Dage prowled after her. “I look forward to the discussion, love.” Tipping his head back to take a deep gulp of his ever-present grape energy drink, he glanced over his shoulder. “Conn, Talen wants to meet in the third-floor conference room in fifteen minutes. You, too, Jordan.” His footsteps echoed down the hallway.
Jordan nodded. Fierce brown eyes flicked toward the werewolf’s head. “He wanted Katie. He sensed Katie.” It had guaranteed the beast would lose his head.
Every once in a while Conn forgot about the killer lurking behind Jordan’s easy smile. “The werewolf put up a good fight.” Dage had reported it as an intelligent fight, different from a normal one.
“Yes.” Jordan glanced down, frowning at a long gash across his knuckles. He stretched his hand, opening and closing his fingers, allowing claws to emerge. “I haven’t apologized for what happened with Marcus. My people, my fault.”
“No.” Conn’s fangs emerged, pricking his lip to draw blood. “They caught me. My head wasn’t in the game ... for obvious reasons.” A snarl wanted loose and he shoved it down, taking control of the beast inside him for the moment. He was better than the decapitated monster sprawled on the table. He could think and plan.
“Women.” Jordan’s claws retracted, his mellow tone belied by the frozen fury on his face—powerful and animalistic, even in human form. “What are you going to do with yours?”
Conn wanted to respond with amusement. He searched, but the weight in his gut kept him somber. “I don’t know. She’s gifted ... and driven. Even with her powers, she’s not, well ...”
“One of us.” Jordan tucked his hands in his jeans pockets. “She may fight, she may even kill in battle. But the things we’ve done, even for the better good—”
“Yes.” Conn spoke softly, tearing his gaze from the remembered knowledge he saw in Jordan’s. “We were at war, we did what we had to do.” A mantra he’d repeated to himself on more than one dark night. “Do you ever ask yourself if the end justified the means?”
The people he’d killed, murdered really—Kurjans, shifters, enemy combatants—had needed to die for the war to end three hundred years ago. He’d killed coldly and without mercy, ensuring Dage could broker the treaty. Ensuring the people who wanted war to continue wouldn’t be at the table.
“No.” Jordan’s voice lowered to a tone hinting he lied to them both. “It’s too late for that question.” Most people didn’t realize the congenial leader of the feline nation had been as vicious and frequent an assassin as Conn in the last war.
“You’re right.” The chill in the room came from death, not air in the vents. The discussion held no place in this century. “What’s your plan with Katie?”
The lion’s snarl held frustration. “She’s so young.”
Conn barked out a laugh, lacking in humor. “Been there. I wouldn’t wait a century, my friend. It’s too long.” He glanced at the man he’d bonded with over battle tactics and duty so long ago. They weren’t brothers, but they were close. “She loves you.”
“She’s a child with a crush.” Lines of frustration cut into the lion’s face. “I had hoped to give her time, but now she’s vulnerable ... and we’re at war again.”
So that was it. “Our mates don’t need to see what we do, Jordan.” Conn hadn’t been ordered to kill again. Yet. When he went, Moira would stay home. “The burden stays on our shoulders, not theirs.”
“Perhaps.” Jordan stretched his neck. “Katie needs to remain here while Emma figures out a way to deal with the catalyst now in her blood.” His words thickened on the last. “I’d stay, but I have a nation to clean up. Marcus was only the beginning.”
Yeah. Jordan needed to get the felines under control. “The sooner your people are solid, the better. At least, before the Bane’s Council comes for our heads.” The Bane’s Council hunted and killed werewolves, and the vampires hadn’t exactly been forthcoming about the infected wolf shifter being hidden on Jordan’s ranch.
“I know. By now I thought we’d have found Maggie’s people, but no luck. Perhaps she was alone.” Jordan shrugged, pivoting for the door. “In my mind, she’s a wolf, not a werewolf.”
The Bane’s Council wouldn’t see it that way.
Silence descended as the lion took his leave. Conn inhaled, filling his lungs. Bleach and death commingled in a scent that crawled like spiders over his skin. The urge to fight, the urge to protect the life he wanted, swirled through his blood until his shoulders snapped straight. The monster on the gurney was the beginning, and he knew it. He also knew, without question, what Emma’s test would reveal. He sensed the truth.
