The Darkling Hunters: Fox Company Alpha (Fox Company Series Book 1)

by Rhiannon Ayers

  Sydney didn’t open her eyes. “What would you like to know?”

  Uh, how about everything? “For starters,” Sam said, trying and failing to keep the sharpness out of his voice, “what the hell was that light? Was it some sort of…hidden weapon, or something?” Not that he’d seen a weapon. Just her hand…

  “You could call it that,” she said, a tiny, ironic smile twisting her lip.

  “Well, what is it?” Dex demanded.

  She didn’t answer at first. “It’s something you were never meant to see.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “Given the choice, I prefer to use mundane weapons.”

  “Syd—”

  “It’s just…something I can do,” she said over him. “I guess you could call it my…super-secret…super power.”

  Silence fell. Not even crickets dared to break it.

  Finally, Sam whispered, “Please, Syd. Talk to us. We just…we just want to understand.”

  She closed her eyes and let out a long, gusty sigh. Her lips flattened, jaw tightening as she clenched her teeth. Eventually, though, she gave in.

  “How much do you know about the DEA’s history?”

  Sam perked up. Why the segue? “We know what every agent is taught at the Academy. Nixon started it in 1973, after being convinced of the existence of darklings. But he was afraid the public would panic if they were given such information, so he hid the Darkling Eradication Agency within his newly formed Drug Enforcement Agency. The only difference is the shadow branch has a standing shoot-to-kill directive.”

  “Correct, except for one small detail,” Sydney said. “In the original version of the Agency, the ‘D’ didn’t stand for darkling. It stood for ‘deviant.’”

  Dex let out a snort. “Not surprising. Nixon was at war with the counter-culture at the time. Hippies and beatniks and save-the-planet commune freaks. He probably meant it to be ironic.”

  But Sydney shook her head. “No. Nixon had no sense of irony. He chose the word ‘deviant’ on purpose.”

  “All right, we’ll bite,” Sam said gruffly. “Why?”

  “Because the Agency wasn’t just meant to hunt down darklings,” Sydney replied, expression carefully blank. “And to Nixon, a ‘deviant’ referred to anyone—or anything—that wasn’t human.”

  A pregnant pause.

  “Sydney?” Sam said. “Why is that significant?”

  She stared at him, saying nothing. Then, she squeezed her eyes shut and said, “Because I’m one of the ‘deviants’ your Agency was created to eradicate.”

  She opened her eyes.

  Sam and Dex both gasped, jerking backward. Her ice-blue irises—no, not just the irises, the whole of both eyes, including the whites—had been replaced by orbs of iridescent white light. They almost looked like glowing pearls, shimmering softly with a swirling, opalescent glow. She stared at them, her face nothing but an expressionless mask. Then, as they watched, she spread her hands, palm up—

  And her hands lit up with twin sheets if liquid white fire. The flames sparked and danced around her fingertips.

  Sam forgot how to breathe.

  Sydney held that pose for several breathless heartbeats. Then she closed her eyes, folding her hands into fists in the same instance, and all the lights went out.

  Neither man said a word. Sam felt like someone had just slammed his head with a four-by-four.

  Sydney, her eyes back to that haunting ice-blue color, looked from one to the other of them—and snorted. “Yeah. That’s about how I expected you to react.”

  “Was that…is that…magic?” Sam stammered, his voice quavering like an adolescent boy.

  “Magic, concentrated energy, pretty white lights…call it whatever you want. The label doesn’t matter. It is what it is.”

  He tried hardening his jaw, but his voice still came out weak. “And you can control it?”

  “What the hell do you think?” Her lips twisted into a sardonic smile. She held up one hand and the fire reappeared, fizzing and swirling along her fingertips. “What you’re really asking is, will I ever lose control of it—and the answer is no. Sorry, but there’s no need for you to fear some angsty teenage emotional meltdown from me. I won’t lose control of my power just because of a temper tantrum. You can relax.”

  Relax? Relax? How the hell was he supposed to relax knowing that she could…

  Sam shook himself, fighting to control the sudden fear building in his gut. This was Sydney. His Sydney. Whatever this power was—whatever she was—she’d never once been a threat to them. The opposite, in fact; she’d saved their lives time and time again, often while putting her own life in mortal danger.

