Hey guys, ya'll already know I've gotten published, and I just decided to pop the first chapter of my novel up here for anyone who might like to get a look-see at what I write. If you want to see more of my stuff, go to my fictionpress account, though I'll be posting more things here as well, of course!
There's some language in this and male/male relationships, guys, so I give this a rating of T+. Respect that.
THEY all knew, really, before it even started. Liaison knew he was destined to be killed by the weak little man who knew, in a dark place in the back of his mind, that he was destined to be punished for his crimes. Epsilon and Leander knew they would be bonded together through pain and hate, through trust and respect as friends and partners and then ripped apart and glued, unevenly and imperfectly, back together, stronger and yet weaker than ever. Madison and Alex knew, at the start, that they would find each other and hate each other, find each other and love each other. And Wolf and Mercedes knew, somewhere, somehow, months before it began, that their team would be rocked to its core. Even knowing, they took their places on stage and prepared for what was to come. Because they also knew, although not one of them would admit it, that they had to. They were meant to. This was destiny, and this would change everything.
THIS AREA IS RESTRICTED. PLEASE ENTER YOUR PERSONAL PASS CODE.
THANK YOU. PLEASE PLACE YOUR RIGHT HAND ON THE SENSOR AND HOLD
STILL.
WELCOME, EPSILON! PLEASE ENTER THE ID NUMBER OF THE FILES YOU
WOULD LIkE TO ACCESS.
THE STAFF FILES ARE LOADING. PLEASE HOLD.
Operation complete.
Open file Leander Kale?
Processing....
Operation complete.
NAME: LEANDER KALE
AGE: EIGHTEEN
GENDER: MALE
NATIONALITY: UNkNOWN
SPECIES: FOX “kIN” (HUMANOID WITH EARS, TAIL, TEETH, CLAWS, AND
OCCASIONALLY FUR OF A CERTAIN ANIMAL. DESPITE MORE AND MORE
OCCURRENCES OF THIS, SCIENTISTS HAVE YET TO DISCOVER HOW THIS
MUTATION CAME TO BE. MORE INFORMATION AVAILABLE IN THE LIBRARY
FILES. LINk TO FILES CAN BE FOUND BELOW.)
HEIGHT: 5′8″
WEIGHT: 140 LBS.
HAIR: STRAWBERRY-BLOND
EARS: YES
TAIL: YES
FUR: NO
EYES: GREEN
SCARS: BACk, CHEST, LEFT SHOULDER, AND RIGHT LEG
TATTOOS: A DRAGON ENCOMPASSING ENTIRE BODY
PIERCINGS: LEFT EAR, FOUR; RIGHT EAR, ONE
OTHER MARKS: N/A
NOTES: LEANDER WAS BROUGHT INTO TASK AT FIFTEEN WHEN HE STOLE
INFORMATION FROM THE TASK SYSTEM. TALENT DULY NOTED, HE WAS
DRAFTED INTO THE TEAM AS A SkILLED CON ARTIST AND HACkER.
KALE IS… UNUSUAL, DUE TO HIS LIFESTYLE BEFORE TASK. PARTNER
SHOULD BE CHOSEN CAREFULLY.
INFORMATION ON TASK CENTER AND SYSTEMS CAN BE FOUND IN SECURE
FILES. BRIEF HISTORY—TASK CENTER, (OR, ITS OFFICIAL NAME, kIN
RELATED CIRCUMSTANCES MANAGEMENT TEAM) WAS FORMED AFTER THE
FIRST OUTBREAk OF kIN AND HUMANS BORN DIFFERENTLY—THAT IS, WITH
ESP-RELATED ABILITIES. IT IS A TEAM OF SPECIALLY TRAINED MEN AND
WOMEN, HUMAN AND OTHERWISE, DESIGNED TO POLICE THE EVENTS AND
PEOPLE SURROUNDING THEM.
PERSONAL FILES ON KALE, LEANDER, HAVE BEEN ENCODED.
PERSONAL FILES ON KALE, LEANDER, HAVE BEEN ENCODED.
PARTNER: N/A EPSILON MADDOX
OPEN FILE “EPSILON MADDOX”?
PROCESSING....
CANCELED.
OPEN LIBRARY FILES?
OPENING FILES....
PLEASE SELECT TOPIC OF CHOICE.
OPEN FILE “kIN INFORMATION”?
FILE OPENING.
Ten years ago the world was shocked by the appearance
of a child born with the ears and tail of a cat. The child
was found abandoned on the steps of a hospital in
Brooklyn, New York. Rather than being killed, the child
was sent to a lab for study.
The baby was highly evolved and had animal-like instincts
such as hissing when it felt threatened. The child also had
the ability to change shape into that of an actual cat.
Despite numerous tests, there was no answer for where
this child came from or what caused the odd mutation
that gave it its abilities.
