Blood Bonds (44 page)

Justice lowered until one blue eye hovered in front of Farley’s face.

It was not me that stopped her. It was you.

Justice slipped out of the over-sized garage door and around the corner. Farley went after him.

“Wait. Do you really expect me to...” The street was empty except for a few dumpsters and Ken’s puke green Nissan. Farley turned the other way, jogged to the corner. He scanned the sky where the morning sun was losing the fight with the clouds. “Great ... just great.” Well, if Justice ever lost his day job, he could moonlight as the next Criss Angel.

Not only could the Great White lie without twitching, he could disappear into thin air.

Haley was cold. Which seemed to have become a recurring bad habit. And like two packs a day, it was seriously detrimental to her health. She opened her eyes and was blinded by white. White walls, white ceiling, white floors.

At first she thought she was in a hospital, because there was an IV port in her right arm. But wide bands crossed over her limbs, buckling her down with a combination of metal and leather.

Haley pulled against the straps. The pin in her back flared, and the acrid stench of burning magic made her eyes water.

The table she was on tilted forward until she was in an upright position, making her feel like a piece of very bad living art. Even though the room was vast, the sterility of it was suffocating and claustrophobic. A thump and grind brought her eyes up. The top half of the wall facing her receded, revealing a window and a room full of people and Colonel Dobson.

His voice came through a nearby speaker. “Good afternoon, Ms. Night. I hope you’re happy with your new living arrangements.”

“Funny, I don’t seem to recall that getting I-O clearance required a long stint in bindings.” She glared at the man.

“I am truly sorry about this. I didn’t plan on things going exactly this way. You have the Queens to blame. Their nature has forced my hand.” It might have sounded more sincere if the jackass wasn’t smiling when he said it.

“Are you referring to the fact that you’re so stupid you made a bargain with a Queen, or that you made a bargain with the wrong Queen?”

Dobson turned and said something to one of the white coats in the room. A side door slid open and two men and a woman entered, rolling in a small machine, square and indistinct. For no particular reason, Haley noticed that one of the wheels on the stand wobbled as it was pushed across the floor.

They surrounded her and began pulling out tubing, and prepping syringes. Their bland faces conveyed perfect clinical detachment.

Haley cursed when one of them grabbed her head and forced it to the side. She didn’t know what was more frightening, not knowing what they were going to do to her, or the fact that they could hold her down to do it. Without her preternatural self, she was helpless.

Dobson said, “I suggest you be very still, Ms. Night. It’s only going to hurt worse if you don’t.”

A small sharp sting hit the side of her neck a moment later. They let her go and went back to whatever it was they were supposed to be doing.

Haley watched as one of the men opened the side of the machine. He picked up each vial of fluid and held it up to the light before sliding it back into place. The woman moved in next, adding the blood she’d drawn, and the third man checked lines. They’d either choreographed what they were doing, or had done it a lot.

“So, is your virus still defective like it was in Beijing?” Haley could almost hear the click of a gun as his gaze flipped up and locked on.

“I see Dr. Meyer has been talking to you about things she knows nothing about.”

“Dr. Meyer has a conscience, unlike you.”

Dobson laughed. It was a hearty rich sound. Haley couldn’t help but think the man would probably have a great singing voice.

She jerked when the woman hooked up tubing to the port in the crook of her arm.

Dobson said, “You know, you should be grateful that we even bothered to save you. You were pretty messed up out there. Did you actually think you stood any chance at all against Niles?”

“I had to try.” She did. As stupid and useless as her efforts had turned out to be, she could have never walked away. Obviously Nidia had been counting on that.

“You are an enigma, Ms. Night.”

“Yeah, that’s what
impressing
on Humans will do to you.” Haley pulled against the restraints, trying to move away from the fluid creeping up the line.

“My comment about you being an enigma has nothing to do with your
impression
of Humans. Which, by the way, I do find fascinating and want to explore at a later date. No, what I was referring to is your genetic code. Your genes are different, unlike any Kin, Male or Female, that I’ve sampled.” He paced back and forth, his footfalls echoing over the speaker. “You may start to feel a little tired. Just relax. It will go better if you relax.”

