“Great,” Brock projected.
Dexter leapt over a troll and hit the ground in a roll. Brock felt him calculating his inertia against his heightened strength and speed. At the end of the roll, Dexter launched off the ground, practically flying at the mass of trolls surrounding their prey. They had her on the ground and were hunched over her, punching and kicking. The woman’s screams had subsided to low sobs.
“Be careful you don’t hurt her,” Brock thought to Dexter.
“We have done this before,” Dexter replied.
Brock couldn’t keep himself from worrying. The writhing mass of dwellers would make it difficult for Dexter to see where his swords were landing.
A few feet from the group, Dexter skidded to a stop. He shouted, “Hey”, using his voice instead of his mind.
The sound startled Brock. Dexter was one of the least chatty of the replicants. What was he doing?
Brock pushed closer to Dexter’s awareness, feeling the strength in Dexter’s limbs as he held both swords ready at his sides. Half a dozen of the trolls turned, sniffing the air. They stepped away from the woman, collapsing their torsos into short, squat forms rather than the long, thin creatures they’d originally appeared to be.
Dexter launched himself at them. He’d decapitated four before the others even realized what was going on. The other two who had noticed Dexter sprang at him, their bodies distending like macabre accordions.
Dexter shifted his weight to the right, then stabbed up with the sword in his left hand, skewering the troll on that side. He pivoted, pulling the weapon free and using his other blade to slash the throat of the last attacking troll in a move that was as graceful as it was brutal.
The dead dwellers started to glow with a soft blue light. It consumed them, like flame devouring paper. Even without eyes, the other trolls seemed to register it.
They all turned, leaving the woman they’d been beating curled in a ball on the ground. As one, they charged at Dexter.
Looking through Dexter’s eyes nearly made Brock seasick. Turns, twirls, leaps, like a violent form of ballet.
It hadn’t been too many years ago when Brock could perform those maneuvers himself. He remembered the rush of drawing on all of his replicants at once during battle—before they’d decided it was too dangerous for him to be in the field.
Within seconds, Dexter had killed or incapacitated every single troll. He looked around at the still forms lying on the ground, taking note of which ones weren’t disintegrating yet and finishing them off.
Brock felt a snap in his mind as Bradley’s consciousness disconnected. It took him a moment to adjust to Dexter’s senses being muted—or at least seeming so. This was actually closer to his usual levels of perception. Brock felt Porter begin moving about his lab, working on his latest research project.
“Dexter,” Brock prompted.
“Yes?”
“The woman.”
“She’s fine.”
“Check on her, please.” Brock sent the thought with a little force behind it.
Dexter headed toward her. She was huddled in a ball, arms held defensively in the air. The denim jacket she wore looked ancient and barely fit her. There were stains and tears all over it. Most looked older than this encounter.
She was compact and stick-thin. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun. Brock caught glimpses of a shining metal collar around her neck.
“Please don’t kill me,” she said, her voice low and raspy.
Dexter cocked his head to the side, saying nothing. He stepped warily around the woman, studying her as if she was a threat.
“Dexter, you need to reassure her,” Brock thought. “She was just attacked.”
“Something isn’t right.”
The only thing Brock could see that was wrong was how Dexter was treating this woman. It was inhumane not to comfort her.
Sometimes, he had to remind his replicants of how to at least pretend to be human.
“Talk to her,” Brock projected.
“Who are you?” Dexter spoke in a harsh, commanding voice.
If Brock had been fully occupying a body at that moment, he would have covered his face with his hands. He didn’t bother trying to hide the frustration flooding through him.
“Meg,” the woman said. “I’m Meg. I won’t try to hurt you, I promise. Please don’t kill me.”
Brock’s frustration turned to confusion.
“Why is she promising not to hurt you?” Brock sent.
Brock ignored the ripple of smugness that flowed from Dexter as he pointed the tip of one sword at the woman and stepped back, giving himself more room to react.
There was a reason that DP was the only replicant set that had never experienced a death. He was the most paranoid.
“Stand,” Dexter said.
Meg rose on shaking legs. Her eyes were clenched shut and her hands clasped in front of her as she was begging for her life.
“Please don’t kill me,” she said. “I’ve never hurt anyone. I swear it.”
“She’s a dweller,” Brock sent.
“Why were the trolls attacking her then?”
Different types of dwellers seldom interacted with each other at all. The trolls had given this woman a beating. There were bruises marring her face. Blood trickled from her nose and her lip was split.
Except, as Brock observed through Dexter’s eyes, the cut sealed itself. Her bruises faded and her skin absorbed the blood.
“Open your eyes,” Dexter said. His voice wasn’t as dispassionate as usual. He was agitated. That wasn’t good.
“She said she won’t hurt us,” Brock sent. “The trolls might have been attacking her because she doesn’t prey on humans. We’ve seen it happen before.”
Meg let out a whimper. “I won’t hurt you. Please…”
“Open them.”
“Dexter, give her a—”
Brock’s thought cut off as she opened her eyes. Light spilled out of them. They were gleaming bright gold.
Dexter raised his left sword—the one infused with silver—his arm aligned to slash her throat.