Time gave us the answer quickly. Years past and over
time, more of these “mutants” were born. Many were
like the first “kin,” animalistic with the ability to take on
another form. However, other mutations came out as well,
and not only in humans.
The mutation soon became
apparent in animals as well, giving us creatures we know
today as kits, Bearrs, Wylfs, Equess, and so on. Many of
these mutated animals were domesticated as their more
common ancestors had been. More information available
under file search.
Today, society has adjusted to most of these mutations in
both humans and animals. They are generally thought of as
just another part of the human or animal species.
Further information needed or close files?
Please hold....
Files closed.
TASK information center is shutting down.
Thank you, Epsilon.
Log out?
“YOU read my file.”
“I just told you that, didn’t I?”
“You had no right.”
“It wasn’t like there was anything in there anyway.”
“Because they knew snoops like you would abuse your power and go
sneaking around!” Leander’s eyes flashed at him as the young con
whirled his chair around and stood. “If you want to know something
about me, ask me!”
“You wouldn’t give me anything.” Leander’s teeth clenched at the
flash of bored amusement in Epsilon’s eyes. “I like knowing about
someone I’m to partner with.”
Leander stood in a swirl of red-blond hair, grabbing a tie off the table
near his partner and roommate. “Could be a reason why I don’t want you
to know,” he snarled.
Those cool eyes just kept regarding him, and Leander started when
Epsilon’s hand came down on his shoulder. “You want to get even?
Read my file then. I don’t care.”
“I don’t want to read your file!” Leander smacked his hand away,
gritting his teeth in frustration. Epsilon honestly didn’t see the harm in
what he’d done; he wanted information, he got information. That was
just the way the man was—the way he’d been brought up.
“What do you have to hide?” the older man half-barked. Leander’s
ears flattened against his head, and he snarled.
“I am your partner—”
Leander snorted and started to turn away. “Yeah, so that gives you
the right to play around in whatever you choose—”
“No, what gives me the right is the fact that I am a senior agent
here—”
“You can—”
“Boys.” The voice was mild and light, crisp with a British accent and
surprisingly deep for a female. They both stopped, turning as one to face
Madison Rivers, a beautiful, hard woman with thick red curls and
startling gray eyes, tall, leggy. She held a group of files under one arm,
and her lips twitched in amusement.
“Honestly, you two spend so much time at each other’s throats I’m
amazed it’s the enemy you wind up killing in the end.” Which was
perfect bullshit. She knew what kind of team Epsilon and Leander made.
“Hello to you too, Madison.” Her lips tried to twitch upward, but the rest
of her face remained stern. It made the resulting smile look more like a
snarl of victory. “I’ve got a case for you boys.”
Leander flopped in a chair and let it tip back on two legs. Epsilon
moved forward to take the files, and then his brows shot up. He passed
the file over to Leander, who skimmed it. His ears flattened to his skull,
tail lashing.
“Ah, man, don’t tell me we’re dealing with an amateur Hunter.”
“What’s the matter, boys? Afraid to go up against a Hunter?”
Madison asked, and that vicious grin again, more a snarl than anything
else.
“Amateur,” Leander snapped, and Epsilon glanced at him out of the
corner of an eye. “She’s an amateur Hunter.”
“Amateur then. Hunter all the same.” Madison studied the young redblond,
watching the Kin and his Partner. One ear was up again,
swiveling around toward her, but the other was locked, all attention on
Epsilon. The older man was still as stone, his blue, blue eyes steady on
his partner. They were utterly focused on each other.
“Well?” she asked, reaching a hand out as if to take the files back.
Leander’s ears flattened back again, and he snapped them shut.
“We’ll take the case,” Epsilon said, without moving from the chair.
“If you explain it.”
“Typical Hunter case, boys.” She shrugged, sitting back. “Lover
reported it in; says the girl’s been acting weird the past few nights.”
“So this guy’s girlfriend starts cheating on him, and he decides she’s
a Hunter?”
“This girl’s girlfriend starts acting weird, and she thought it was
strange enough to call paranormal investigators when she started getting
violent during intercourse—”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Madison!” Leander flinched, ears back.
“Grow up, Leander Kale. It’s not as though you don’t make sex jokes
constantly.” Madison rolled her eyes. “And don’t tell me you’re
homophobic now.”
“Jokes are one thing,” Leander said, his ears still back. “And believe
me, I have no problem with one girl gettin’ it on with—”
“Leander!” Epsilon snapped. “We’ll take it, Madison.”
“I’ll let Wolf know then,” she said, rising and reaching out as if to
take the files but instead starting to scratch behind one flattened-down
ear. Leander instantly relaxed, his furry appendages lifting upright and
his tail lashing. She smiled again, much more softly now, and then pulled
away.
Leander glanced over at Epsilon, a grin on his lips.
“You need to stop going through my files and more time learning
how to do that.”
“I don’t get paid to keep you happy.”
Epsilon took the files and headed out of the room. Leander paused
and then flipped off the door.
