by Laura Taylor
Caroline glanced around, seeing dark alleyways and overgrown yards. Kendrick was occupied with stowing the gun back in the van, Raven climbing into the passenger seat, Silas distracted for a moment checking the street for passers-by… so Caroline shifted in a split second, canine paws silent on the cold concrete, and took off, dashing down an alley, jumping a low fence into a construction site, then off down an overgrown path. She was wild inside, unable to tame her fiercer emotions, base instincts clawing at her mind for freedom. And so the wilderness was where she would go.
At Silas’s startled shout, Kendrick lurched out of the van, just in time to see Caroline racing off into the darkness. And in wolf form no less! Thank God the streets were deserted. That small blessing would hopefully minimise the risk of public exposure. He rolled his eyes, not even considering going after her, resigned to the knowledge that the situation was now well and truly out of his control. The only way to follow her now was by scent, and he’d already taken a big enough risk by allowing Silas to track her in wolf form on the way here. Having three wolves roaming the streets in plain sight was a greater danger even than allowing Caroline to escape.
But this latest complication wouldn’t last long. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, dialling the number for the Council’s headquarters in Italy.
“Susie?” he said, when someone answered the phone, using the code name that indicated an emergency situation to the Council. “It’s Henry,” – the code name for the British Den. It was far too easy to tap phone lines and listen in on calls, so nothing of any importance was ever discussed without either being in code, or on a secure link. “I’m going to need you to send Helga to us for a short visit.” He hung up without waiting for an answer. None was required. When he got home, he could call the Council on a secure line and explain the situation in detail, but for the time being, he could rest easy, secure in the knowledge that the Council was at this very moment choosing one of their most highly trained assassins, and sending them with all haste to England.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Present Day
Melissa sat at her computer, analysing the latest results from the experiments Dr Evans had been running. The new lab was set up – a smaller facility than the last one, within the administration block of the Noturatii’s east London base. The new science staff had proved themselves to be devoted and hard working, and Melissa had been accepted as one of the team, praise for her work on the Conversion Project flowing freely from her new boss’s lips. By all reasonable standards, the work was going extremely well.
And Melissa was hating every minute of it.
Conceptually, of course, this was still a dream come true. Since the day she’d found out what had happened to her brother Mark, that he’d become one of the shape shifter abominations, she’d been determined to wipe the hideous creatures off the face of the planet. And meeting him again earlier this year, face-to-face for the first time in over a decade, had only strengthen her resolve.
But this current situation was infuriating. She’d had her valuable research on the Conversion Project ripped out from under her, the experiments now being conducted in the lab in Germany. She and her team had made such progress, on the verge of a breakthrough with their last experiment, and now she’d been forever denied the chance to crack the mystery not only of how to make new shifters, but far more importantly, of how to un-make them.
On top of that, the new experiments were, as far as Melissa was concerned, a dismal failure. Their current objective was to determine the specific voltage and current for the electrical charges that allowed a shifter to change forms. The new shifter captive had been most cooperative, regular threats of pain and torture sufficient to motivate him to shift whenever they requested it. They had begun by attaching electrodes to his body, but had quickly realised that such a plan would never work – the shift caused the electrodes to vanish, along with his human body, and they’d quickly solved the problem by embedding the electrodes in the table instead, the greater mass preventing them from being caught up in the matter transformation. And once they’d got some useful readings, they’d fed them back into the shifter, each time hoping that he could be forced to shift by their technology, rather than by their threats.
But each time, the result had been a complete failure. No shift. No change in his physiology. Not the slightest waver in his form that might indicate they were on the verge of solving the mystery. The whole thing was becoming a total waste of time, and Melissa found herself resenting her boss’s cheerful demeanour and her blind persistence in repeating the same experiment over and over again when it was clearly leading nowhere.
“How’s it going?” Dr Evans asked, arriving in the lab where Melissa was working, and she immediately adopted a perplexed frown, indicating that the experiments weren’t going well, but withholding any hint of her personal dissatisfaction. Politics, after all, were just as important as science in these labs.
“No luck,” she said succinctly. “Even after we increased the sensitivity of the electrodes, the new voltages haven’t caused any detectable change in the shifter. I’ve been thinking, though…” she said, deciding to go out on a limb. It was a risk, discussing her theories with Evans, with the firm chance that the woman would take the ideas and claim them as her own – no one got far in the Noturatii by playing fair, after all – but if she said nothing, then there was little chance they would ever reach the breakthrough they were seeking. “We’ve been working on the theory that each shift is caused by a single burst of electricity, one voltage, one discharge of current. But what if we’re wrong? What if, instead of one charge, the shift is stimulated by a series of unique voltages.”
