Animal

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Animal

ISBN 9781419921322

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Animal Copyright © 2009 Nathalie Gray

Edited by Mary Moran

Cover art by Syneca

Electronic book Publication April 2009

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

ANIMAL

Nathalie Gray

Prologue

After Dex Solomon and his team of lycanthrope mercenaries recover a data clip and publicly play its damning message, all hell breaks loose. The news topples the corrupt Global Alliance of Nations government, only to be replaced by former enemies bent on thwarting one another. A civil war is brewing, pitting lycans and other genetically enhanced people against normal humans. Neighbor against neighbor. Friend against friend. The sudden return of marksman Dragana and Cristoval, leader of the underground resistance, together with Liberty’s commercial connections and her lover Cupcake, the shy, towering lycan, all play in the underdog’s favor. But interim leaders of the opposition, Solomon and reformed government spy Eva, still must fight an uphill battle to give “genetic deviants” basic rights. When the shadow government entity known only as the Iron Conclave attacks the underground resistance, causing irreparable damage, all accusing eyes turn to one of its members—Haruto. Branded a traitor with a price on his head from both sides, the enigmatic lycan who never takes his mirrored goggles off conveniently disappears before answers can be gained. There’s blood in the water. And the sharks are circling.

Chapter One 15 December 2534 Era Vulgaris, 0733 hours

Abandoned subway system

Seoul, United Koreas, Earth

They barely made it to the exit. Blue-white telltale flashes of volter shots chased them down tunnels lit by thin, bouncing blue beams from the weapons scopes. Dust and smoke stung her nose, choked her, forced her to breathe through clenched teeth. Sand crunched between them. As if thunder had struck the underground resistance headquarters—Seoul’s ancient subway system—loud booms rattled tiles off the walls. Brioni tried not to yelp with each explosion. A cluster of children with their tiny fists clutched on her bathrobe belt, which she’d undone and used as guide rope, stopped when she froze at one corner. Behind her, more members of the resistance shuffled to a stop. “Is there a lycan with us?” she whispered. Mumbled negatives. Uncertainty. They didn’t know who was where and with whom. The attack had come so suddenly, the underground resistance had just managed to scatter through the many tunnels leading to the surface. She didn’t know who was with her, except that some of them had larger weapons than her puny stunner. She needed a lycan. They could’ve used one of the resistance protectors right about now. Only they could fight Iron Conclave operatives and do it successfully. But then again, they’d been bred for that, genetically enhanced predatory traits and all. The rest of the “genetic deviants” were just that—different. Not killing machines. Plus, there were a lot of regular folks down here at the moment, herself included, who were helping because it was the right thing to do. But she needed fire power. Now. “Don’t take another step,” a man’s gentle voice said from way back down the line. She tried not to sigh audibly. They’d be all right. A lycan was with them. One she knew well. One she liked, even if no one else did. Haruto padded up to her. His long black leather coat trailed almost to the ground. He didn’t have a scope on the volter he held in a steady hand. But then again, he didn’t need one. The man could see in total darkness better than regular people could at high noon. Mirrored goggles like those welders used reflected her face when he turned to her, cocked his head. Goggles he never took off. Longish black hair in a serrated cut obscured the rest of his face. She’d give anything to have a moment with him. Another stolen interlude of quiet and intimacy. Her heart squeezed painfully. He put his index finger against his pursed lips. The fingerless black leather gloves creaked. His presence filled her senses.

Someone demanded they get the hell out of there. Haruto raised his face. She heard him sniffing delicately. She turned to the ones behind her. “Shh.” The change happened so fast she barely had time to push the children out of the way and behind her against the wall. Haruto took a step backward, curved as if under a great weight. He shook violently. His transformation was eerily silent. “Shit!” a man snarled behind her. “He’s changing!” From ahead of them, voices she didn’t recognize. Volter shots. Bright blue-white flashes. The enemy was just around the corner. Had she gone on, had Haruto not stopped them… They would’ve been killed. All of them. Even the little ones. Unlike other lycans, he didn’t become half beast when he changed. Well, maybe tenth beast. His hair rose as though something blew on it, seemed to become spiked like a ridge down the back of his head. From the smooth, Asian facial features, his bone structure turned more angular, particularly around the eyebrows and cheekbones. When he grimaced, fangs protruded down and up—the pain must have been terrible. Standing half a foot taller than his five-eight frame, he pressed one hand against the opposite wall. Metallic claws shot out from the quicks of his fingers. Licking his lips, Haruto turned to her. His trademark smirk pulled his mouth to one side. Something carnal, primal passed between them. He advanced by a step. Sniffed once. She didn’t know how she could tell but he was smelling her. Sensualization spread through her. She stopped breathing. He took another step. Fever engulfed her. He looked so feral this way, so alluring and virile. The same man but honed into a weapon. All sharp edges and animal magnetism. Haruto lowered his face as he ran his tongue along his upper lip. The spell broke when enemy fire drowned even her thoughts. With his metallic claws raking against the wall and creating a godawful screech, he took off down the tunnel. Volter shots. A low growl. More shots, drowned by a haunting howl. One of the children at her side yelped in fright. Some of them began to cry. They were used to the lycans walking around the underground resistance, had been raised amongst people whose only crime was to have been born different. Like Haruto. But it was all becoming too much even for the brave little souls. She could relate. “It’ll be all right,” she said to them as she forced them into a tighter clump. One of the Batista sisters, Rio, grenade-launcher in hand, crept forward and poked her head around the corner. She hadn’t changed yet but breathed hard and shallow.

The gunfight abruptly died down. Ringing silence replaced chaos. “It’s over,” Rio said. Turning back to Brioni, she whispered in her ear, “He… When we move again, I think they should keep their eyes closed.” Brioni knew whom she was talking about. And why.

***** Three hours before

She was too excited to sleep. The news Cristoval had returned left her buoyed and hopeful things would settle down. A lot of people had left the resistance during the charismatic leader’s absence. Some because their kind could now walk the surface without fear of being arrested. The interim government—counseled by Solomon, a lycan mercenary with a foul disposition, and Eva, a former Iron Conclave spy—had made it a priority to ensure people born with differences had a fair shot at life. But not everyone was happy. Labor unions pretended “genetic deviants” were willing to work harder for less money, thus stealing jobs from “normal people”. Others argued against creating a mixed environment in schools. But Cristoval Vonatos was back. It’d all be better now. Brioni looked at her handiwork. Shoot. She’d gone over the edge of her nail with the purple polish and painted her skin too. Waving her hands fast so it’d dry, she shoved her feet into the slippers by her bed. The rapid-dry polish was ready within seconds so she tugged her robe over her cami and boxer shorts—her choice that night, black-bats print against purple stripes—tied the belt tight and slipped out of the dormitory to go get something to drink. With the departure of almost a third of the population, everything was quiet as she padded in her soft slippers to the cafeteria. Someone else was there as well, pacing in front of the hot water plate. Allan, judging by the bright red hair. Asia had cut it again. He should tell his girlfriend to leave his hair alone. Brioni thought the always-smiling redhead looked much better with his hair down his collar. He was speaking on his portable decoder, so she made as little noise as possible. Uncharacteristic of him, he looked angry. Snarled a few words she couldn’t hear. When he casually turned around and caught her there, he snapped the decoder shut. “Hey,” she murmured as she picked up a chipped mug and set it on the pressure plate. If she was lucky, there’d be enough hot water for a full cup. The thing hissed impotently. “H-hey,” Allan replied, trying for a smile. It resembled more of a grimace. What was wrong with him?