This was no ordinary werewolf. Its legs hung off the metal edge, its muscle tone beyond that of a normal animal. Well over eight feet, even in death, power suffused the were. After Emma concluded her tests, he’d have to notify the Bane’s Council. Right or wrong, he wouldn’t report Maggie’s existence.
Conn stepped closer, peering down at the animal. “The only question I have is whether you were lion, wolf, or multi.” Wait. He had a second question. How in the hell had Katie sensed the beast?
His soldier’s mind whipped battle plans into place. If Katie had a gift, he’d use it. Even if he had to go through Jordan Pride.
War sucked.
Moira edged down the hallway toward a gathering room at the opposite end of the elevator. She desperately needed an Irish whiskey. Stomping around the corner, she stopped in her tracks at Katie huddled in a captain’s chair, her somber gaze on the flickering light of a television showing all static. The low buzz filled the room along with the smoky scent of despair.
Taking a breath, Moira flicked her wrist and the television shut off. Pivoting, she dropped into a deep leather chair the color of Brenna’s gray eyes. An oddity, since the rest of the sisters had green eyes. Bren’s eyes had created a family joke. Her father raised his eyebrows at any man in the vicinity with gray eyes, always sending her mother into peals of laughter. “Katie. Can I help?”
Katie jerked, her gaze swinging away from the blank screen. “Not unless you can cure the virus.” Red and swollen, the rims of her eyes made Moira blink in reaction.
“Ah, no. We’ve tried for the last eight months.” To alter a cure enough to bind to the necessary chromosomes was possible, but they needed a physical concoction first. “Emma found the right concoction of drugs to counteract the catalyst in a pregnant mate ... and I assume she’ll start looking for a way to attack the catalyst in your blood. If you’ll let her.”
“No. I made my decision.”
Yeah. Moira figured. “Well, then she’ll find a drug or drugs to fight the virus as a whole.” Someday, with hard work ... and luck.
Katie sighed. “When? I mean, look how long AIDS research has been going on for humans. They haven’t found a cure.”
Moira narrowed her focus, searching beyond the scattering brain waves cascading off Katie. Dark and discombobulated, the rhythm changed in speed and frequency. “Wow. You have a lot going on there.” All waves held set patterns ... which she then altered to seek a different result. She had no idea how to alter Katie’s.
“Checking out my screwed-up aura?”
“Kind of.” Moira leaned forward, frowning at the shades of brown and gray in the waves. “Want me to try and reorganize the waves?” Such an attempt may be a seriously bad idea—sometimes waves and particles exploded. “There’s a definite risk.”
Katie shrugged, her eyes dull. “Go for it. I don’t care.”
“All right.” Moira rested her hands on her knees, palms up. She reached past the layers of brown, pleased to find a sparkling green flickering. “So. Tell me about Jordan.” The green flared to life, then sputtered.
“He rescued me from a foster dad with a gun. Jim Bob. Moron.” Katie wiggled in her seat, sending the fragments spiraling. “I was four, and shifted by accident. Had no idea I was a feline shifter. Jim Bob chased me into the woods. Jordan intercepted him.”
Moira needed the green to return. The eme
rald tones seemed more in tune with Katie’s natural state. “So he saved you. Quite the hero.” There it was. She dug into the scattering, trying to thicken the pattern like the homemade quilt Darcy had made for her bed at the cottage.
“Yes. Turns out my parents had been part of his pride, but moved to the city and lost touch. They died in a car accident. I don’t remember them.” Sadness filtered through the words, while natural baby blue specks wound through Katie’s waves—a normal color for regret.
“So Jordan raised you?” Every time Moira used his name, Katie’s natural colors shone brighter, but the grays and browns continued to dominate.
“No. My mother is a member of his pride. She adopted me.” Love filled the air. Strong red and pinks joined the green. The browns remained static.
A low hum of pain centered between Moira’s ears. A warning. The air crackled. “Now isn’t the time.” She withdrew, sliding away from the subatomic particles to the surface of life. “I’m sorry. The competing forces going on within you need to battle it out ... then possibly we can alter the energy.”