“Fuck you too, dude.”
_____________________________________________________________________________
LEANDER stretched, his back popping and joints adding to the
symphony as he finally sat back from the computer. His furry ears
swiveled listlessly about, his green eyes scanned the information he’d
entered in, and he yawned. He rubbed his eyes, pushing back from the
desk. It was unusual for him to be alone like this. Usually Epsilon was
barely two feet away from him, and it was nice to know that his partner
was there. But it was also nice to have a few moments alone to work out
the information on their target and just have time to relax without the
man at his shoulder.
They were safe in their own apartment, after all, and he was,
admittedly, too relaxed here. It was a place of safety, of shelter, and he
let his guard down too far here.
The apartment was funded by TASK, and, like all of the homes
provided and funded by them, a little special. It was a two-story
townhouse with a large kitchen and living room, two bedrooms, two
bathrooms, and the guest bedroom used as an office slash workroom that
Leander was currently in. It was a tastefully if sparsely decorated
apartment, cream and brown in color, most of the furniture old-fashioned
in nature.
Hints of both occupants could be seen in the apartment.
Books, rows and rows of research and nonfiction books on one
bookshelf, most of it on those like Leander and Epsilon, signs of
Epsilon’s seemingly never-ending desire for knowledge and
understanding. The wooden furniture was all him too: the couch, a
simple brown thing that could be extended into a bed, and the
overstuffed rocking chair in the corner. Despite everything, Epsilon liked
comfort as much as anyone.
Leander was there too, in the beanbag chair pile near one wall, in the
fiction and sci-fi books on the other shelves. Despite his existence,
Leander loved fantasy; it let him get away from reality. He was in the
knick-knacks and pictures that personalized the apartment and the bright
green rug on the floor near the beanbag chairs.
Their rooms were very different as well. Leander’s room was a royal
mess. Books, computer manuals, clothes, shoes, and such littered the
room, some of it organized, some of it pure chaos. Toys, knick-knacks,
pictures, and other things lay around too. It was a personalized, warm,
lived-in, and comfortable room.
Epsilon’s room wasn’t bare, exactly, but it was less homey and lived in.
There were things on the shelves, but neat and organized. There were
fewer books in there, and again they were mostly nonfiction. The clothes
were in the closet and drawers, and the bed was neatly made, unlike
Leander’s own messy futon, and there were no toys or games scattered
about.
This room, the workroom slash office, was a combination of both
and a total absence of either of them. There were files and two
computers, one of which was a laptop, and folders upon stacks of folders
with either Epsilon’s neat hand or Leander’s playful scrawl scratching
down notes and information on cases. There was a large box in the
corner that Leander insisted on keeping, full of notes on cases they’d
solved: his own personal little victory badges.
Leander rose, brushing a hand through his hair, and was preparing
for bed when his ears suddenly shot up and quivered. There was a sound
that wasn’t quite right outside, a sound that didn’t quite belong. He froze,
one ear twisting toward the door. He grabbed a gun that lay next to the
computer, checking it and cocking it. Then he stepped forward and flung
open the door.
Nothing. His ears tilted in one direction, and his eyes went the other,
listening and looking hard for the Wrong Thing he knew was out here.
He could smell it, sense it, a faintly wet dog smell that made the hair on
his arms stand up. He lowered the gun slowly, the tension easing out of
his shoulders.
Paranoid much without your big bad partner, Leander? He scolded
himself, ears pressing down so flat that they vanished in his hair. His tail
twitched, almost a spasm more than a wag, a sign of irritation and
tension. He turned with a low growl, prepared to go back inside.
It was about then that he got hit from the side.
He yelped in pain—literally a high-pitched, doglike sound—and
managed to skirt the blow just enough to keep his insides where they
belonged. As it stood, his poor shirt was shredded; his skin over the ribs
was ripped to bloody ribbons. Panting, he leapt back, staring in dismay.
“Ah, fuckin’ a, man!” He snarled, watching what lumbered out of the
darkness toward him.
A Bearr.
Bearrs were exactly what the names suggested: bears. But these
things had been mutated animals years back, and damn if they weren’t
unpleasant little fucks.
Bearrs stood easily twice as high as grizzlies ever had when on their
back legs, and when they dropped down to four—thankfully that’s all
they still had, four legs—they were still bigger than any bear was ever
meant to be. Their fur was thick and curly, more like a sheep’s wool than
the traditional bear fur. It ranged in color from silver to roan, and their
eyes were usually deep blue. They did not have ears like most bears,
small round nubs, but rather long, slender things more like Leander’s
own fox ears, and their teeth extended down past their lower jaws in two,
long fangs, like a saber-toothed cat. Another set protruded from just
behind the first, smaller, but not by much.
They were decently smart, and they were mean. Hunters used these
things as attack dogs, sometimes mounts.
“Already?” Leander yipped and then wrestled the gun out as it took
another swipe at him.
