In Like a Lion (3 page)

Not because Finn’s words had frightened her, she acknowledged once more, her mouth dry at the memory, but because of the vision he’d kindled in her mind.

She’d seen herself on his bed, his mouth moving across her skin in a thousand tiny bites while she squirmed with ecstasy in his arms, sweat gleaming on her skin, moans of pleasure winging from her throat. Even recalling the image sent a flush of heat through her body.

She huffed, raked the annoying wisp out of her eyes, and settled on a partial truth. “He’s a little overwhelming.”

“I see . . .” Mr. Kincaid paused for a moment. “I thought I’d chosen the right person for the job, but if you don’t think you’re ready . . .”

Anjali’s heart plummeted in her chest. She couldn’t lose this opportunity, and certainly not because of some ridiculous physical aberration. If she could determine the causes of antisocial behavior, think of the people she could help, the lives she might save. Her mother’s face flashed into her mind’s eye.

She scrambled into speech. “No. It’s nothing I can’t handle. Actually, I forgot my lunch and since I live quite close . . .”

“Glad to hear it.” There was an odd note in the older man’s voice, but he went on before she could label it. “You’ll be working with him later then?”

“Oh, yes. Count on it,” Anjali said, ignoring the raging butterflies swooping in her stomach. She would get control of herself if it were the last thing she did. Her unusual reaction to him was just a freak event. Probably brought on by posttraumatic stress. Meeting him just reminded her of what’d happened to her mother. That’s all. She ignored the tiny voice that whispered, ‘liar’ in her head.

“Good. I have some videos for you. I think they’ll be helpful. See you later then.”

“Later,” she echoed and wondered why that word suddenly held both fear and promise.

Gareth Kincaid answered the buzzer on his desk phone with a terse, “Yes?”

Silence on the end of the line told him he’d startled his secretary. He closed his eyes. His leather office chair creaked as he leaned back, scraping up the wherewithal to moderate his tone. “What is it, Darcy?”

“Ms. Bansbach’s on line one, sir.”

“Thank you, Darcy. Put her through.” Gareth plowed a hand through his hair as he waited for the transfer. Lord, sometimes he rued the day he had approached the woman’s employers about selling them a chimera.

“Clara, how nice to hear from you.”

There was a dainty snort from the other end of the line. “Save your sweet talk for your pawns, Gareth. All I want is an update.”

Gareth ground his molars. “We’re making progress. He spoke to one of the possible mates today.”

“I still don’t see why you can’t just use the samples you’ve already taken and impregnate a surrogate.”

He ground his teeth. “How many times do I have to tell you? It doesn’t work that way. A chimera has one mate. He’s sterile until he is fully pair-bonded to her.”

“We have an adult chimera. My employers aren’t sure they want to wait to imprint and develop a baby.”

“If your bosses think they can control Jacob Finn in any of his forms, they’re wrong. Even locked in his human body, he’s stronger, faster, and more cunning than they can possibly imagine.”

Clara gave a high laugh. “You sound as if you admire him.”

“I’ve known him since he was fifteen, and I respect what he can do. Three years ago, when he escaped, he killed some of my men without taking one of his larger forms.”

“Maybe he can’t. You said yourself he doesn’t know what he is.”

“It doesn’t matter why he didn’t change. The point is—he didn’t
have
to.” Gareth shook his head. “No. We’ll never control him, and mated he’ll be even more powerful.”

“And how are you going to get one of these women to mate with him?”

“If one of them is his mate, neither he nor she will be able to escape the attraction of the chimera pheromones. We’ll just sit back, give them the illusion of space, and let nature take its course. In females, proximity initiates the change. Conception completes it. She will transform into a chimera and we’ll dispose of Finn.”

“And the female?”

“Going soft, Clara?” Gareth grinned, enjoying the opportunity to needle her. 

“You know me so well.” Clara’s voice could have re-frozen glaciers. “I was thinking we might do a deal for the baby
and
the mother.”

