Lab Coat Man's face changed in an instant. He lost his composure, anger clouding his features. “I said that was enough. Who sent you?"
"No one sent me,” Jason yelled back, spraying spittle in the man's face. He stood back, taking a handkerchief from the pocket of his coat. He wiped his face slowly, removing all traces of the spittle before he glared at Jason.
"I don't believe you,” he said coldly. “You came here for a reason. I can sense it. There is purpose about you. I can read it in your eyes."
"Maybe you just need to get your vision checked."
Jason watched the man's temples throb angrily as he clenched his teeth together.
Instead of shouting at Jason, he merely shrugged and turned his back to him. He walked a few paces and then began to speak.
"No one just comes here, out of the blue. They come here because they want to find out things. I am certain someone sent you to discover what I am doing here. I can't have that.” He paused, folding his handkerchief slowly and placing it on the counter next to his expensive looking equipment. “What I'm doing here is revolutionary. No one is going to stop me. Not this time."
Jason's thoughts of a mad scientist came back. “I really don't know what you're talking about,” Jason tried to explain again. The man shook his head and glanced back at him. “No one sent me."
"I very much doubt that."
When he fully turned to face Jason, he heard the familiar buzzing in his ears. His head started to pound with perhaps his most ferocious headache yet. He cried out, wincing at the pain. He tried to move his arms, to press his hands to his temples to ease the pain but he was strapped in too well.
It felt like his head was splitting in two. He wanted to scream, but refrained from doing so. He saw red. He shut his eyes and ground his teeth together.
As quickly as the pain came, it was gone. Jason gasped from the shock of it. He opened his eyes and let his vision clear. Lab Coat Man stared at him with a mixed look of surprise and anger. He narrowed his eyes.
Immediately, the pain coursed through his head. This time, he did let out a scream. If the pain before was bad, this was ten times worse.
Then the pain was gone, just like that. It left Jason disoriented and shocked. He stared at the man before him and knew.
He was the cause of the headaches. He was doing something to him.
"Get the fuck out of my head.” He didn't know how it had been done but he knew somehow this man had gotten inside his mind. Once more, he felt violated.
"No worries there, my friend,” he answered with a resigned sigh. “I'm afraid I was mistaken. You don't know anything."
"You had to fucking probe my head to find that out? You should've fucking listened to me in the first place,” Jason yelled. “I don't know who the hell you are, or what the fuck you are doing here. Let me go!"
"I know,” the man said, a little sadly. He sighed again. He turned his back once again on Jason and rested his hands on the metal counter. He hunched forward, lowering his head as if in deep thought.
Jason still reeled from having his mind invaded. Who was this guy? Was he psychic? Jason pulled at his restraints. They tightened on his arms with each movement. He strained, balling his hands into fists as he forced them to pull. It was no use. He was stuck.
His hefty goon stood near the door, his unnerving eyes watching Jason's every movement. He didn't look happy. Jason didn't blame him. The guy looked like he had a bug up his ass. He stared at him for a moment longer before turning his attention back to Lab Coat Guy.
"You came here for a reason, I know it."
"I don't know what you're talking about,” Jason repeated for about the hundredth time. The man shook his head and grabbed something from the counter. He turned to face Jason.
"I don't know what it is about you, or who you are,” he began, “but I intend to find out.” He pulled the cap off the syringe and it dropped to the floor with an ominous clatter. Jason saw the flash of the needle and his entire body tensed. His fear of doctors came flooding back in a panic and he renewed his efforts to get away.
Calling upon the wolf was something he rarely did any more. He hadn't changed in so long, he was sure he had forgotten how. Once he felt the familiar burn in his muscles, he knew that wasn't the case. Cursing himself silently for not doing this sooner, he called upon the additional strength.
It was enough to break one arm free of the strap. The leather snapped loudly and Jason turned, clawing viciously at the other strap.
