“The sperm count was unaffected and the males were almost combative. It was all very violent. It was almost as if the female was provoking the male, seeing if he could overwhelm her.”
If a latent female was about to be defined, she would test the strength and aggression of the male. Only the strongest and most powerful male would be considered for her definition. Once she made her choice, the male’s blood would be used as a pattern for her animal nature. Definition was a permanent change, one that shaped the rest of the female’s life. If Carly didn’t understand these distinctions, Zophiel wasn’t about to enlighten her.
“What conclusion did you draw from the contrast?”
“With a defined female the cycle was meant for reproduction. Her body was trying to attract a strong, healthy male and increase the chances that their sexual acts would result in pregnancy. With the undefined female the purpose was less clear.”
Zophiel caught Carly’s chin and raised her face. Did she honestly not understand how a Therian female locked in her animal nature? “Did the undefined female ever draw blood?”
“We didn’t realize the significance at first, but…”
“But Osric explained how female definition works?”
The human’s eyes widened and she nodded. “You know Osric is helping us?”
“Was, my dear. Osric was helping you until I compelled him to end his own life.” Zophiel released Carly’s face and resumed her lazy orbit. “I can’t abide traitors.” Besides he’d outlived his usefulness and Zophiel preferred her life uncluttered by complications. “We are discussing the gen two serum. Is there a gen three?”
“I’d just begun testing on gen three. We’d only found one test subject who tolerated the refined formula.”
“Devon Lashton, I presume.”
Carly didn’t confirm or deny the conclusion, but tension rolled across her features. “You seem to know a lot about the operation. Why do you need me?”
Zophiel ignored the question. “Why did Roberto feel the need to sequester Devon in the old lab?” All she’d sensed within his mind was burning obsession, which was far from rational.
“Everything hinges on gen three and right now Devon is the only one who’s survived testing. Forcing Therians to reproduce will only get us so far. We need to be able to control which abilities are produced in the offspring.”
“Then you’ll control the offspring.” It wasn’t a question, but Carly nodded. Zophiel didn’t particularly care if the backers bred a private zoo populated by designer Therians, but this would drive Nehema crazy. Or crazier. The mental and emotional stability of her sister had always been questionable. “If the project has only been active four years, Milliner will be dead long before the offspring mature. Surely the general wants results in his lifetime.”
“By locking females in animal form, they gestate more rapidly.” Each word passed the human’s lips with obvious effort, as if they were physically painful to her. “The same is true of the offspring. It can take a lion cub as few as thirty-six months to reach maturity. Wolves mature even faster.”
“But how does a Therian survive that long in animal form? The energy drain alone would be debilitating, if not fatal.”
Reluctance became dread as Carly’s revelations became more damning. “It isn’t a continual transformation. They’re allowed to release the shift every few days. This gives their handlers the opportunity to…”
“To what? This is already so deplorable, what could possibly be worse?”
“To train them.”
“So the child is born in animal form and is only allowed to release the shift long enough to be trained? After three or four years of such treatment, the offspring would be more animal than man. Which is exactly what Milliner wants. As long as the animals obey, their savagery works to his advantage.” Zophiel shivered, disgusted by the amoral brilliance of the plan.
Carly remained silent and avoided Zophiel’s gaze.
According to Osric, Carly’s interaction with the backers began four years before, but Zophiel could almost guarantee the project had been active far longer. There was simply no way all this could have transpired in four short years. “How many Therians are being grown in these labs?” Restless anger kept Zophiel in motion. She was only half Therian, but she understood desolation and cruelty.
When Carly just stared at her in silent terror, she grabbed the human’s hair and yanked her head back. “How many?”
“I honestly don’t know.” A harsh sob contorted her features and then she rushed on, “I only recently learned there was more than one lab.”
Zophiel released Carly’s hair and resumed pacing. The human would die, writhing in agony, but not until Zophiel had wrung every fragment of information from her worthless mind. “All right. Let’s go back to Devon and the gen three serum. What makes her so special?”
A deep breath shuddered through Carly as she struggled for composure. “Devon’s reaction to gen two was unusually strong, but her physiological changes were even more remarkable. That’s when I realized Osric was right. Devon wasn’t experiencing Therian heat. We’d triggered the acquisitions phase of her definition cycle. The changes were meant to attract a male and acquire his blood thereby defining her animal nature. It had nothing to do with reproduction.”
“Did you give Devon access to the male so she could be defined?”
“No. We only had one male at the time and he was doing well just to keep up with the defined females. We couldn’t risk her harming him. The formula wore off and the symptoms faded.”
“Until you injected her with gen three.” The human fidgeted within her bonds looking extremely uncomfortable. “I know there is another formula, so what does it do? What were you trying to accomplish with the refined formula?”
Chapter Eight
Devon rushed across the living room and into her mother’s arms. She’d meant to keep her composure, to calmly explain her decisions and defend Ian’s role in her escape. But the moment Devon saw her mother’s tear-bright eyes, her façade crumbled. She clung to her mother and sobbed. She was safe. She was home. Everything would be all right now.
Erin eased back and swiped Devon’s cheeks with her thumbs. “Kyle finally told me about the contract. Is that why you ran at the rest stop?”
“It wasn’t you. It was never you.�
�� She gave her mother another hug before she continued, “I was still so angry and so… I couldn’t deal with everyone’s emotions until I dealt with my own.”
“I understand.” Erin brushed the hair back from Devon’s face and kissed her forehead. “I’ll ban Kyle from this house until you’re ready to deal with him. If that’s what you need. Just don’t shut me out again.” Erin’s gaze narrowed and her head snapped toward Ian, speculation clear in her green eyes.
“Where is Kyle?” Doubtlessly her mother had just picked up Ian’s scent on her, but Devon wanted to concentrate on one complication at a time.
“He’s over at Holt’s or out searching, I’m not sure which.”
As if summoned by their conversation, Kyle threw open the basement door and emerged into the kitchen. He must have sensed her arrival and used the tunnels connecting the rebels’ houses and the cat sanctuary. He paused for a moment as he took in the scene, then rushed across the kitchen and headed straight for Devon.
She instinctively moved toward Ian as she shook her head.
Erin brought him up short with an upraised hand. “Don’t.”
“Dev, I am so sorry I…” His gaze narrowed and his head tilted as he inhaled deeply. Therian males were even more sensitive to scent than females. He shifted his stare to Ian and fury ignited within his eyes. “Why is your scent all over her?”
Ian smoothly stepped in front of Devon as he widened his stance. “It’s none of your business, little boy. Back off.”
“The hell it’s not! She’s my sister and I’m head of her clan.”
“What’s the matter Kyle?” Devon sidestepped so Kyle could see her. “Afraid Lokesh won’t want me now?”
Kyle’s anger remained focused on Ian. Golden light sparked in his hostile gaze and claws slowly extended from his fingers. “Get. Out.”
“Not gonna happen.”
Devon couldn’t see Ian’s face but he sounded almost amused. “Kyle, this really is none of your business.”
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