“Stop!” Brock pushed the command through their link, holding Dexter in place.
“She’s a werewolf,” Dexter thought. “There must be others. We need to kill her quickly and find them before they find us.”
“I’m the omega.” Meg practically screeched the words. Her hands were shaking. “I’ve never killed anyone. I’ve never even transformed. I thought the Blades only killed monsters who are a threat to humans.”
“Monsters?” Brock thought.
“You’re a werewolf,” Dexter said. “All werewolves are threats.”
Damn, Brock should have made Dexter keep his mouth shut, too.
“What about Marcus?” she said. “He’s a werewolf and a Blade. He protects people.”
Dexter’s voice remained cold. “We’re not recruiting.”
Meg shook her head, her brow furrowed. “I don’t want to be a Blade. I’m not a fighter.”
“Then what do you want?” Dexter said.
“I want to be with Marcus.”
That ship had sailed. Marcus was mated to Tessa, Brock’s foster-sister. Their bond was the only thing keeping Tessa sane after Marcus had been forced to turn her to save her life.
“And Tessa,” Meg said.
Brock’s control slipped. Dexter dropped the sword in his right hand and grabbed Meg by her neck, lifting her from her feet as if she weighed nothing. She grabbed his wrist with both hands, her legs kicking wildly as she sought the ground. The collar seemed to be protecting her throat from being crushed, but it dug into her skin. Fresh blood trickled over Dexter’s fingers.
“How do you know about Tessa?” Dexter said.
Brock was wondering the same. It was what had made him slip and lose control.
Most dwellers were aware of Marcus by now, but Tessa had only been with the Blades for a few weeks. She hadn’t recovered enough control since becoming infected with t
he werewolf parasite to go on patrol yet. No one should know about her but the Blades stationed in Providence and Brock’s other replicants. How did Meg know?
“Put her down,” Brock sent. “We can find out another way.”
Dexter ignored him.
“Please,” Meg gasped. “They’re my…pack.”
“We destroyed that pack sixteen years ago,” Dexter said.
“Not all of us.” She sucked in a breath, eyes widening as she spoke so fast her words blurred together. “I mean, I survived. And Marcus. I wasn’t there when it happened.”
“Dexter, you’re scaring her,” Brock thought.
“Good.”
The collar around Meg’s neck started to hum and snap. Dexter’s hand tingled as an electric current coursed through him. Meg seemed to be getting the worst of it, though. She yelped, pinching her eyes shut as her body spasmed from the charge.
“What the hell?” Brock thought.
The current stopped, leaving a faint smell of scorched flesh in the air. Meg twitched, tears running down her cheeks.
“Interesting accessory,” Dexter said.
“It helps me…control myself.” Meg had to work to get enough air to speak. Between being electrocuted and Dexter’s grip, it was a wonder she could speak at all.
“Shocks me,” she gasped. “Please. I can’t change.”
Brock tried to push a command through, to get Dexter to put Meg down, but Dexter was fighting back, drawing on Porter’s mind as they combined their willpower in an effort to fend Brock off.
He didn’t give a shit that they were trying to protect him. They were using their link against him—the same link that had trapped Brock in a hospital bed for years.
He snapped.
“Have it your way,” Brock thought.
He blasted his way into Dexter’s body, knocking out the part of DP’s consciousness that had been occupying it. The Porter replicant was going to have a headache for a while.
Brock took a deep breath, filling Dexter’s lungs, reveling in the strength of his body. Steady legs, straight back, strong arms. Arms that were being used to hurt someone he suspected was an innocent.
He quickly lowered Meg to her feet. He kept his grip on her neck, but relaxed it, focusing all of his senses on her to detect any signs that she was about to attack. He also kept the silvered sword handy.
Her skin was warm and softer than he’d expected.
“Brock, what are you doing?” DP shouted in Brock’s head, as frantic as Brock had ever heard him. “She’s dangerous. You can’t let yourself be unprotected. Let me back in.”
As bizarre as it was that the replicants referred to themselves as “we” when their consciousness was occupying both of their bodies, it was even stranger to hear them use “me” and “I” when they were stuck in one form. None of them understood why their speech patterns changed.
“Calm down,” Brock sent.
“I don’t know what will happen to you if that body is killed while you’re in it. The strain could—”
“Kill me a couple of days early?”
DP didn’t have a response for that.
In three days, Brock would turn thirty. He would complete another three-year cycle. He would split again. And this time, it would kill him. Probably all of them.
“Progenitor…”
“I know you’re scared,” Brock sent. “I am, too. But I can handle this, and—” He sighed. “Can you blame me for wanting to experience more with what time I have left? To be able to feel fresh air and walk around without help?”
He felt DP recede, but it wasn’t enough. Brock put up the mental barrier he’d developed over the years—his only way of getting any privacy with four other consciousnesses tied to his own.
Most of the time, he blocked them without even thinking about it. Doing so while borrowing one of their bodies was a bit trickier.
He took another deep breath and let it out slowly, enjoying the moment of quiet and being alone.
Except for the werewolf he had by the throat.
He watched her neck work as she swallowed, lips parted and eyes wide. When he smiled, she flinched.