"Stop him,” the lab coat man shouted and the beefy man at the door flew into action. In seconds, he had hold of Jason's loose arm, holding it out straight. Jason felt his elbow being pulled apart. If this guy pulled any harder, his arm was going to snap in half.
It didn't stop Jason from struggling though. He still had the strength of the wolf and he tried to pull the other strap apart.
"Hold him."
The goon grunted and wrapped his arm around the back of the dentist chair. His hand pressed against Jason's neck, holding his head straight as he crushed his windpipe.
Even with his air cut off, Jason wouldn't stop. He writhed from side to side in the chair. He felt the cold point of the needle touch the crook of his extended elbow. There was a sharp jab. Jason tried to scream, but only succeeded in a choking groan.
Jason stared at Lab Coat Man with intense anger and hatred. The man, however, did not look at him until he had drawn what blood he needed. When he pulled back, he met Jason's gaze. A slow smirk spread over his lined face.
"Those eyes can only mean one thing. You're a werekin. But I wonder just how much of a werekin."
Jason tried to curse at him, but he couldn't even manage that. He felt lightheaded from lack of oxygen. The goon didn't seem to be letting up any time soon.
"Well, I'll find out soon enough just what you are.” The man looked at the syringe containing Jason's blood. He turned to walk away, gesturing vaguely with his free hand. “Don't kill him just yet. He might be useful."
Again, the goon grunted and moved his hand from Jason's throat. Jason gulped in huge mouthfuls of air, coughing loudly. The goon went to work quickly, securing him once again to the chair with another strap. This time, he checked them, making sure they were extra tight. They were. Jason couldn't feel his fingers.
Lab Coat Man busied himself with his mad scientist's kit. He mixed some clear liquids together and swirled them in a large container. He studied it curiously before setting it aside. Jason watched as he took the syringe and dripped several drops of the blood into the mixture. Swirling it again, the mixture turned a faint pink.
With no expression on his face, the man left the beaker and moved to the microscope. He dripped blood onto a glass slide and put it into place. He leaned over the microscope and adjusted his settings.
Jason tried to move his arms, but couldn't this time. The wolf had retreated back within, somewhere Jason couldn't reach him. He was tired, lightheaded.
"Hmm.” The man grunted and moved back from the microscope. He removed his glasses, rubbed them on his shirt and slipped them back on. He leaned over the device again.
After a few moments, he stepped back and turned toward Jason. He blinked several times, surveying him with disbelief.
"What?” Jason barked. The man merely shook his head.
"Who are you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. His demeanor had changed so quickly. He looked shocked, almost scared when he looked at Jason. “What are you?"
Jason didn't answer. He didn't have to because the man answered for him. “You're what I've been looking for all these years. You're the key."
"What?"
"You—whatever it is you are—you're what I've been trying to create. A mixture of were blood and witch blood, an ultimate specimen."
"Oh fuck me.” Jason felt his hope sink and panic once again set in. This was worse than he had thought, much, much worse.
This was a lab and he was the guinea pig.
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Chapter Nine
Back in the private sanctuary of her room, Nola could vent in peace. Slamming the door behind her, she let out a loud growl and stomped her way to the bathroom. She needed to throw something. A hairbrush was the first thing within her reach and she snatched it up. She hurled it at her reflection and watched the mirror crack into a web of splintered glass.
Her face leered back at her a million times, reflecting her scowl. She had come to hate this new face and with an even more defined scowl, she turned away from the mirror. Broken pieces littered the floor and crunched under her boots.
Nola left the bathroom quickly and grabbed her charging cell phone from the night stand. She hit the speed dial and as the familiar number began to dial, she plucked the annoying contact lenses from her eyes and tossed them aside.
The phone clicked as someone on the other end picked up. “Hello?” Miguel's smooth voice, normally a comfort to her ears, grated on her nerves tonight.
"I've got a huge fucking problem."
"Calm down, chica. What do you want me to do?"