With a sigh, she replaced the mug on the dented chrome rack by the wall. Wiped the crumbs off the countertop with the dishcloth then hanged it on the rod over the small sink. With things changing, perhaps those of the resistance still choosing to live underground would have a better life. Hot water for everyone would be very nice. Although she’d just had a shower. Lukewarm, but better than nothing. It was a personal choice on her part. She chose to live here with her friends instead of forsaking them and returning to the surface. As a “normal” human, she wouldn’t have problems, could get her old auditor job back. She didn’t want it. At twenty, she’d decided she wasn’t going to live in a society that treated a segment of its citizenry so badly. She’d quietly sold everything and moved down below. Now three years later, with the nickname “Goth Fairy” stuck to her and in charge of the resistance’s logistics, she regretted nothing. She leaned back against the counter. Allan still stared at her, shifting foot to foot. “Everything all right?” she asked. “You look twitchy. She after you again?” “Yeah, sure. I mean, no—no, Asia’s cool. I just have something on my mind.” He raked his hand through his cropped hair. “It’ll be nice to have the boss back, huh?” She agreed with a smile. Let it slide that he’d changed the subject none-too-subtly. Brioni resisted the urge to ask him if he’d seen Haruto. Since the loner lycan had come to the resistance the year before, all smirk and quiet cynicism, she’d had to make a conscious effort not to ask everyone she met if they’d seen him. Brioni knew she was the only one, but she kind of liked the cynical man. And it had nothing to do with his hot body wrapped in skin-tight black polymer armor, the unruly shock of black hair and the luscious lips pulled in a permanent one-sided smirk. No, of course not. Has nothing to do with Haruto being the sexiest guy on-planet. And it had nothing to do either with the mystery. The mirrored goggles the man never, ever took off. Not in public anyway. No one asked about it, but she was sure everyone wanted to know. Herself included. “You got a message.” She pointed to Allan’s flashing decoder. The red pulse illuminated his pant leg. A demanding one-eyed beetle. Allan looked at the thing in his hand as if it were a venomous snake. He muttered some excuse or other then rushed away. “Gotta take it,” he threw over his shoulder. What was wrong with him now? Had Asia rattled the poor guy again? That girl, despite her many attributes and good heart, could be a pain in the butt. Bossy little thing. Brioni preferred people who led by quiet example over those who lorded over everyone else. Even when moved by good intentions. Because hell is paved with them. Silence settled around the old cafeteria. Back two hundred years, this would’ve been a place where subway workers congregated to eat and talk, have a coffee with friends, commiserate about the crazy bosses. Nowadays, on top of serving its original purpose, the tired but clean room—Brioni was

vicious when it came to clean—was used as meeting room, overflow medical clinic and school. Brioni taught here sometimes when Asia had enough and went stomping off. Her favorite subject to teach was math. She’d never get enough of the kids’ eyes brightening when they finally worked through one of her problems. That she was considered one of the “cool” temp teachers made her proud too. A tiny sound, barely discernible, turned her head toward the door. She exited the cafeteria, switched off the lights to save what precious electricity they had, waited to hear the sound again. Nothing. Just as she was about to take a step, she heard it again. High-pitched. Very faint. Not a voice. Brioni checked her watch. The black cat’s paws indicated a quarter past three. Damn, who was up at this time? Except those like her who couldn’t sleep. Or like Allan, who seemed to be stuck in a bad spot. She wouldn’t mention it to his girlfriend for fear of Asia making it worse for him. Brioni padded on silent feet down the corridor leading to one of the subway tunnels. She emerged in one of the old stations. Before people had started to leave, the resistance had made this station its center of operations because either end of the tunnel led to nothing but cave-ins. Thus safe. The station was quiet now, and deserted. But with Cristoval’s return, things would pick up again. In fact, she should get her stuff in order, collate a few reports, show him the scary numbers she kept only to herself—they’d have to move soon. It was just too big to maintain down here. Oh, she could hear the sound better here. What the hell was it? A cool breeze caressed her face when she leaned from the platform and peered into the darkened tunnel. There. Like a whisper on a breeze, a couple of notes. Definitely some sort of wind instrument. Flute maybe? Brioni Metcalf was curious if nothing else. Making sure not to get her robe snagged in any of the dirty rungs, she climbed down the metal stairs at the end of the platform, walked a few steps into the tunnel to make sure she had the right end. She did. Bolstered, she ventured farther, left the light behind. Keeping to the wall so she wouldn’t trip on the old tracks, Brioni walked until she spotted the end of the main tunnel. Blocks of stones and other debris prevented anyone coming in or going out. No one ever ventured down here anyway since it led nowhere. But to her right, near the cave-in, a grille door had been pushed ajar. A narrow corridor? Here? She hadn’t even known there was one. Obviously, whoever had come here wasn’t very big. Well, neither was she. So she squeezed through the narrow aperture without touching the grille. The music reached her much clearer here. Long, haunting notes made her press a hand to her mouth. It sounded so sad. Beautiful, eerie and enthralling, but so very sad. She’d always been a sucker for organic music. Not the stuff machines made. Real music from real people. Brioni took extra care to be silent as she crept down the side tunnel. At the end to the left, a doorway spilled trembling, golden light on the opposite wall. Cautiously so she wouldn’t disturb the

flute player, she tiptoed to the doorway. In case the person faced it, she stayed in the corridor so she could enjoy the music. There was no beat to it, no rhythm that she could detect. Only long notes like pleas and wordless prayers. Sadness. Beautiful sadness. Tears welled in her eyes. Whoever was playing had—was still—hurt bad. She leaned against the wall, crossed her arms and closed her eyes to share in her mysterious musician’s gift. The music went on. Poignant, moving, a hymn to sorrow. Then it changed, quickened, felt as if something in the music tried valiantly to rise. Brioni felt the tears roll down her cheeks. Then it came to her, just like that. She knew what it was—a requiem for redemption. The player wanted to atone or be forgiven. The music was asking forgiveness. Each note a gallant appeal. The melody cut short. She barely had time to peel her back off the wall when a rough hand reached around the doorjamb, clutched her collar and yanked her inside. Shoot. She gripped the offending hand with both of hers as she faced her aggressor. A smallish man. Black hair in a jagged fringe over his face. A luscious mouth pulled in a one-sided smirk. “Haruto?” He released her, stepped back and slipped something in the collar of his long coat. A tiny tea candle in a chipped glass dish set on the floor illuminated the small room. Hanging between two steel beams exposed between missing concrete, a rope hammock rocked faintly. A colorful rug from eons past but still looking good stretched in the middle of the room while in black lacquer that had seen better years, a straight-backed chair was the only piece of furniture. This was someone’s private place. A sanctuary. She was in Haruto’s home. “Were you spying on me?” His tone was flat even if she could detect the anger there. “No, I swear! I’m so sorry,” she said through her fingers, knuckled the tears from her cheeks. “I-I had no idea… I didn’t know. Shoot. But that was so beautiful and, well, you know, I got curious.” His mirrored goggles reflected her face. She looked as dumb as she felt. Her eyes and nose were red. Great. Not the impression she was trying to give this man. Especially this man. He seemed to relax. By the angle of his chin, she knew he was giving her the once-over. Her heart beat madly as she shoved her hands in the pocket of her robe. “Where, um, where did you learn to play like that?” “In between torture sessions.” Anger flared white-hot. Someone had tortured him? Where? When? Why? “That’s awful.” “I didn’t say I was the one in the chair.”

