More than Truth (Arcane Crossbreeds) (3 page)

He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket, removed the small cell phone, and pressed a button.

“The target has been acquired, my lady. I feel compelled to warn you proceeding with this course of action will make retaining him impossible. Once he discovers we’ve reacquired her, he will come for her. Nothing will stop him.”

“Then we will have to be sure he doesn’t find out, won’t we, Irial.” The voice was cold and condescending. “Now do your job and deliver the good doctor to the GenTest facility in Death Valley. Dr. Rupple is waiting for her. He has his orders.”

As he listened to his orders being obtusely reiterated, he glanced down at the photo on the seat next to him. He lifted it again and stared at the image. Katya. Smiling. She was smiling. Happy. Dying. “As you wish, my lady. I will see it done.”

Irial disconnected the call and slid the secure phone back into his jacket. The door of the sedan opened, and he stepped out into the fresh dawn, the watery yellow light emphasizing every line of the picture. One of his men stood nearby. “See that our guest is made comfortable on the plane.”

The Triumvirate had to be aware their trials with the ARSA research hadn’t been successful, or reacquiring Katya wouldn’t have become such a priority. They wanted Dr. Mahoney to do what all others had been unable to thus far—finish the research. Make it a reality. The efficacy of her research was the pivot point in this entire game. Without it, the Triumvirate didn’t have a chance.

He glanced down at the image again. Katya. When he looked at her, he could see their parents, remember their faces when he’d thought every trace of them had disappeared, leaving only this husk, dry and brittle. Cold. Yet one look at her white-blonde hair and pale blue eyes, he could almost hear the sound of their laughter.

“Sir?” A man stood facing him, brow creased with a subtle question. This was one of his, not the Triumvirate’s. This man knew their objectives, their
real
objectives. Irial trusted him.

“Make sure Dr. Jennings is notified that the pretty doctor is back in custody. I’m sure he’ll find the information very”—Irial’s smile was slow and calculated—“motivating.”

“Sir,” he said and nodded.

Irial looked down at the image once again, the ghostly echo of the past surrounding him for one brief moment. He closed his fingers around the paper, letting the energy pulse in his chest and flow down his arm to his fingers. The paper ignited in a flash of ethereal blue, and he opened his hand. The wind lifted the ash into the air, and he watched it scatter until nothing remained.

Shrugging his shoulders beneath his jacket, Irial pulled it together and buttoned it before ducking onto the private jet.

Chapter Two

Triumvirate Citadel, Ireland

The door to the lab slid open with a hiss, but Dr. Vincent Jennings didn’t acknowledge the visitor. He continued to look through the lens of the microscope. He knew who it was. After years in this place, he could recognize the scent of every guard that patrolled his prison. Hell, he could recognize the sound of their footfalls.

The guard dumped a stack of files on the counter next to Vin’s microscope.

“The files you requested, Doc.”

Vin frowned and lifted his head just enough to cast a narrowed eye on the plain white files. “Excellent.”

“Just following orders, Doc.”

This time Vin straightened to his full height and turned to study the guard. The man was nearly a half foot shorter and fifty pounds lighter. The guard’s gaze was steady, but his pupils were dilated, nostrils flared, his stance defensive, and muscles clearly contracted. The guard was expecting a reaction, his body already preparing for battle.

Vin glanced speculatively back at the files he
hadn’t
requested. With a suppressed sigh of irritation, he lifted the flap of the file with one finger. On the top was a small sheet of paper with four words scrawled across it.

She has been reacquired.

Vin stiffened, and his heart surged violently. For one moment, his
daemos
shifted, rising up through the control he’d carefully layered over the fierce dragon spirit that was so much a part of his species’s nature—a part of the nature he’d worked so hard to subdue these past years. The flow of hot and cold that colored his sight cleared as quickly as it had come. The Drachon called it hunting vision. It allowed them to detect the heat of their prey, even through most walls.