Then he was running. He fired and spun, flying down the street.
Bullets wouldn’t take down a Bearr unless you emptied an entire gun
into them nonstop, up close, with something meaner than what Leander
was carrying.
But there was a chance, a slim chance, that he could get away.
He raced down the street, yelling at people to get out of the way. Not
that there was a need. The Bearr behind him had them in a panic to get
away.
He couldn’t change midstride. He needed a place to hide, to make the
change.
Behind him, the Bearr’s massive paw caught again, digging into his
back, inches from his spine. Leander screamed again, more canine than
human, the sound of a fox with its paw in a trap, and went sprawling.
He groaned as he struggled to push up from the pavement, blood
leaking down his back, down his ribs. The Bearr prowled closer, sensing
what it thought was an easy target.
Leander was panting softly, watching the Bearr stalk closer, and then
closed his eyes and struggled, growling, with the change. Fought to focus
through the pain… to change….
The Bearr roared and dove forward.
And the battered, bleeding Fox on the ground leapt forward and
buried its teeth in the animal’s throat. It roared again and fell back,
clawing at the tiny creature attached. The Fox let go and took off at a run
again.
The Bearr shook its head, coughed, and then lumbered after, snarling.
The Fox led the huge creature on a mad dash down the streets, but
Leander was hurt and running without any sort of goal. Perhaps, were he
calmer, he would have been able to plan, but he only knew now to get
away.
Faintly, it came to him to run for TASK’s main center, but he knew it
was too far away. He’d have to put this nasty son of a bitch down
himself. He stopped, whirled, went for the throat again, scrambled
against coarse fur for purchase, dodged the animal’s huge paws. Fell off,
got smacked, screamed, came up fighting. Grabbed an ear, cried out as
his own was torn near to halfway off. Blood ran down his face, into his
eyes. Coughed, took another blow. Sank tiny teeth into a massive paw.
Got shaken off and thrown halfway across the sidewalk. Came back, less
steady, teeth into the Bearr’s muzzle. Hit the pavement again, and this
time couldn’t hold back the change. His body convulsed, arched up off
the ground as the man was a man again and blearily looked around to see
people racing by in a panic. A couple of them were on cell phones, but
aside from a team like himself and Epsilon, there was no one who could
take down a Bearr.
Losing it hadn’t worked, and discouraging it had only pissed it off.
Leander sat up and retched, gagging on pain. He fumbled at the useless
gun, shaking hands coming up, and he fired, emptied the whole damn
clip into the animal’s face. It snarled and reared back, clawing at itself,
making pained, desperate noises.
“How do you like it, motherfucker?” Leander snarled breathlessly.
He moved and doubled back, running for home.
The bullets hadn’t stopped the Bearr—he’d known they wouldn’t—
but it had given him enough time to gain ground. He got a good fiveminute
head start before the thing came after him again, its bellows as
much pain now as rage. Leander grinned tightly to hear it and made it
back to the small home the partners shared, staggering inside.
Epsilon was already downstairs, a much bigger, nastier gun held
confidently in his hand, his incredibly blue eyes narrowed as Leander
burst in.
“What in the hell are you doing?”
“Getting my ass kicked!” Leander yipped back, staggering to the
table and leaning on it. His blood splattered onto the chair, onto the table,
but Epsilon didn’t notice. Of course he didn’t, because the Bearr crashed
into the front door and took half the wall out with the impact.
Epsilon was shooting immediately, stance steady, gaze trained on the
threat.
Of course he didn’t notice, because there was no time, because he,
like Leander, was taught to eliminate the problem first and take stock
afterward. Normally, Leander was okay with this mind-set. Very okay, in
fact; peachy keen, great, fantastic, just fucking wonderful, and adhered to
it himself more times than not. Hesitation got you killed.
Hesitation got you mauled by a Bearr.
But now, Leander was sort of wishing that Epsilon would stop and
take stock, because he was feeling very not okay over here. Adrenaline
was wearing off, and he could feel his knees going.
He meant to slide down to the floor quietly, to sit there and wait
while Epsilon finished the Bearr off, maybe use his shirt to stop the
blood flow where he could reach, focus on staying awake, to maybe
fumble with his cell phone out and call for aid: Hi, yes, TASK Base, this
is Leander Kale. I’m bleeding to death on my living room floor, and my
partner is facing off against a pissed-off Bearr. Do you think we could
get an ambulance and some backup out here?
Nothing went quite as he’d planned, though, because nothing ever
went the way he planned. Instead, his legs gave out with a jolt that was
violent enough to yank him back from the bleary, half-conscious place
he’d been in, and he unconsciously grabbed the table. The entire thing
toppled over with him, in a magnificent, thunderous sound that couldn’t
even be described as a crash, really. Epsilon’s eyes darted to him, and he
snarled like a wild animal.
