by Zoe Chant
“There was an incident,” he said.
“I can see that. Why have the police arrested Mack? What was that thing they found in his car? And how did it burst into flames in the first place?”
Ash shifted his feet fractionally, his gaze sliding away from her. She was certain he was rapidly trying out and discarding various responses in his head.
“Ash.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “How did you get here so fast, anyway?”
He didn’t respond for a moment. Then his shoulders fell in a long sigh.
“I owe you an explanation,” he said.
“Mack’s a drug dealer?” Rose said incredulously.
“I am afraid so.”
His blood burned at the mere recollection of the darkness he’d seen in the man’s mind. He kept his hands folded under his arms, forcing his face to stillness.
Rose sighed, staring down into her mug of tea. He’d put sugar and milk in it, the way she liked. Steam curled up between her cupped hands.
She looked unusually small and fragile, curled in his desk chair with her feet tucked up. He’d brought her back to the fire station, to his own office. He’d told her that it was mere pragmatism. The station was closer to the restaurant than Rose’s pub, and she’d needed treatment for shock straight away.
In truth, he’d wanted—needed—to bring her back to his own nest. Even if it was just an office and the tiny adjourning room where he slept, it was his territory. The one place where he could be certain she was safe.
She’d washed her hands and face in the station’s shower room, but she was still flushed and disheveled. Her beautiful red silk top was marred where soot from the burning vehicle had blown onto her.
The black marks were yet another guilty stain on his soul. He clenched his fist, still angry with himself for putting her in such danger. If he’d known how closely she would approach the blaze, he would never have started it.
Of course, he should have known.
She’d always run toward the fire.
“You must think I’m such an idiot,” Rose said.
It was so at odds with his actual internal monologue of self-castigation that he could only stare at her for a moment, nonplussed. “Of course not. Why would you say that?”
“I’m an empath. I knew there was something off about Mack. But I was so happy to have someone interested in me that I ignored all the red flags slapping me in the face.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose, pulling a face. “I have terrible taste in men.”
He couldn’t disagree with that.
“Oh.” Rose dropped her hand, looking mortified. “Oh, Ash, I didn’t—not you, of course. That is, not that I’m still—well, you know. No offense meant, anyway.”
“None taken.” He hesitated, but couldn’t resist asking. “Though I am very curious as to what you could possibly have seen in that…individual.”
Rose looked, if possible, even more embarrassed. “If I tell you that, you are going to think I’m an idiot.”
“I will never think that. Tell me, Rose. Please.”
Rose dropped her eyes to her coffee again. She tugged his blanket a little closer around her shoulders as if trying to hide within its gray folds.
“Tattoos,” she muttered, blushing.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I agreed to the date because I saw his tattoos in his profile picture.” She shrugged. “I don’t know why, but I always do like a man with tattooed forearms.”
The scar around his own right wrist burned, as though the binding was still there. Ash found he was rubbing at it, and made himself stop.
Fortunately, Rose hadn’t seen. She still had her head bowed, her hair shadowing her face.
“And, well, then I met him in person, and he had that hint of danger too, and…” Rose broke off, taking a sip of her tea. “I guess I have a type.”
“Dangerous men with tattoos,” he said softly.
“I didn’t say it was a good type.” She pushed her hair back, glancing up at him. “Just as well you were there. But why were you there?”
He looked at the papers on his desk. The city map on the wall. Anywhere but her face.
“Ash.” Her voice was soft, but brooked no evasion. She leaned forward a little, capturing his gaze. “Why?”
The truth leaped into his mouth. He swallowed it back again.
“I am your friend,” he said instead, which was at least a different truth.
“And the car just happened to burst into flames,” she said, her mouth twisting wryly. “Well, to save further property damage—not to mention your career—I’ll try to pick my date more wisely next time.”
Cold stabbed his heart. “There will be a next time?”
She held his gaze steadily. Her deep brown eyes were clear and unguarded, offering him the depths of her soul. “That’s up to you, Ash.”
He was the one to look away first.
“No more dangerous men with tattoos,” he said, rather more harshly than he’d intended. “Promise me that, at least.”
“No more dangerous men with tattoos,” she agreed, with a faint sigh. “I promise.”
Chapter 6
Past
20 years ago…
This is a terrible idea, the sensible part of Rose’s mind screamed as she circled over the compound. Turn around and go home!
She ignored her fears, stretching her wings to stay as high as possible. The thin air burned in her lungs. If any of the soldiers patrolling the high barbed-wire fences happened to look up, she’d be nothing more than a dot in the sky. Just another bird.
The mate-call tugged at her, trying to pull her down to a grim, plain concrete building at the heart of the complex. She swept around it in wide, steady circles, waiting her moment.
She’d spent three days covertly studying the strange base. It was hidden deep within an otherwise untouched stretch of forest, with no other buildings for miles around. Only a single dirt path led to it. In all the time she’d been watching, she’d only seen a handful of vehicles approach or leave. They’d all been plain black, with smoked glass windows hiding their occupants.
What kind of place is this?