Calmly, Vin plucked the sheet of paper out of the file and folded it. He slid it into his breast pocket and turned slowly toward his lab computer to pull the data stick out of the port. He slid that into the pocket of his slacks. The nervous stare of the guard was a cold touch he was very much aware of. He almost felt empathy for the young man, understood he was only doing his job. Still…

Vin moved so quickly the guard barely had time to register Vin’s proximity before he was incapacitating the man. Even as the guard crumpled unconscious to the gleaming floor, Vin was at the door, the poor guard’s security tag in hand. Vin had remained within these halls for over ten years and had spent another ten prior to that as a guard himself. He knew every movement of every guard and every placement of every security camera. Aside from the initial broken arm—or neck—for presuming he could be abused in those early days, he hadn’t so much as raised his voice at his guards or attempted to step outside the walls of this compound.

But the conditions of their accord had become null the moment they touched
her
.

He swiped the card and moved silently and swiftly through the door. He only had minutes to make it through the lab to the outer halls before they revoked the clearance of the card. Once there, leaving the facility would be easier. The armed guards were much easier to get past than the steel security doors.

The two guards in the hall were startled to see him. Vin used that moment to his benefit. His movements were a blur as he positioned himself behind one guard, using the man’s body to absorb the electrical current from the second guard’s stun gun. Vin’s mind coldly and efficiently calculated the probabilities of each avenue of escape as he moved quickly to the second guard. Vin grabbed the arm leveling the stun gun at him and twisted it until it snapped. The guard’s scream of pain was cut off as Vin slammed the man’s head into the steel wall.

The fools obviously forgot how quickly a Drachon could move when the situation necessitated it. Collecting the two downed men’s security cards, he ran down the hall and made it into the outer halls easily, leaving two more bodies unconscious on the ground. After this point, casualties would be more difficult to prevent.

Death was an unfortunate consequence of the Triumvirate’s betrayal of the understanding they’d come to over ten years ago. He’d only agreed to become a willing prisoner in this compound and continue the ARSA project on the condition Brit was left alone. The ghost of her haunted him, constricting his chest. At a mere sixteen, she had affected him. He’d known almost immediately she would have been his mate had it been possible. For the loss of that future, he’d promised himself she would be free of this. He’d sacrificed years of work and his own integrity to ensure it.

For nothing. They’d pulled her back into the immorality that was the Triumvirate’s genetic research. He
would
see her released from their corrupt custody, but he feared by the time he reached her, it would be too late to spare her the pain of knowing what her research had turned into.

Once he reached the outer courtyard of the Triumvirate complex, a large security force would be waiting for him at the gates, most likely Guardians. The Triumvirate was fond of brainwashing those physically advanced species of the Arcane to believe in their divinity until they were willing to die for it. Or kill.

Vin paused at the gates leading to the courtyard, running a hand through his hair, taking a moment to mourn the loss of another tiny piece of his soul. In his bid to escape, he would have to kill most of the Guardians amassing just beyond the gates, surrendering more of his dwindling humanity in this battle for the future. There was not much of him left. Rare was the moment he experienced compassion or empathy. Each day he felt a little less guilty for the crimes he committed in his lab. Soon he would be no different than the Triumvirate themselves—willing to sacrifice anything and anyone to benefit his cause.

Britony had been his secret, the tiny light he hoarded deep inside. The final holdout against the darkness that crept with sure feet through his soul. Without the knowledge that she was safe and protected from this depravity, he would become what he fought.

He couldn’t allow that. For all their sakes.

Vin pushed the gates open and stepped out into the courtyard. The watery sunlight slid over him like a shield—like armor—and he drew it in. Cold purpose solidified beneath his flesh, merging with the strength of his dragon, and he roared. The high-frequency sound waves resonated over the courtyard, pouring like poison over the Guardians. Immediately they began to react: vomiting, blood trickling from their mouths, eyes, and ears as they convulsed. Bodies ruptured. And Vin calmly walked through the carnage to the nearest vehicle.

Without so much as a glance in the rearview mirror, Vin pointed the stolen vehicle toward the access road. His mind was already calculating what it would take to reach the States, to reach California.

And her.