“Oh… Um…” The realization hit her. “Ew.” The characteristic smirk widened. “Don’t always believe what people tell you.” “Even you?” Smirk. “Especially me.” God, she loved his voice. Always had. Soft, a notch above a murmur. It ran over her skin like a film of hot water. She shivered. “I’m sorry I interrupted.” He must have heard the earnest effort to convey how truly sorry she felt because he nodded once. So magnanimous of him. “As you can see, there’s nothing to interrupt in my home.” Was that a point of sadness creeping into his voice? It sure crept into her own when she sighed. “I know how that feels.” Haruto cocked his head. Clearly, he was asking, “Oh yeah? Tell me about that.” So she did. Brioni Metcalf was curious and chatty. Lycans beware! She’d imagined for months how it’d be to exchange a few words with the enigmatic lycan—maybe more than words on a couple of lonely nights. She’d be damned if she’d miss her chance. Plus, something kept her put, something primitive and obdurate. Attraction. “Yeah, there isn’t much to ‘interrupt’ at my place either. Gets pretty dull sometimes. I used to have eight other women to chat with at night and now there’s not a soul left in the entire dormitory. Talk about bo-ring.” When he approached, Brioni realized he only wore pants under his long coat. No shirt. A silvery item like a flattened lemon glimmered at the end of a black cord and rested on the most perfect chest she’d ever seen. Her palms tingled at the sight of that gorgeous skin the color of ochre. In the reflection of his goggles, her eyes flared wide. “Was that a come-on?” he asked. “Oh, no-no, I only—I meant, it’s not anything personal—not that I don’t think you’re cute, you are, believe me… Um. Yeah, I think I’ll go now.” He reached out and pinched the cuff of her robe. “Wait.” She could’ve used a few ice cold glasses of water right about now. Haruto. The man whom no one liked, no one trusted, who had a gift for pissing people off with his smirks and sniper comments. He’d invited her to stay. “I didn’t mean to bug you.” Just shut up, Metcalf. “If I asked, would you stay?”

“I think, um, I think you just did.” She felt the blush rise to her hairline. Good thing she was the “Goth Fairy” and kept her hair in an overgrown bob dyed purple-black. So she was able to hide her predicament. For the first time since she’d met him, Haruto smiled. Not a great big megawatt grin, nothing like the ones she could pull off, that was for sure, but a small smile that made a crease at the corners of his mouth. That luscious thing. “What’s that instrument? I’ve never seen one of those before.” Attagirl, change the subject. Smooth. He pulled the thing over his head and proffered it to her. She took it, turned it around. Metal. Lighter than she’d expected. With eight holes in two rows and a little “dovetail” to blow into. “It’s an ocarina.” She repeated the word under her breath. “It’s beautiful.” “Only two artisans make them nowadays, one of them here in the United Koreas. Ocarinas are obsolete instruments, thousands of years old.” She fought to keep her breathing under control. “That’s too bad they don’t make them anymore. It’s real music, not the stuff machines make.” She tapped her fingernail on the globular flute’s side. “It’s made of metal?” “Platinum. There’s only one like it.” He opened his palm, so she placed the ocarina there. Stopped breathing when their fingers touched. “Platinum? Oh man, don’t get caught with this around your neck.” White metals had become so prized only GAN was allowed to have more than an ounce. “It will be our secret.” In his mouth, the words sounded devilish and stimulating. Our secret. “So, um, for real, when did you learn to play?” The smirk returned. “Yeah, okay, never mind.” A person was allowed his or her secrets, right? Just being here was thrilling enough. She didn’t want to ruin it with her incessant questions and insatiable curiosity. He pointed to the lone chair. “Sit.” The pleasant heat on her cheeks turned fever-hot. “Excuse me?” Haruto seemed to rethink his comment. “Sit. Please.”

Much better. Obviously, he didn’t deal often with niceties. “What about you? There’s only one chair.” “Why do you care where I sit?” She shrugged. “I was brought up this way. You don’t sit if someone else is standing, you know what I mean?” “No.” “Well, it’s kinda basic courtesy.” She cleared her throat when the smirk rose again. “I guess it just depends where you were brought up. Different ways for different folks.” Just shut up, Metcalf. “There’s a chair,” he started slowly. “I offered it to you. But you won’t take it because I don’t have one.” “That’s about it.” Haruto cocked his head down at her so close that she could smell his hair. The simple act had the same effect as getting a shot of hairdryer in the face. Heat spread to her cheeks and forehead. Was she ever glad to be able to hide most of it! She felt the hairs on her arms rise in tingly waves. “It makes no sense.” “Who says it has to?” she whispered. For a long time he stood there facing her. What was he looking at? she wondered. Was he checking her out? Was he rolling his eyes? Did he think she was silly for showing good manners? He lacked even the most basic graciousness but seemed as if he tried, at least with her. That “sit, please” seemed to feel foreign to him. But he’d tried. In the end, that was all she ever asked of people, that they try. As she did. “You’re very trusting of people.” “You make it sound like a bad thing.” “It is.” “Not to me, it’s not,” she replied with a small smile. “We all have our ways, and mine are this—you have to give each person a fair chance. Until they prove you wrong.” Haruto’s goggles reflected her smiling face. Her cheeks were flushed. She swallowed hard, heard the deglutition gurgle down her throat and blushed even more for it. A downward spiral of tension. “And if they do prove you wrong?” he asked in a soft voice.

Brioni, for no reason she could explain, felt sad that he would ask. “Then it’s over. Folks get one chance with me.” He moistened his lips, drew back. “Some people don’t deserve even that.” “I disagree. Everyone deserves a chance. At least one. Life’s unfair enough as it is.” Shaking his head, he knelt on the rug as one would in a dojo. He looked pretty comfortable so she crossed the room and reluctantly sat on the chair facing him. With one hand, Haruto parted his long coat so it’d fan around him. The sight of his chest and belly, both looking rock-hard and satin-smooth, made her salivate. He was perfect. In symmetry, in proportions, in aesthetics. To her number-loving mind, Haruto embodied the perfect theorem, one worthy of any Gauss’ precepts. The lycan part of him only accentuated the rest. Made him more. Yet he was an enigma. A sphinx. If he posed her a riddle, would he eat her if she answered wrong? Brioni was about to ask what—or if—he intended to play for her when he brought the lemon-shaped instrument to his lips, put his long fingers on the twin rows of tiny holes and took a deep breath. She had to close her eyes when the long, hauntingly beautiful note rose in the air, became a living thing that curled slowly like a tendril of smoke. Others soon joined it, like a dance for the soul. Slowly so she wouldn’t disturb him—with the goggles, he could’ve had his eyes closed in meditation for all she knew—she slinked off the chair and sat in front of him, cross-legged. The rug was nice and thick against her ankles and feet. She closed her eyes again to better appreciate Haruto’s music. Plus, if she kept staring at him, one of them was bound to become ill at ease. And she could just guess which one it’d be. He didn’t play the same melody as the one she’d unfortunately interrupted. But the same haunting beauty graced every note. Haruto’s music made her want to hug him in a fierce way. Who knew the man had this emotional depth to him? If she hadn’t been worried about exposing his private life, she would’ve enjoyed rubbing the beautiful music in his detractors’ faces. They didn’t understand the first thing about this man. Although she hadn’t known him well, she still understood there was much more that met the eye than the sexy body and the mocking smirk. Clearly, the lycan enjoyed and could create beauty. But the melody was so damn sad. What could have happened to him to make him draw such painful music from his soul? Brioni felt tears threaten again and willed them to disappear. She didn’t want to ruin the moment or spook him. Or worse, have him think she wasn’t tough enough to take the gift. After a particularly long and poignant series of notes, she sighed long and hard.

She made the promise to herself then and there. Brioni Metcalf liked to believe she was a friend to someone in need. And did Haruto need a friend right now! She’d be this friend. If he let her. Brioni realized with a start the music had just stopped. And that Haruto had gently pressed his lips to hers.

Chapter Two

What was this young woman doing here in his home? He shouldn’t have invited her in. What was he thinking? Obviously, he wasn’t. But she was such a reprieve, such a soothing presence. And low-maintenance. She didn’t seem to care if he agreed or not, only expected him to give her a fair shot as she did him. A novel concept for Haruto, who’d given up on the species altogether. And all its sub-elements as well. Yet here he was, sharing his music for the first time with someone else. Well, not for the first time. He’d told her the truth about the torture part. Except that contrary to his temporary ego-fueled comment, he had been the one in the chair. Years of it, in fact. A nameless child born to a corporation, raised and trained by researchers in a program no one outside knew existed. Even the Iron Conclave didn’t dare mess with Inu, his former “home”. He should’ve leveled the place when he escaped. That demented place of silence, patience and cruelty. A place that had produced the most dangerous and unstable weapon conceivable—him. A third-generation product of DNA tampering and genetic enhancements. A lycan of sorts, half human, half…something else. Haruto cleared his mind of the toxic thoughts. He wouldn’t let it pollute his music. This was all he had left. Well, maybe not anymore. What was he thinking! He had nothing. Needed and wanted nothing. A conscious choice. A necessary sum of all his dangerous parts. He didn’t care for people and they happily returned the favor. Everyone knew where they stood. Made life much simpler. As he looked at Brioni sitting in front of him, eyes closed and oblivious to the menace he represented, he wondered if his simple view of life hadn’t just been tipped over. Temporarily at least. So while she sat quietly with her eyes closed, he played. For her and for himself. There wouldn’t be another occasion like this. Sometimes he wondered if there really was, perhaps, something like fate or fortune. Maybe there was. Who knew? Not that he cared. With the goggles, he could admire her at his leisure. The first time he’d met her, the diminutive woman with the purple and black hair, pointy chin and purple dress code had left no impression at all.