  He’d always known she was a lethal fighter. This revelation just added a whole new dimension to that concept.

  “Are you…” He coughed to get the fear-soaked rocks out of his throat. “Are you telling us you’re…you’re not…human?”

  She closed her fist, putting out the ethereal white fire. “Half, to be precise. Though that distinction has never mattered to the DEA.”

  “So…what are you?” Dex asked. He, too, looked like he’d been clobbered over the head by something.

  She looked away from them. “The original term for my kind has been corrupted by folklore, myth, and religious doctrine. Besides, that’s not truly what I am, so the word itself is meaningless, anyway.” Her lips twisted. “I’m only half, remember?”

  “Please, Syd. Just tell us.” That from Dex.

  Sydney screwed her face up into a pained frown, heaved another sigh, and said, “Seraphina. My ancestors were called Seraphina.”

  Sam sat bolt upright. “Seraphina. Another word for Seraphim.”

  “Wait,” Dex said, “Aren’t those angels? Are you telling us you’re an angel?”

  “You ever seen a halo on my head?” she retorted.

  “But that’s what that word means, doesn’t it?” Sam said, unable to let it go. “Seraphim are angels. Shit. I thought they were one of the most powerful angels in the Bible…”

  “Do I look like some pious moron who has God on speed-dial?” she said with heartfelt disgust. “Fuck, I am so sick of the immediate assumption that there’s a religious connection. For the last time, angels and demons aren’t real—at least not in the sense that religion would have you believe. There’s no divine connection, no private winged messenger service delivering the word of God from on high, all right? It’s not real. It was never real.”

  “But…you’re real,” Dex pointed out.

  “Which should prove that those myths and legends are false,” she snapped, eyes crackling with ire. “Remember how I said that demon legends had been based on creatures like Levi? Well, the myth of angels came about because of my ancestors. But they are not now nor have they ever been God’s personal messengers.” Her voice dropped into a toneless whisper, and she let her head fall back against the headboard with a muffled thud. “Trust me, there’s nothing even remotely ‘divine’ about us.”

  Us. Dex seemed to catch that distinction at the same moment Sam did. They exchanged a silent look.

  “Fair enough,” Sam said carefully. “Help us understand the difference.”

  Sydney groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “What’s the point? No matter what I tell you, you’re going to pick it apart and compare what I say to what the doctrine says. Look, all those stories were blown way out of proportion, okay? All that bullshit came from corrupted bits of information cobbled together by religious nuts who were looking for ways to prove divinity existed. I swear, I wish I’d kept my damn mouth shut. Matthew never would have put all those ridiculous details in there if I hadn’t…” But then she trailed off with a sharp intake of breath, her eyes going wide.

  The reaction of a person who’d just said way, way too much.

  “Uh, Sydney?” Sam said sharply. “Did you…did we just hear you right?”

  “No. I misspoke. Ignore it.”

  “You just mentioned Matthew.”

  “Who’s Matthew?
” Dex piped up.

  “Nobody,” Syd said tersely.

  Sam frowned, mind racing. Seraphim. Matthew. Corrupted bits of information. Ridiculous details. No, it couldn’t be… “Matthew was a writer if I recall correctly.”

  She snorted. “Matthew was a plagiarist, not a writer.”

  “Whom did he plagiarize?”

  “No one.”

  “What did he write?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I think you’re lying.”

  “And I think you’re arrogant, but we’re not here to quibble.”

  Sam groaned. “Syd, please…”

  “Wait,” Dex said, out of the blue, “Angels. Matthew. Wasn’t there a section of the bible written by a guy named Matthew?”

  “In the book of the Gospels,” Sam confirmed. He saw the moment the lightbulb went off in Dex’s head.

  “Are you saying you actually met him? Matthew? The Matthew?” Dex said, voice both awed and incredulous. “As in, Matthew…the Apostle?”

  “He wasn’t an apostle,” Sydney grumbled, half under her breath. “He wasn’t even born when all that stuff went down. He was just a better storyteller than Mark.”

