Progenitor

by Cassandra Chandler

  Her collar began to hum and snap, a magical current stinging her skin. The Blade’s fate had been decided.

  The energy would grow until it let out a shock that killed him. His scent was human, beneath strange layers of decaying leaves and grass clippings. She would survive the spell. He wouldn’t. Because he had spared her, shown her mercy and kindness, he would die.

  She could shove him away, tell him to run, but then her mission would be over before it even began. If she couldn’t handle the death of this one man to save her pack, she’d already failed.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m not afraid of you. You don’t need the collar to keep from hurting me.”

  She grabbed the back of his jacket in her fists and sobbed. No matter how hard she fought it, the tears kept coming. She felt like she was drowning in a huge well of emotion that she’d never been able to look at before. Not while keeping her sanity.

  He held her while she cried until she felt hollowed out. Until the world seemed to spin around the two of them, alone in the universe.

  Her collar hadn’t built to a fatal level yet. In fact, it seemed to have gone dormant again. Why was he being spared?

  Maybe the little jolts she’d received from her collar were meant as a reminder that he was the enemy. She was here to kill him and anyone else that stood in the way of her healing her pack.

  This man might be the key to getting her the access she needed. Of course Roy wouldn’t let her ruin that chance.

  The man nuzzled the side of her head briefly and she tensed again. She swore she felt him press a kiss to the top of her head. A mix of adrenaline and fear and…something else—something molten—flooded her system.

  Maybe he wasn’t looking for someone to beat on. Maybe he was looking for another way to use her body as an outlet.

  She’d done a hell of a lot worse for her pack. Seduction was absolutely on the list of methods she was willing to use to get in with the Blades so that she could take them down.

  She reached up and wiped at her eyes and nose, wondering how much of a mess her outburst had made of her face. If she was going to try to seduce him, she needed to pull herself together.

  “Come on.” The Blade pulled back from her a bit. Apparently the nuzzling hadn’t been an overture.

  She ignored the part of her that was disappointed. He was part of her plan, now. A tool to achieve her goal.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said. “But if I leave this here, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

  He slowly squatted in front of her, keeping their gazes locked while his hand went to the sharp sword lying on the ground. The blade had a slight curve and only looked like it was sharpened on one side. Her heart rate sped up again as his fingers wrapped around its grip.

  “The sheath is on my back.” He stood just as slowly, keeping the sword pointed at the ground. “I promise you, you’re safe with me.”

  She nodded, then watched as he lifted the sword to his back and slid it into place.

  Before, she’d been too terrified to pay attention to what he was wearing. Now that she wasn’t worried that he was about to decapitate her—or worse, poison her with silver—her attention went to his gear.

  He was dressed all in black. His shirt and pants fit tight against his form. She doubted he was trying to show off his physique, but the outfit definitely accented his lean, muscular build. Seducing him wouldn’t be a hardship at all.

  His pants had several pockets, and she could see a harness under his jacket. He must have slits in the back for him to be able to wear his swords there.

  His hair was as black as his clothing, short, and styled away from his forehead so that it stood up in spikes. His eyebrows were straighter than she’d seen on most men, which only added to the strength of the lines of his cheekbones and jaw. And his lips… His lips were pulled in a gentle smile as he watched her ogling him.

  She met his gaze, her stomach no longer ice, but doing flip-flops in her body as warmth spread through her. His eyes were dark. Darker than his clothing somehow. Darker than a starless night sky. The light from the lamps along the path didn’t reflect in them.

  A chill passed down her spine. How could he be so warm, yet have such cold eyes?

  “I’m sorry.” Meg lowered her head and looked away as soon as she realized how long she’d been staring. Roy would have back-handed her, seeing it as an assertion of dominance.

  “What for?” the man asked.

  She risked looking up at the Blade to find that he was still smiling at her. She stammered, trying to think of what she could say that wouldn’t upset him. Coming up with nothing, she lowered her gaze again.