The Bearr took the advantage to swipe,
nailing the other man across the side much the way it had Leander.
Epsilon flew into the staircase, not making so much as a sound when he
hit. He snapped back as lithely as a yo-yo, without even pausing, and
rippled.
Epsilon was another sort of Kin altogether. They were called Gene
Babies, or sometimes just Lab Rats, these children who had been created
with the mutated genes and taken from their mothers before birth, placed
into test tubes and made what scientist called Better.
And in many ways, they were; that was the sick thing. Unlike
Leander, Epsilon showed no physical evidence of his mutation. Besides
the utter brilliance of his blue eyes, he could pass as any everyday person
on the street, and his eyes were just something unique to Epsilon. Not, as
far as they could tell, something because of experimentation. He was
also stronger and faster than Leander, just as Leander was stronger and
faster than normal humans.
The change was easier for him, faster, took
less concentration, less force of will. He became exhausted less easily,
although he, like Leander, was always ravenous after the change. Even
for the Lab Rats, changing burned a lot of energy. A lot. Leander always
privately thought he could eat his own weight in cheesecake an hour
before he changed and still be starving when he changed back.
The best part and the biggest difference between Leander and
Epsilon was also the most obvious and the most dangerous. Leander’s
Fox looked like a perfectly ordinary fox, but Epsilon…. Well, Epsilon,
not so much. For one, the man wasn’t a Fox. He was a Wylf. Or he
would have been. But the difference between Epsilon’s changed form
and a wolf was the difference between a bear and a Bearr.
If left alone to mutate the way Leander had, he would have been a
nicely sized timber wolf by himself, because Epsilon wasn’t a small guy.
Leander’s Fox was on the smaller side, because Leander was. So
Epsilon’s timber wolf would have been in one of the larger size ranges.
Take that tendency to be larger and combine it with what they’d done
to him, and you had a Wylf that was larger than Leander was really
comfortable with. It stood easily waist-high on a six-foot-tall man, if not
slightly higher, and it was built like a miniature tank. Epsilon once
showed him a picture of an extent species of wolf called “Dire wolves”
and told him that it was the closest thing to what you could call his
changed form.
His coat was black, so impossibly black that he stood out in the
shadows. He was too dark to blend in properly. It was long too, like the
shaggy coat of a border collie, and Leander knew from experience that it
was soft and thick. Really thick. It made it hard to bite through—if one
was trying to bite through—to the skin below. All you got was a
mouthful of that slick, downy fur.
A ripping snarl jerked him out of his thoughts, and he looked up in
time to see this monster lunge for the Bearr’s throat.
This was a totally different dance. The Bearr sensed a new target, a
change in difficulty. Sensed the threat, the danger. This was no mad,
panicked struggle for life… this was a cold tango. The Bearr was already
struggling, one massive leg dragging uselessly, semi-blind from
Leander’s shots to its face. Its swings were suddenly missing, its jaws
snapping on empty air where Epsilon had been moments before. Epsilon
was snarling and lunging in, out, silent, silent, ever deadly quiet.
This was the most dangerous thing about ones like Epsilon. Once
they had a target, much like Bearrs, they didn’t give it up, and they
didn’t let it get away. Epsilon would not stop until it was dead, or until
he was.
Wouldn’t stop. That terrified Leander more than his companion’s
huge, wolfish form.
Epsilon had swung around and was on the Bearr’s back, teeth sunk
into its neck. He ripped away, bringing chunks of flesh with him, and bit
in again, and now he made noise- ripping, savage growls. The Bearr rose
on his hind legs, snarling, frantic now to free himself, and slammed
Epsilon against a wall, once, twice. His yelps of pain were smothered in
the flesh in his jaws but were yelps nonetheless, and by the fourth slam,
he let go to scream in unadulterated agony.
Leander wanted to yell his name, to help, but he couldn’t coordinate
the effort. He struggled to push up, to rise, but nearly passed out.
The Bearr was shaking itself and staggering, making low, pained
cries and growling in bloodlust. It huffed and then turned its half-blind
eyes on Leander.
Epsilon was there as it turned to him, putting himself between
Leander and the Bearr. He was bristling and snarling, his huge bulk
protective and warning.
Leander’s vision blurred and misted, in and out.
The last thing he heard, before his willpower at last gave out, was
Epsilon bellow.
___________________________________
SOFT beeping coaxed him, urged him awake, and pain followed swiftly.
The pain was muted and dull, and he knew through long experience that
he was feeling it through painkillers. He blinked awake, taking stock of
where he was. Hospital, obviously, lying on a bed with tubes in him and
monitors attached. Familiar situation, he thought wryly, lips twitching.
He came more alert slowly, and his smile grew when he saw
Madison by his bed, long legs crossed at the knee, a book in her hands.
She sat by the window, her red curls spilling down her back, in a T-shirt
and jeans. Not her typical wardrobe. She glanced up and lowered the
book when he moved. “Leander?” she asked, and he marveled at the tone
in her voice. Concern.
