by Laura Taylor
Rumour had it he’d also murdered his own father, many years before, but a lack of evidence had meant the case was dropped before it ever got to court.
Aside from all that, Leon was thirty-five years old, had a lean, muscular build, short cropped hair and a clean-shaven face that gave him a refined, serious look that would be well suited to a young businessman. He was, in a word, gorgeous, and Melissa made a point of staring at the floor as she wiped her face and neck with the towel. Because, gorgeous or not, her position demanded respect, and when a man like Leon was involved, it was an ironclad guarantee that she was not going to get respect by offering to hurl off her knickers and mount him right there on the gymnasium floor.
No matter how tempting the idea might be.
“I’m going to take a shower,” she told Leon, determinedly ignoring the way his t-shirt clung to his chest, “and then I have a ten o’clock meeting with Mr Gerber.” The senior officers from Germany were still keeping a close eye on her progress as Chief of Operations; it was only a few weeks since she’d been promoted to the job after Jacob Green’s death, though it felt like much longer.
“I’ll grab a quick one too, then meet you at the door,” Leon told her, picking up his own gear and heading for the change rooms. Watching him go, Melissa felt a by-now familiar irritation at the idea that she had a fulltime babysitter, even though she knew it was a serious necessity. After all, Jacob hadn’t just died in a routine raid or been killed in an accident. He had been assassinated, in a carefully planned and expertly executed hit that had taken the entire British division by surprise.
And so Melissa had now been assigned a permanent bodyguard. Wherever she went, Leon followed. He was rarely more than one or two rooms away while they were inside the Noturatii base, and if she ever left the building, he was right there beside her the whole way, right up until she got back to her apartment in the evening. And then Leon would go in first, check the place out to make sure it was secure and then bid her farewell until he picked her up at her door again the next morning. It was both a blessing and a curse; a blessing, because he was easy on the eyes and pleasant to talk to, and a curse, because temptation had been placed in her path, all day, every day, in a way she couldn’t hope to avoid. And because she was so new at this job and had so much riding on her success, it was a temptation that she must never, ever give in to.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“No, Mr Gerber, I understand completely,” Melissa said hastily, trying to placate the man some thirty minutes later. She sat in her office, Gerber’s flushed face unnaturally large on the computer screen in front of her while she tried hard to remain calm in the midst of a thorough scolding. Jacob’s recent failings, it seemed, were coming back to bite Melissa hard on the arse. “We’ve lost far too many staff, and I’m well prepared to work within a much lower budget than Jacob had,” she told Gerber earnestly.
“It wasn’t just the loss of staff,” Gerber carried right on, not paying any attention to her. “When we lost the lab, there was invaluable information that was lost as well, which has set our research back a good three or four years.” He rambled on, detailing the losses they’d sustained under Jacob’s leadership, the lab, the escape of Dee Carman, who had been their first real success in the acclaimed Conversion Project, then Jacob’s failure to locate the elusive second British pack in the Lakes District. Fortunately for Jacob, he’d had ten years of small to moderate successes under his belt before they’d been hit hard by the shifters, earning him some leniency over his mistakes.
But now that he was dead, Gerber seemed to have no qualms about blasting him for every shortfall, every failing, every loss that had occurred on his watch.
As she listened to his ongoing rant, Melissa glanced across the elegant and spacious office she shared with Leon, seeing her constant companion seated at his own desk, studiously ignoring the conversation. He was likely reviewing the latest security rosters and doing a damned good impression of not existing for the moment. Despite her reservations about him, Melissa felt he was turning out rather well. In the few short weeks he’d been here, he’d increased their guards’ training, adjusted the rosters to increase efficiency while reducing worker fatigue, and begun reviewing their weapons supplies.
“…being repeatedly attacked by this band of animals and losing to them, time after time, shows a serious lack of preparation. I trust you won’t be making the same mistakes.” Gerber finally fell silent, apparently at the end of his diatribe. Melissa waited a moment to see if he was just taking a breather, not replying until it was clear he had actually finished.
“I’m a big fan of learning from others’ mistakes,” she said, adopting a meekly contemplative tone. “But before our more recent losses, Jacob did very well, for a good many years. Or so I’ve been told. I personally haven’t been around for all that long. But in the interests of being thoroughly prepared for my new role, I did some research on the British division’s less recent history. And something rather startling came up.”
“Oh?” Gerber prompted her, adjusting his glasses. “What would that be?”
“I went through the files, all the way back to Jacob’s predecessor. He was killed by the shifters a little over ten years ago. Just before that, the Noturatii successfully launched a full scale attack on the shifter pack, and for a short time, it was believed that we’d succeeded in wiping them out. But then they seemed to acquire a new leader, who carried out a prolonged series of extremely violent and extremely successful attacks against us. More than a dozen high level staff were killed, and then everything suddenly went quiet.
“But the interesting thing is that I can’t find any evidence that we ever managed to kill this ‘mastermind’ of theirs. And given the attack on the lab last year, and the massacre in Scotland, and then Jacob’s assassination, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if that same shifter was still leading the pack.”
