Blood and Metal

by Nina Croft

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Discover the Dark Desires series… Break Out

  Deadly Pursuit

  Death Defying

  Temporal Shift

  Flying Through Fire

  Bittersweet Blood

  Bittersweet Magic

  Bittersweet Darkness

  His Fantasy Girl

  Her Fantasy Husband

  Losing Control

  Out of Control

  Taking Control

  Operation Saving Daniel

  Betting on Julia

  The Descartes Legacy

  The Spaniard’s Kiss

  Discover more Entangled Select Otherworld titles… Quantum

  Blue Moon

  The Hunt

  Children of the Veil

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2015 by Nina Croft. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

  Entangled Publishing, LLC

  2614 South Timberline Road

  Suite 109

  Fort Collins, CO 80525

  Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

  Select Otherworld is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.

  Edited by Candace Havens

  Cover design by L.J. Anderson

  Cover art from Shutterstock

  ISBN 978-1-62266-122-0

  Manufactured in the United States of America

  First Edition August 2015

  For Rob—who I’m sure would donate his last drop of blood should I need it…

  Prologue

  “She’ll burn in Hell’s fires for this.”

  His father’s words seared into his mind. Fergal swallowed a sob as his gaze fixed on the lifeless body of his mother. She looked almost at peace—if he ignored the blood pooled on the floor and the cuts like bracelets around her wrists.

  He sniffed, digging his nails into his palms, until the pain dried his tears.

  Since the last time they’d been brought back, she’d turned in on herself, shutting him out. He hardly saw her and never alone—his father made sure of that, using them against each other as hostages to ensure their good behavior.

  That’s why she’d done this. She’d known they would never get another chance to run. At least not together, and neither would leave the other behind. But wasn’t that exactly what she had done in the end? Left him behind with his madman of a father?

  Without her, he might find a way to escape, and a boy alone would have a far greater ability to stay hidden. She’d given him a chance at freedom. But he was only eight, and he didn’t want his freedom. He wanted his mother.

  “Have you nothing to say, boy?”

  He shook his head. What was the point? His father never listened.

  “For now, you will pay her penance.” He snapped the strap at his side, and Fergal held himself very still so as not to wince. “Or would you rather burn in Hell’s fires when you die?”

  “No, sir.”

  A shiver ran through him. He didn’t want to believe in Heaven or Hell or a god who would make a monster such as his father, but he’d had this beaten into him all his life. He resisted the urge to rub his arm where the old burn scar still itched. When he was six, his father had decided he needed an example of just how much the fires of Hell would hurt. It was something Fergal never forgot. That was when his mother had first tried to take him away. And failed.

  “Well, boy? And how will you prevent it?”

  He stared into his father’s cold gray eyes, and heat surged inside him until his face burned as though already bathed in Hell’s fires. He knew the expected reply; he’d be a good boy, follow the Church, obey his father.

  He gritted his teeth. He had a much better answer.

  “I’ll make sure I never die, sir.”

  Chapter One

  Someone prodded Fergal in the side. He didn’t budge. No one had said anything for the last five years that was worth listening to, and he wasn’t expecting that to change any time soon. The truth was, however gilded his cage, he was a prisoner and had been for a long time. His only trips out of this room were when they performed another set of intrusive and often painful tests on him. And he wasn’t interested.

  He should have left when he had the chance. Not that he’d ever had much of a chance. When he could have left, it would have been a death sentence without the anti-rejection drugs he’d been given on a daily basis. Once that had no longer been an issue, things had changed, and walking out was no longer an option.

  Whoever it was nudged him again. “Wake up, Fergal.”

  That got his attention. No one called him Fergal anymore. Well, no one except Stefan. He rolled onto his back and blinked into the harsh light.

  “Where the fuck have you been?” he snapped, sitting up and running a hand through his shoulder-length hair, rubbing his scalp. There was a dull ache in his head, but he was used to that now. It had been getting worse since they’d given him the final stage treatment two months ago. That had been the last time he’d seen Stefan.

  Stefan was the head scientist at Cybercom, and this whole project was his baby. He was also the closest thing Fergal had to a buddy in this place—he’d never made friends easily, but they’d clicked.

  “I’m being watched,” Stefan said. “I didn’t want to bring attention to you.”

  Fergal gave him a sharp look. His brain felt blurred, now he forced himself to concentrate, sensing Stefan had something important to say. “Who’s watching you?”

  Stefan didn’t answer the question. Instead, he asked one of his own. “Do you know what’s been happening outside?”

  “Yeah, of course I do. Not.”

