The Last Twilight (28 page)

Ajax snarled, reaching back to grab at the cub. Rikki ran and jumped, scrabbling, grabbing his ears in her fists and letting herself hang from them. Her feet touched the ground and she brought her knees to her chest. Ajax howled. He grabbed Rikki around the ribs and tore her off, slamming her down onto the floor. Reached back to do the same to the cheetah cub.

A’sharia.
The little girl. Rikki fought to stand.

A large golden blur passed between her and Ajax. Another cheetah. Screaming. Suddenly standing on two legs with black claws whistling through the air. Ajax grunted, eyes bulging. A wet sucking sound filled the air, and the cheetah—the man—dragged his claws from that muscular gut, leaving a hole the size of a football. Ajax staggered, falling.

Rikki swung away, sick. Heard a low noise, a sharp intake of breath behind her. Looked up and found herself staring at Amiri.

The hard desperate relief that passed through her body almost took her down to her knees. This was a sight for sore eyes, a sore heart, and a sore soul. Like coming home.

And then she saw the bigger picture. Amiri had a gun pointed directly behind his head. His shoulder was a bloody torn mess. Rictor was cuffed, hands behind his back. The two men were flanked by mercenaries—and Broker.

Rikki heard a soft mewling sound. She turned, and found a lean, lithe dark-skinned man gently peeling the cheetah cub off of Ajax’s still back. The cub began to transform the moment it was in the man’s arms, fur receding into smooth brown skin and a slightly chubby body that was again human and young and fragile. A’sharia clung to the man, and the man—older, with some gray in his hair—clung to the child, making soothing noises.

A small hand found Rikki’s fingers. Kimbareta. She dragged him close and looked back at Amiri. Found him watching that other shape-shifter with the most peculiar look on his face: disbelief, confusion, incredulity, and a pain that struck her deep for its loneliness.

Rikki hardly looked at Broker. She walked to Amiri. Knowing she should not, that she could
not
let on how much she cared. It would be turned into a weapon against her. But she had to let him see her eyes. She had to be close to him, if only for a moment.

I love you,
she told him silently, imagining he could hear her, that he could feel it. And she imagined, too, that what she saw in his eyes when he looked back was the same. Still wild and dangerous, filled with that lethal grace that made his every movement poetry. It would not matter what Broker did to him. Amiri was, and would ever be, a man beyond capture. Elusive. Magic.

Rikki looked at Rictor, then Broker. “The whole gang is here, I see.”

“And you’ve been having adventures,” he replied crisply. His face was covered in blood, as was his shirt. She saw bullet holes.

He waved at his men to flank the room, and then looked past Rikki at the second shape-shifter. Rikki turned. Found herself recognizing a man who was Amiri, only thirty years older. Tall, lean, whipcord thin; a chiseled face, steady gaze.

But cold. So cold. Aloof, calculating. The only thing that made Rikki think it might be a mask was the way A’sharia clung to his large, bloody hand, as though it were a lifeline, her most favorite thing. Rikki remembered holding her father’s hand like that. Feeling like he was the best person in the world. And no kid felt that way about cruel sons of bitches.

“Aitan,” said Broker. “Is A’sharia well?”

“Well enough,” rumbled the older man, and his gaze flicked to Amiri. “Your sister, cub.”

Amiri lifted his chin, but said nothing. Kimbareta wanted to go to him. Rikki held the child back.

“Ah, well,” Broker said. “I have my own family reunion to attend to.”

“Will there be picnic baskets?” Rictor drawled. “Apple pie and pink lemonade? Maybe your
sister
will attend?”

Broker suddenly had a gun in his hand. He placed it against Rictor’s forehead. Neither man blinked. Rikki held her breath, and shared a quick look with Amiri, who looked equally concerned.

“My sister,” Broker whispered, with his first real emotion she had seen thus far: something like grief, something in his eyes like a hard stain. “Little Miss Graves. I do not think, Rictor, that you should speak of her.”

“Something finally cut you, Broker? Broken man not so broke?”

Broker’s gun hand twitched; a tremor touched his jaw. Then, quick as a thought, he reached back and slammed the butt of his weapon against Rictor’s face.

Rikki bit back a gasp. Kimbareta buried his face in her stomach. Amiri surged toward Rictor, catching the man against his ruined shoulder as he staggered, head bowed. Blood dripped from his nose.

