Blood and Fire

by Dana Lyons

  Dreya’s pupils expanded, catching a flood of favorable and attractive micro responses in his face. Her heart answered in kind, slamming against her chest. Alarmed at her physical responses, she wiped sweaty palms on her pants.

  “Who do we have here, Scott?” Sinclair rose from behind a desk and extended his hand. His voice was deep and rugged, his grip firm as he shook hands all around. “You must be the investigators. I sure was glad to hear you’re coming. They like to call me sheriff, but I’m really a Medical Examiner.”

  “Dr. Sinclair, this is Special Agent Love, Detective Morgan, and Agent Kingston.”

  “Doctor, can we see the bodies?” Dreya asked. She turned her gaze to the refrigerators to avoid looking at Sinclair. Her reaction to him rattled her.

  Damn Nobility, showing me things not meant to be seen.

  She needed to get a handle on controlling this new body; the Nobility time bombs daily knocked her off kilter. A quick glance at Rhys and Quinn, and she breathed a short sigh of relief, seeing no detection of her distress from either one.

  “Got the bodies all ready,” Sinclair said. He stepped to the refrigerator case and slid out a drawer. “This is Annie Cooper, age twenty-eight.” He zipped open a bag. “She was found in the genetics lab, apparently having stumbled and smacked her head into the wall, sustaining a fatal cerebral hematoma.”

  Dreya focused on the victim and examined the head wound. She nodded to Rhys. He, too examined the wound.

  “I have her autopsy report when you’re ready,” Sinclair said. He closed the drawer and opened the next one. “This is Sean Murphy, twenty-three, a farm worker. He’d only been on station a few weeks.” He unzipped the bag.

  She had seen her share of dead bodies, but this one was over the top. The entire throat including the esophagus, trachea, and larynx was missing, leaving a gaping hole that exposed the cervical spine in the back of the neck. The surrounding tissue was shredded; the victim’s extremely pale face frozen in surprised horror.

  “There was no other damage to the body, however not all bodily fluids were accounted for,” Sinclair said.

  She closed her eyes, dreading the answer. Still, she had to ask. “What fluids are we talking about—blood?” She remembered Williams’ warning that no bloody movies were allowed, and held her breath until the doctor answered.

  “Blood. About one liter was accounted for in the spatter.”

  “Out of a possible five,” she added.

  “What do you think happened to the other four-plus liters of blood?” Rhys asked.

  The question was followed by a pulsing silence. She exchanged glances with Rhys and Quinn. An emotional dome of pressure was building—fear and confusion from Quinn, anger from Rhys. She had to calm the emotional arena.

  We are not made like this. Remember what Smith said.

  An instant of ease flowed between them. She licked her lips to buy time, afraid of what she might slip and say out loud as she carried on two conversations, one internal, one external. The telepathy, she was learning, activated not only when they were in animal form, but also when human in moments of high emotion.

  This is not our future.

  She glanced at Sinclair. His arms were crossed and he stared intently at her. And at Rhys. And Quinn.

  “Well,” Williams said, breaking the moment and apparently not interested in unaccounted for blood. “I’m going to leave you to your investigation. The station is well marked with color coded diagrams. Remember to take an escort if you go down to Level 5.” He passed them each a plastic card. “If you need anything, I’m a voice activated call away. Questions?”

  Dreya wanted him to go away so she could ask the real questions. “No, I think we’re good. Thank you.” She blinked and willed him to turn and walk off.

  Stop that, she reprimanded herself. Just trying it out, she defended.

  “Enjoy your stay,” Williams said brightly. He paused as his gaze dropped to the body on the table and his bright grin faded. He collected himself momentarily until his cheer returned. “If you need anything, do call.”

  After he left, a speculative silence returned to the room. The four of them stood around the table gazing at the victim. “Was any DNA recovered on the body?”

  “I swabbed the wound tracks,” Sinclair answered. “Still waiting for the test results. Considering the strength required to remove the entire throat area all the way to the bone like this, I think we can rule out all the women on station. And most of the men.”

