Scarlet (19 page)

Why the sudden need to drop human packages off outside of Nuria? As far as Michael could tell there wasn't anything special about the packages. He'd probed the mind of the last one and had only gotten jumbled images due to the man's fear. If the next one was anything like the last, he'd get nothing.

What purpose did they serve? He could think of none. The last one had been an unknown, which meant he didn't exist in the republics' identification system, so killing him wouldn't matter. The IPTT authorities wouldn't recognize his death. Neither would the people of Nuria. Which probably was why he hadn't heard from his brother. Yet Roark didn't do things without a reason, which meant Michael was missing something—something very important. Perhaps this new package would hold the answers that he needed.

Michael walked down the stairs, descending deeper and deeper into the bowels of the building. The walls were musty and stank of depravity. The odor tickled his nose until he sneezed. It was only when he'd dropped two more floors that he heard the steady thud of a strong heartbeat. His ears perked up. Michael could almost hear the blood rushing through the man's veins. His stomach growled.

A clean scent greeted him. Roark was right, this package was in much better shape than the last one.
He mustn't be an unknown,
he thought. A drifter, maybe. Michael's stomach gurgled again and his fangs extended. He shouldn't have skipped lunch.

Michael entered the room and saw the man chained to the wall. His firm muscles struggled against the bindings at his wrists. His tawny head jerked up when Michael purposely made his footfalls heavy.

"Who are you?" the man asked, pulling at the chains.

Michael didn't immediately answer. He was too busy tamping down his hunger. The man yanked at the restraints, rattling them in their links.

"I asked you a question." The man's face was flushed with anger. . .
and blood.
Its sweet scent drifted over the filth, temporarily blocking the stench from his nose.

Michael licked his lips and casually glanced over his shoulder. They were alone. The area had been built before the introduction of vid-feeds. That's why his boss used this place to carry out his cruelty. No witnesses. He listened to be sure, but could hear nothing over the man's struggles and his roaring stomach. Roark would never know if he took one little sip. What could it hurt? The man's gaze was locked on him when Michael turned back.

"Remain calm and I will get you out of here," Michael said, catching the man's eyes with his and telekinetically pinning him in place.

The angry lines on the man's face eased and his jaw slackened. The muscles in his arms relaxed, causing his body to hang from the chains. Michael walked forward slowly, his gaze never leaving the man. He opened the cage and not so gently pulled the man's head over to the side, exposing the vein throbbing in his neck. The man whimpered, but couldn't pull away.

Michael wet his lips, his mouth all but watering at the thought of the first taste. He lowered his head until his lips brushed the man's throat. The skin was moist from sweat and slightly salty to the taste. Michael licked, enjoying the jump of muscles as he cleaned off a spot to bite. The cries grew louder. "Shush," he said, then opened his mouth wide and sunk his fangs in deep.

Rich, hot, coppery blood exploded in his mouth, showering him with much-needed nutrition. Michael closed his eyes and began to suck hard, greedy for what the man unwillingly gave him. He'd avoided the carotid artery because he didn't want the man to bleed out. It had been so long since he'd fed from anything but a bottle. Michael groaned as his body flared to life. There was nothing like going to the source when it came to quenching one's hunger.

The man hung helplessly in his arms, cradled against his chest in an inhuman embrace. Michael's head swam as the intoxication hit. It wouldn't last more than a few seconds, but he enjoyed it all the same. The man's heart stuttered. Damn it! It was too soon. He'd just started enjoying himself. But stuttering was only the first sign. The man would die if he didn't stop.

Michael reluctantly released him. He swiped his tongue over the wounds to speed his healing, then straightened and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Blood glistened on his flushed knuckles. He quickly licked it off.
Waste not,
he thought with a laugh.

*    *    *

Roark sat in his seat staring at the monitor for the hidden camera he'd planted in his interrogation room. Fear warred with revulsion. His mind refused to believe what he was seeing. He couldn't be. All this time, all these years, he'd had an Other under his nose and never even knew it. How could Michael have gotten away with the lie for so long?

His palms began to sweat as he recalled all the assassination missions he'd sent the man on. Michael Travers had enough information floating in his head to make his life hell.

Hell? What was he thinking? He'd be ruined if this got out. His political career would end with a whimper instead of a roar. Well he'd have none of it. He'd worked too hard. Roark wiped at his forehead and his hand came away wet. What was he going to do?

How long had his assistant been spying on him? Roark had no doubt the man was a spy. He'd changed after their last mission together and now he knew why. He didn't want to think about all the years he'd allowed Travers into his inner circle. Roark shuddered, his mind working overtime to figure out a solution to this sudden and very grave problem.

His knee-jerk reaction was to kill him. Burn his body somewhere in the desert where no one would ever find him. Unfortunately, Travers had been around long enough that people would note his disappearance. There had to be some way to get rid of him without drawing the wrong kind of attention. Roark thought hard. So far Michael had followed orders, and would probably continue to do so to keep his cover.

He decided to go ahead and let Michael deliver the package as planned. If he changed his mind, there was a good chance Michael would suspect something. The last thing Roark wanted was to have his own assassin after him—at least not until he was ready for him. He ran his hands over his pant legs to dry them and took a deep breath. He'd made a huge mistake. The fact that he was caught so off guard didn't sit well with Roark.