"I want you to fucking deal with it.” Realizing she was shouting, she lowered her voice to angry hiss. “You need to get your ass over here and finish this!"
"It's not my game, you know that,” Miguel answered, his voice slow and without worry. It made her even more annoyed. “This is what you wanted. You wanted to do this and I agreed to help—"
"I paid you to help,” she reminded him.
"Same thing. My point is it's all up to you. You wanted to find this Jason guy and take him out. And you were the one who decided to target his woman when you couldn't find him. It's not my game."
"Fuck.” Nola paced the floor and stopped near the bed. The strap of her bag poked out from under the bed skirt and she crouched to pull it out. “I don't care, Miguel. I need you here to fucking finish this. I can't stand this fucking charade any minute longer."
"What happened?"
"What hasn't happened?” She tucked the cell phone between her shoulder and ear, using both hands to unzip her bag and pull it open. Her pistols reflected light from the bedside lamp. She picked one of them up. “The fucking staircase fall didn't work. I made it look like an accident, but one of her dumbass packmates was there to catch her. Then some stupid little bitch wouldn't tell me where the fuck Jason is. And then, some witch doctor woman cornered me."
Dr. Nesbitt had stared at her for the longest time, as if appraising her. She hadn't said much, but it was a clear warning to Nola. She would have more than one pair of eyes on her. She was certain Rose was already suspicious of her. Davis was, too, for that matter. He had been from the start.
"I can see how that would be a problem."
"I need you to get over here and help me. I've been kissing ass the moment I got here and I'm tired of it. I'm tired of rubbing shoulders with these do-nothing good guys. If I stay here any longer, I think I'm gonna puke.” She threw the gun aside with a grunt of annoyance.
"You have to keep your cover, no matter what happens, until the moment when you finish him. Remember, that's what you want."
"I don't know what I want any more. I hate that fucking bitch as much as I hate him."
She rummaged around in her bag, removed the other gun. Paper rustled as she removed a folder from the bottom of the bag. She stared at him a moment before continuing in a low voice. “I never understood why he had the hots for her. She's got nothing on me."
"That's for sure,” Miguel laughed throatily. She could half imagine him stretched out languidly on the couch and the image evoked very naughty thoughts. She couldn't help but grin.
But the grin didn't last very long when her eyes dropped to the folder in her hands.
She set her jaw as she opened it to the first page. The newspaper clipping was still fairly new, not yellow or faded at all. She silently read over the headline.
Body of Man Found Mutilated in Woods.
The words made her stomach knot up. The man was Simon Conner, it had to be. There were too many similarities, but she had to make sure.
When she went to the site where the body was found, there were faint traces of the full-blood scent. The scent was familiar, though faded. It was his. Simon had been there. That was enough to confirm it for her.
She went livid. Simon was dead and she was pretty sure she knew who had killed him. Jason Barnett had been Simon's sworn enemy for as long as she had known him. After Simon's disappearance in his search for Jason, it only seemed natural that an altercation had occurred.
And judging from the reports on the conditions of the mutilated body, and the blood scent that hadn't quite faded with time, it had been a bad one.
She got started right away. She knew exactly where to begin. The PRDI.
She hired a mercenary first, a man with experience in covert reconnaissance. Miguel Rodriguez was good at what he did and looked damn good while doing it. She hadn't needed a lot to persuade him. A little sex went a long way.
He advised her in what to do first.
She needed cover, first and foremost. A month was far too short a time to get everything together, but she was determined. She was concerned with being recognized.
After all, she had met some of their little pack—Jason and Rose included—only then she wasn't going by the name of Nola Anderson. She had been Alana Moore, then a werewolf hunter with something to prove, now a changed-blood with a vendetta to avenge her mate's death.
It was enough of a cause to change everything about her. She didn't care if she never looked the same again. Avenging Simon meant more to her than her vanity.
And that was saying a lot.