Gareth laughed at her tone, then lowered his voice, though there was no one nearby to hear. “I wish I had them both on the table, but chimeras don’t live long without their mates. Minutes after the baby is born, the mother will die.”

Chapter 3

John Roth’s chest clenched as he approached the dragon beside the vast bed. The creature half-opened one neon green eye, his pupil constricting as he sighted John. Behind the dragon, a bank of windows exposed the New York City skyline.

Lights illuminated the skyscrapers while stars still held fast against the dawn. A fireplace, more in keeping with a medieval castle than a New York high-rise, cast a red glow against the dragon’s ebony haunches.

The creature shifted, then attacked with the speed of a tornado; black scales—each shining with the iridescent colors of an oil slick—whispering against each other like hushed voices.

“Fuck.” John swore as one massive taloned claw grabbed him under the arms and pinned him to the exposed brick wall, knocking the air from his lungs.

Blade-sharp tips pierced his flimsy shirt and punctured the skin beneath his ribs. Brick scraped his back.

The dragon snarled, teeth gleaming like white daggers, and snaked his head toward John’s neck, clearly preparing to rip into the vulnerable flesh.

John threw up one arm to block his throat and struggled in the dragon’s binding grasp. He tore desperately at the powerful claw with his other hand. “Kyle! Goddamnit! It’s me. John.”

Just as he could feel the dragon’s hot, moist breath on his neck and shielding arm, the dragon stopped.

“John?” The claw opened and John slid gasping to the wood floor.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” Kyle Mara’s talons flexed against the priceless Oriental rug, as if regretting their savage behavior.

John could hear the guilt in his deep, harmonic voice and read it in his draconian eyes. “Why didn’t you phase out or use your powers before I hurt you?”

John shrugged. “I knew you’d come to your senses.”
Hoped, more like.

Kyle closed his eyes and John knew he hadn’t convinced either of them.

The other man flashed into human form and padded to his walk-in closet to throw on some clothes. “Why’d you wake me?” he asked as he emerged, fully dressed in jeans and a black buttoned-down shirt, but barefoot.

John waved a Skypad and light reflected off the shiny black edges of the tablet computer. “We found the others.”

Kyle gestured for John to follow him and slipped down the spiral staircase to the first floor of the penthouse, rubbing a hand over his face

Downstairs, John followed Kyle’s rigid back to his desk. The chair behind it groaned beneath Kyle’s weight and John imagined for a moment what would happen if Kyle had been in one of his other forms. The image of a disgruntled dragon or lion sitting on a flattened chair sparked a laugh, but he smothered it.

These close calls were becoming all too frequent.

And once or twice, John had caught his friend eyeing him as if barbequed human were on the menu. Fortunately, he only
appeared
human.

His half-demon strength was the reason Ky had hired him and trusted him with his secrets.

John passed his friend the tablet. The photo of a man bearing a striking resemblance to Kyle stared up at them.

Kyle tapped through the pages with sharp desperation, devouring the text like a lion on a chunk of meat and went on to the next file, revealing another man with a similar face.

John settled into the chair across from Kyle and waited. The desk presided over another bank of windows. He occupied himself watching the stars disappear one by one as the inky fabric of the night began to pale.

Kyle paused at the last folder. “Is this all we have on Ethan?”

John sighed. “I’m afraid so. He disappeared months ago. I think we have to accept he might be dead.”

Kyle’s mouth tensed. John could see a swallow bob down Kyle’s throat and knew his friend held back a load of unrealistic guilt. Kyle nodded grimly, setting the tablet on the desk and staring at the screen as it went to standby. A muscle in his jaw twitched and he glanced up. “I haven’t heard back from Jake, either. Can you get someone to track his cell phone?”

John nodded.

“And call Thalia, please.”

John dialed the number on Kyle’s cell phone and laid it on the desk.

“Well,” Thalia said on the other end of the line, her voice vibrant with a smile. “You just caught me. It’s almost dawn. Have you called them yet, Ky?”

A laugh rumbled up from Kyle’s chest. He glanced at John with eyes now tinged with gold. “It’s customary to say hello when you answer the phone.”