Katie nodded, her somber expression remaining the same. “I figured. When the moon rose, the competition began ... almost as if my brain was being separated into two distinct shapes. The process doesn’t hurt, oddly enough.” She tucked her legs under her. “You know what I miss?” Soft, low, she spoke almost as if she were alone in the room.
“What?”
“The colors”—Katie glanced up, their gazes meeting—“when I shift. Everything brightens and sparkles ... and I can see the colors inside the colors. Like you do.”
“Yes.” Moira nodded, her heart aching. Losing that ability would cripple her. “I’m so sorry, Katie.” Though reaching out and fighting was the solution.
A deep breath lifted Katie’s chest. Her eyes cleared. “Yes, well. Outside when the beast howled, I felt him. I knew where he hid.” She shrugged, a dark smile revealing smooth teeth. “Such knowledge might come in handy.”
Moira sat back. The furious anticipation filling the lioness’s eyes sent a chill down her spine. “Maybe.” She stood. Emma was busy dealing with the werewolf, but Moira hoped Cara had a second to brainstorm. “We’re going to figure this out.” At Kate’s quiet nod, Moira turned and hustled from the room. Something told her time was running out for her new friend.
She wound through the underground abyss, coming to Cara’s quarters and knocking on the outside of the steel door, her knuckles protesting. A bomb couldn’t open the door. But a very pregnant, flushed woman could.
Surprise caught Moira’s breath. “Are you feeling all right?” She grasped Cara’s arms, turning her toward the sofa. The smell of gardenias comforted her, a row of them lined up on a shelf across the room. Brenna loved gardenias. When the hell was she going to get her sister to safety?
“I’m fine.” Cara rubbed her belly, waddling to sit down. “The baby is playing soccer inside me, that’s all.” She stretched her neck, drawing in air, smoothing hair away from her face. “Talen said they caught a were?”
“Yeah. Conn hurried off to get a look at the beast. Katie said she sensed him.”
Cara’s face pinched. “I wish she hadn’t injected herself with the catalyst.” Her eyes widened. “Hey, do you think you’re able to create a spell and slow the progression?”
Moira shrugged, settling into the leather cushions. The color exactly matched her sofa in Dublin and a pang of homesickness hit her. “I doubt it. With you, the spell combined with Emma’s concoction did the trick, and we can’t guarantee the same thing would work with Katie.” The hormones in Cara’s body from the pregnancy had to have played a serious part—maybe the only part that mattered. Moira schooled her face into a thoughtful gaze.
Cara rolled her eyes. “Please. Don’t ever play poker with Katie.” A sigh escaped her as she arched her back, frowning. “This kid has some power.” She frowned. “I know the hormones from gestating a vampire baby have protected me from the virus progressing too fast.”
“What happens when he’s born?” Moira didn’t want to ask, but obviously the Kayrs women were educated scientists. Certainly, they’d thought of asking.
“We don’t know.” Cara bit her lip. “The regimen of medication seems to help, but as with any new illness, all we have is trial and error.”
That’s all they had in life, as far as Moira was concerned. She glanced around the small quarters, smiling at the sheer amount of greenery. Multiple shades of green adorned thin leaves, fat leaves, even furry leaves. “Talen prepared the place with you in mind.”
Cara’s smile flashed a dimple, and she pointed to a gorgeous drawing of Janie hanging on the wall. “Yeah, and Dage sketches pictures of us for the walls—the king is seriously talented. You should see his pictures of Emma.”
Moira returned the grin. “I know. He’s sent me sketches of the family for years.”
A beep sounded on the laptop across the room. Cara pushed to her feet, wandering over and pressing a button. “What’s up, Chalton?”
A face appeared, male and vampire. Soldier. “I have a secured call for Moira and heard she’s with you.” Even as he spoke, the rapid typing of keys and buzzing of machines continued uninterrupted.
Moira stood, adrenaline shooting her to the computer. “I’m here.” Who’d be calling her? Nobody but the Nine knew where she was; she hadn’t even told Brenna.