Broker leaned close and whispered something in his ear. Rictor straightened so fast his spine cracked, and he looked at the other man with such hate, Rikki took a step back.

“Something finally cut you, Rictor?” Broker smiled, and looked at the surrounding men. “Remove these three to the lab. Aitan, take the children back to your chambers, then prepare the men for Jaaved.”

Kimbareta’s fingers had to be peeled off Rikki’s body. Amiri’s father did the work, coming nose to nose with her. Their eyes briefly met. She saw a crack in the cold, filled with something raw, wild.

And then, nothing. Aitan pulled the boy away, and he was replaced by men in black, mercenaries, none of whom had even the slightest shred of compassion in their eyes. They grabbed Amiri, pushed Rictor, shoved Rikki— packed the three of them so tight together, they walked on each other’s heels. Rikki was fine with that. Her hands were free. She grabbed Amiri’s hand, clinging to his body, soaking in his heat, his scent, savoring the contact as though it might be their last. He squeezed her fingers and it was a touch she felt down to her soul.

“Mpenzi,”
Amiri murmured.

“You and I.” she breathed, and kissed his shoulder.

And then, because Rictor had no one at all, she reached behind him and grabbed his hand. He looked at her, surprised. His nose was crooked, beginning to swell.

She squeezed his fingers and gave him a faint, sad, smile. Rictor swallowed hard and looked away.

Rikki did not let go of either man. She held them together.

She held them tight until they reached the lab.

The mercenaries pulled Rikki away the moment they entered the lab. He tried to fight them, to stay close to her, but something sharp pierced his neck, and his knees instantly wobbled. He lost all feeling below his chin. Dropped hard to the tile floor. He expected his mind to follow his body, but he stayed conscious—and painfully, furiously, aware.

“Put him on the table,” Broker said, somewhere from behind. Men reached under Amiri’s arms, hauling him up. He could not fight them. He tried, with all his strength. But all he received for his trouble was ruined pride and a glimpse of Rikki’s pale face. She was staring at him with such strain, such terrible focus, he thought she might break apart if someone touched her.

The men slammed him down on a cold steel table. He remembered Russia. The cattle prods, the scalpels, the needles. Bars and electricity and voices in his head. He shut his eyes and focused on his breathing. On Rikki.

“You play too many games,” Rictor said, somewhere near. “You arrogant fuck. You should kill us now, if you know what’s good for you.”

“As if you should talk,” Broker replied, stepping into Amiri’s view. “Though even if your threat was not idle, I have, quite literally, nothing to lose. Nothing, anyway, that you can take from me. All of this, that surrounds you, is a well-oiled machine.”

He turned back to Rikki. “On your own table, my dear.”

“And if I tell you to fuck off?” she shot back.

Broker raised his brow, pointed at Amiri, and pulled a hacksaw down from a shelf above his head. He smiled. Rikki gave him the finger. But she got on the table. Amiri did not bother telling her to remain defiant, to let Broker carry out his threats. He was quite certain she might give him the finger, too.

He could not turn his head, but he heard movement behind him—a creaking sound and the rattle of metal links. A sharp click. Rictor said, “Hope you brought your camera.”

“To help savor old times?” Broker set down the hacksaw. His men ranged around the lab, keeping to the shadows while their employer stayed within the light—the harsh fluorescent light that made his skin match the color of his suit: bone gray, bone cold. Dashed dull with dark blood. He looked from Rikki to Amiri, gave a frown. “No. Consider this a moment of reflection. Everything, I planned so carefully. But I did not account for Rictor. Nor for the both of you.”

“Could have fooled me,” Rikki said. But Amiri knew their presence was not what he meant.

“You care for him,” Broker said. “You might even love him. I saw it in your eyes.”

“Feeling compassion?” She asked.

“Not hardly. But it does make things more interesting.” Broker paced to Amiri’s side, and peered down into his eyes. “Tell me, Doctor Kinn…are you aware that every woman this man has loved has died a painful and horrible death?
Murdered.
Did he tell you that?”

Rikki said nothing. Amiri could see her face. She plainly did not believe Broker, but then her gaze flicked down, and she met the shape-shifter’s eyes, and there must have been something on his face, because a trace of doubt crept into her expression. Not fear, but a question.

“Did you tell her?” Broker asked him, leaning even closer. His eyes, cold and bright. “Did you explain the price of your secrets, Amiri? Why you are a danger to this woman?”