He’d dismissed her as a non-threat. But the more he’d seen Brioni interact with the resistance leaders and regular members—lycans, some twice her size, didn’t seem to intimidate her at all—he’d come to realize there was strength underneath the surface. Those eyes the color of an iceberg usually sparkled with mirth and an easygoing disposition. But he’d seen her get pissed off once. And since that time, Haruto had found it very difficult to discount his interest in the “Goth Fairy”. Until tonight, he’d had no idea she felt anything at all for him. Her eyes didn’t lie. In a way, it should turn him off—so different from his own. But it didn’t. He caught himself drawn to her like a moth to a flame. Maybe he’d get burned. He didn’t care about that either. Life was one long series of burns. When he entered into a passage of longer notes, he saw the impact they had on her. Tears rimmed her black eyelashes. Haruto couldn’t understand why he had such effect on her and she on him. Neither could he comprehend his own response to her tears. What did he care if she cried? It wouldn’t be the first time he made someone cry. To his shock, he stopped playing before his brain caught on. His lips had already touched hers when he mentally scolded his frailty. But the sensations evaporated everything else. Instant fire. Burning. Consuming. He heard her breath catch in her throat. The goggles touched her forehead. The damn things. But he couldn’t take them off. Wouldn’t let anyone see his eyes. Never again. Her lips felt exactly the way he’d thought they would. Soft and plump like the cherries of which they reminded him. He hung on to the feeling for as long as he could. It wouldn’t last long. It never did. It’d end soon. Like a spark. Valiant but short-lived. To his confusion and shock, the moment remained bright and warm and sweet. Haruto pressed his lips a bit harder. Surely this would be it. The thread would break. So fragile. Nothing on which to anchor. But no. It remained, even grew. When Brioni, eyes closed and still rimmed with tears, raised a hand and let her fingertips—chewed fingernails painted deep purple—gently rest on his jaw, Haruto experienced a deep tremor that originated in the pit of his stomach. What the hell was that? His heart rate accelerated. Was he about to change? Panic rose like a heat wave. Not here! Not with her! Yet the sensations were different. No rage came to spoil it. Just as hot and intense, but unusually…pleasant. It didn’t have anything to do with his lycan half, this fire boiling his blood. What else as intense was there but rage? Nothing but anger could be so strong. But he didn’t hate her. Far from it. What was going on? He tentatively cupped her chin as he angled his head sideways. There, perfect fit. Their mouths felt as if they’d been built to be pressed together. Her tongue tentatively darted out to touch his lips. A shot of adrenaline coursed through him. Reining in the massive amount of hormones triggering muscle reactions down to his calves, Haruto deepened the kiss. Her lips were moist as she parted them to allow his tongue entry. He took the invitation. A soft moan left Brioni as he licked her bottom lip, sucked it into his mouth, nibbled the juicy offering. He couldn’t stop himself from cupping the back of her head to press her harder against his face, intensified the pressure of their mouths until a hint of teeth raked on his lip. The resulting jolt shot his hormonal levels into the stratosphere. His lycan half manifested itself, to his chagrin and frustration. He felt his fangs and claws harden—as did his cock. If the first two were

genetic enhancements and chromium-based, the third was good old-fashioned human response. He usually gave in to his lycan half. Not this time. He fought it. With all he had, he fought it because he feared that should he let it run its course, he’d kill the precious thing. And this moment right now with Brioni had become important to him.

She felt the surge of body heat coming from Haruto and wondered for a second what was going on. But his mouth on hers drowned everything else. He was a great kisser. Slowly, side to side, Haruto ran his lips on hers, spilled over to kiss her cheeks, her jaw, up to her eyelids and the bridge of her nose. Back down he kissed a burning-hot trail to her collar. Brioni raised her chin. The ocarina dug into her chest when she encircled his shoulders and pressed herself against him. He seemed to get the hint and embraced her with both arms. She knelt up so she could espouse his form. He was as hard as he looked. And incredibly hot to the touch. As if a fever raced through him. She’d never felt that kind of heat coming from a person before. A portion of his skin touched hers directly. A moan left her. One of need. One he seemed to understand. She snaked her hands into his coat and made them as light as she could as she ran them along his sides, the feel and heat of him such a contrast to her. He shuddered when her cold fingertips reached his waist. Built like a long-distance runner, Haruto was one glorious network of corded muscles. And while she caressed him, he did the same to her. Long fingers traced her collar and delicately tugged it back from her shoulders. For a crazy second, she lamented her purple and bat-pattern cami and boxers. Not at all what she would’ve worn had she known how the night would end. It was almost four a.m. and here she was, getting up close and—very—personal with Haruto. She’d never liked calling him Smiley, Asia’s choice of nickname. It didn’t seem appropriate somehow. Although she had no idea if he minded or not. He probably didn’t care either way. People’s opinions seemed not to matter one iota to him. She wished she were that impervious to others’ pressure. Hadn’t she tried to go blonde in her teen years because her friends had thought she’d look good? She hadn’t. A “Goth Fairy” shouldn’t be blonde, dammit. Brioni rolled her shoulders to help the robe fall back around her elbows. He gently pulled the sleeves off without taking his mouth from hers. She let him do it for her because one, she loved how he worked, diligent and precise, and two, she’d never willingly let go of that succulent mouth. Once in only her cami and boxers, cool air caressed her shoulders and thighs. Haruto’s mouth traveled down the length of her neck, a shoulder, a biceps. “Did you plan for this?” he whispered against her skin, kissed her in the crook of her elbow. “Did you come here for this?” Brioni smiled at the ceiling as she let him kiss his way down to her wrist. “I’d have worn something more dignified if I had.”

Haruto straightened. His lips glistened from their kissing. He was smirking. Again. She was starting to wonder if it was his way of smiling. Maybe he didn’t even realize the mocking lift to his mouth usually antagonized and infuriated people. “What you have now suits you.” “Yeah, but it’s not exactly sexy.” His smile turned lascivious. “It is to me.” He straightened, sat on his heels and took his long coat off, which he dropped behind him. He slipped the ocarina from his neck, reverently deposited it on the garment. She was about to slip her cami up over her head when he stopped her with a hand pressed to her shoulder. “No.” She arched an eyebrow at his tone. Haruto seemed at a loss for words for a second. “I want to do it.” It didn’t sound like a question but neither did he modulate it like an order. He was trying hard. She didn’t care what people thought or said of him—he wasn’t such a bad guy. At arm’s length, he pinched the cami strap and slipped it down her arm. She cocked it, let the spaghetti strap slide down over her elbow. Cool air tightened her nipples painfully hard. Instead of uncovering her breast, he pinched the other strap and repeated the motion. He was taking his time. Her heart skipped a beat. “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, head cocked to one side. The mirrored goggles reflected her in the tiny tea candle’s light and bathed her in bronze and copper radiance. She wasn’t beautiful in her book, more goofy than anything else, but the glow did accentuate the good bits about her. Her too-long bob hid part of her face, for which she was glad. She didn’t have goggles behind which to shield her emotions. He must have been able to see and sense all that went on in her. It should’ve scared her. Even a little bit. It didn’t. She had no reason to trust Haruto yet did and that was that. “You’re beautiful too.” She reached out and slipped a strand of his hair between her two forefingers. It felt like satin. “You’re perfect. Everywhere.” “You haven’t seen ‘everywhere’ yet.” “I’ve seen enough.” Haruto shook his head. “What?”

