Mourning Doves

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.