Evans looked perplexed by the suggestion, so Melissa explained herself further. “The electrodes have been detecting the maximum voltage in each shift, which has consistently been around the 7000 volt mark. But if you look at the readings, there’s actually a waver in the signal. It takes up to 0.6 seconds to achieve that voltage, and then there’s a lag phase where the voltage lingers around 3000 volts for anything up to 1.2 seconds. So what if it’s not a smooth rise to 7000 volts, but rather a series of steps? 0.2 seconds at 2000 volts, for example, then 0.2 seconds at 5000 volts, then the peak of 7000, then a drop back to 3000 volts to complete the shift. With some modifications to the equipment, it should be possible to detect changes in voltage as rapidly as every 0.05 seconds. And if we can isolate the voltage at each point in the process, we should get a much clearer picture of what’s going on throughout the shift.”
“It’s an interesting theory,” Dr Evans said, no doubt attempting to sound supportive, but Melissa could detect a patronising undercurrent in her voice. “But there’s one other detail you’re overlooking. When the shift occurs, the human body disappears and the wolf body emerges. That causes a certain amount of ‘wobble’ in the readings. Physical movement of the electrode against the skin can cause minute inaccuracies. Unfortunately, it’s unavoidable, given the nature of our test subject. I think we need to focus our attention in a different direction. Perhaps, instead of having the electrodes in contact with the shifter’s body, we need to find a way to detect the charges from a distance. A few centimetres should be enough, and if we insulate the lab to keep extraneous electrical signals out – there’s a huge amount of electrical equipment in the offices, after all, which could be interfering with the signal – then we should be able to narrow things down to a much more defined voltage for each shift. But,” she went on, with a much more genuine smile, “I like the way you think. Stepping outside the box, looking for new possibilities. Keep it up, Hunter. It’s a pleasure having you on the team.”
Melissa smiled and nodded, managing to look pleased with the feedback, before turning back to the analysis in front of her. Evans was overlooking serious avenues to further their research, and for all her condescending praise, by dismissing Melissa’s ideas and running with her own, she was as much of a glory hog as if she had stolen the ideas for herself. T
he fact was, she couldn’t handle having someone on her team capable of doing a better job than she could.
Melissa deliberately calmed herself, willing to bide her time. There was more than one way to skin a cat, after all. More than one way to win a war.
And more than one way to deal with an imposter in the lab, taking over what should have been her domain.
The Densmeet was slowly gaining momentum. The shifters from across Europe had been trickling in, with the Russians as the most recent arrivals. Now there were just the Ukrainians left to arrive before the main events of the summer could begin.
Skip was in two minds about the whole thing. Each year it was the same, an unsettling mix of excitement and apprehension as she looked forward to meeting new people and seeing old friends, but also dreaded the social anxiety that invariably came with large gatherings.
The Russians had just taken over the upper floor of the manor, a large group from four different Dens who had arrived in a cacophony of shouts and greetings, gifts presented to Baron and Caroline as the hosts for this year, and then a thunder of booted feet heading up the stairs, followed by more shouting as they all fought over which rooms were the best. Most of the Russians knew each other, it seemed, close ties existing between the eight Dens across the large country, and Skip hoped that Baron would remind them at some point that they were here to see other people as well, not just sit around and speak Russian with their comrades all summer.
Overcome by the noise and exuberance of the group, Skip retreated outside, taking Albert, her third-favourite teddy bear with her. Having a bear by her side was always a comfort, but she hadn’t wanted to bring Rupert, her best bear, for fear of him getting lost or damaged in all the goings on.
She was sitting quietly on a low stone wall, admiring the rose garden, when she heard a rude snort behind her. She looked up to see two of the Russians standing there, staring at her and laughing. She shot them a quizzical look.
“You brought your teddy bear?” one of the Russians said in a thick accent, mockery strong in his voice. “Are you having a tea party with him? Or does he want to smell the roses?”
“Does he have a name?” the other one piped up. “He does, doesn’t he? What’s his name?”
Both the men were young, possibly even younger than Skip herself, and she immediately assumed they were new recruits. No seasoned wolf would be so rude. Putting on a front far braver than she was feeling, she rolled her eyes at the pair and tried to ignore them. It wasn’t the first time people had been surprised about her bears, and it wouldn’t be the last.
“Are you ignoring us?” one of the men asked, stepping closer. “That’s not polite.”
“Neither are you,” Skip said defensively. “Why don’t you go back inside and leave me alone?”
“Aw, the little wolf’s afraid,” the man said, putting on an expression of false sympathy.
“Wolf?” the other mocked her. “That’s no wolf. She’s just a puppy. Aren’t you, little girl? Are you new here? Haven’t quite found your teeth yet?”
“Let’s see if she has any teeth,” the first man said, and then he darted forward, ripping the bear right out of her hands. “Do you want it back?” He dangled the bear in front of her. “Will you come and get it?”
Coming out of the stables where the combat training would be conducted, Tank’s mind was focused on the list of tasks Baron had given him; set up the shooting range, hang up the punching bags, check the flight schedule for the Ukrainian arrivals. But as he headed for the main house, he spotted Skip sitting on the wall by the garden. She seemed to be talking to two other shifters… but his head snapped up and a low growl rumbled from his throat as he saw one of the men snatch her bear. No doubt the poor kid was feeling a little overwhelmed with all the people, and fuck, if these two jokers had decided to give her a hard time, they had another thing coming. Changing course, he set a quick pace in her direction, all too ready to whip these young pups into shape.