  They told them nothing. It was enough to drive a nosy bastard like him insane. In the beginning, it had been okay—they’d had access to the comm streams, and he’d been able to keep up with what was happening on the outside. Back then he’d presumed his stay here was only temporary, that once he no longer needed the drugs they would let him out into the world. They’d monitor his progress, but he’d be free to come and go.

  Then everything changed.

  The last news he’d heard officially had been over twenty years ago. Callum Meridian, the leader of the known universe, was missing, the Collective was in disarray, and the Church was attempting a takeover. After that, everything had gone dark, their access to the comms cut off overnight. At first, Stefan had fed him what information he could. Although he’d refused to discuss company business, he’d kept Fergal up-to-date on what was going on. But for the last five years—nothing.

  The only positive in this whole damn thing was that the
treatment was obviously working. As far as Fergal could tell, he hadn’t aged a day since he had walked into Cybercom all those years ago.

  “When the Church came into power, the company tried to stay under the radar,” Stefan said. “That was when we had the shutdown. It was considered too risky for any of the volunteers to be out there.”

  “So you locked us up. Like prisoners.”

  “You signed the agreement.”

  Yeah, he had. But back then, he would have signed anything to get into the program. “So what’s changed?” He presumed something had precipitated this visit.

  “Five years ago, the Church found out about our existence. At that time, they were still busy wiping out the Collective and the Rebel Coalition, but now they’ve turned their attention to us. I have every belief that within the next few days they will be taking control of Cybercom.”

  That wasn’t good news. The Church of Everlasting Life claimed that all genetically modified beings, or GMs as they were known, along with all Collective members—the old ruling class—were abominations against God. He doubted that the products of Cybercom, including himself, would fare any better in the classification. But he still had no clue what Stefan wanted of him. “Come on, spit it out. Why are you here now?”

  “I have an…offer I would like to make you.”

  “What sort of offer?”

  He pursed his lips. “Let me ask you something first. How are you feeling?”

  “Like shit.”

  A small smile flickered across his face. “Elucidate.”

  Fergal considered ignoring him—after all, that’s what Stefan had been doing to him for the last five years. But his gut instinct was telling him something big was going down. It had been years since his gut had anything interesting to say, but he’d always relied on it in the past—it had led him to many a big story.

  “My head aches. It started when you guys forced that last treatment on me, and it’s been getting worse since.”

  “Like something is trying to take over your mind, perhaps?”

  Fergal gave him another sharp glance. He didn’t like the sound of that one damn bit. His body, okay, he could accept the changes. But his mind? He was happy with that the way it was. “Look, are you going to tell me what the fuck is going on?”

  “Perhaps it would be better for me to show you.”

  “You’ll let me out of here? What makes you think I won’t make a run for it?”

  “Because we’re friends—I hope. And because you’re curious. You were a reporter, you can’t help yourself.”

  Fergal’s eyes narrowed. So Stefan knew exactly who he was. That was surprising. He’d signed into this place with a false name and background. “How long have you known?”

  “Since you made your initial application.”

  “And you still let me in.”

  “It was unimportant, and in every other way you were a perfect applicant. Besides, even back then I thought a reporter might come in handy one day.”

  Now he was definitely intrigued. It appeared Stefan had singled him out for a reason, and not because of his sunny personality. He pushed himself off the bed, pulled on a T-shirt over his black drawstring trousers, and he was ready to go. “Lead the way.”

  “Follow me,” Stefan said.

  Truth was he’d do anything to get away from this room.

  Outside was a wide corridor, brightly lit with doors on both sides every few feet. The doors all had little glass windows, like his, but when he peered inside one, the room was empty.

  He hurried to catch up. “So Stefan, what’s really going on?”

  Stefan gave him a sideways glance as he halted in front of a set of double doors. “No one but the board has seen what I’m about to show you.”

  “I’m honored,” Fergal said. “But get the fuck on with it.”

  That slight smile came again, but Stefan stepped forward and put his face to the retinal scanner. A second later, the doors slid open onto a huge room full of people. Except no one was moving. They all stood in ranks, row upon row. There must have been five hundred. Fergal peered closer and recognized one of his fellow volunteers. A frown formed between his eyes. “Are they drugged?”

  “No. This is a result of the final phase of treatment.”

  “The final phase that I was given two months ago?”

  “Yes. You’ve resisted longer than most. Only a handful of you are still functioning.”

  Fergal rubbed his head, where the dull ache had suddenly become a sharp stabbing pain. “So what’s wrong with them?”

  “The cybernetics have taken over their brains. In effect, they’re mindless drones. We can input information via an external feed and they react, but they’re unable to think for themselves.”

  “And that’s what’s happening to me?”

  “Yes. I warned the board this might occur. I was still working on the auto-feedback suppressant. But they insisted we go ahead. I think there were outside forces at work, but I wasn’t in the loop.”