“Hey, Maddi,” he drawled, and his voice rasped from his throat in a
croak that startled him. “Slummin’ today?”
“Madison,” she corrected, but did she look awfully near tears? “And
I’ve been ‘slummin’’ for the past week.”
“You—what?” He blinked, trying to find what he’d missed in the
conversation.
“A week. That’s how long you’ve been out,” she said. “They said if
you weren’t Kin, you’d be in a coma or—” She stopped, cleared her
throat gently. “You’re supposed to be trained in how to fight these
things, Leander. What do you think you get paid for?”
He chuckled hoarsely and winced. His ribs felt like they’d been
crushed. “Is Epsilon… is he okay?”
Madison grimaced a little. “You know the man. We can’t find him,”
she admitted.
“You can’t find him?”
Madison scowled. “Don’t give me that incredulous tone, Leander.
You know him.”
Leander’s lips thinned, and he fought back a growl. He did, and
therefore he couldn’t really be pissed at anyone for their inability to
locate Epsilon. When the man was hurt, particular when it was bad, he
went to ground, and when he did that, you had to be a damned hound
dog to get to him. Or a Fox.
But Leander had been down for the count, and no one else knew his
partner well enough to know where he’d go to lick his wounds and try to
heal.
“He could be dead right now!” he protested, despite his
understanding, trying to push up. Madison moved fast, pressing him
back down with a no-nonsense hand on his chest.
“I doubt that very much,” she said. “And you do too.”
Stupid, stubborn man…. Leander did growl this time, a soft,
rumbling snarl. “How did you find us?”
“Epsilon.” She said on a weary sigh. “After he killed that Bearr, he
called. He told us you were down and critical and that he’d done what he
could to stabilize you. He gave us your address and told us to bring a
cleanup crew.”
“How did he sound?”
“Excuse me?”
“How did he sound, Madison? And don’t lie to me.”
She paused and then shut her eyes. “Exhausted,” she said at last.
“Hurting and exhausted. We tried to keep him there, but he hung up.”
“I have t’ get him.”
“You can’t go anywhere,” she snapped, eyes hard and fixed on him.
“Leander, you just came back around after getting the shit kicked out of
you.”
“I’m okay. I’m Kin. We heal fast.”
“Epsilon is Kin too.”
“Damn it, Madison, it’s not the same!”
“You’re right; it’s not. But I’m not going to have two of my boys
hurt and missing out there.” A new voice drawled, a familiar one laced
with a rich Southern accent and gently deep. Leander pushed up again,
this time managing to shove Madison off him. Hurt or not, being Kin he
could still outdo a little human female without trying.
Wolf Addison stood in the doorway of the hospital room, leaning on
the frame. His auburn hair was tied back in a loose tail, his green eyes
half-lidded. The man was young, too young for his station, most would
say, at twenty-nine years old. But Leander saw his age in his eyes, in the
weariness of them. He looked like a man who had fought too long and
too hard, seen too much too soon. Sometimes he looked so heartwrenchingly
sad it took Leander’s breath away. He was Leander’s
superior and the head of TASK. The man behind the desk, though that
was certainly not all, he was a spokesperson, a pretty face, a leader, a
researcher, and he could kick serious ass if you threw him into a situation
where he needed to.
Wolf often said, with a lopsided, dimpled grin that made girls swoon,
that he would never ask his agents to do something he hadn’t. So don’t
bitch at me, he’d say, because I’ve already bitched at someone else, and
it didn’t change a thing.
Wolf’s grin wasn’t in place today. He was smiling to see Leander
awake, but it was a tired little smile.
“Your dimples are drooping,” Leander said, and Madison gave a
decidedly un-British, unladylike snort of amused surprise.
Wolf’s eyes darted from one to the other, and he pushed off the
frame. “Well, our resident wiseass is clearly fine,” he drawled and
accidentally “bumped” Leander passing by the bed. Pain flared, and
Leander hissed a string of curses that made Madison flush and cough
softly.
“Leander Kale.”
“He did that on—”
“Leander, there is a lady present.”
“Where?” he quipped, and this time Wolf didn’t even pretend it was
an accident.
“Ow! Son of a bitch, Wolf!”
Madison was laughing quietly, and the sound was relieved,
somehow. He had a feeling she hadn’t laughed much recently.
“Glad to have you back,” Wolf said, leaning now against the wall
and regarding Leander. His eyes were a mild, rich green, deep and dark.
Pretty, exotic eyes, yet another feature women loved about him. Leander
would give the man that. His eyes were lovely. Madison complained, all
the time, that hers were not the true color of his, but a softer shade, closer
to hazel.
Pretty eyes, yes, but not the right kind of pretty. Not at all like
Epsilon’s eyes, which were the exact opposite of his tempered, almost
non-personality. His eyes were a jumping, electric, vivid, screaming
blue, almost white they were so light, a shade Leander had never seen
before. Leander wanted those too-blue eyes to be looking at him now,
not Wolf’s somber, leopard-in-a-forest eyes.