  That left dragons. The obvious question was waiting to be heard. She exhaled softly, trying to slow her heart. “Since several liters of blood are missing, is there anything in dragon behavior to account for such a blood lust?”

  He gave a half smile, making her wonder what he was withholding.

  “For questions about dragons, you’ll have to speak with Lazar. I’ll take you over.” He zipped up the bag and closed the drawer. On the way to the genetics lab, she asked, “Did you say they call you sheriff?”

  He snorted. “Yeah. The station is self-contained and everyone is screened for contagious illness before shipping in, so basically, no one ever catches a cold or gets sick. There are a few accidental injuries, broken arms, stitches, a burn, but those are rare enough. Sometimes I deliver a baby.” He shrugged. “So, they figured I had time to be sheriff, too.”

  Quinn said, “Seems to me the contractual letter of the law would be quite the deterrent to unlawful activity.”

  “Oh, don’t believe it. There’s plenty of unlawful activity, but unless said unlawful activity interrupts profit sharing, that activity goes unnoticed. Some would kill to stay on station, others would kill to leave. Until now, no one has actually committed murder. Here’s the lab, I’ll introduce you to Lazar. Don’t expect him to tell you everything he knows.”

  “A real corporate man?” Rhys asked.

  “It’s called profit sharing fever.”

  With their chatter as background, Dreya braced herself for meeting Lazar. Should she consider him her maker? He was genius, that was established. Was he a madman as well?

  They were led into a warren of glass walled cubicles, offices and workstations. Sinclair stopped at an office and rapped on the wall. “Hey Doc, got some people for you to meet.”

  The man who looked up at them surprised Dreya, for he was unexpectedly young and boyish. Black hair, blue eyes, handsome and surprisingly well built for a lab rat. She frowned and cocked her head.

  He’s young. Not what I expected.

  She squinted to examine him with her freaky eyes, wanting to delve beyond his face, to see into his mind.

  Sinclair said, “Doc, these are the investigators—”

  Lazar was quick to respond. “Welcome,” he said, standing.

  “This is Special Agent Love, Detective Morgan, and Agent Kingston.”

  She shook Lazar’s hand first, noting the firm grip and callous-free fingers. But when she would have let him go, he held on, staring intently at her face. Her pupils reacted and she was flooded with a thousand micro messages. Abruptly, he released her hand.

  Oh, my God, he knows.

  She blinked to calm herself and sent the warning.

  Careful!

  But she was too late. Lazar already turned his inspection to Rhys and Quinn. He shook their hands from across the desk. He peered intently at their faces, cocked his head … and smiled.

  He came out from behind his desk and sat on the front edge. “How can I help you, Agents, Detective?” His arms were crossed, his facial expression open and … quite pleased. His posture radiated confidence and satisfaction.

  He’s proud!

  She looked at her feet to give her heart a chance to slow down, for every fiber in her body wanted to assault him. She cleared her throat and remembered the dead victims. “We have questions about the murder of Sean Murphy, and the distinct possibility this act was committed by a dragon, one of your Draco Demons.”

  With his lips pursed in a half smile, he took his t
ime responding. “This ‘distinct possibility’ as you put it is based on what?”

  “Blood, or rather the lack of blood at the crime scene,” Rhys said. “Do you have any reason to expect a dragon to desire human blood?”

  “My recommendations are well documented, as are my warnings about overextending dragon time on the surface. There are boundaries one must respect in trade for expediency. Disrespect those boundaries, and there are consequences.” He pointed to a box. “My laboratory documentation. Help yourself.”

  Dreya’s brows shot up. “Can you condense it for us?”

  His focus rested on her face, making her wish she hadn’t attracted his attention. She forced herself not to squirm.

  “If you follow my documentation, you’ll understand what I did.”

  His tone was personal; he wanted them to know his motivations. She felt like he was reading her mind. In her peripheral vision, she saw Rhys watching her. He spoke, drawing Lazar’s attention.

  “We need to know one thing. Is there any reason a dragon might develop such a blood thirst? A simple enough question, I think, for the creator of the dragon.”

  The gauntlet was thrown. Lazar flicked an eyebrow.