She consulted a plastic surgeon to perform a necessary nose job and brow lift. She considered wearing a wig but after trying some out with her new face, she dyed her auburn hair a dark brown. Contact lenses worked well to hide her green eyes. She was confident she wouldn't be recognized, at least not by appearance alone.
Her scent would definitely give her away if any of them recognized it. She wasn't going to risk that. She purchased the strongest smelling perfume she could find, something with a heavy citrus base. It covered up her scent nicely. She only hoped it would work.
With Miguel's help, they created the persona of Nola Anderson, a changed-blood looking to discover more about her new brethren. It was a good ruse, they had both thought, but Alana knew pulling it off would take a lot of restraint. Acting classes had helped, but not too much she now realized.
She had almost lost it when she had been alone with Aurora. The younger woman was so naïve, so weak and vulnerable. Alana wasn't sure why, but weakness in others invoked anger in the wolf. She used her anger to exert dominance, something she exhibited with Aurora.
The young girl had been frightened. She could smell the fear-scent all over her and that pushed the wolf almost to the breaking point. If it hadn't been for the doctor interrupting them, she was sure she would've had Aurora submitting to her.
It was a blessing in disguise, she realized. She had almost blown her cover with that little stunt. She needed more control.
"You still there?” Miguel's voice reminded her she was still on the line with him. She took the phone back in her hand and pressed it back to her ear. She shook her head to clear it.
"Yeah, still here,” she answered sullenly.
"You all right?"
"Just fucking peachy, Miguel. How do you think I am?"
"Do you have a plan?"
"No,” she said, pushing the folder aside. She was done with it. She resumed looking through her bag. In the bottom was a sheath with a knife. She removed it, testing the weight of it with one hand. It would have to do. “That's why I called you."
"I always have a plan,” Miguel answered. She heard him lick his lips. “But I can't always be there for you. If you want it so much, figure it out yourself."
"Will you stop that? Yeah, it's all fucked up and I need to figure it out on my own, but this needs to be done right. In order to do
it right, I need your fucking help. Why do you think I hired you? I suggest you start doing what I ask, or you can kiss your payment goodbye."
There was a cold silence from the other end of the phone before she heard Miguel give in with a sigh. “Fine, chica. Meet me at the hotel. It's not a good idea for me to show up there. Might point suspicion your way."
"Too late,” she muttered, but she was sure Miguel didn't catch it. “I'll be there in an hour.” She hit the end call button on her phone without waiting for a goodbye.
She hadn't expected him to demand she meet him, but after thinking about it, she realized he was right. It would draw more suspicion if Miguel showed up unexpectedly. Sighing, Alana refilled the bag with her weapons.
The sheath and knife went around her ankle. She wanted something to protect herself if she needed to and carrying a gun around was just asking for it. She liked to think she wasn't stupid or careless, but really well prepared under the circumstances.
Once she secured the sheath tightly around her ankle and slid the leg of her jeans down to cover it, she headed to the bathroom. The broken bits of mirror crunched under her boots as she crossed the floor.
With a wide sweep of her arm, more glass fell to the floor. Tiny droplets of blood formed along her forearm from various cuts and pricks. She wiped them away with a hand towel and searched the counter for her contact case. When she found it, she slipped the contacts in, then watched herself in the broken mirror as her eyes went from bright jade green, to dull brown in seconds. Finally, Alana sprayed a generous amount of her orange smelling perfume and ran a comb through her hair, shaking out tiny bits of mirror.
The affect Nola Anderson's appearance created was one of homeliness, a real down-to-earth feel that Alana found hard to keep. Nola also looked friendly, whereas Alana had always looked severe and somewhat cynical. She frowned at her reflection and Alana saw a tiny bit of her old self in Nola's face.
Maybe her new face wouldn't be so bad once she got used to it.
She primped a few seconds more and grabbed her lightweight jacket from the desk chair. It was warm, being June, but the jacket would serve to cover up the cuts on her arms until they healed. Alana locked the door behind her and retraced her steps through the building, toward the foyer.
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