“You’re different.” Brioni caressed his sculpted cheek, his sharp jaw. “Different as in ‘ooh, me likes’ or different as in ‘oh boy’?” “Different as in ‘me likes’.” The joking tone must have sounded as strange to his ears as it did hers because he snorted a mocking laugh before sobering to his usual stoical expression. “You shouldn’t be here. I’m not a good man, I’m not safe. I’m not even a bit nice.” “Sure you are,” she retorted. “You just like to believe you’re all bad and dangerous.” The mocking lift to his mouth left. “I am dangerous.” Great going, Metcalf. You just killed the mood. Haruto must have read her contrite expression. He leaned over, teasingly licked her upside the neck and ended his course with a quick nip of her earlobe. She gasped in shock and thrill. “But I’m not dumb. I don’t know why you’re here and I don’t know why you’re staying. I’m just glad you are.” She’d rarely heard him link so many words together. Arousal turned into affection. She was beginning to discover whole other layers to the enigmatic lycan, and the more she did, the more she liked what she saw. If the others only knew the depth to the one they liked to hate. The whole suspicious lot of them! “Have you ever had sex with a lycan?” Brioni felt herself blush beet red. Talk about blunt. “Erm, no. Not that I have anything against lycan guys, I’ve just never had the… Well, no, not yet.” The smirk threatened to return. He nodded. “You have to know lycans can’t always control their responses. I wouldn’t want you to get the wrong impression.” “What impression?” “That if I don’t change it means I’m not excited enough. I am. I just don’t want…” He shrugged, adjusted his goggles. Brioni scooted forward until she was kneeling between Haruto’s parted knees. She planted both palms on his thighs—so hard and glossy and exciting with the ribbed black polymer—and leaned forward. The kiss she gave him had nothing demure or gentle. Even if she could feel the muscles on his jaw twitching—for a split second, she was afraid he’d tackle her down and take her right then and there—he didn’t do anything to match or stop her.

She heard his breathing quicken when she straightened. “I’m not intimidated, if that’s what you think. And you don’t gross me out or scare me, now or if you change. I can take you, Haruto the lycan, and Haruto the man. I can take both. Are we good? Can we go on now?” Haruto did exactly what she’d thought he would. Tackled her right onto her back to settle on top of her. She humph-ed against his mouth. He sucked the muffled sound out of her. Pressed a thigh between hers, tore a moan of delight when he pushed upward. The heat of his skin pressed against hers, the impact of his hard body and skilled hands, the thigh he rolled against her sex all served to shred what little inhibitions Brioni still had. She wanted him. God, she wanted him. He snaked a hand down between their bodies and cupped her mons. Serious heat seeped through the thin cotton. Brioni arched against his hand. He got the hint. Slipped his hand underneath the boxers, found the spot that ached for his touch. She whimpered when he parted her with his middle finger and began to gently rub up and down. Squeezing her thighs hard, she trapped his hand against her pussy. Haruto smiled against her mouth. His teeth added to the stimulants. He nipped her on the jaw. She returned the favor. He raked his bottom teeth up her neck. She did as well. But when he slowly curled his middle finger and sank in tiny, gradual increments, Brioni’s mental faculties—those that remained—floated out with her whispered “oh God”. “You’re so wet,” Haruto whispered. He took his finger out despite her thighs still being clamped over his wrist. Damn him. Brought his middle finger up to his mouth and sucked on the glossy digit. She could watch only his mouth. Nothing else mattered. “And so sweet,” he added through a mocking curl to his decadent, glistening mouth. As if it could dispense from her brain’s messages, her back bowed off the floor when Haruto backed down between her legs and trailed kisses all the way there before settling between her thighs. She shook from trying to keep still. With hands gentle but demanding, he pushed her knees up then outward. She wanted to wriggle out of her boxers but he batted her hand away. “Keep them. I like it this way.” Goggles gleaming, he dived for her cleft. Through her parted thighs she watched him work. The agile tongue lifting a section of her boxers or sneaking underneath the fabric itself to burn her skin with his unnatural heat. He was so incredibly hot. She could just imagine how his cock would feel moving inside her. The searing heat with which he’d brand her. She’d never wanted any other man as hard as she wanted Haruto, her enigmatic lycan with the hidden eyes. Maybe someday he’d let her see. Or not. His choice. It wouldn’t change a thing for her. She liked him just the way he was. “Come back to me,” he murmured, smirking as he raised her feet off the rug and hooked them on his shoulders. “You were somewhere else.” Brioni nodded. “But you were with me.” “Even in your fantasies, I’m there?” He didn’t look convinced.

“Especially in my fantasies.” He placed his hands, opened wide, on the back of her thighs and pushed her legs up and apart. Brioni gasped loudly when he clamped his mouth on her sex, began to suck and lick and kiss her pussy right through the flimsy cotton. His wet heat seeped through. She let a moan escape. They were growing increasingly harder to contain. “Don’t fight it,” he whispered. Licked her drenched cleft through the boxers. “Let it out. Let me hear how you want things.” She’d never been a shy girl, even if she’d always been on the quiet side. Her reserved nature didn’t stem from bashfulness but from a tendency to observe rather than dive in and get her hands dirty. Still, letting Haruto know exactly what she wanted him to do left her gritting her teeth. What if he didn’t want to bear down on her? With all his weight and all his strength? Take her without reserve, without apologizing and worrying he’d hurt her? She enjoyed sex. Raw and unrepentant. No holding back. Would he think her damaged cargo? “I like…” She didn’t have the nerve to finish. On all fours, he licked his way from her cloth-covered pussy right up to her sternum. “You like…?” “I like it rowdy.” She felt the blush rising to her hairline. She’d never said that to a man, especially one not her boyfriend. She usually required a glass of wine, some coaxing and a few months of “evaluation” before she’d confide something so personal to a lover. Plus, this was the kind of thing one demonstrated, not asked out loud like an order at the cook shop. An order of sex please. Make it rowdy! With Haruto though, she sensed it’d be okay. He wouldn’t judge her. Well, she prayed he wouldn’t. Black hair fell in a jagged fringe around his face. He licked his upper lip, made a big show of it. “Rowdy?” She shrugged. “Hey, you did ask.” Argh God, this is so awkward. Haruto fisted the front of her cami and yanked it down below her breasts. “Like that?” Her half gasp, half moan rose between them. More urgency and acquiescence than the strongest words. Behind her, the tiny tea light sputtered. Teeth gleamed when he dove for her breasts. Her nipples were treated to the most potent sucking she’d ever known. She grabbed his hair in two fistfuls and forced him down on top of her. He landed with a growl, bit and licked her breasts, rolled her tender nipples until she moaned every time he