But one thing was exactly the same: Wolf had Epsilon’s unnerving,
unflappable stare. And it was trained on Leander now.
“Where would he go?”
“To ground. I don’t know, Wolf. I’d have to go home and start
tracking from there.”
“He has to have some places he would automatically head for.”
Leander shook his head. “You’re thinking of the den instinct, and
that’s smart; we all have it, yeah. When in danger, run for the burrow.
Hell, I did it. But the hounds found the den, and he’s not going to lead
them straight to another one. And he ain’t a normal Kin either. He’s a—”
The leader of TASK cut him off. “I’m aware of what he is.”
“I’m the only one that can find him,” Leander said, already fighting
to get off the bed and untangle himself. Then he stopped and looked over
at Wolf.
“Why was a Bearr there, anyway?”
“You know what case you just took, Leander.”
“Oh bull fucking shit. No way did the Hunters know we were after
’em so fast.”
Wolf looked down, and Leander got a sick feeling.
“Wolf?” Leander sat up, eyes searching his young leader’s face. He
already knew what had happened. He wanted to be wrong.
The Southerner’s eyes flicked down. “We think there might be
someone taking bribes in TASK,” he said flatly, getting right down to it.
“And it’s much bigger than telling Hunters we’re after them.”
“Bigger?” Leander yelped as he yanked a tube from his wrist, ears
laying flat. Madison sighed in annoyance and came over to help.
Wolf looked up again, eyes mild. “Don’t ask, Leander. I can’t tell
you right now.”
“You can’t tell me? I’m lyin’ in a hospital bed—not the first one, I
know, but all the same—and my partner and friend is missing, possibly
dying, and you… damn it, Wolf!”
“If I could, I would!” Wolf barked, eyes flashing. “If I could,
Leander, I’d have gotten the son of a bitch already.” He stopped, eyes
closing.
Leander paused too, ears flicking upright. “I’m sorry,” he said
quietly, both lying flat back against his skull once more. Madison
coughed softly, pushing up off the bed.
“Leander, lay back down,” she said mildly, her eyes accepting no
argument, her voice hard. “You can go and find him when you’ve at
least rested some.”
“How much is ‘some’?” he asked, startled at how gruff and harsh his
own voice sounded. It happened, sometimes, when he was emotional or
hurt. A low, lilting growl entered his voice without his full permission.
Both Madison and Wolf were long since used to hearing it, though, and
neither flinched.
“At least a few hours,” Madison said, her tone never changing from
its take-no-bullshit manner. “You just woke up.”
Leander growled, but Madison raised a brow and Wolf started to
chuckle in a soft, coughing way that said he was smothering it.
“Down, puppy,” Madison drawled, and she reached out to stroke
behind his ears once more. He wanted to beat her away, but her touch
was too pleasant, and he closed his eyes. She smiled, which he couldn’t
see, and winked at Wolf.
Wolf chuckled softly, eyes dancing. One sure way to calm the man
down was to pet his ears and know exactly how to do it. Madison was
one of the few with that knowledge.
Wolf jerked his head toward the door, and Madison followed after a
moment, leaving Leander peacefully napping, recovering.
Outside in the hall, Wolf was fumbling in his pockets with shaking
hands.
“No smoking in the hospital,” she said mildly, and his sharp green
eyes landed on her, narrowed.
“I know that, Madison,” he growled, his accent thicker, rich as
cream.
“If it upsets you that much, just tell him,” she murmured, her own
accent demure and mild in comparison.
“You know I can’t. I can’t do that, Madison.”
Madison went quiet, closing her eyes. “Do you really think Epsilon
would do something like this, Wolf?”
“No,” Wolf said, voice a bare breath. “Does it matter what I think?”
Madison’s eyes opened a crack. “As the head of TASK, I would hope
it does.”
“Bullshit,” he snarled.
Madison sighed. “If you need a cigarette that badly, we can talk
outside.”
“It’s not just the cigarette, and you know it.” He gave up with a grunt
and dropped to the floor. She moved quietly, crouching in front to push
back his hair.
“I know,” she murmured. “Epsilon’s been with us a long time,
Wolf.”
“I already told you I don’t think he’s the one.” Wolf straightened
against the wall, sighing.
“Then say that, Wolf.”
“I have! A hundred times, every fucking meeting we’ve had!”
She sighed, running a hand over her eyes. “You need to relax.”
“I need a fucking smoke.” He groaned and then jumped as his cell
phone started to buzz. He was on his feet in an instant.
“Addison,” he said, voice crisp and alert again, no longer ragged or
on the edge of breaking. “I can’t—” He waved a hand at her in apology
and dismissal and moved outside.
