He knew the setting by heart, even though he had never been here before. Then again, he had done his research about eighteen months ago. Aerial photographs of Deer Mountain, as well as the valley to the west of it and this flat acreage to the east, had been his first order of surveillance when he’d learned through various sources that an antiquated, subterranean laboratory had been resurrected into service. A drone had done the surveying duty, and Daniel Joseph had been the one to fly it over the area about two months before he’d been assigned the case and started his infiltration.
By applying for that handyman’s job at the Wolf Study Project.
Funny, how things came full circle. Now Blade was here, waiting for—
The door to the mansion opened and his wolven appeared in the entryway, a slip of a female compared to the scale of the place. As she exited, she was quick and light on her feet, descending the steps with alacrity—and he was so consumed by her presence that he didn’t bother to try to get a glimpse into the interior of the structure.
Whilst she shut the passenger door and then rounded the rear of the vehicle, her head was down and he was disappointed. He wanted to see her face. He settled for watching how her body moved in her casual, simple clothing.
How did her corporeal entity shift like that? How did it work on a molecular level, two forms sharing the same space?
It was as his mind chewed over the implications that he realized why he was captivated by her. He was also two things in one, part vampire, part symphath, and he had always struggled with the incompatibility of his biological makeup. As the latter, he cared about no one; as the former, he had a loyalty that was dispositive.
Thus he had to hide while he was in the Colony. And he was not accepted when he visited Caldwell. Both made sense. He had to protect himself to survive, and he didn’t trust his impulses any more than anybody else did—
As the wolven arrived at the driver’s side door, she opened it—and then paused with one foot lifted up on the runner. After a moment, she twisted around…
… and looked straight at him.
Blade’s heart stopped, and he felt that stirring go through him again. Her regard was so frank, so pointed, that he glanced down, wondering how in the fuck she saw him. He was dressed in black and even wearing a mask—
The tackle came from behind him, a body taking him down into the dry, pre-winter grass—and as he was roughly rolled over and a gun was pressed under his chin, he thought, Ah, she hadn’t seen him. She had tracked the movement of this human man.
Who had seen Blade.
As a broad hand pressed into the center of his chest, he assessed the intrusion into his personal space. It was a stunning blond specimen of a guard with a military haircut and military clothing, precisely the kind of man who, under very different circumstances, he might properly have enjoyed making the visceral acquaintance of—provided their roles were reversed and he was the one doing the mounting.
“Bad decision, my guy,” the human said.
On the contrary, Blade thought.
There was a communicator mounted on the guard’s shoulder, and it required a patience Blade had in abundance to wait until the hand on his sternum went for the Velcro-mounted unit—
Just as a shout traveled over from the porte cochere, Blade slapped both his palms on either side of the gun’s muzzle and rerouted its business end off to the side. Then he pulled a trade-place, overpowering the human and pinning him facedown to the browned lawn.
Blade didn’t hesitate. He jerked the man’s head back and twisted.
The crack was loud enough to carry, and the Adonis instantly went limp.
A quick glance back to the porte cochere, and Blade became infuriated. The wolven was starting to run—and not for reentry into the safety of that house. No, the female was coming at him, even though she didn’t know how many of whatever it was were out in the darkness.
He allowed himself a brief moment for a mental snapshot: She was beautiful in motion, her arms and legs pumping, her mouth open as she yelled in anger, her body a powerful, athletic coordination kicked into gear by a keen, assertive mind.
Alas, he would have to depart.
And dematerialize he did.
But not before, in the darkness… he blew her a kiss.
* * *
When Lydia reached the guard, she stopped so short that she tripped over her feet and landed on her hands and knees—which gave her an up-close-and-personal that was horrifying: The man was facedown and limp in the scratchy grass, his head turned away at a bad angle.
Very bad.
“Help!” she called out again.
Where was security when you needed them?
“Sir,” she said as she gently patted his shoulder, “it’s okay. You’re going to be okay?”
As if that was a question she expected him to answer or something.
Crab-walking around him, she—“Oh… God.”
Lydia let herself fall back onto her seat. The man’s eyes were open and unfocused, staring straight out of the sockets, as if he were transfixed by a view. Likewise, his lips were parted, but he wasn’t breathing—
Suddenly, two guard dogs flashed by her, silent canine missiles, and then a pair of guards arrived, their heavy footfalls seeming to crash into her. Without preamble, she was picked up by two heavy hands and moved over as if she were as inanimate as the dead man.
“I saw something out here,” she babbled to no one in particular. “It was him, moving fast. The blond hair caught my eye. All of a sudden, he seemed to capture something—but then there was some kind of tussle and I heard this crack and I came running and—”
“Get her inside—”
“I’ll take her in—give me a sec.”
At the familiar voice, Lydia looked up. Gus had run out of the house, and as he dropped down and took hold of the guard’s wrist, he seemed tense and professional.
Glancing up, he shook his head; then he focused on her. “Come on, Lydia. Come with me.”
Things became a blur at that point. Then again, every time she blinked, she saw the guard’s face, so handsome, so static. When her awareness properly checked in again, she was sitting at the breakfast table, in the alcove off C.P.’s industrial kitchen, the light fixture that hung from the ceiling glowing softly. The scent of coffee drifted over to her, and so did a volley of conversation that was hushed and urgent.
Clearing her throat, she said, “Where is Daniel—”
“I’m right here.” There was the scrape of a chair, and then he was by her side, his hand on her back. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t know what she said to him. She hoped it was reassuring.
Gus was the one who brought the coffee. Two mugs—one for her, one for Daniel. Then the doctor disappeared and came back with a Coke for himself.
“What happened out there?” he asked.
Lydia shook her head and glanced across at the man. “I don’t know. You were with Daniel in the bedroom, and I figured I’d give you both a little privacy. I went out to move the car around to the garage… and I saw something out on the lawn…”
She had a feeling this was a story she was going to have to repeat to many people. Just like Daniel did with his list of symptoms.
Abruptly, she closed her mouth and looked through into the kitchen. A pair of men were standing off to the side, their guns drawn, their mouths pressed to communicators mounted on their shoulders.