  “Shit.” Panic clawed at his guts. Being a mindless drone was not part of his plans. He breathed slowly, forcing himself to calm down. There was a reason he was here. Stefan wanted something from him. “So what are you doing about it?”

  “Come with me and I’ll explain.”

  Stefan led him through the ranks of men and women, and none of them even twitched as he passed. He recognized many of them. It was only in the last few years that the volunteers had been isolated. Before that, they’d been allowed to mix. He wouldn’t say any of them were friends, but he did know them, and seeing them like this sent a ripple of primordial fear through him. To be mindless…

  On the other side of the room, a smaller door took them into a laboratory. Stefan gestured to a chair, and Fergal sank down into it, trying to be patient. Stefan cleared his throat and began talking. “As I said, I’ve been working on an auto-feedback suppressant, which should result in the brain being able to override the cybernetics rather than the other way around.”

  “Sounds good. So why are there a whole load of mindless people in there?”

  “The suppressant isn’t ready yet. It still needs to be tested. And then it will take six months to complete in situ.” And by that time Fergal would no doubt be one more mindless drone. “After that,” Stefan continued, “it can be applied to the rest, and I’m hoping it will kick them back into…life.”

  “Hoping? You don’t know?”

  “No, I don’t know.” For the first time Stefan sounded angry. He took a deep breath, and Fergal could see him pulling himself together. “I’d normally have spent years testing this in vitro before the final phase was ever given, but it was taken out of my hands.”

  “Why are you telling me this now?”

  “Because I’ve run out of time.”

  “And what do you want of me?”

  “You’ll help?”

  “I don’t have a lot of fucking choice, do I? Just promise me that if I turn into one of those…things, you’ll finish me off.”

  Stefan nodded.

  Shit, he didn’t want to die. While he had lost any belief in Heaven and Hell long ago, he still wanted to stand in front of his bastard of a father and say, Look, I won. Your fucking devil is not going to get his hands on me. “Tell me what you need.”

  “I expect this place to be taken over any day now. I want to input the suppressant into your system and get you out of here. It will either work or it won’t. Then you have to stay out of trouble for six months.”

  “And after that?”

  “You come and find me.”

  Some of his fear receded, replaced by a slow burn of excitement. He was getting out. “How will you get me away from here?”

  “You’re going to die. It won’t be unexpected—a lot of people have died recently. The stronger the mind, the more it fights. Some have literally imploded rather than give in. After your death, your body will be disposed of, and I’ve arranged for someone to pick you up.”

 
; Sounded like Stefan had it all worked out. But once Fergal was away from here, he’d decide what happened in six months. Maybe he’d come looking for Stefan. Or maybe he wouldn’t. “Let’s do it.”

  Stefan nodded. “Good.”

  Fergal perched on the edge of a seat and watched as the doctor stuck a needle in his left arm and wired him up to a console and monitor. After pulling a pink vial from his pocket, he inserted it into the injector mechanism. Fergal held his breath as the liquid entered his veins. Icy cold flooded his system, shooting along his nerves, up his spine, into his brain. The dull ache shifted, and he had a moment of perfect clarity.

  “What?” Stefan asked.

  Fergal grinned. “My headache just vanished.”

  “Now one last thing.” He took Fergal’s wrist, stretched out his arm, and inserted a second needle into the blue vein. This time he felt nothing. “Time to get you back to your cell.”

  Fergal followed him back out through the room with the drones. He hadn’t realized how dulled his brain had been. Now it was crystal clear, racing ahead. He had a chance. If this worked, he could still succeed, could still beat death. His pulse raced, excitement thrumming through him as Stefan opened the door to his room and gestured to him to enter.

  “When will this happen?” he asked.

  “Now.”

  As soon as Stefan said the word, Fergal’s legs shuddered, and his knees gave out. He collapsed onto the bed behind him. “Shit.”

  Presumably, this was him dying. But there was one thing he was curious about. “So how do you know you can trust me?” he asked. “How do you know I won’t disappear into the sunset and you’ll never see me again?”

  “I don’t, but let’s just say I’ve given myself a little insurance.”

  Fergal’s eyes narrowed on Stefan as a tremor ran through the muscles of his arms. His brain might be clear, but his head was a weight on his shoulders. He needed to lie down. “You have?”

  “That second injection was a poison I developed.”

  Fergal tried to stand up, but his legs wouldn’t cooperate. “You’ve fucking poisoned me? I thought we were friends.”

  Stefan ignored the outburst and continued, “There’s no cure, but there is an antidote. Which you will need to take every day. Listen to me, Fergal.” He hunkered down in front of him, holding out a bottle of pills. “There’s six months’ supply. Keep them with you at all times. And take one every day, or you will die.”