  “Oh, right. Werewolves.” He let out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, I don’t see too much eye contact as a challenge.” He rested his hands on her arms again. “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  “Stop.”

  The word slipped out. She prayed it had been too quiet for him to hear. Of course, no gods were listening.

  “Stop what?” he asked.

  She wanted him to stop being kind to her. Stop talking to her in that excruciatingly gentle voice.

  “You don’t have to be nice to me,” she said.

  The corner of his mouth hitched up in a smirk that made him even more handsome. “Maybe I want to be nice to you.”

  She recoiled, backing away enough that he had to either let go of her or use force to keep her where she was. If he didn’t let her go, it would prove that he wasn’t as trusting as he seemed.

  His hands dropped away from her arms.

  She missed his touch instantly, but shoved that longing deep into the pit of her stomach. He had to be taunting her.

  Except when she glared up at him, he was still watching her with that soft smile. His eyes had small crinkles at the sides, and there was a deep cleft between his brows. Something was bothering him. Probably this game he was playing with her.

  “Nobody wants to be nice to me,” she spat out.

  He shrugged. “Sounds like you’ve been hanging out with the wrong people.”

  “The wrong monsters, you mean?”

  He winced, ever so slightly, but kept smiling at her. “We call them dwellers. And they are people. Well, a lot of them are. Okay, some of them.”

  She fought the urge to laugh in his face.

  Blades weren’t as bad as hunters. They didn’t kill every monster or fairy they met. Only most of them. The ones they decided deserved it.

  If this “kind and gentle” man knew about her mission, he’d kill her on the spot.

  She needed to use him to get back to their base. Even though he’d been nothing but kind to her, had shown her the first care that she could remember. She had to betray him.

  The first of many betrayals to come, she was sure.

  “I’m sorry about before,” he said. “Those trolls did a number on you, and…” He shook his head. “I wish we’d gotten off to a better start.”

  Her heart clenched. He needed to stop being kind.

  Again, she wondered if there might be a way to spare him. Her hopes were dashed at the next words from the man’s beautiful lips.

  “I’m Brock, by the way,” he said.

  “Brock.” She forced her face to remain impassive as she swallowed hard, the collar tight around her neck.

  “Tessa is my sister.” He shrugged. “Well, foster-sister.”

  “Sister?”

  Brock winced, pulling Meg from her thoughts. A small trickle of blood ran from his nose. He sniffed, then wiped it on the sleeve of his jacket and laughed.

  “Are you okay?” Meg stepped closer, despite the fact that he might see it as an act of aggression. It was instinctive to reach out to him.

  “Yeah, just…” He shook his head, wincing again. “Having trouble getting the troops in line. Excuse me for a moment.” He put his finger to his ear and pressed it, staring off to the side. “Hey, Dex…ter. What’s up?”

  Dexter was here?

  Meg’s mouth went dry. S
he spun around, looking for the man who had destroyed her pack. There was no way he’d be as kind to her as Brock had been. No way Dexter would show her mercy. She didn’t see, smell, or hear anyone else, though.

  Brock clasped her arms firmly, pulling her against his chest. His warmth burned through her terror. He swayed a bit, as if he was having trouble staying on his feet. She crooked her head up to look into his face, just inches from hers.

  He pointed at his ear and whispered, “Earpiece.”

  Another trickle of blood ran down his nose. Meg turned in his arms, reaching out to cradle his cheek and wipe it away with her thumb. She left her hand there, feeling the prickle of his stubble against her palm, the warmth of his skin.

  He stood completely still, gazing down at her with those dark eyes. He didn’t even seem to be breathing, but she could feel his heartbeat pick up. Their chests were almost touching.

  “By any means necessary.” Roy’s words echoed in her memory. She had to stay close to Brock. That didn’t scare her anymore. What scared her was that she wanted to stay close to him.

  Slowly, he reached up and wrapped his hand around her wrist. She expected him to pull her arm away, but instead, he just held on to her. He gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb.