“Rikki has nothing to fear from me,” Amiri rasped, speaking for her, to her. He tried to see her eyes, but Broker stood in his way. “What happened—”

“What happened is that you participated in murder.” Broker glanced back at Rikki, shifting just enough that Amiri finally saw her face. Which told him little. Her expression was flat, carefully neutral—disturbingly so. “All those women did was love you.”

“Only one.” Amiri struggled to move. “You are telling lies.”

Broker smiled. “Beast. Animal. At least your father accepts that part of himself, but you…you cling to that idle fantasy of humanity that has no place for you. There
is
no home for your kind. Not amongst humans. Not with
her.”

Amiri had excellent hearing, which was the only reason he knew Rikki was going to move before Broker did. He heard her shift, and then she was in the air, lunging at the man’s back. She wrapped her legs around his waist, grim and utterly silent, and dug her fingers into his eyes. Broker grappled. Men moved. Amiri tried his best to do the same, shifting as he did, fur pouring through his skin as his muscles rolled and twisted. It was like a metabolic burn, coursing through his veins. His hands twitched, his leg jerked, and though he could not move well, he forced himself to remain in a state of perpetual shifting—very slight, very careful, with a mix of disappearing fur and skin and claw. He began to regain strength in his limbs.

No one noticed. The men finally peeled Rikki off Broker’s back, and slammed her again on the table. Amiri bit back his outrage, though he watched every man who touched her, memorizing their faces and scents.

Broker’s eyes were red, bleeding. Fresh blood, mixing with the old. Behind, Rictor laughed softly—but only until Broker took a step, stood between Rikki’s legs, and backhanded her across the face. The crack of his hand meeting her cheek sounded like a gunshot, and Amiri would have rather taken a bullet than seen that.

Rikki did not make a sound. Her cheek burned scarlet. Her lip bled. Amiri said, “I am going to kill you.”

“Idle threats are amusing only up to a point,” Broker replied, moving to the sink. He turned on the water, testing it until steam rose. He washed his face. One of his men handed him a towel, and after a good scrub it came away pink and brown and crusty.

Broker glanced at Amiri. “I am going to train you all, shape-shifter. All of you, my pets.”

“Go to hell,” Rictor replied, and there was rage in those words. Killing fury, wound so tightly it made Amiri’s skin crawl to hear it. But only because it was too close to what he himself already felt; his skin was crawling with anticipation and not fear. He kept his focus on Rikki. Plotting, in his head, every possible path he could take to her, every weapon he might use, when he finally regained use of his body.

Rikki looked from Broker to him, her gaze defiant. He saw her take in the faint ripple of his fur, and he let his finger twitch, for her benefit. She blinked, and tightened her jaw.

“Broker,” she said. “This is not where you produced the weapon that killed all those refugees. This is no Level-Four containment lab.”

She was stalling. But it was an interesting observation, nonetheless. Broker continued scrubbing away his gruesome mask of blood. “What makes you think, Doctor Kinn, that what occurred in that camp is the product of a weapon?”

Rikki frowned, gingerly touching her lip. “One thousand people lost their lives.”

“But twenty survived. And they are the entire point of the matter.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Broker tilted his head, and threw down the towel. “Tell me, Doctor Kinn…what do you know about gene therapy?”

“Gene therapy?” She seemed taken aback. “I know enough. The point is to cure genetic diseases by replacing targeted genes.”

“And the problems with it?”

“The immune system can reject the therapeutic DNA as foreign. Almost like it would the common cold. It’s a faulty process. Unpredictable.”

“That it is.” Broker smiled, faintly. “Especially when one uses a
virus
to implement alterations to the genetic code.”

Rikki stared at the man—stared for such a long time, even the mercenaries began glancing at each other.

“No,” she whispered. “No, you
wouldn’t.”

“It is effective,” he replied. “Not contagious, contained as well as a disease can be. But in this case, inelegant.”

“It’s the same as butchering people.” Rikki’s bloody fingers curled against the table. “What could possibly be worth that?”

Broker remained silent. Amiri growled, “What is it?”

Rikki gazed at him from across the room, and her distress was so apparent, so mixed with horror, he felt the cheetah begin to rise through his skin with even greater ferocity. “He’s implying that the Consortium used a virus to introduce new genetic material to those people at the camp.” She flashed Broker a hard, incredulous, look. “Why would you even think to do such a thing? On a mass scale?”

“Pure altruism, I can assure you.”