even came near them. Clawing at his skin, she tugged him up, higher, until he straddled her chest. The ribbed polymer pants proved the most tempting yet frustrating barrier. She scratched at it, tugged and yanked on it until Haruto got rid of them and returned to her, this time naked except for the mirrored goggles. But they didn’t really count. A bead like liquid crystal dangled from the slit on his glans. She rubbed it with a thumb, took infinite pleasure in Haruto’s labored breathing. Around the ridge of his cock, his thick and veiny shaft. His balls constricted. When he straddled her chest close enough for her to get a taste, she did with a long whimper of satisfaction. His thigh muscles twitched. Brioni took his cock into her mouth. Made room for the broad head by opening wide. Her teeth raked when he pushed in, his torso buttressed on his hands. He trembled all over. Brioni felt powerful, even if she was the one on her back while a man pushed his cock into her mouth. He retreated before she was done with him. Fingernails curled into the skin of his taut backside, she forced him back in. Deeper. By mewling and moaning, she let him know this was okay, this was good, she wanted it thus. In smooth rolls, he glided in deeper, retreated to the glans. With her hands she forced him back down. This time, Haruto thrust almost all the way in. She shouldn’t feel so damn proud to be able to take a guy in so deeply, but she did and that was that. To each their own. She could give good head. So sue me. “Brioni,” he whispered. A warning. On a nose-sigh, she pushed him back so she could lick his balls, squeeze and play with them, suck one then the other. She was about to take him into her again when he hurriedly backed down to her thighs, roughly parted them with his hands and shoved his face against her pussy. “Ah!” Haruto’s mouth was both conqueror and lover as he ate her out through the soaked boxers. “Take them off,” she whimpered. “Please, take them off.” Two fists on the back of her underwear, Haruto yanked toward him. Stitching ripped. The boxers went flying behind him. Denuded to his hungry mouth, Brioni only had time to moan when he used his thumbs to part her sex. Teeth gleamed. She cried out. He’d bitten her! “Ah! Yes!” He did it again. Bit her on the inside of the thigh then up higher, right along the labia before sucking her tender flesh into his mouth and trapping it there between his teeth. He released her. “Rowdy, you said?” “Yes! Please, yes!” Muscles corded when he straightened between her legs. “Spread wide for me.” She grabbed her knees, brought them up on her chest.

Instead of eating her out, he pressed his palm on her distended pussy, so wet and ready, and rubbed tiny circles. Brioni’s breathing doubled. Oh God, that was good. So good. From tiny circles, Haruto’s hand moved farther away from the center. Wider circles rubbed her flesh and rolled her tender clitoris. She cried out each and every time he pushed upward. A burning sensation started in her lower back. It wouldn’t be too long now. So close. Wider circles still. Her juices made the motion a form of beautiful torture. Muscles bunched and rippled on his chest and shoulder. Still he rubbed her sex. “Ah, ah, ah.” She gritted her teeth. “That’s it, oh please, yes.” “Harder?” “Yes! Yes!” A split second before ecstasy hit, Haruto removed his hand, grabbed her by the knees to position himself right behind her butt. On a snarl, he shoved himself into her. Deep. Hard. Like burning metal covered in honey, his cock pushed deep, forced itself home. Distended, spread wide for him, Brioni came on a crystal-clear note. Skin clacked again skin. Pleasure rippled in every direction. Her breasts bounced from the force of Haruto’s thrusts. He didn’t make love to her. He fucked her. Before she could voice her approval, he pulled out with a wet plop, roughly rolled her over onto her front, pulled on her hips until she’d climbed up on all fours. His glans pressed against her slit. Sank in. Brioni moaned and yelped, urged and pleaded. He didn’t move. “Haruto, please,” she whispered with a buck backward. “I’m going to lose it.” “Shh.” To her shock, he pressed a finger against her anus, rolled ’round and ’round. Her juices coated everything, made the novel sensation a mix of anticipation and hesitation. The rug burned her kneecaps when he finally pushed inside. To the end of him. Of her. She let out a long keen. He pulled, slammed back in. Her voice became a metronome to his thrusts. In and out. Rough and demanding yet the tenderest hands. He took her, fucked her. Her breasts bounced, her palms ground into the thick weave. Into her. In. Hard. A shudder. Fever. Stillness. Then suns exploding behind her eyelids. She’d come again, this time her orgasm left a burning wake. The next penetration heralded Haruto’s own release. He pulled out, fisted himself to choke back the cum. She felt his knuckles rubbing against her slick cleft. After a few seconds, he rubbed his cock against her anus, up her cleft, against her coccyx. So hot. So smooth. On a long sigh, she collapsed on her side. He followed her on the floor, didn’t spoon but pretty damn close. The notion it was Haruto who lay behind her made her smile wide. They’d shared something. More than sex. Companionship. A tiny glimpse through the fence. Even if nothing ever came of it, she’d cherish this

one time with the distant lycan. This had been precious and warranted a special place in her heart. Which it had. He had. “I wasn’t expecting that,” he whispered. She felt him play in her hair. She rolled onto her belly, folded her hands and leaned her chin on them. His hair was a mess of black ribbons. “What?” “Nothing. I’m just looking at you. You don’t like that?” He shrugged. Sweat made his muscled shoulder gleam in the timid light. “I’m not used to it.” He adjusted his welder goggles. She wished he’d feel comfortable enough to take them off. Someday, maybe he would. She wouldn’t ask him. Either he did it on his own time or he didn’t. She’d respect his choice. “Well, you better get used to it.” Haruto’s mouth curled up at one corner. The smirk was back in force. “Oh?” “I like looking at you.” “I’ve noticed.” Her cheeks warmed. “You did? Erm…” “Don’t worry. If it bugged me, you would’ve known.” “Ahhh, so you like it.” Haruto leaned over, kissed her shoulder. “Don’t get cocky.” He seemed about to say more but tilted his head at the door, sniffed delicately. His mouth hardened. A tic pulled at his jaw. “Is something wrong?” He sighed. “Something always is.”

Chapter Three

He hadn’t lied. Something always was wrong.

She couldn’t have heard or smelled what he did. No one but lycans could, and with his “special nature”, he’d detected it probably before anyone else. Trouble was knocking at their door. Knocking hard. Abruptly, somewhere above their heads, a blast made dust and debris float down from the metal I-beams. To her credit, Brioni just shook her head sadly and didn’t panic. He should’ve known the moment wouldn’t last. Although this time, the end hadn’t come because of his unwillingness—or inability—to let his emotions out. Not that he had much. No, this time events had killed it for him. And it pissed him off to no end. He rarely was angry. Or sad, or happy. Just numb. Except for tonight, in Brioni’s arms. A haven, a warm place to be if only for a short while. And it was gone. While she wrestled her clothes back on, he did the same, slipped the ocarina in his pocket so it wouldn’t be damaged hanging on his chest. It was the one thing precious to him. A gift from someone long ago who’d tried to help. Not hard, but who’d at least tried. “Where will you be?” he asked. His voice surprised him. He sounded nervous. He didn’t have much practice with emotions of any kind. Maybe it wasn’t nervousness he felt. Maybe it was something else. He looked at Brioni as she shoved her feet into her slippers. No, not nervous. He was worried. For her. “I’ll be with Asia and the kids.” Brioni turned to him, gave him a quick kiss then whirled around. He caught her by the sleeve, stayed her. “Brioni…” Another blast dislodged dust and mortar from the walls. She didn’t seem to care. Blue chips of ice for eyes framed with a black and purple fringe of hair. So lovely. The cherry-red mouth smiled. “I’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.” No, they wouldn’t. But Haruto let her leave. Before he made a fool of himself. Before he did something he regretted. A series of smaller explosions indicated pulse cannons. At least two. It had to be the Iron Conclave. No one had that kind of arsenal at their disposal. Even if he lived with the ghosts of his past and the very real option that they could find him someday—they’d spent a fortune creating him—Haruto knew it wasn’t Inu blasting its way into the resistance home. It wasn’t their way. They preferred stealth and coercion rather than all-out aggression. But the violence hurt just as much. He gave her a few seconds head start before he rushed out of his home and into the station. Her smell still lingered in the air. Voices reached him from the many corridors leading to this station. One he recognized. Asia. She’d been the only one—outside of Brioni—who’d let him be. She’d never tried to change him, make him more palatable to the rest. As long as he pulled his weight around the place, Asia had respected his choice to be a sour, cynical killjoy. In his own way, he liked the mouthy teen. But her boyfriend… Not so much.