He reached for the vidcom and punched in a number. He waited for the line to connect. "We have a problem. A very big problem. I may need help," he said, then disconnected.

*    *    *

The sun beat at the curtains, crashing into the room like an unwanted party guest. Red cracked an eye and winced. It couldn't be morning already. Guilt had kept her up most of the night. How could she have let Raphael kiss her? Morgan had only been gone a short while. Yes, she'd needed a friend. And yes, she'd missed human contact. Both of which had been scarce since Morgan's departure. But that didn't mean she should act upon those feelings with the first guy who took an interest in her.

She sighed and turned over, giving the sun her back. Raphael hadn't been the only man to show interest, but he had been only one she'd been tempted by. She closed her eyes, but after a few minutes gave up on going back to sleep. Red ran her hands through her long, black hair, pushing it off her face so she wouldn't bump into a wall as she stumbled to the chemical shower.

She pressed a button and a heavy lemon scent came out a second before she stepped under the penetrating spray. Hopefully the new scent would overpower the smell of her wolf. She let the shower beat down upon her head as she mustered the courage to face another opposition-filled day.
Please don't let anyone know about the kiss.
She sent the silent prayer into the ether and started planning her day.

The new trainees were coming along nicely. If she could get a few more, they'd officially have a full team. There wouldn't be any extras, but it would be a good start. Of course, that wouldn't happen if people kept quitting. Red knew she was the cause. Or at least their beliefs about her were the cause of their change of heart. The dead body didn't help.

Even though she'd made each recruit sign a "no-quit" contract, she'd let the men go. Red didn't want men who weren't here willingly. It was hard enough to patrol with people who knew the dangers and accepted them freely. She couldn't have reluctant members guarding her men's backs or guarding her back.

Red pressed a button and the shower turned off. She wrinkled her nose as another burst of lemon filled the air. She eyed the shower with disgust.
These scents really should be adjustable,
she thought, grabbing a towel.

Within minutes Red was armed and dressed, ready to head out the door. She glanced at the vidcom. Even though Morgan had called last night, it felt like years since they spoke. This whole relationship business was more difficult than she imagined. She wanted to be understanding. Really she did. But how long should a girl wait?

Red placed her palm on the door and it slid open. She heard voices down in the bar area as people submitted their water orders. She plodded down the stairs, catching sight of Takeo, Juan, and Demery. Demery was wearing his white protective suit. Jones and Olson were noticeably absent. The other two men looked up when she came into view, almost as if they'd been waiting for her. Red hoped they didn't plan to quit, too. They were the best of the lot.

"There she is," Takeo said, elbowing Demery, who swung his masked face around to smile at her.

"Can I help you, gentlemen?" she asked.

"We were worried about you. We know the investigation isn't going well, but we're still invested in seeing it through," Takeo said. "Under the circumstances, we thought you'd like to know that."

"Where are Jones and Olson?" she asked.

"They're waiting at the sheriff's station for us." Juan said.

Red gave them a nod. 'Then let's not keep them any longer."

The four of them walked down the street. Demery got a few strange looks, but mainly the people kept their attention trained on Red. Most had the decency to save their gossiping until they passed. A few didn't bother with such courtesy. They started murmuring when they saw her.

"I bet she's sleeping with all of them. Maggie said that she's seen her with Raphael. It's only a matter of time before he gets into her rest pad—if he hasn't already. You know how he is when it comes to the sheriff's women. Take, take, take. The man's insatiable." The last was said breathlessly.

"Poor Morgan," one of the people said as they approached.

"Heard she killed that unknown," another answered. "Jim said the findings were inconclusive, but I bet that was because he was trying to protect us. No need for Nuria to be taken down because of one wolf's indiscretions."

By the time they reached the sheriff's station, Red's ears were burning and she was seething. So the whole town thought she was a murdering whore. It didn't help that guilt assailed her when Raphael's name was mentioned. She'd felt her face heating on more than one occasion. Red knew that only made her look guilty. Takeo, Juan, and Demery hadn't said a word, but she'd felt the tension coursing through the men as they listened to the slander.

Red decided it was time to put an end to this nonsense. She'd have to have a talk with Maggie. She had been trying to avoid her, but the woman seemed to be behind the bulk of the rumors floating around town. It hurt Red more than she cared to admit. Maggie had been so kind to her when she first hit Nuria. This sudden about-face was hard to bear. Red needed to find out what she'd done to her and make amends, if that was possible. Maybe then she would receive some support.

Maggie smirked as Red and the team walked into the station. Her eyes lit on the men, then fell accusingly onto Red.
Why didn't the woman just call her a slut and get it over with ?
Red stiffened. A productive talk was looking less and less likely. After last night, she was too tired to fight. She shook her head and walked to her desk. For some reason, Maggie was out to get her and wouldn't be happy until she was gone.

*     *    *

The rest of the morning passed uneventfully. The new recruits were busy in a back room, studying military tactics and unknown-apprehension vids. Red had sent the men out to repair the training facility, but it would take awhile to scavenge the materials. She stood, stretching her back before walking over to check on the recruits.