  She held her breath. A silence bristled. Rhys and Lazar were locked on each other.

  “Yes,” Lazar said suddenly. “There is a reason to consider the dragons as suspects. Now you have eight hundred.”

  “And the cause for this development in the dragons?” Quinn asked. His question was deliberate and pointed. He took the brunt of Lazar’s inspection and returned as much with the cold eyes of a wolf.

  Lazar smiled. His posture shifted from scientist to parent, his voice soft. “You don’t have to worry.”

  A chill went down Dreya’s spine.

  He’s talking to us. He understands our fear.

  “You’re sure?” she asked softly.

  “Yes.”

  She dared not look at Sinclair, keeping her eyes on Lazar. The undercurrent swirled around them like a storm.

  Sinclair suddenly cleared his throat. “If there’s anything I can help with, I’ll be at the End of the Line.” He backed out of the office and quickly walked off.

  Dreya had so many questions she was afraid to start. Quinn looked ready to jump Lazar, and Rhys was going to lose the battle to keep his mouth shut. She asked, “Can we go somewhere private?”

  He led them out of the labs and down a carpeted hall to an office with Chief of Staff on the door. He held the door for them, and as she passed, she saw the busy expression on his face—he had questions of his own. She and Rhys took a seat while Quinn stood behind them. Roiling emotions bombarded her from both of them.

  Calm down.

  Lazar sat behind his desk and propped his chin in one hand. Rhys perched on the edge of his chair, waiting. Quinn kept his arms crossed, his pretty eyes filled with challenge.

  “How?” Lazar asked.

  “Gideon Smith,” she said.

  “That fool, Smith—” Lazar shook his head.

  “He’s dead. Why aren’t we?” Rhys demanded.

  “Good question. The sample he stole was corrupt.” Lazar shot forward in his seat. “How many died out of how many doses?”

  Dreya wondered what his thoughts were. “Eight dead out of eleven.”

  “Only three survived out of eleven, that is statistically correct.” He raked his gaze over them. “You are certain there were no other ‘survivors’?”

  Her freaky eyes could see the wheels working in his brilliant head.

  “Three survivors,” Lazar repeated. “It would seem the sample either made you better, or made you dead. Interesting. But you don’t have to worry.”

  “About?” Quinn demanded.

  “About developing a dragon’s blood thirst. You … will evolve into the best human you could possibly be.”

  “Nobility—”

  “Is an evolutionary ignition switch,” Lazar said. “The process Nobility started is ongoing.” He sat back in his chair, smiling and parental again. “You will note the expression of animal DNA rising through a lessening of negative human motives such as greed, jealousy, envy … even gluttony will dissipate. More noble animal and human attributes will take their place. You have already felt the pack instinct—separation is unbearable, am I right?”

  Lazar was forthcoming, more so than she expected. Trouble was, she didn’t like the answers he gave. She sat back and rubbed her face.

  Something ongoing is happening in my body, and I’m not in control.

  Not being in control of a situation was terrifying. Not being in control of her body set her on fire. She moaned and covered her eyes. Quinn place a hand on her shoulder. Rhys squeezed her leg.

  “There!” Lazar exclaimed. “There is animal behavior. They came to your aid instantly. Have you mated, yet?”

  She choked. “What?”

  Rhys’ expression expanded with shock. Quinn crossed his arms and stepped back.

  “Once you mate, the telepathic bond is cemented. Unlike non-Noble humans, you bond in a pack, needing each other, without jealousy and infighting. You,” he said to her, “are the alpha female around which the pack revolves.”

  Her mouth went dry and a hum of busy thought filled her brain. She had tried to ignore her yearnings, but the compelling—no instinctual drive to mate with Quinn and Rhys had been eating at her. She needed them, wanted them both. Not at the same time … and not once. But forever. She’d never had such a disturbing inclination.

  “You must mate individually. Once you do, your connection as a pack will be hard-wired. For life.” He smiled benevolently, proud to have given them this gift.

  Afraid of what she would do to him, Dreya had to look away. At first, her body changing and out of control intensely angered her. Now her professional and personal life was out of control. Even her eyes were … illegal.