Speaking of which, Haruto had an inkling the young man would know what was going on. When he emerged into the station proper, he caught Cristoval and Asia bent over the ops table. No map there tonight. There’d been a mess of them before Vonatos had been taken. He looked skinnier, gaunter. Haruto snuck back out. He didn’t want to have to deal with anyone right now. Except for one man. In a corridor leading to a lower level, he caught up with the one person he suspected knew what was going on. The redhead raked both hands back in his hair. He hadn’t seen Haruto yet as he paced back and forth. He muttered curses. “It won’t work.” Allan whirled on the spot. His eyes looked huge in his freckled face. “What do you mean?” Haruto blocked the way when Allan seemed to want to walk around him and leave. He backpedaled, looking very much like a trapped rat. Which he was. “Letting them in to save your skin. That’s not how it works.” Human nature was a terrible thing. Blotchy red spots spread over his throat and cheeks. Allan shook his head, started several times to reply. Tears welled in his eyes. “I didn’t mean… I-I… That’s not what I wanted.” “When you open a dam, you can’t control where the water goes.” Haruto retrieved his gloves from his pocket. Fingerless because of the claws ruining any other kind. He pulled them on, flexed his hands and made fists. The leather creaked softly. “That’s why there’s a dam in the first place.” “It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” Allan pleaded. He backed when Haruto crowded him against the wall. “I swear! I’m sorry!” Haruto closed his eyes in his goggles to sever the vision of the young man’s tear-lined cheeks. A freckle-faced traitor. He closed a hand over the other’s throat, squeezed only slightly. It was enough for his claws to harden inside the quicks of his fingers. He felt the chromium particles gather over the phalanges. A partial transformation to lycan heightened his senses, deepened his processing ability of ambient stimuli—smells and sounds from long distances reached him. Contrary to other lycans, because of his unique “background”, he didn’t regress to a sort of half-beast, half-man being but instead transcended both. Mental faculties intact, even sharpened. Like a sword with a mind of its own. Haruto brought the change. Slowly, with excruciating pain, his fingernails elongated, turned into black metal claws that contrasted sharply against the young man’s skin. His fangs lengthened as well. He could taste blood from his throbbing gums. “You betrayed them,” he murmured softly. He wasn’t one to raise his voice. “Those who gave you a home.” That man had betrayed Brioni, who gave everyone a chance.

Allan closed his eyes when Haruto bared his black metal fangs, ready to tear the betrayer’s throat out. Even he wouldn’t do such a thing as betray the resistance, despite his flexible morality. But a voice stopped Haruto. Brioni. She was calling his name. Allan must have felt the change because he pushed Haruto off and scampered away. Haruto let him. The bloodlust had already dissipated. He rushed back into the station only to spot Asia and Vonatos sprinting away. A thunderous explosion caved in part of the tunnel to his right where his home had been. Choking dust rolled in fists. He cursed mentally as he ran to the armory. Once there, he joined the few still underground as they stocked up on volters, stunners and various weapons. He gathered a volter and several clips of nickel. The static-charged beads would create more damage at close quarters than any other kind of ammunition. Searching for Brioni in the chaos, he spotted her with a clump of children gripping her bathrobe belt, which she’d cleverly un-looped from the garment to use as guide rope. Small, grave faces followed him as he passed the group, gave Brioni a nod then bifurcated to take a shortcut while Vonatos and Asia led the rest to safety. To Haruto’s disgust, he spotted Allan’s red hair right behind his girlfriend. If she only knew. One of the abandoned tunnels would be best. Perhaps the Iron Conclave’s maps wouldn’t be so old as to show these ancient channels. Unless Allan had given everything away. Dust followed him when more explosions rocked the old tunnels. Ceramic tiles clattered to the concrete floor. He coughed, squeezed into the grille door then charged up the tunnel. Noise and dust stayed behind. The lack of light translated into shades of blue in his enhanced night vision. He only wore the mirrored goggles to hide his eyes, not shield his vision. He didn’t need them but neither did he want to deal with others’ reaction. The first thing he’d learned after his escape from Inu’s clutches was that his eyes were too unnatural even for the hardiest soul. To keep from having people back away in fear or horror, he’d had to hide behind the goggles. He wondered what Brioni would think. If she’d ever wondered about his eyes. Focus. He forced his mind to clear of the visions. Brioni’s mouth around his cock. Her hands tilling his back. The feel of her warm and welcoming flesh. He willingly gave it up so he could concentrate. Another first for him—he’d never had to fight for focus before. What has she done to me? Haruto moved with absolute silence, faster than normal eyes could follow. One of his many “gifts”. He reached a corner where another abandoned tunnel ran perpendicular but froze when he heard a small sound no one else could’ve possibly detected. Even some lycans.

The smell of polymer armor reached him. Iron Conclave. Silent as death, Haruto pulled the volter out. If he didn’t get rid of them, Brioni’s chances of survival would be nil. He wouldn’t let that happen. He could live with someone else’s death on his conscience—if he had one—but not hers. Haruto closed his eyes momentarily. Adrenaline spikes raced through him. His blood heated. His mind cleared. It was time. He’d already downed several of them by the time returning fire illuminated his targets. Shades of blue from his night vision gave the scene a surreal feel. Several uniformed bodies lay in the positions in which they’d died. Haruto advanced without regard for his safety. Too quick for them to follow. He could smell their fear and panic. Their shots went awry. One nickel bead passed through his coat, burned a hole in the leather by his hip. He pressed the trigger with steady rhythm. One, two, three, four. Even cadence. Metrical death. The enemy fell. Kept falling as he cleared the last few paces. His unnatural speed allowed him to reach them before they’d realized he’d moved. Bones crunched when he kicked the first in the chest, sent him flying back ten feet. He shot the feet out from under another Iron Conclave operative. A loud howl of pain ripped the eerie silence. Smells of burned flesh and bone tickled Haruto’s sensitive nostrils. He leaped high, arced over their heads in an aerial cartwheel, volter blazing. Landed to leap again a split second later. This time, he used the wall, ran up almost ten feet before gravity began to pull him back down. With the angle, he delivered death from above. More operatives fell. Methodically, as he’d been trained to do, he dispatched the enemy until a veritable mound of broken and ruined bodies had piled around him three feet high. Until there wasn’t any left. Silence settled once again. He felt more presences coming from the perpendicular corridor. He smelled a lycan, male. They ran across the corner. Vonatos bringing up the rear, they sprinted by him. Asia and Allan as well. Haruto stared at the traitor until the man looked away. As usual, Vonatos threw him a suspicious glare as he ran by. No one in the resistance trusted Haruto. Because he didn’t play well with others. Because it was much easier to focus on him, the outsider, the one everybody loved to hate, than take a good look in the mirror and see the treachery’s ugly underbelly—the freckled face of a twenty-year-old man. He didn’t say anything. One, he didn’t have the heart to break Asia’s, and two, he didn’t care what everyone thought of him. Instead of following them, he retraced his steps so he could find Brioni and her group. He smelled them up ahead in one of the tunnels leading up by the river. Smart woman. Easier to escape through the crowded, riverside slums than anywhere else in the city. He should know. It’d been his first home after his escape. A place of anonymity and egalitarian poverty. Everyone was no one up in the riverside slums.