“And it’s polite to tell someone they’re on speakerphone. Hello, John.” Humor threaded Thalia’s tone.

“Hi, Thalia.” It didn’t surprise John that Thalia knew he was there.
She
wasn’t exactly human either.

He wished he could echo her jocularity, but fear and sorrow weighted his chest. The gold bands edging Ky’s eyes were yet another sign his friend’s ability to control his emotions eroded with each passing day.

John forced his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Any luck finding the women?” Ky asked.

Thalia’s voice sobered. “Ky, I’m a vampire, a private investigator, and the witches’ Champion. What I’m not is eharmony.com.”

She sighed. “I had no problem with locating your brothers, except Ethan, but I don’t have the skills to find mates for you or them. Your kind is too rare. Too little is known about chimeras and little of it is true. Three heads?” She snorted. John could practically hear her shaking her head. “And I’ve certainly never seen you turn into a goat.”

Ky’s voice held the vibration of a roar. “If you need more money—”

John tensed in his chair, in case he needed to jump to his feet or phase out of there. He wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice—at least not in the same day.

“It doesn’t matter that you have more money than God, Ky. You know I’d do this for nothing. You’re my friend. I want you to be happy and—” Her voice trailed off for a moment and John could hear air shudder across the receiver. “—safe,” she finished.

Ky nodded, but didn’t speak.

“I
can
tell you this. Creatures like you aren’t known in science because you’re made of pure magic, and my magical mojo tells me your mates will find you when it’s time.”

“I pray you’re right.” Kyle kneaded his forehead with his fingers and John knew his friend still ruminated over the earlier attack.

“I have to be. I don’t want my daughter’s godfather to make a meal of her one day.”

Ky growled through his teeth.

John hoped they were
human
teeth.

Thalia groaned. “Damn. I’m sorry, Ky. That was a stupid joke. You’re not going to go feral on us.”

“Sure, there’s never been a recording of
Chimeras
Gone Wild
,” Ky said.

The joke would have more believable if his eyes hadn’t gone more gold than green and a retractable claw wasn’t scoring the mahogany desk.

“Only because you’ve never been to Spring Break,” Thalia teased, taking his words at face value, not privy to his partial shift. “Listen, I’ll try again. There’s got to be some spell I can use. I’ll call you.”

Ky shut his eyes as she hung up. After searching for so long, he almost couldn’t believe he’d finally found them all.
And not a moment too soon
.

Damnit.
He’d almost killed his best friend. He could still smell the faint copper of drying blood. Regret tasted just as bitter. He was barely in control of his other forms these days.

The
tick, tick, tick
of a timer echoed in his head, but this bomb had no set time. Even he didn’t know when it might explode.

For several seconds he panted heavily, holding back the lion. The dragon had always been his primary form, the default form he reverted to when in turmoil, but lately even that was uncertain.

When he lifted his head and lobbed the phone back to John, he knew his eyes were his normal, almost-human green.

He leaned back in his chair and jabbed his finger at the Skypad. “Who do you think is in the most danger?”

John shrugged. “Tyler and Conner are in Afghanistan.”

A tiny smile tugged at Ky’s lips. He couldn’t be more proud. “I saw that. Army Rangers. Amazing to think they found each other on their own.” He shook his head. “But that’s not what I meant. Who do you think is in the most danger of ‘going wild?’”

“You.”

Ky froze as his friend verified his own worst fear, then ran his hand over his face. “I’ll be fine. I know what I am. I have people I can rely on, and I have our contract.”

John flinched.

Ky caught the movement. “You’re not thinking of weaseling out of our agreement?” The lion probed at his defenses. It became more vital every day that John keep his word.

“Excuse me, if I don’t want to kill a friend.” John stood and paced to the window.

The morning sun sliced through the last lingering charcoal shadows cast by the neighboring high-rises and carved his friend’s hard features into a stark mask. “But you don’t have to worry. My demon half won’t let me ‘weasel out.’”