* * * *

Brit blinked her eyes open and cautiously glanced around. It was dim, but she could clearly make out the angles and shadows of bedroom furniture: a chair in the corner, a dresser against the wall, and a bed beneath her. Not a medical table but a real bed with a mattress and a soft comforter.

Confused, she pushed herself up and frowned at the halo of light that surrounded the door at the far end of the room. It was slightly ajar, so she wasn’t locked in. Fighting the residual lethargy from the sedative, she gingerly eased her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

Where had they taken her? Casting another glance around the room, she couldn’t see any windows to judge how much time had passed. Brit smoothed back her hair to center herself and stumbled to that door, where there was a narrow shaft of light spearing into the room.

Was Meghann here? Anticipation and fear cartwheeled through Brit, making the dizziness from that damn shot worse. She swiped her hands down the front of the blouse she was wearing, a nervous gesture. Recognizing it, she fisted her hands and took a deep breath. They couldn’t know just how dazed she was—couldn’t be allowed to manipulate her with her emotions. They’d done it before, and her family had been killed anyway, or so she had thought. Now both the lives of Meghann and Katya rested on her ability to do this.

Meghann was alive. That knowledge went winging through Brit, the resulting hope as destructive as any fear.

No.
Brit shook her head. She needed to maneuver this carefully and rationally. It was a dangerous edge to tread, because once she went over, she couldn’t take back the knowledge they would have. And what they wanted would endanger every single Arcane species not currently shackled by the blood magic. Whatever changes they had made to her research resulted in a mutation of the genetic material once it was introduced into the subject. It would kill every Arcane they infected it with. She couldn’t let that happen, yet even as she reached for the door handle, a terrifying question formed in a dark corner of her mind. How close to the precipice would she be willing to go to get her sister back?

It was a question she wished she could answer with confidence, but she’d thought her sister was dead all these years, thought herself alone—without family. To know her sister was out there somewhere was undeniably motivating. Incog would be looking for Brit, if for no other reason than to protect the sensitive medical information she possessed. She had to hold out for that. Once they found her, she would just have to make them understand. The owner of Incog was a fair man; he would never let an innocent woman be held captive.

Incog would rescue her sister too. She had to believe that and stall for time.

Brit took a deep breath, lifted her chin, and pulled the door open. The brightness of the room blinded her momentarily, and she blinked against it, forcing her eyes to focus. It was a lab. A state-of-the-art lab. This room she
was
locked in. The big steel door on one side was a dead giveaway.

There was an observation deck above like those in an operating room to allow other surgeons to watch a procedure. In this observation deck was what looked to be another lab, complete with the classic creepy scientist. Brit cleared her throat and marched across the lab to stand beneath the window.

The thin man lifted his head and smiled excitedly at her, pushing long wiry hair behind his ears. He had beady black eyes, and the bright lights of the lab reflected on the lenses of his glasses. He slapped his hands together.

“Dr. Mahoney, I am elated to have you in my lab. My name is Dr. Anthony Rupple. Your work on the ARSA gene was ahead of the times and undeniably brilliant, and to think you were only sixteen at the time. It is quite extraordinary, as I’m sure you are aware.”

Brit folded her arms over her chest. “What I am aware of is that I am being held involuntarily in this…” She glanced around the lab, careful to load her voice and face with derision, “place.”

Dr. Rupple frowned, the resulting lines removing any appeal from his long face. “I thought you understood. I was led to believe you were agreeable given the situation.”

“And what exactly is the situation that would lead me to disregard my morality to assist you in a project that is beyond unethical?”

Dr. Rupple’s expression eroded further until he looked quite menacing. “The situation being your sister’s continued good health, I believe.”

“My sister is dead.” Her heart slammed into her breastbone, stealing her breath, but she merely waved one hand in dismissal, betraying none of her anxiety. “I am a woman of science, Dr. Rupple. Without evidence, the existence of my sister is no more than your hypothesis. And I have seen an example of your research. It is no more than an unfounded and dangerous theory grounded by very little real evidence and implemented prematurely to the detriment of your subjects.”