More than Truth (Arcane Crossbreeds) Read online

  Determination squared her shoulders, and she approached the vehicle. Darkly tinted windows protected the identity of those inside. As she got closer, the driver’s door opened. The man who got out wasn’t big, not in comparison to the crossbreed agents she treated at Incog, but he was lithe and undoubtedly dangerous. By his posture she would guess him to be a Guardian, most likely full blood. Guardians, one of the four known species of the Arcane, were the most animalistic of them all. Violent. She nodded politely to him when he opened the rear door.

  She didn’t think, didn’t pause, just ducked in.

  “Hello, Dr. Mahoney. It’s been a long time.”

  Brit studied the man before her as she settled herself in the seat. Irial Carrick. He’d been the emissary the Triumvirate had sent for her all those years ago, the demon that brokered the deal of a lifetime. He’d been younger then. Determined. Driven. Now he looked older. Harder. Colder. The difference was minuscule but significant. He was now exactly what had driven him then, the embodiment of absolute purpose. It showed in the lines of his face, in the power that radiated from him. Very little of the man remained, his humanity no more than a residue that clung to him. The years had seasoned him.

  She had no sympathy for him.

  “Mr. Carrick.” She inclined her head. “I can’t say it’s a pleasure.”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “No, I didn’t imagine you would. As you probably guessed, I’ve been ordered to persuade you to return. My bosses are rather…determined to reacquire you, I’m afraid.”

  “You mean the Triumvirate.” Brit sneered. Over five hundred years ago, the three Elemental witches had invoked blood magic with most of the Arcane families, creating a blood bond, a magic that had encoded into their very DNA. Now the witches could siphon off the life force of every line that had entered into that pact. It made them unbelievably strong as well as immortal. Unfortunately it left their victims with short life spans. And a host of other medical issues, Brit suspected. It also created a violent and sometime bloody struggle between the Rebels and the witches. As was true with most Elementals, the Triumvirate was power hungry and insatiable. They had wanted to find a way through science to force the rebel bloodlines of each species that did not participate in the blood-magic pact to become victim to it as well.

  And she had helped them.

  The ARSA Project was named for the ARSA gene she’d isolated and connected to the blood-magic phenomenon. Despite her extreme intelligence she still hadn’t been smart enough to truly grasp what they would do with such knowledge. Once she understood they wanted her to synthesize the gene so they could introduce it in the unaffected Arcane, she hadn’t known what to do, so she’d turned to her parents. They’d sacrificed everything to help her destroy her research.

  Brit tilted her head to study him. Her control was absolute. None of the pain from the past touched her. She felt disengaged. Clear. Precise. “I thought ARSA was terminated, but it has come to my attention that too much of it survived.”

  He cocked a pale brow. She couldn’t read his expression, but she knew it wasn’t surprise. “One can’t have everything, Dr. Mahoney. You couldn’t have been so naive as to believe the Triumvirate would give both you and your research up. There was an unexpected substitute willing to do what you would not.”

  Brit crossed her arms over her chest. “Let me make an educated guess, Mr. Carrick. The gene became unstable and your substitute”—she sneered the word—“cannot find a means to stabilize the mutation. Is that why you sent Katya Schaffer into Incog? You knew I would recognize my own research, be compelled to save her?”

  Katya was mated to one of the agents at Incog—a Drachon, who was very protective of his pregnant mate. Incog found Katya in a Triumvirate lab, and she’d been the subject of a long process of genetic manipulation. In fact, most of her life had been one continuous experiment, one Brit had developed—no, theorized—while working in the Triumvirate labs. The attempt to infect Katya with the blood-magic gene had been successful but unstable. The gene had mutated, and her body was rejecting it. It was killing her.

  “The Triumvirate thought it would play God once again, but this time it’s not working, it’s killing. An innocent woman is dying, Mr. Carrick.” Brit reached into her pocket and pulled out a black-and-white image she’d printed from the security system—one of Katya smiling over her shoulder at Raife, her mate. Brit threw it onto the immaculate crease in his suit pants. “If I don’t get their data and find out what they did wrong, that woman, her mate, and their unborn child will die.”

  Something flickered across Irial’s face as he lowered his glacier-blue gaze to the image. Was there a softening in those flinty eyes? Something very human moved through their depths as he picked up the paper. It was gone as quickly as it had come, replaced by a strange expression. She didn’t know if it was the miniscule lowering of his eyelids or the tic of a muscle in his cheek, but the angles of his face appeared lethal. Whatever the hell had just happened, she would bet he didn’t know about the effects of the human trials, which could mean the Triumvirate didn’t either. She pressed, hoping Irial Carrick had more humanity than she had initially credited him with.

  “I might be able to save them, but only if I can get that data and return to Incog. Without me, they will certainly die. This was my research. Only I can fix it, but I need that data. Whatever your original intentions were, Ms. Schaffer’s appearance in my lab couldn’t have been just a coincidence.”

  “No,” he finally responded, his cold gaze lifting to meet hers, “her appearance was no coincidence. However, Ms. Schaffer was not part of the Triumvirate’s plan to bring you back to the fold. It appears her presence merely accelerated it. You see, we were positive you would contact us; we just hadn’t expected it so soon.” He set the printed image down gently next to him and picked up a manila envelope from the seat on the opposite side. He tapped it on his knee as he stared at her. “No, I’m sorry to say this was the lure they hoped to snare you with.”

  Brit stared at the thick envelope in his hand. A dark premonition settled over her flesh like diving into the chill waters of the Bay, and she shrugged away a shiver. Her fingers shook as she took the envelope.

  With a frown, Brit peeled back the flap and eased the papers from the creamy envelope. It was a medical file. Dread was thick and suffocating, a murky sludge that flowed up into her stomach and lungs as she began to read through the information.

  It couldn’t be. It wasn’t possible. This was just an attempt to manipulate her again. If they hadn’t sent Katya to lure her out and they knew the trials were unsuccessful, they would be desperate to have her finish the research. That was all this was—an act of desperation. She’d seen Meghann die, felt the life drain from her. Brit shook her head and thrust the papers back at Irial without looking further than the first few sheets. “I’m afraid I’m not as naive as I once was. Meghann is dead.”

  Irial accepted the file and carefully replaced it in the envelope. He set it aside and picked something else up, cradling it in his hand. “We anticipated this reaction.” He offered her a slim, square device that fit easily in his palm.

  Brit swallowed down the dread that now rose up into her throat, coating her mouth with the foul taste of fear. She opened the small digital player, and Irial reached across to press a button, filling the screen with an image she never thought to see again.

  Meghann. She was older, her hair a dark auburn instead of the bright red it had once been. It hung in thick strands around a pale face that was unmistakable. She was dressed in blue scrubs and was strapped to a medical chair. Brown eyes glared with clear mutiny at someone off-screen. She jerked at her bonds as she swiveled her head to look in the camera.

  “Tell them to fuck off, Bree. Don’t help them with shit.” She raised her chin. “They can’t kill me, and they know it.”

  Irial folded the screen closed before she could see any more. Irial’s face remained impassive as he nodded to the driver behind her.
r />   Brit felt the pinch of the needle and couldn’t say she was surprised. As the sedative began to pull her under, she frowned. Meghann was alive. Her sister was alive.

  IRIAL CARRICK WATCHED the doctor slowly succumb to the tranquilizer. She was cold and controlled. Her dark red hair carefully pulled back away from her face, her attire tidy and conservative. Quite the change from the hellion she’d been at sixteen, emotionally volatile and so very brilliant.

  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 advance
d 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.