Rikki looked as though she wanted to dig her fingers into his eyes again.
“Tell me.”

“Wildcat,” he said, almost to himself. “We conducted the test to confer a biological advantage. To make people strong.”

That makes little sense,
Amiri thought, but he stayed quiet, unwilling to draw attention to himself. His muscles were gaining strength; the paralyzing agent burned away. Few of the mercenaries were watching him. They focused on Broker, on Rikki.
Wildcat.
Apt name. She leaned off the table—a sharp movement that made several of the men touch their guns.

“Those people did not need an
advantage,”
she said, voice low, deadly,
“whatever
you might perceive that to be. They just needed to be left alone.”

“Like you?” He smiled, coldly. “Poor little Regina Kinn. Lost her daddy. Her coach. Her friends. Lost her integrity by covering up a major biological find. Lost her body to knives. Lost her life. Nowhere to turn, no place to hide.”

“How do you know about…my find?” she whispered. “How does Jaaved?”

“How does anyone discover secrets?” Broker began unbuttoning his bloody shirt, his fingers slow, methodical. “Friends, my dear. Friends who did not die quite fast enough. Who thought they could bargain with rebels while sprawled in the dirt with a gun to their heads. Something I am sure
you
didn’t think of, even when being cut.” He stripped off his shirt, and tossed it into the sink. Scars lined his chest, what appeared to be words, but in no language Amiri recognized. Ugly, thick and curling. He had seen such scars before, on another friend. A former immortal.

Rikki stared. Broker said, “Jaaved has ears in low places. As do we. It was only a matter of time before rumors spread our way. And it was perfect. Everything was lining up just as it should.”

“You didn’t need Jaaved,” Rikki said.

“We required his name, the distance he could provide us. Jaaved is simply one more buffer, another set of hands. Albeit, well-connected ones. And all we needed to promise him in return for his cooperation was a demonstration we had already planned…and you. His reservoir queen.”

“And what of us?” Amiri inquired, finally daring to speak. “You knew we were coming.”

Broker flashed him a hard look. “We took doctors. We spread rumors that made their way back to Larry Coleman. We knew of his connections to Dirk & Steele, and his sentimental feelings towards Doctor Kinn. His call was inevitable.”

“Arrogant,” Amiri said.

“Manipulation is an art. But then, your Dirk
&
Steele is also quite proficient at such things.” Broker moved toward Rikki, and Amiri watched the tension gather in her body. He very carefully tried to flex his leg. Feeling had almost returned. His muscles obeyed.

“You keep staring at my scars,” Broker murmured to Rikki. “They
are
quite special. Gave me a new lease on life. Would you…like to touch them?”

Amiri almost leapt off the table, but he kept himself steady, still as stone. Heart thundering. Rage building. The cheetah was turning over and over inside his chest, begging for release. He watched Rikki, the defiance in her eyes, those thrown-back shoulders and raised chin. He could smell her fear, but he could not see it. Not even a trace.

“Why did you hurt those people?” she asked Broker, making him look at her, and only her.

“A drop in the bucket.” Broker continued to close in. leaning over Rikki in a way that was disturbingly intimate. “You are looking at the small picture, Doctor Kinn. The world is changing. Not for the best. And I have … seen things. Up here.” He tapped his head, the intensity of his words and voice curling a path up Amiri’s spine.
“Other
people have seen things. And we all agree on one simple fact: that we are living in the last twilight of man. Sometime soon, in ten days or ten years, this world as we know it will end. Billions will die.”

Rikki stared. Amiri stared. He could not imagine what Rictor was doing; the man was so quiet he might as well be asleep.

“You’re insane,” Rikki said.

“Yes,” Broker replied. “Perhaps, even, about this. But I will do what must be done, Doctor Kinn. I will try now to prevent such deaths. I will try to save lives by taking some.”

“You care nothing for humans,” Amiri said, regarding him carefully. “You have told others they are less than our kind, less than those who have power in their blood. So why…why try to save them? Why go to such lengths?”

Behind, Rictor began to laugh, quietly. A sour, grim, sound; bitter as poison. Everyone but Amiri looked at him. “You can’t have babies with the air, Amiri. Broker is saving him some good future breeding stock. That’s all he cares about.”

Cold ran down his spine. He thought of his own mother; his father’s attitude toward women. Rikki said, softly, voice tinged with horror: “That’s why you’re collecting all those ova.”