Chalton disappeared and Kell took shape, his black eyes sparking with anger. “When did you last talk to Brenna?”
Moira’s knees buckled, and she fell into the office chair by the desk. The painting of an electric blue fantasy scene Bren had painted last year adorned the wall behind Kell. He was sitting in Brenna’s living room. “Why?” she whispered, leaning closer to his face so he could reassure her Brenna was fine.
Male voices echoed from behind him. “I came to pick her up. She’s not here.”
There was more. There had to be. “And?”
Kell exhaled, running a hand through his thick hair. “The place is trashed. There’s blood.”
The sound that escaped Moira may have been a plea. She barely registered Cara’s reassuring hand dropping to her shoulder. “How much blood?”
“Enough.” Movement flashed behind him. “When they tried to take you, remember the mess it created?”
“Yes.” Her mind spun back to the breaking glass, the papers flying all over—the sheer power coming from the abyss. “But no blood. I mean, I didn’t get cut or anything.” Glass could’ve injured Brenna before she was taken. If Kell was back in Ireland, all hell had broken loose. “Why are you home?”
His eyes hardened in an already hard face. “I came home last night to force the Nine into seclusion. Whether they like it or not.”
Moira nodded. The enforcers would do their job to protect the council regardless of repercussions. “Did you?”
“Yes.” A storm moved through Kell’s gray eyes. “My sense is someone was here. They came here to take Bren.” His jaw set in cold rage.
Moira frowned. “If it wasn’t whoever’s taking the Nine, who was it?” Could the Kurjans have taken Brenna? To what gain?
Most men would’ve shrugged. Kell remained still. “Demons, Kurjans, shifters? To force the Nine into compliance.” Not by a twitch did his facial expression change. “Vampires?”
Fire swept through Moira. “The Realm isn’t playing dirty, Kell.”
His lip curled. “The Realm always plays dirty, sweetheart. That’s why we align with them.” He glanced around her, studying. “Why do you think you’re with them?”
She frowned. “I know why I’m here.” She now held knowledge about the Realm’s research into the virus as well as the current location of their secret headquarters.
Kell nodded. “Exactly. Not for a second does anyone think the Realm will take out a Kayrs mate.”
In other words, she was safe. While the vampires may try to detain her, they’d never harm her. She could broadcast her location to the world easily. What a
chance Conn had taken in bringing her to his home. “I won’t betray Conn.”
Kell’s eyes flickered. “You’ll do what’s necessary to protect the Nine, Moira.”
She’d been warned. The day she’d joined as an enforcer, Kell had personally cautioned her about the possible sacrifices. Based on the look in his eyes, he remembered. He’d been growly her entire life. “You’re truly an asshole, cousin.”
His smile lacked any semblance of humor. “You’re not the first to say that.”
“Conn wouldn’t have taken Brenna.” Not without telling her, anyway.
“You sure about that?” Doubt filled Kell’s eyes.
Moira’s mind spun. Was she? Allowing Kell to keep her gaze, she centered herself. Life was about choices, and it was time she made one. She either trusted Conn or she didn’t.
“I’m sure.” Steel filled her voice, and gumption filled her spine. Her shoulders snapped back. “You either trust me or you don’t, Kell Gideon.”
His eyebrow lifted. The man hated his middle name. “Good enough.” He glanced down, and the slow pecking of two-finger typing filled the silence. “I’m searching for Simone and Trevan right now. They’re no longer in New York, but I think they’re still in the States. When I find them, you need to go get them.” He stopped typing. “Secure them at Realm headquarters, since you trust your mate so much.”
“No.” Not a word her cousin heard often—if ever. “I’m going to find Brenna.” Moira kept her voice steady, though inside she was screaming. The idea of Bren out there being tortured or even worse ...
“Really? How’re you going to do that, cousin?” Like always, Kell showed no emotion. Not even curiosity.
Anger mixed with unease in her stomach. “I don’t have a plan yet.” She was closer to Brenna than anyone else and needed to figure it out.
“A neighbor heard noise last night. She convinced herself it was the television because things quieted down quickly.” Kell glanced off to the right and gave a short nod. “So Brenna has probably been gone for about eight hours, possibly ten.”
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