  They were standing so close she could feel his breath on her face. She could clearly discern the cinnamon of his toothpaste and the sharp, lingering aroma of his aftershave. He leaned toward her, and she rose on the tips of her toes to meet him.

  Their lips were almost brushing when she heard, “Brock? Brock, are you even listening to me? Are you all right?”

  The voice was desperate, shouting, and sounded exactly like his. This was Dexter?

  She blinked, jerking back. Brock let out a sigh as he released her hand. He stayed close enough for her to hear the other side of the conversation through his earpiece.

  “I’m fine,” he said. “But if you keep pushing me, you’re going to give us both an aneurysm. Neither of us wants that, right?”

  “Let. Me. In.” Dexter sounded furious. Terrified, even. What could make him sound so afraid?

  “I so want to make a Three Little Pigs joke right now,” Brock said.

  A new voice joined them through the earpiece, masculine, but softer. Almost lilting. “How about, ‘That’s Marcus’s line’?”

  Brock laughed. “Good one.”

  “Oh, hey. Ask her if she knows what a ‘curator’ is,” the new voice said.

  “Vaughn.” Even through the earpiece, she could hear Dexter’s teeth grinding together as he spoke.

  Whoever Vaughn was, he must not be in the same room as Dexter. Meg couldn’t imagine anyone not freaking out with Dexter sounding so angry.

  “You can interview her for your Dwellers Database later,” Brock said.

  He lifted his arms around her back. At first, she thought he was embracing her, but when she twisted around to see what he was messing with, she saw that he was tapping on a device attached to his wrist. It looked like one of the latest computer watches. The band was black, but its square face was smooth silver. For some reason, it reminded her of her collar.

  Brock tapped on it a few times, then put his arm around her shoulders and leaned down so their temples were pressed together. He held up his arm so the watch surface was facing them.

  “Do you mind?” he asked.

  She didn’t know what he was talking about, but said, “No,” anyway.

  “Selfie!” he said.

  For a brief moment, she saw their faces on the screen, cheeks nearly touching, and Brock sporting a huge grin. To her amazement, she saw that she had a bit of a smile on her lips as well.

  The screen turned white, and then blanked out again. Brock straightened, but didn’t step away from her.

  “Check your inbox, bro,” he said. “Meg and I are really hitting it off.”

  He winked at her and she felt herself smile even more. Her cheeks felt stiff and awkward. She looked away, pressing at her cheekbone to try to relax the muscles there. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled, and now Brock had made it happen twice in as many minutes.

  She heard Dexter’s tinny voice coming from Brock’s ear. “I’m getting Eli.”

  “Oh, come on. Don’t bring him in on this.” He let out a huge sigh, his smile vanishing. This time, he did take a few steps away. He braced his hands on his hips and now he was the one staring at the ground. His entire demeanor changed.

  Who is Eli? She remembered Roy mentioning “the true head of the hydra”. Whoever this was, it was someone Brock showed deference to.

  “Yeah,” he said. “No. Only a little.”

  She couldn’t hear the other voice anymore. If she stepped closer, it might raise his suspicions.

  Brock snorted briefly, then grinned. “I wiped it on Dexter’s favorite jacket, but it had to have—” His smile immediately vanished again. He started to pace, running one hand through his hair. “Give me a break, Dad.”

  Eli was his dad?

  Meg’s stomach clenched. She was walking into what could have been her lifelong dream—but it had taken the form of a nightmare.

  Tessa was part of Meg’s pack, and she had a family. Meg had never heard of a werewolf with living human relatives. Tessa had a brother and a father. And Meg was supposed to walk into that and destroy it.

  What did Marcus think of Tessa having a family? Werewolves were supposed to only be loyal to their pack. Maybe they were planning to turn everyone?

  Meg’s heart began to pound. If they were already planning to turn Brock, that meant he would become part of their pack. And this time, it would be a real pack.