She still couldn’t decide if it was a military compound or some kind of peculiar academic retreat. The barbed wire and watchtowers—not to mention the uniformed soldiers with their semi-automatic rifles—definitely suggested the former.
But she’d seen other people too, in strange flowing robes, looking for all the world like students heading to a graduation ceremony. And though the compound was lined with low, utilitarian barracks, there were older, grander structures as well.
A mansion, built in the elegant old style with sweeping porticos. Smaller houses lining quads and formal gardens. A big, stately stone hall that wouldn’t have looked out of place in Oxford or Cambridge University, set behind a manicured lawn.
It was like someone had taken a very private, very exclusive college, and fortified it.
She had no idea what it all meant. All she knew was that her mate was down there.
And he needed her.
So she circled, and waited.
Her pulse picked up as she heard the sound of honking. The flock of wild geese was returning, as they had every evening at sunset, calling back and forth to each other. Their voices sharpened in disgruntled affront as she slid into their midst.
Don’t mind me, she silently willed, as beady eyes stared at her in suspicion. I just need to fly with you for a moment. Don’t make a fuss.
Beaks clacked at her, but the flock still swung down to their usual pond. Rose landed too, stretching out her webbed feet to splash into the cool water. As quickly as she could, she paddled away from the irritated geese. She hid herself in the reeds lining the water, surreptitiously craning her neck to peer out.
So far so good.
No one seemed to have noticed the geese’s noisier-than-usual arrival. The pond was off to the eastern side of the campus, surrounded by manicured lawns and formal flowerbed
s. Over the past few days, she’d seen the robed people strolling through the garden or relaxing on the scattered benches, but never any of the soldiers. She had the impression that this part of the complex was reserved for the students, if that’s what they were.
Now for the tricky part.
Rose scrambled out of the pond. A large, jet-black swan was hardly inconspicuous, but still less likely to attract attention than a naked woman. Sticking as close as she could to the shadow of bushes, she set off toward one of the low buildings.
She’d seen people go in and out enough times to know that it was where they stored cleaning supplies. Even more importantly, it didn’t seem to be locked or guarded. Who would break into a secret base in order to steal mops and buckets?
Someone who really, really needs to borrow a janitor’s uniform.
She was halfway there when a crunch of gravel warned her that someone was approaching. Two people, from the sound of footsteps. Rose looked around frantically, but she was stuck in the middle of an open lawn, away from any cover. All she could do was duck her head, pretending to poke around in the grass for food.
“Damn assignments,” a male voice complained loudly. “I just got back from Brazil, and now they want to send me to some armpit place in the Middle East. Who do those bloody military stuffed shirts think they are?”
“Our employers,” said a second voice, dryly. “Funnily enough, the U.S. government expects a certain level of return for its investment.”
“They can kiss my cat’s ass. I deserve a vacation after that last mission.”
Just a swan. She nibbled at the grass, silently willing whoever it was to pass her by. Nothing to see here.
Two men came into view around some shrubbery. They were both dressed in those strange, long robes, with the unselfconscious ease of people who wore such garments every day. One of the men stalked along as though the gravel path had personally insulted his mother. The other was eating a sandwich.
Neither of those things was what made Rose jerk her head up in shock.
An ocelot slunk behind the angry man. Its spotted coat was dull and matted, the fur thin and patchy on its right foreleg. It stumbled along as though jerked by an invisible lead. Its lips were drawn back from its fangs in a continuous, maddened snarl of hatred.
But its eyes, its eyes…
They were human. Not in shape or color. But in intelligence, and awareness. Rose met that unblinking, tormented gaze, and knew that a human mind was trapped inside that animal body.
The other shifter froze on the path, staring at her. It had recognized her in return.
“Hey, what’s wrong with your animal?” the second man asked, casually waving his sandwich at the ocelot.
Please don’t give me away, Rose mentally begged the ocelot shifter.
It was futile—usually only shifters of the same type could communicate telepathically with each other. And even if she had been a cat, she had a horrible certainty that the other shifter was too far gone in the depths of its own personal hell to understand human words any more.
“Oh, for the love of—I’m not going to let you eat that swan,” the first man said irritably to the ocelot. “Heel, you idiot beast.”
He made a slight, sharp gesture, and the ocelot’s body jerked as though he’d yanked on a choke chain around its neck. Nonetheless, its eyes stayed fixed on Rose.
The ocelot’s jaw worked oddly for a moment. Then it slunk on its belly to the angry man’s side. He made the gesture again, as if in punishment. The ocelot let out a moan, a horribly human sound from that animal throat. Frozen in horror, Rose could only watch as it cringed at the man’s feet.
“You shouldn’t do that,” the second man said to his companion in a tone of mild rebuke. “Your cat’s on its last legs as it is. You keep drawing power from it, you’re going to finish it off early.”
“Then the damn bastard General can’t order me to the ass-end of nowhere to assassinate whatever stupid target he has in mind this time,” the first man said, smirking. “Not until the High Magus finds me another shifter, anyway.”