Gerber’s eyebrows rose until they almost disappeared into the wrinkles of his forehead. “Indeed,” he said, typing rapidly on his computer – no doubt bringing up the files that Melissa had been looking into. “That’s rather worrying, actually,” he muttered, peering at his screen.
“He’s clearly proven himself to be far cleverer and far more dangerous than most of these animals,” Melissa went on, pressing her point home. “Only now, he’s ten years older and ten years more experienced. So if he is still around, then I think we certainly need to make sure we’re well prepared for any potential conflict. But more than that, I think the risk of further losses in the near future wouldn’t be an unreasonable expectation.”
The statement was a gamble, with Melissa undermining her own position and casting doubts as to her ability to see this creature dead. It wasn’t that she felt any particular need to present Jacob in a good light. It wasn’t even that she was worried about failing and wanted to give herself an excuse ahead of time in case anything went wrong. No, Melissa had plans to build a strong, capable team and to wipe this hideous pack off the face of the planet. So if she pointed out now how tough and capable her opponent was, then when she finally defeated him, she would look all the more impressive to her superiors.
It was a lofty goal, but Melissa had no illusions about how powerful her foe was. But despite the risks, she had one small advantage over those who had come before her: she had actually met the shifter leader face to face. He was the one who had been in charge when the shifters had blown up the lab. She would have bet a year’s salary on it. He’d been a massive brute, dark hair, steely eyes, with bulging muscles and the confidence needed to lead a pack of those unruly animals. For all that she hated their kind, she couldn’t help feeling a slight thread of admiration for the man. No, not a man, she scolded herself quickly at the stray thought. He was an animal. A half-breed. An abomination.
But a clever one. A worthy foe for a champion of the human race such as herself.
“I’ll have to review this information and get back to you,” Gerber said finally, having apparently found the
re was too much to get a good idea of the full picture now. “But if it is the same man, that could be a serious problem. Get Leon to review the data on these attacks. If you need to shore up your defences, he’s just the man to arrange it. But… Hmm, there’s an interesting idea…”
“What is, sir?” Melissa asked, calmly confident in the way the conversation was working out.
“Well, we now know that Jack Miller is still alive,” Gerber mused. “And our CEO has already sent a Satva Khuli after him. But maybe… maybe we should get Li Khuli to keep an eye out for this leader-man as well. If he’s causing so much trouble, then it would be worth making sure he was out of our way.”
Melissa just about managed to stop herself from cursing at the man. That was not at all what she wanted! Killing the shifter leader was her job! Her path to recognition and glory within the Noturatii! “The last time a Khuli was sent to fight this pack, she ended up dead.” Oh shit, had she actually just said that? In her fit of anger, she hadn’t thought before speaking. The Noturatii’s elusive CEO was particularly fond of his pet killers, and reminding Gerber that one of them had failed was not going to earn his favour. And then a sliver of doubt ran through her as the full weight of the situation hit her. Even a Khuli hadn’t been able to bring down this mastermind leader of theirs. Was she being overconfident in believing she could succeed where a Satva Khuli had failed?
“Jacob’s report said that Li Khuli was killed by an assassin, not by the pack leader,” Gerber told her haughtily. “An unfortunate loss, but certainly not the first time we’ve lost a Khuli to one of their assassins. But you make an interesting point. I’ll mention it to the CEO when I speak to him.” The disdain on his face was clear as day, and Melissa knew she’d well and truly overstepped her bounds with her mistake.
“As you think best,” she said, floundering for anything else to say. An apology would make her look weak, but anything else would likely only annoy Gerber more. “I’ll leave you to look over things, then. Let me know when you want to talk again.”
A few polite words later and she was ending the connection, grateful that Leon was absorbed in his own work. Though she was embarrassed at her blunder, she felt far more angry at Gerber’s overbearing decision. Sending a Khuli to kill her mark? How dare he?
But giving up was never going to lead her to win this war, she counselled herself, her mind already leaping ahead, considering how she was going to overcome this latest roadblock. The Khuli still had to find the pack, after all. And for all their formidable skills, Li Khuli was just one person. Melissa had a team of hundreds of capable people at her command. What if… what if she was to locate the pack first? At the very least, it would mean she could tell Li Khuli where to go to get the job done. And if she was clever about it, then… If she caught the pack unawares, surely they could…?
In a flurry of keystrokes, Melissa pulled up personnel records for everyone currently working under her command. There were three main bases in Britain, numerous field agents, and dozens more people who worked in the public sector who were also in the Noturatii’s pocket, a swift bribe smoothing the way for all manner of unusual requests.
But funding was the problem, she was quickly reminded, as she perused the information. She couldn’t hire new staff, couldn’t afford much in the way of extra training…
What projects were they currently working on that could be postponed, or even cancelled? A lot of the administrative tasks were an unfortunate necessity. Their team of hackers and journalists were vital for keeping track of important information. They couldn’t afford to stop paying any of their police contacts for looking the other way when the Noturatii’s activities stepped onto the wrong side of the law. Melissa worked slowly down the list, dismayed to realise that each and every project had a vital role to play in advancing the Noturatii’s interests… until she finally settled on two departments. One was weapons development. There was a sizable facility near Liverpool that kept a stockpile of weapons and had a not-insignificant research and development component. And then there were the science labs, with Dr Evans currently heading up the research into shifter physiology right here in this building. If she pulled staff or funding out of either one, then she’d have the resources to go after the Lakes District shifters in a big way. But which one?