Ky jumped from his seat. He turned John around with a clawed hand. “No searching for loopholes either.”

He could see his reflection in John’s dark pupils. The sight of his eyes burning gold woke him to his loss of control. He attempted to muscle the beast back into submission and patted John’s shoulder with his broad palm in apology.

“There are no loopholes. You made sure of it. If you surrender to your animal self, I will ensure your death by whatever means necessary, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.” John’s eyes were angry.

Ky sighed with relief and his claws retracted at last into human fingers. “Thank you, my friend. I can’t stand to think I might kill an innocent.”

John nodded. Ky turned back to the files. “I’m not giving up yet. I know there’s hope. But you read the files. Except for Conner and Tyler, the other boys have no one and no idea what they really are.”

John leaned over, scooping up the tablet and tapping open a folder. “Frankly, if you want my opinion, they’re all fucked, but Jake. He’s the youngest, the seventh, and to quote Thalia’s notes—” He scanned the page until he found the exact words. “—If Jake goes—stand back, it’s going to be a bloody ride.”

Alone in the cramped, little-used auxiliary control room, Anjali took a seat, muffling a yawn with one hand, and turned on a monitor, one of several lining the room. Eight a.m. had seemed to come earlier this morning, but tossing and turning most of the night would do that to you. She’d managed to spend most of yesterday afternoon finishing up the paperwork that came with a new job, but putting off Jake’s interview had only made it loom over her like a predatory shadow.

A picture of the break room came into focus on the screen.
Lovely.
She’d have to remember to eat at her desk in the future.

She slid the DVD into the player. She’d been surprised the videos were on disc and not computer files; the Kincaid group was cutting edge in every other way. On screen, an image resolved of the same little boy whose picture had been clipped to her files. He sat at a huge table in what seemed to be a police interrogation room.

His skinny legs swung from the adult-sized chair, his sneakered feet dangling inches above the floor. He glanced up at the camera. Even in black and white, those eyes struck her. So feral, so angry, so—lost.

A twinge of compassion squeezed her heart. This video, no doubt taken from a tape, had probably been made when he’d been questioned about his foster father’s death.

He looked so young, so vulnerable.

She’d been sheltered at that age. The pampered only child, oldest of the cousins, catered to by her extensive family.

She swallowed. Maybe he’d been the lucky one. He’d had nothing to lose. She lifted her hand to her forehead as if she could rub away the mean-spirited thought. It’d been years. When would the grief no longer hover over her like a shadow, tainting every action, every thought?

On the screen, two policemen entered, along with a slender, suited, athletic woman Anjali assumed was a social worker.

“We want to hear your side, Jake,” one of the officers said. Stocky and graying, he put a heavy, paternal hand on Jake’s thin shoulder.

Jake shrugged it off. “He touched me. I didn’t like it, so I hit him.” He glanced back at the man, then down at the floor, as if something in the pattern of the tiles could rise up and rescue him.

“What’d you hit him with? It’s OK. You’re not in trouble.” The older man’s tone was soothing, but Anjali could hear the tension in it. Whatever Jake had done had been bad enough to shake a veteran officer.

Jake skewered the man with his gaze. “You’re lying.”

The officer started, bushy brows lifting. “Why do you say that?” He moved in closer.

Jake had turned his attention back to the floor. “You smell funny.”

What? Frowning, Anjali leaned forward, pointed the remote at the player and repeated that last section before pausing it.

Why had he made a connection between the man’s smell and, what—his words?

Anjali started the video again, leaning in to catch every nuance of body language, every micro-expression.

The police officer stared at Jake and backed away, body stiff, arms crossed over his broad chest, either unnerved or offended by what the boy said. “I’m telling you the truth, son. We just want to know exactly what happened.”

Jake examined his dangling feet.

Anjali ached for him. The social worker should have offered support, but even she sat as far from him as the table allowed, as if he might attack at any moment.

He swiped at his nose with his skinny wrist and the stupid woman flinched. “I hit him with my claws.”