Haley looked around, trying to figure out who’d unplugged her brain and replaced it with cotton. “I don’t want to relax.” Holy crap, was that her voice? And did someone just crank the heat up about a hundred degrees?
“Hot...” Haley panted.

“This next phase is going to hurt. The pain will only last for a little while, but you’re going to scream, so I’m going to turn off the speaker.”

“Wait!” Violence shot through Haley’s bones, throwing her head back, smashing it against the steel table, and then yanked her limbs against the bindings until bones broke. Her muscles strained, her tendons ripped, and just when it couldn’t get any worse, her hearts squeezed, crushing the air out of her lungs.

A tide of pain washed over her. Like a million gnashing teeth, it ate its way up her legs.

Blood erupted from her nose and sprayed across her chest as her body became a puppet to the seizure. It was like nothing she’d ever felt and she couldn’t stop the woeful cries as they ripped from her throat until she could only make a gravelly hissing noise.

When the muscular spasms melted away, she was left with her shoulders dislocated and one hip broken. Haley struggled for breath.

Niles had begged her for death. Was this what he feared? If it was, she understood. ‘Cause now she wanted to die too. Maybe God of Man would at least give her this, release, freedom, even if it only led to a vast nothing. How did that prayer go, the one John Tate said before Medan killed him? Haley couldn’t remember.

Dear God of Man, help me. Kill me. Kill me.

I am here for you, Haley. Come to me, Child.

Haley never expected an answer. Not really. Humans were supposively made in the God’s image. Kin were beast, excluded from the promised afterlife. But a spark fired in her chest. Maybe God had a place for Kin in his heaven, too.

But then the soft voice laughed and said,
Haley ... there is no God, only Queen dragons.

Dobson got the speaker turned off just in time. The alchemy used to isolate the gene sequences always caused seizures. Which was why they used the Glycation. It slowed the response time, reduced the severity. It took losing a dozen or so Males before they found something that would work. Even in Human form, the Kin metabolism burned at full throttle and normal opioids went through them like water.

The colonel checked the clock. Average time was six minutes, eighteen seconds. Much longer and the subject was usually too broken up to survive, because the pin blocked their healing abilities to barely above Human.

Once the protein binding sequence was complete, it would just be a matter of drawing out her blood and letting the computer isolate the correct stretch of nucleotides, tear them down, then transcribe them back into the RNA of the virus.

And Dobson couldn’t wait.

Three minutes into it the blood started. The capillaries in the nasal passages were always the first to go. Reasons unknown, but it sure did make for a show. He checked the clock. Four minutes. The seizures stopped. That was a new record.

“Sir, I’m getting a weird thermal reading.”

Dobson walked over to Mike, who was monitoring the room in infrared. By keeping an eye on body temps, they could actually see the temperature drop the virus created in each subject as it completed the RNA sequencing. “We’re dealing with an unknown here. It’s not going to be unusual to get some variations from the norm.”

“But, sir, these aren’t dropping. She just went from ninety-eight point seven to one hundred in under three seconds.”

The picture on the screen showed Haley in reds and yellows with white in the core. The number one hundred point one blinked in the upper right hand corner. It went to two, then three. It was still well below the normal core temp for the species, but...

“Richards?” Dobson flicked a look in the man’s direction.

“We’re okay, sir. She’s still well within the expected readings.”

“Yeah, well, I want to know why it’s going up and not down.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. Give it a few more seconds.”

Dobson went to the other station when Lisa Whitman, his metaphysical signature expert, motioned for him. She pointed to the monitor, which was nothing more than a psychedelic conglomeration of colors that didn’t exist on a normal light scale. If he squinted hard enough, the faint outline of wings and head could be seen. But that wasn’t uncommon. The metaphysical waves often formed shadows of their true forms.

“What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“Her signature, sir.”

“What about it?”