Whatever DP thought, Brock didn’t sense anything threatening about her. All he felt was the softness of her skin, a slight trembling in her frame.
His fingers—Dexter’s fingers—still tingled from the collar shocking her while she’d been freaking out earlier. She’d said it helped her control herself. Knowing that she’d rather be electrocuted than hurt people, Brock couldn’t bring himself to fear her at all.
“Sorry about that.” He released her, and slowly sheathed his sword in one of the scabbards strapped to his back. He hoped he didn’t nick Dexter’s favorite jacket trying to hit the opening sewn into the black leather.
DP would be having fits if he could perceive Brock. He knew he should step away from Meg to give himself more time to react in case she attacked, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so. If she decided to gut him, she wouldn’t even have to stretch her arm.
“I understand,” Meg said. “You’re a Blade. I’m a werewolf. Of course you took action to defend yourself, but I promise you—I swear to you—I won’t try to hurt you.”
The words poured out of her in a flood. She was trying so hard to put him at ease.
Brock reached out to gently grasp her arms, wanting to reassure her as well. The motion had been instinctual—as was her reaction. And it made his blood boil.
Her eyes screwed shut, her jaw clenched, and she turned her head, her entire body stiffening as she waited for the first blow. In that moment, he was certain of one thing. The beating from the trolls wasn’t the first she’d endured.
“Meg…”
She trembled, but didn’t open her eyes.
It was too much. He pulled her against his chest and wrapped his arms around her.
Chapter Two
What was happening? Meg didn’t understand.
One moment, the Blade had been ready to kill her. Now, he had his arms around her. And he wasn’t trying to crush her or control her. He was holding her.
When he’d attacked, she’d been sure that he was Dexter, the coldest, most ruthless killer among the Blades. He’d killed a dozen trolls in seconds. She hadn’t seen any of them land a single blow.
But with this… She wasn’t sure anymore. Even the waves of malice she’d sensed from him seemed to have stopped.
She felt him move and tensed, prepared for whatever he was about to do to her. If she didn’t fight back, maybe he’d take her to Marcus and Tessa.
Who was Meg kidding? She never fought back. That was her job—her place. Her alpha made sure she always remembered that.
She kept her eyes closed. It was better when she didn’t see it coming.
Instead of striking her or cutting her or any number of things he could do to hurt her, he set his hand gently on the back of her head and started stroking her hair. It was kind of awkward with the bun, so he shifted his hand to her neck. What he could reach around her collar, anyway.
She remembered her alpha’s warning as he’d snapped it around her neck.
“This collar holds lightning magic. With it, I’ll be able to see and hear everything around you. If you displease me, I’ll punish you.” Roy had demonstrated by activating the spell on the collar and shocking her until she’d writhed on the floor, screaming.
When he was done hurting her, he’d said, “You must find the true head of the hydra. Get close to the Blade named Brock and stay there—by any means necessary. Gather as many of them around you as you can. It should be easy for you. They flock to helpless things. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Her mind raced as she tried to think of a way to use this Blade to reach Brock. She’d already come up with a lie about the collar that would help cover any mistakes she made that Roy considered serious enough to punish her. But she needed… She needed to…
Her thoughts wouldn’t stay focused. The touch of the man’s hands, the warmth
, the gentleness sent a tingling wave of sensation over her body unlike anything she’d ever felt. It was…nice.
“It’s okay,” he said. “No one’s going to hurt you anymore. I won’t let them.”
Her stomach felt like it turned to ice at the impossibility of his promise. Her body shook violently. She tried to stop it. He might see it as a threat. He might change his mind and kill her.
But he didn’t. He just held her tighter—still with such care. He pressed her head against his shoulder and whispered reassurances in her ear.
Her teeth were right next to his neck. She wasn’t lying about not being able to transform, but he didn’t know that. Even with human teeth, she could kill him easily with her heightened strength.
He was putting himself in danger to help her feel better. No one had ever done anything like that for her before.
It had to be a trick. A cruel trick. Any second now, he would slap her or punch her or throw her to the ground. She only hoped he wouldn’t laugh. It was always worse when they laughed.
“Meg, it’s okay,” he soothed. “I promise.”
But it wasn’t.
She had a job to do. A mission that would probably end with this Blade dead at her feet, along with the rest of them.
His touch was so gentle. His arms so strong.
When she’d been brought into the pack, she’d thought her wish of being part of a family was finally going to come true. She would be surrounded by people who loved her. They would hold her like this man was holding her. With care.
Fate had a different plan for her. Fate, and a Blade named Dexter.
He had shattered her dreams, slaughtered her new family.
Most of them, anyway.
Dexter would pay soon enough. She would make sure of it. All the Blades would pay.
She only wished she could save this one.
Her heart started to pound as an idea formed. Maybe she could save him.
He worked with Marcus already. After she proved herself to Roy by taking down the Blades and showing Marcus the true path, it might not be too much of a stretch to ask for this one human to be hers. With enough time, she could convince him that the curse was actually a gift. After risking so much to heal her pack, surely, she could ask—
Progenitor Page 2