Madison rose as well, concern and worry on her pretty face. Then she
masked it with ease and went back into Leander’s room, to sit and wait,
and to lie and pretend.
One Week Later
HE knew where to go. Of course he did; he knew Epsilon as well as
himself. It didn’t go both ways, but that was okay. Leander worked to
make himself hard to know, and someone like Epsilon, well…. Part of
understanding the man was understanding that he didn’t really try to get
to know anyone well beyond knowing the facts on them.
And he’d jumped between Leander and a Bearr. That wasn’t the first
time either.
Leander padded softly down the alleys, his tail arched and waving
proudly over his back. No one looked twice at a fox trotting down the
road, except one or two glances at the backpack the thing wore.
Despite his proud step and high head, he was scared, and he was still
hurting. He’d picked up Epsilon’s scent, but it was strong with blood,
and he kept fucking well losing it and having to go back because one
person’s blood smelled like anyone else’s and like other things too.
Growling, he backtracked for the fifth time before following the
scent down a side alley, ears now upright and quivering. His tail lashed
behind him, and he shifted back, staggering a moment before the pain
dulled to a throb.
Now a slender young man stood, dressed in a shirt that was halfblack
and half-striped, one sleeve long and one short, and long, tight
pants to match. His hoodie had the ace of spades on the back, half falling
off his shoulders. His soft blondish hair was tugged back, disappearing
under the black hoodie in soft waves; his green eyes were lined thickly
with black.
The file hadn’t done him justice, really. He was pretty to the point of
being delicate, with softly caramel skin and the palest hint of freckles.
His lips were soft and full, his face fine-boned and slender, almost elfin.
He wasn’t tall, but he was slender and leggy. As a child, this had given
him a coltish, awkward look; now it suited him well, made him elegant.
Once the nausea settled, he started off on two legs. Despite his
injury, he walked with a lazy grace, hand unconsciously moving to check
the gun around his waist, the other clutching the backpack he’d
previously been wearing like a harness. To his human self, it was tiny,
barely large enough to sling over one shoulder. But it held a first aid kit
and a few other necessities for this particular duty.
He didn’t need to worry about sniffing Epsilon out now; he could
follow the faint trail even in this form. Ears twitching, tail waving idly
along the ground, he followed the trail until it led to a warehouse, long
since abandoned.
“Oh, come on, man, the only thing more cliché than this is my calling
you on it,” he drawled, stepping inside. A low, rumbling growl from the
darkness made him step more cautiously.
“Easy, babe, it’s just me,” he murmured. “I know you’re hurtin’, but
it’s just me.”
The growl grew louder and then tapered off, and Epsilon stepped out.
He was struggling, limping, his right leg nearly useless, his right arm
dangling.
“Aw, man. Look at you, babe.” Leander stepped forward once more,
eyes gentle. “Come on, big boy; let’s get you to TASK.”
Epsilon took a deep breath and nodded once. The glow in his eyes
faded, and he looked human again, normal again.
“There’s my boy, all right,” Leander said, his ears gently flat against
his skull. “I know it’s hard, that’s all right. Come on. Come on right back
to me. Here you are, here you go now.” He kept talking, low and soft. It
was better, that way, like talking to a wild animal. Epsilon’s eyes were
human and calm again, but there was something feral and hard there.
He collapsed hard when he got to Leander, muttering something.
“Man, why the fuck don’t you let people help you?” Leander asked.
“I let you help me.” The words were a muttered protest, weak and
low.
“Reluctantly.” Leander shifted, easing the man down gently. “Here,
let me fix you up some,” he said, working on fixing the smaller wounds
he was able to. Then he helped Epsilon rise again, supporting the man
with an arm over his shoulders. The pair limped outside, and Leander
wriggled a cell phone from his pack.
Wolf answered on the second ring, his voice clipped and harsh.
Leander flinched, recognizing the “stressed” voice.
“Got him,” he said. “I’ve got him, Wolf, and he’s strugglin’ pretty
hard.”
Wolf groaned softly, and Leander could just imagine him mussing
his hair. “How far away are you?”
Leander shifted Epsilon’s weight, wincing as the man staggered.
“I’m downtown, right offa 18th. Found ’im in an old warehouse in a
back alley.”
“Get him to the corner, and I’ll have a car come pick you up,” Wolf
said, and he sounded tired. “Badly hurt?”
“Nothing major, broken bone and superficial wounds. Exhausted, in
pain, but so long as nothing gets infected from his runnin’ off by hisself,
he should be fine.”
“Not infected,” Epsilon grunted. “I’ve been keeping the wounds
clean.”
“But not healed or gone t’ someone for help.” Leander groaned.
“Stubborn, stupid—”
Epsilon grunted something that may have been a laugh. Leander’s
eyes flashed, and he shoved his companion affectionately, nearly sending
him off balance.
“You’re an ass, sir,” Leander growled, but Epsilon had given into
exhaustion and didn’t hear.
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