Lisa turned back to the screen, punched a few buttons on the key board, and it changed. The new picture showed less color variation and a narrower field. “This was her fifteen minutes ago, when Paul, Kyle, and Margaret were starting the mix.” She clicked another set of keys. The picture changed, growing brighter, larger. “This is her now.”

The signal strength should have been dwindling, instead it was getting stronger. “Is she trying to shift?”

“No, sir. I’ve never seen anything like this before.”

From the other station Mike said, “Colonel, her temp just went to one o’ three.”

“Richards?” But Richards didn’t answer.

Dobson looked back at the window. Haley’s head came up, wobbled, and fell back. When she picked it up again he could see her lips moving.

What the hell?

“Someone turn on the intercom, I want to hear what she’s saying.”

Mike reached over and clicked on the speaker. The language was fluid, beautiful, something impossible to form with a Human voice box.

“I need a translation!” Dobson threw a glare around the room. “Tell me that someone here knows how to run a fucking translation program.”

“I’m on it.” Mike rolled his chair backwards to one of the other computers. After a good twenty seconds the computer played out the translation in a poor excuse for a Female voice.

Blood of My Blood.

Flesh of My Flesh.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” No one volunteered an answer. “Richards?”

The man had his nose glued to his computer screen, hands going at light speed over the keyboard. “She’s probably got cerebral damage. Ignore it.”

Ignore it?

Dobson looked at Haley. Her hair was matted. She was covered in blood and she had several broken limbs. The pain alone should have knocked her out. Instead she was wide awake and staring at him.

“Hello, Colonel Dobson.”

Dobson had an odd feeling that something had just happened, but he wasn’t sure what. Mike called out another temperature spike and Lisa barked orders for the rest of the team to start recording, but it was nothing more than a distant hum. Colonel Dobson stepped up to the glass.

“You did well, Haley. In a few minutes we’re going to start the second part, then you’ll get to rest for a day.” Her eyes looked dark like a Human’s, but something about them seemed wrong.

Well, for starters, she was on enough Glycation to knock out three Males twice her size, so the fact she was even coherent smacked of a problem.

“Tell me, Colonel, is this the last of your virus?”

Colonel Dobson frowned. “I’m not sure why you’re so worried about that.”

Haley showed fangs.
Shit.

“Her temp is up to one ten and climbing.” Mike sounded worried. Really worried.

“You don’t have to tell me, of course.” Haley inclined her head. “I already know the answer.” Her gaze slid to Richards, who was running a printout. “Did you know Richards is gay?” That got the metaphysical biologist’s attention. His head came up and his face flushed across the cheeks. He fumbled with the printout, scattering papers everywhere.

Dobson didn’t like faggots, but the man was good at his job, so he’d let it slide for now.

“And what does Richards’ inclination for dick have to do with anything?”

He stared at Haley. It had to be a trick of the light. Her broken body no longer looked as twisted up.

A seductive smile spread across Haley’s lips. “Four days ago, he got drunk; a little party downtown with his friends. He had no idea of course, but he must have liked the new flavor because he’s been back twice since. Tell me, Richards, where did you think that scar came from between your legs?”

“Who the hell are you?” Haley dropped her head and closed her eyes. Her face went slack. She was out. Dobson didn’t like this at all. Either all the flopping around had seriously fucked her up, or someone was pulling a Linda Blair on him.

With his eyes still on Haley he asked, “Richards, what the fuck is going on?” Dobson turned to Richards, and the clip board he held clattered to the floor. Sweat beaded along the man’s receding hairline and his hands trembled. Dobson’s first reaction was to disregard anything the crazy cunt said, but Richards was displaying all the earmarks of a guilty man.

“So not only are you into dick, but you’re fucking the wyrms?”

“She’s delirious.” He waved a hand. “We’ve seen the Females pull things like this before. They like to play with your mind, get into your head.”

“Don’t tell me what we’ve seen. They like to talk about
feeding
on us, crushing our bones, tearing out flesh. They insult, condemn, threaten, but this...” Dobson grabbed Richards by the collar. “Tell me you are not fucking them.”