At first glance, cancelling the science experiments made more sense. They’d been spinning their wheels for a while, little to no progress to show for months of work, Professor Banks’ death a major loss sustained in the pursuit of their goals. Meanwhile, the weapons facility stored some of the most advanced guns and explosives known to mankind. And they’d had regular success in developing small but significant improvements to their already impressive arsenal.
But…
For all the logic in favouring the weapons facility, the idea of shutting down the science labs sent a painful shaft of disappointment through her. It was one of the noblest quests of humanity, the opportunity to ask questions no one had asked before, to explore undiscovered mysteries and reveal miracles as simple facts. And, she reasoned, they already had a captive shifter in the cages. Despite their failure to produce results, it would be a waste of resources to abandon the experiments now, when finding live subjects could take months, if not years of careful investigation. For a brief moment, Melissa’s conscience pulled her one way, while her passions pulled her another… until she shook her head, cutting off the inner monologue abruptly. Every country in the Noturatii’s reach was working on developing weapons, while only a few select bases had the privilege of pursuing their scientific endeavours. The labs would stay.
That decision made, Melissa turned her attention to how they could go about tracking down the elusive pack. How would she succeed where Jacob had failed?
Of course, in her opinion, Jacob had always taken a clandestine, overly cautious route. Secrecy was paramount, of course, but so long as she kept secret the fact that their enemies were anything other than ordinary human beings, there was no reason why she couldn’t be a little more ostentatious in her methods. The Noturatii had numerous shifter profiles on file, including some decent photographs of some of them; the captive they’d had in the lab last year; the warrior woman from the lab explosion – though her photograph was getting on for fifteen years old; an image of the powerful man in the trench coat, compiled by a forensic artist. And, of course, Melissa’s own brother Mark, the hideous traitor who had betrayed his family, faked his own death and abandoned them to live with the abominations. It would be a relatively simple task of loading up a group of security staff with photos of their ‘suspects’, sending them off into the Lakes District and canvasing the area until something showed up. The shifters had to go out in public every now and then, after all. Someone, somewhere, had to have seen them.
“Leon! I have a job for you.”
Realising he had been staring blankly at the computer screen for the past five minutes, Leon pulled himself back to reality as Melissa addressed him, abandoning the rather satisfying image in his mind of what Melissa’s head would look like impaled on the end of a pike. He imagined the scene taking place on a windswept, pebbly beach, most likely on the Scottish coast, the pike embedded in the stones, her long hair blowing in the wind. The grey sea replete with foam was tossing in the background, the same grey as her now lifeless eyes…
But his fantasies were going to have to wait for another day.
“I want you to dig up Jack Miller’s files,” Melissa told him abruptly. “Every report, every assignment, everything he put his hands on for the past twelve months. He abandoned the Noturatii to go run with the dogs, and I, for one, don’t believe it was a spur-of-the-moment decision. If he was collaborating with anyone, or if he deliberately sabotaged any of our projects, I want to know about it. And then run a review of all the security staff in the weapons development facility in Liverpool.” Leon nodded, making rapid notes on a pad of paper. He’d heard Miller’s name around the base, spoken of in hushed, angry tones and was familiar with his
betrayal. But the second order was more of a surprise.
“For what purpose?” he asked, curious as to where this crazy chit’s mind was running off to now.
“I need a dozen men to promote to Field Agent,” she said, all but purring at the thought. “Strong fighters, strategic thinkers. Go through their service records with a fine tooth comb.” She smiled at Leon, a cunning, calculating look that he was rapidly coming to loathe. “We’re going to need the very best the Noturatii has to offer.”
Two hours after the discussion in the sitting room, the tension around the Den was palpable. Sempre was due to arrive at any moment, the anticipation of having not one, but three Councillors on-site was making people ratty, and if all that wasn’t enough, then the fact that most of them still had no real idea what was going on was making even the lower ranking wolves antsy.
So when the intercom to the front gate let out a loud chime in the foyer, it brought nearly a dozen people running, all of them clamouring to see how the latest chapter in this drama would play out.
“Enough!” Baron yelled above the racket, as he strode right through the middle of them all to answer the intercom. “You all want to shut the fuck up so I can answer this?”
Everyone fell silent, listening sharply while Baron answered the call.
“Good afternoon,” a stiff British voice came through the intercom. “I’m Andrew Flanagan, health inspector. I’m here for a routine inspection of your facilities.”
Baron lifted his finger off the button and let loose a string of curses. And when that wasn’t enough, he pounded his fist against the wall several times. Now? Of all the bloody times the health department could come knocking on their door, it had to be now?
“Welcome to Misty Hills, Andrew,” he said, his voice calm and polite as he opened the channel again. “I’ll send someone down to meet you.” He lifted his finger again and bellowed, “TANK!”