  I’ll never be what I was. But, I will … what did he say? I will evolve into the best human I could possibly be?

  She went quiet, unable to deny thinking he was right. She also couldn’t get over her repugnance at being a guinea pig. Perversely tied to this convoluted loop was the fact she was changed for the better.

  However difficult it was to give up the familiar past, the compelling benefits of her new future were increasingly attractive. At least now she understood her desire to bed and keep both Rhys and Quinn.

  The room grew quiet as the mating bombshell rearranged the landscape. Quinn was restless behind her, his thoughts pummeling her mind. He asked, “We’re not like dragons? We don’t have to worry about developing blood lust? Make me understand why that won’t happen.”

  “You are in no danger of this behavior. The dragons have foreign DNA inserted in their sequence. You have activated DNA from your own sequence. Therein lies the critical difference.”

  Rhys said, “So our killer is one of your Draco Demons.”

  Lazar sighed and shook his head with disgust. “I warned the corporate idiots this would happen.”

  Dreya remembered the crime scene photos. “Couldn’t you have warned them more emphatically?”

  “Oh, I did. But they chose to ignore my warnings. Profit sharing fever is a consumptive condition. Perhaps now, they believe me.”

  4

  After talking with Lazar, Dreya needed alcohol. They found Simon sitting at the bar at the End of the Line and piled into seats surrounding him.

  “I need tequila,” she said.

  “Yep. Same for me,” Rhys ordered.

  “Don’t leave me out,” Quinn added. “Hey, Doc.”

  Sinclair gave them an understanding nod. “That good, eh?”

  Dreya waited to answer as the bartender came to collect their orders. “Tequila, and what kind of name is this, End of the Line?”

  “Sounds like bad news to me,” Rhys grumbled.

  The bartender slapped down napkins in front of them. “Everyone on station is in line.”

  “In line for what,” Rhys asked.


  “In line to get off station. For some the end of the line is a dream. For others it’s a nightmare.”

  Quinn asked, “What happens at the front of the line.”

  “When you get to the front of the line, I make you a special drink and we toast your ass leaving Draco.”

  He left and returned with their drinks. Dreya tossed back her shot and waited till the bartender was out of hearing distance. “We have eight hundred suspects.”

  Rhys added, “Lazar admitted the possibility of dragon blood thirst, as he called it. Blames it on the overtime.”

  “He’s right,” Sinclair agreed. “Those dragons are sensitive creatures. In bed and out. Pantheon’s stupid for pushing the manufacturer recommendations.”

  Dreya motioned the bartender for another drink. Her physical reaction to Simon earlier intrigued her enough to ask, “So, Simon … may I call you Simon?”

  “Please do,” he answered.

  “What brings you to this misfit outpost?” With a quick glance, she instantly regretted her words.

  His face lost its amicable candor and he turned his gaze straight ahead to the mirror behind the bar. “Long story.”

  Quinn raised his hand for another shot. “How can we reduce our suspect pool?”

  “I have the time of death,” Simon answered. “We can use the GPS from the watches and reduce the list to those on Level 3 inside our kill window.”

  “Excellent detective work,” Quinn declared. “You make a decent sheriff after all.”

  “All the bio data from the watches downloads into a computer in my lab. I can collect it for you.”

  “I’d like to get started,” Quinn said. “How about now?” He glanced at Rhys and Dreya. “You guys in?”

  “I’m toast,” she said. “My body doesn’t know what time it is.” She checked her watch. “No wonder. It’s midnight. Somewhere.”

  “Count me out,” Rhys added. “I don’t think all of me came out of that wormhole.”

  Quinn waved them on. “I must still be on London time; I’m gonna check out the data with the Doc. I’ll see you two back at the room later.” He and Simon left the bar.

  Dreya was suddenly self-conscious. She and Rhys were alone together for the first time since the transformation. The echo of Lazar’s words about mating throbbed in the space between them. The ambience, the seductive nature of Draco fanned desire and silenced inhibition. “I—” The words were stuck.