  Silence so thick it would shatter with a pin-drop descended over the room. Sam felt the world do a long, slow spin around him. She wasn’t being facetious. That was real rancor—the kind that only came about from personal experience. She wasn’t bragging, or talking up her claim to make it more believable. Just a simple assertion, spoken with annoyance. The kind people made when they knew the truth about something, but didn’t expect to be believed.

  Which meant she’d known him. Personally. But how could that even be possible? Unless…

  He stared at Sydney, thunderstruck.

  “Sydney?” He had to swallow several times before his voice would rise above a cracked whisper. “Uh…just how old are you?”

  She gave him a black scowl. “A lady never tells.”

  “Syd…” Dex said with a pained groan.

  She looked away from them, the scowl fading to a blank mask. “I…I don’t know. Depends on the calendar you use. But…somewhere north of two-thousand years. Give or take a couple hundred. I…I lost track.”

  Sam just stared. One more shock, and I’m going to have a heart attack. “So…you’re immortal.”

  She let out a tired sigh and started twisting a loose thread on her camisole. “In the technical sense of the word…yes, I suppose.”

  “You…you mean, you can’t be killed?” Dex whispered. The expression on his face was almost comical.

  Sydney scoffed. “Immortal, not invulnerable. I heal faster, sure, and my body functions a little differently from yours. I don’t have to sleep as often, for example, or eat nearly as much. But put a stake in my heart or cut off my head, and I’m pretty damn sure I’d die just as easy as you would. Though I’ve never actually tried to die, so I guess you could say I don’t know for sure. How’s that for irony?”

  The acid tone of her voice was enough to make Sam sit back with a jerk. For the first time since this conversation began, he forced himself to look at Sydney—really, really look at her.

  And in that moment, understanding dawned.

  She wasn’t acting like a person who wanted to explain herself. Her sharp retorts, the irritated tone of voice, even her expressions screamed that she was on the defensive. Instead of trying to help them understand, she was pitching acidic remarks to downplay her own importance, hiding behind closed eyes and dark scowls to make herself—no, their line of inquiry—seem unimportant, almost trivial.

  And the only reason for her to do that was if she already believed they condemned her.

  In other words, she was terrified. Terrified that he and Dex would turn on her at any moment, become enemies where they’d once been friends. She was building up her defenses, giving herself a reason to defend herself against them when and if the time came.

  Giving herself cover, in case she had to kill them. The thought gave him chills.

  Except…Sydney was wrong. Wrong about all of it. Without even discussing a single thing with Dex, he knew his partner was on the same page. Neither one of them had any wish to turn against her. The thought never even would have occurred to him, had Sydney not withdrawn the way she had. But he could tell, just by looking at her, she would never believe they could accept her story without turning against her for it.

  They had to convince her otherwise. But how? Sam’s thoughts went in circles, nothing but useless platitudes and empty assurances coming to mind. How could he convince her without sounding cliché? How could he prove they weren’t going to abandon her? He stared at Sydney, panic rising, certain she would get the wrong idea and turn against them before they had a chance to talk her down.

  And then Dex—irascible, impertinent, irreverent Dex—said the exact right thing at the exact right time.

  “Damn Syd. I guess that makes you the ultimate cougar, huh?”

  Sydney stared at him, mouth hanging open—then burst out laughing.

  Thank you, Dex. Remind me to kiss you for that later.

  Now he knew what to do. Sam stood, crossed the slim aisle between the two beds, and shoved his arms beneath Sydney’s knees. She squawked with surprise as he hauled her bodily toward the edge of the bed, her arms wind-milling as she tried for balance. Sam sat down, snugging her against his side with an arm around her waist. He used his free hand to tip her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.

  “We need you to listen, and we need you to hear us this time,” Sam rumbled. “We’re here, Sydney. We’re not going anywhere. We’re asking these questions so we can learn more about you, because we care about you, because we’re concerned about you. Our feelings for you haven’t changed just because we found out you glow in the dark.”

  “Amen to that,” Dex said with a little grin. Sydney rolled her eyes.