The second man shook his head, a touch of jealousy shading his voice. “Don’t get cocky. You’ll be lucky if the High Magus lets you have another one, the rate that you burn through them.”
“He gives them to me because I know how to use them.” The first man pulled a cigarette from an inner pocket, placing it in his mouth. He snapped his fingers, and the tip spontaneously lit.
Rose blinked.
“Anyway,” the man said around his cigarette, “rumor has it that the hunters have tracked down an entire wolf pack. Once the High Magus rounds them up, it’ll be like Christmas come early.”
“Finally. I’m sick of theoretical research. In that case, let’s hustle. Never hurts to earn some brownie points from the seniors when there’s shifters coming up for grabs.” The second man idly tossed the crust of his sandwich in Rose’s direction. “Hey, you got enough juice to jump us straight there?”
The first man pushed back his left sleeve. An intricate tattoo twined around his wrist. It was identical to the one she’d seen on her mate’s skin, except in two respects. It was on his left arm rather than his right…and it wasn’t dripping blood.
The man muttered something that didn’t sound like English, holding up his left hand. Rose’s beak dropped open as his tattoo lit up with an eerie golden glow. Sparks crackled over his fingers in flaring arcs.
With quick, practiced motions, the man sketched a rectangular shape, like a doorway. Light trailed in the wake of his fingertips, the glowing lines hanging impossibly in mid-air. Between them, the view of the garden rippled and warped, like a reflection in a wind-blown lake.
Rose caught a glimpse of a white-tiled room lined with laboratory equipment before the two men blocked her view. As casually as stepping through a doorway, they disappeared into the shimmering portal.
The ocelot glanced at Rose one last time as it followed them. Its mouth worked again, making the same exaggerated motion that it had before.
She’d been wrong. The other shifter wasn’t entirely lost to madness.
Run, it was saying, with lips that were never meant for human speech. Run.
Even in a secret base, a black woman carrying a mop was effectively invisible. The patrolling soldiers didn’t give her so much as a second glance.
Rose kept her head down and her stride brisk, as though on an urgent errand. She prayed that the trailing hems of the too-big janitor’s uniform would hide her bare feet. There hadn’t been any shoes in the supply cupboard.
The mate-call guided her unerringly across the compound, toward the large, ominous building at the very center. Its matte gray walls were sheer and featureless, completely without windows.
She hadn’t been able to guess what it was from the air. Now, after her encounter with the poor ocelot, she was horribly certain that she knew its purpose.
A prison.
And her mate was inside.
Two uniformed soldiers stood guard on either side of a narrow doorway, guns held low. The weapons were smaller and lighter than the ones she’d seen the perimeter guards carrying. As she drew nearer, she realized that they were tranquillizer guns. Each man had a pouch of darts at his hip, the feathered ends sticking up for easy access.
Both guards shot her disinterested glances as she stopped in front of them. Rose’s palms were slick with sweat. She licked her lips, trying to moisten her dry throat.
She hadn’t been able to come up with any plan for this part. She’d hope that sheer necessity would spark inspiration. Unfortunately, her mind had gone completely blank.
“What, you want us to hold the door open for you?” one of the soldiers said as she stood there in mute terror. He jerked his head, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Hurry up and do something about that mess in cell six. I can smell it from here.”
“Yes, sir,” Rose squeaked.
She quickly sidled through the doors, keeping her eyes downcast. The soldiers
didn’t even turn to watch her.
Maybe all the guards and guns weren’t to keep intruders out…but to keep the occupants in.
She hurried deeper into the building, her eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom. The wide, plain gray corridor was lit only by fluorescent tubes running along the ceiling. A steady, irritating throb of extractor fans hummed overhead, but the air still hung thick and lifeless. She wrinkled her nose at the pervasive, animal reek.
It was the smell of misery. Of creatures who had been penned up in the dark until they’d lost all pride, all hope, all sense of self.
It smelled like the ocelot had looked.
Despite the mate-call urging her on, Rose hesitated. The corridor was lined with thick, reinforced metal doors. From behind the nearest one came a steady click-click-click of claws on concrete. A large animal, a wolf or a bear, pacing in endless, mindless circles.
Rose tugged at the door, but it was locked. She couldn’t find a keyhole, or even any indication as to how it opened. Maybe it didn’t open. People who could make magic portals in mid-air probably didn’t need anything as mundane as a door handle.
She spread her hand futilely against the metal, hoping that the shifter inside could sense her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as loudly as she dared. “I’ll come back, I promise. I’ll get help. Just hold on a little longer.”
The constant click-click-click never altered.
She lost count of the doors she passed as she headed deeper into the building. The rough concrete floor chilled her bare feet, but it was nothing compared to the chill in her heart.
So many shifters imprisoned and tormented. And if she’d understood the two robed men earlier, this was all sanctioned by the U.S. military. By the government. How could they do this to their own people?
She took a deep breath, pushing down her sickened anger. She’d free her mate. Once they were free of this terrible place, they could expose it for what it was. There were secret shifter governments and countries all around the world. Surely someone would be able to put an end to this atrocity.