  No more beatings. No more rants that left her feeling like she was a worm beneath her human skin.

  I was supposed to be a wolf…

  She was “supposed” to be a lot of things. She shook herself and steeled her heart. Thinking of Brock like that wasn’t going to help her mission.

  He was a Blade. He worked with Dexter. They were the enemy.

  Meg would infiltrate their base. She’d keep herself close to Brock, just as she’d been ordered. Roy would take care of the rest. Marcus would understand and forgive her once he saw how loyal Meg was to him. She would win them over, one way or another.

  “Yeah,” Brock said. “Okay.”

  He turned back to Meg, tapping on his ear again. For a moment, his features seemed haunted by a shadow of despair that she could relate to all too well. But then he smiled, and everything else seemed to fall away around him.

  She wanted to smile back at him, could feel the corners of her lips start to curve. Even with everything going on around them, with the way this would most likely play out, she couldn’t stop her instinctive reactions to him.

  “I know it’s a little soon, but my dad would like to meet you.” He nodded his head in the direction of the walking trail. “I’m sure Marcus and Tessa would like to meet you, as well.”

  This was too perfect. Brock already trusted her enough to take her to his home. He offered her his arm, that gorgeous smile gracing his face.

  A surge of guilt hit her as she looped her arm into his elbow. She shook off the unwelcome feeling and focused on how to get even further past his defenses.

  “I should also warn you that I have an identical brother,” Brock said, leading her down the path. “He can be kind of an asshole, but… I want to say something to ameliorate that, but he’s just an asshole.”

  Meg let out a little laugh. “I’m sure he’s not that bad.”

  “Nine out of ten dwellers would disagree.”

  She froze as things clicked into place, a terrible idea taking shape. “Wait… You’re not talking about Dexter, are you?”

  “You’ve heard of him?” Brock sighed. “Of course you have. Every dweller has.” He urged her to start walking again.

  Dexter and Brock were brothers. Twin brothers. How the hell was she going to stay close to Brock if Dexter was involved?

  “He’s not alwa
ys that bad,” Brock said. “Okay, usually he is, but don’t worry. I’ve got your back.” He winked at her.

  “Thanks.” The fear turning her stomach to ice was almost displaced by another wave of guilt.

  He had her back. Now she just had to figure out how to get close enough to stab him in his own.

  Chapter Three

  The dark road sped by as Brock drove toward the ranch. He thought about kicking in his bike’s hovering capabilities, but Meg was already clinging to him with a near-painful grip. He doubted she’d be more relaxed if the hubcaps suddenly spread out from the tires and started emitting the weird blue light that somehow made the bike fly.

  Vaughn had tried to explain how that worked as well, but Brock had fallen asleep. Again. He had a good excuse for it that time, though. He’d been in his actual body.

  Borrowing Dexter, not just piggybacking on his consciousness and observing things… Brock had energy. He could breathe without pressure, could move around with ease. He felt good for the first time in weeks. Who could blame him for wanting more of that?

  He could almost pretend that he was normal. Just him on his motorcycle with his gorgeous girl pressed to his back, her arms tight around his waist.

  “Brock.” Vaughn’s voice echoed inside Brock’s helmet.

  Maybe not just Brock and his bike and the woman who wasn’t really his girl.

  He focused his gaze for a few moments on the section of his visor that activated the privacy controls for the comm system. Meg wouldn’t be able to hear anything, even snugged up against him like she was.

  “What do you need, Vaughn?” Brock said.

  “I need you back at the ranch. Now.”

  In the background, Brock could hear crashing and screams. Screams he’d grown to recognize by now.

  Tessa…

  Brock managed to unclench his jaw enough to grind out, “How bad is it?”

  “As bad as ever.” Vaughn’s voice was shaking. “We were in ops talking about your situation in the field and she just flipped out. There was no warning this time.” After a brief pause, he said, “She almost killed me.”