  Sam chuckled, but kept his focus on Sydney’s face. “I meant what I said, Syd. We just want to understand. You don’t have to tell us everything. I doubt Dex’s A.D.D. would allow him to sit through two-thousand-plus years of your life story, anyway.”

  “Hey!”

  Sydney’s lips twitched. Sam let himself grin. “Just tell us what you think we need to know. Someday, when you’re in a storytelling mood, you can tell us the rest. We’re here to listen and to learn. That’s all.” He squeezed her waist, expression going serious. “Please, Syd. Trust us. I don’t think we’ve let you down that many times in the past. Trust us not to let you down this time, either.”

  He watched the emotions playing out behind her eyes—fierce, almost desperate yearning, followed by an immediate, guarded sort of fear. She pulled her face out of his grip, looking aside, but not before he saw the wetness brightening her eyes. Sam saw her throat work with a hard swallow, her jaw muscles flexing as she ground her teeth. It wasn’t as if she didn’t believe them—more like she was too afraid to take the risk. Sam ached for her, scrabbling around in his head for something, anything, he could say that would convince her.

  Dex saved the day yet again. He slid off the other bed and dropped to his knees on the carpet between Sydney’s feet. As he crawled forward, gently pushing her thighs outward so that her body cradled his, he wrapped his arm around Sydney’s waist, overlapping Sam’s. Then he wrapped the other arm around Sam’s waist, making him suck in a sharp, surprised breath.

  Then, from his position on the floor in front of them, Dex looked up into Sydney’s eyes with a hard, determined stare.

  “I love you, Sydney.”

  Those simple words made Sam’s heart flip-flop between pride and desolation—until Dex turned and included him in that stare.

  “I’m pretty sure I love both of you. Fuck, that’s not true. I am sure. It’s just fact. And like Sam said, that’s not gonna change just because we found out something new about you. I tried to tell you that the first time, Syd. No secret of yours is going to change the way I feel. Not even this one.”

  Sam’s brain had sh
ort-circuited the moment Dex said those first eight words. I’m pretty sure I love both of you. Dex’s expression, the simplicity of his statement, even his body language said he meant it. Dex said he loves me. Fuck, he really said it. He just said…

  Sydney let out a tiny sigh, but it was enough to break Sam out of his stupor. She cupped the back of Dex’s neck, leaned forward, and pressed her forehead to his. At the same time, she wrapped a hand around Sam’s thigh, letting him know she included him in her embrace.

  “I did promise to tell you my secrets,” she said, voice rough with suppressed emotions. “I thought I’d have a little more time to build up my courage, but…I guess there’s never a good time to reveal…something like this.”

  She sat back a little, her hand slipped down to Dex’s shoulder, and looked back and forth between them. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, guys. There’s a reason I’ve kept my secrets…secret. What little I’ve told you is enough to get you killed.”

  “Why?” Sam asked.

  Sydney looked down at her lap, and Sam felt her fingers grow cold even through the fabric of his jeans. “Because there are those who believe humans weren’t meant to know such things. Those who prefer to keep the myths and legends alive. Those who believe they have every right to accept blind worship from creatures they’ve always believed to be inferior.” Her voice dropped to a bare whisper. “Those who see no issue with calling themselves gods.”

  Those who will kill to prevent the truth from coming out.

  Tension thrummed through the room. Sam chose his words carefully. “Earlier, you said…us.” She nodded, just the barest shake of her head. “So…the Seraphina are still out there, then. There are more who have…your kind of power.”

  She let out a bitter laugh. “I’m a half-breed. Tainted by human blood. No, Sam. There aren’t more people with my kind of power—there are people who are powerful enough to destroy the earth itself, should they wish it.”

  Deathly silence.

  Sydney’s shoulders rose with a deep intake of breath. She sat up straight, chin raised, and met their eyes in turn. “The world you know…isn’t really the world you know. All the things humans take for fictitious hyperbole—the religious stories, the myths, the legends—all those stories came from somewhere, and that ‘somewhere’ has a basis in hard fact. But no matter how many times humans are forced to see that reality, they still gravitate back toward their warped interpretations of the truth.”