“Give it back,” Skip said firmly, not falling for the ploy of trying to chase the bear. The two men were bigger than her, and no doubt thought themselves quicker – which may or may not be true, but with two against one, she knew her odds of getting the bear back on her own were slim.
“Don’t you want it back?” the man asked, dangling the bear just out of reach. “He’s such a nice bear. It would be a shame if anything happened to him.”
Skip stood up, weighing her options. She could shift, of course, and teach these rude boys a lesson, her wolf lithe and quick… but there were two problems with that. If they shifted as well, there was a strong risk Albert would get damaged in the fight. And if they didn’t, then there were strict rules against wolves attacking people in human form. While Baron would no doubt see that she had good reason, she would still be in a load of trouble, and she frantically tried to think of another option. There was no way she could beat the two men in human form, after all…
But as she watched, searching for any obvious weakness in either man, they both suddenly turned pale. The one holding the bear held it out. “Here. Take it,” he said quickly, looking genuinely frightened. But Skip didn’t take the bait. Another trick, no doubt-
“I’m serious!” the man snapped. “Take it. It’s yours.” He glanced behind her, just a split second flicker of his eyes, and Skip suddenly became aware of a presence standing behind her.
With a wry smirk, she looked over her shoulder, and then let out a chuckle as she saw the line up behind her. There was Silas, front and centre, standing with his arms folded and a look on his face that threatened unspeakable pain. And beside him were Kwan and Aaron, both wearing matching scowls and trying to look tough.
She turned back, about to take the bear… but then, when she saw who had arrived during her moment of distraction, she snorted out a laugh. Tank and John were standing behind the two men, in a mirror image of Silas’s pose, and, seeing the direction of her gaze, the two men spun around quickly, turning even paler as they saw the rear guard.
Skip reached forward and took the bear, cradling him carefully in her arms.
“Sorry,” the men said hastily, glancing at her bodyguards nervously. “We’re really sorry.” Skip merely rolled her eyes at them. She didn’t find it the least bit embarrassing to be rescued by five strong men. It was a bold statement of solidarity, proof that her Den stuck together and looked out for each other, and she felt a warm burst of joy at the reminder of just how willing her friends were to stand up for her. With a smile and a wink at Silas, she slipped away, Kwan and Aaron falling in behind her.
Tank watched Skip leave, waiting until she was out of earshot, and then he glanced at Silas, giving the man a slight nod. The two boys were still standing there awkwardly, no doubt wondering if they were allowed to leave.
“We’re really sorry,” one of the men said again. “It was a bad joke.”
“Not funny,” Silas said, unsheathing a knife, tossing it once or twice, and then stepping forward until his face was a few scant inches from the men’s. “Let that be a lesson to you, pup. You mess with our sister, you mess with us. Now,” he went on, fingering the handle of his knife. “Have I made my point? Or should I make it clearer?” Beside Tank, John let out a growl. Tank cracked his knuckles, eyeing the boys like they were a tasty meal.
“You have made your point,” the men assured him, attempting to back away, until they realised that John was blocking their path. “Very clear.”
Silas waited a moment longer, then smiled and sheathed his knife. “Good. I look forward to seeing you around.”
John stepped aside, and the two boys scurried off, both white as a sheet. John made a satisfied noise and wandered off, leaving Tank and Silas alone.
Tank eyed his comrade with wry amusement, surprised at his own good mood. Then he rolled his eyes when he saw the sceptical look Silas was giving him. “Shut up,” he said, not quite able to keep the smile off his face. “That was fun.”
“First time I’ve heard that word o
ut of your mouth in a while,” Silas said drily, falling in beside him as he headed for the house.
“Yeah,” Tank admitted, seeing nothing to be gained in arguing the point. “I’ve been a moody bastard. I get it.”
“For a while there, I thought you were starting to have a permanent case of PMS.”
Tank glared at him, a look full of amusement, as he knew he’d made the same statement about Silas often enough. “You watch it,” he griped good naturedly, punching Silas in the arm.
Silas grinned and slapped him on the back in reply. “Life puts us all through the wringer every once in a while. And climbing your way back out of the hole can take some time.”
“I know,” Tank said, aware that one good day wasn’t going to make all his problems disappear. “But it’s still good to see a light at the end of the tunnel every now and then.”
“That it is.”
The following morning, Baron stood in front of the mansion, watching as Tank drove the van up the drive. He’d been to Inverness to pick up the Ukrainians – the last of the shifters to arrive – and Baron was both curious and cautious about these foreign men. Andre had filled him in a little more about Nikolai’s ‘quirks’, and though the man was no doubt a fierce warrior and a loyal follower of the Council, some of the stories had made Baron more than a little nervous. Living in the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, the man seemed slightly unhinged, and having received no specific information from the Council about the Ukrainian Den, Baron felt he was stumbling about in the dark where these newest arrivals were concerned.