But as he met with the last stragglers behind Brioni, he realized something was wrong. They’d stopped. Blue scope lights bounced on the walls, reflected old, broken ceramic tiles. Someone asked if there was a lycan with the group. Haruto didn’t bother replying. He felt someone behind him, turned to find the Batista sisters, both lycans, sprint up the single file. The smell of Brioni’s hair made him close his eyes. He silently jogged up the group until he spotted her amidst the children. Tiny fists still gripped her belt. The poignant sight stirred something deep in him. A malaise he couldn’t place. These children were lucky to have someone like her caring for them. Under her wing. No one would ever hurt them as long as people like Brioni kept an eye on these children. He intended to do his part. For the first time, he wanted to help. She turned to him when he reached the lead. At once, he had to fight the slew of emotions assailing him. He wanted to embrace her again, taste her, touch and love her. But the rank smell of male sweat intruded in his thoughts. “Don’t take another step,” he murmured, passing her. Some of the children recoiled from him. He was used to that reaction. He heard the faint rustle of dragon-scale armor from up ahead and around the corner. An explosion not very far behind made some of the children squeeze their eyes shut. He waited for the aftershock to dissipate. Pressed his index finger to his pursed lips to indicate they should quiet down. Someone snarled that they should “get the hell out of here”. Brioni shushed them. Haruto grimaced when the change took him without warning. He felt his bone structure adapt to the lycan form, his jaw crunched, his gums throbbed with renewed fire. Claws and fangs hardened, elongated, pushed out of the human skin. Senses beset him in a sensory overload—smells of fear, of shampoo, polymer, lotion and sweat. Shades of red replaced the blue scale of his night vision. He couldn’t tell anyone apart except for one. Brioni. Her smell and silhouette cleaved a path to his brain. Arousal surprised him. The intensity burned his resolve. He wanted her again. Here and now. Carnal abandon. Mating of the most primal kind. Hard and dirty and noisy. He didn’t care about anything else. He wanted to push inside her, take her over and over. Lick and bite her tender flesh, make her come for him, around him. Her sex smelled like candy. Haruto parted his mouth so he could taste the air. The scent of her sweet cunt tore a low growl from him. Want. Need. Fire in his belly. Another step took him dangerously close. To fuck her. On her elbows and knees. Without restraint. Dig his claws and fangs in her flesh while he ploughed her. The vivid images his altered mind conjured accelerated his heart rate. All he saw was red. All he could smell was her cunt. Ghostlike cries of ecstasy filled his ears. He should do it. Or better, drag her back with him to a nice, quiet place. She wanted him. It was all over her.

Despite the arousal he smelled on her, Brioni backed away from him, arms behind her to shield the children. Haruto grimaced at the spoiled opportunity. Later. There was always later. For now, he had to keep her safe. Otherwise there wouldn’t be a later. And he wanted one. Hungered for it.

Rio had been right. Brioni was glad the children didn’t see what Haruto had done. He’d saved them, she reminded herself. But the carnage… He’d gone ahead, to scout, to kill a way to freedom for them all. He left gruesome scenes behind, one Batista sister on each end of the small group, volter scanning, hard eyes as well. One hand on her stunner and the other on her belt to make sure the children didn’t lag, Brioni gritted her teeth through the cloud of dust and smoke, followed the blue beams of volters’ scopes and soon emerged into a wide underground chamber. There the group could breathe a bit better. A sputtering fluorescent high above still gave a bit of light. When she counted her charges, she noticed tear lines on the grubby cheeks. Silent tears. Haruto emerged from a portion of broken-down wall that led to another chamber. He stepped over the debris and joined the rest. Brioni noticed he seemed to avoid her as he kept to the intermittent shadow of a concrete pillar. Above his head, the fluorescent sputtered continually. She nodded a thank you at him. Received a nod in reply. “Someone let them in,” Rio snarled under her breath. “Look.” The tall brunette covered in tattoos and body jewelry pointed at a grille door. Everyone trooped to the spot. A magnetic lock lay on the ground, its green light flashing. Someone with the code had opened it. Not even the best lock picks could fool one of those and a built-in alarm kept them from being cut. A cold shiver raced down Brioni’s back. How could someone do this? Rio’s sister Fortaleza, a smaller, younger but meaner version, kicked the thing away, muttering rapid-fire curses in Portuguese. “Let’s go. I’m sure there’s more scum hiding around the tunnels. We’ll deal with the traitor later.” Brioni could easily guess how the person would be “dealt with”. A commotion from the tunnel they’d just left made everyone scatter for cover, except for Haruto, who simply took a step backward into deeper shadows. A pair of men ran out, covered in dust and blood. One of them was an Iron Conclave operative and the other was Allan. As soon as he noticed the rest, Allan pushed off the man. “They took them! Asia! Cristoval!”

Before anyone could react, Fortaleza leaped into view and put a single, economical nickel bead in the operative’s head. He arched back, all but decapitated, and noiselessly slumped to the ground. On the concrete floor, a dark stain crept outward like a wet halo. Chaos erupted. Everyone started talking at once, most of them to curse at Fortaleza for acting so damn brashly. Some of the children started crying. Brioni had her hands full trying to calm some of them. Allan bent over and gasped for breath. “They took them,” he panted, spat blood. “Asia. Cristoval. Jill. A couple others. Fuck, my head hurts.” While Rio and the tall, bearded Sam came over to dust Allan off and exchange plans, Fortaleza stomped toward the dead Iron Conclave man and started to search him. Standing, she brought back a couple of items, among which was a portable decoder. Brioni noticed blood on its silvery face. She shivered. “It was an inside job,” Rio told Allan, who straightened and passed a shaking hand over his mouth. “Someone let them in.” “It was? How do you know that?” “Someone knew the entry codes,” Rio put in. She pointed to the magnetic lock. “It wasn’t picked and the built-in alarm wasn’t triggered. Someone knew its code.” Brioni wondered why Allan looked more triumphant than angry. She sure was. Whoever had let the enemy in should get his butt handed on a platter. There was no place in the resistance for traitors. “That’s bad,” Allan remarked as he joined Fortaleza and looked over her shoulder. “What if he’s still around, giving our position away as we speak? We need to know who it was.” “You think the rat will just give himself away?” Sam asked. “What does it matter? We need to get out of here,” Haruto remarked from the shadows. He leaned against the pillar, crossed his arms. The long leather coat hid his legs but she knew he’d crossed his ankles as well. She loved when he did that. Fortaleza threw her hands up. “It matters!” Haruto’s mouth curled in disdain. “Small things matter to small minds. We have to go.” The woman bristled. “You goddamn—” Sam cut in. “Smiley’s right. Let’s go.” “Wait,” Allan said. “Here. Try the comms settings.”

“No one is that dumb,” Fortaleza snapped. “Well, what d’you know.” She shook her head. “You think they’d scramble their fucking comms. There’s a whole bunch of numbers and fixes in there.” Allan looked up around the gathered people. Brioni wondered for a second why he was smiling so broadly. Must have been hit on the head or something. “Let’s try the latest. It could—” Haruto detached his shoulder from the pillar. “There’s no time for this shit. Let’s go.” The man’s voice, which was usually gentle and even, sounded cold and sharp. “There. Let’s see who picks up the link.” Fortaleza thumbed the screen. She put the decoder to her ear, waiting. Sam and Haruto started to head for the opposite end of the chamber when a small bleep froze both men in mid-step. Faces grave and tight, everyone looked around at everybody else. Even Brioni tried to judge from where the sound originated. Sam took a step away from Haruto. His wide, bearded face was beet red. Slowly, his face impassive, Haruto fished inside his coat and produced a portable decoder. The red light flashed. “Fuck me,” Fortaleza breathed. She gaped at the thing in her hand, which had just opened a link to the one in Haruto’s pocket. Allan reached for his volter at his belt. A grimace twisted his freckled face. “It was you.” “Haruto…?” Brioni took a small step forward, as if she meant to keep someone from falling, bracing them, try to buffer the hit. Cold and emptiness numbed her. “That’s not mine,” Haruto replied. He let the thing bleep without answering. “What’s it doing in your fucking pocket then?” demanded Fortaleza. The mirrored goggles angled toward Allan. A mean sneer rounded Haruto’s cheek. “Yeah, I wonder—” An explosion of such force that it ripped part of the railing off the concrete wall tore out of a tunnel. Heat and debris buffeted them. Bricks rolled off the already-broken wall. Mortar disintegrated under the impact. Brioni yelped, was blown back pell-mell amidst the tiny bodies she was desperate to shield with her own. Someone snarled. Another cried out in pain. A female voice with a Portuguese accent cursed long and loud. Rio? So unlike the calm Batista older sister. Her ears rang, blood seeped under her tongue. Everywhere she turned, people on the ground or kneeling. Everything shades of brown and gray. The fluorescent had stopped sputtering and cast a wide beam of yellow light.

“Everybody?” Rio said, standing gingerly. She bled from the shoulder but otherwise looked unhurt. “Report!” Voices began to list names. Brioni hurriedly counted her charges and closed her eyes in relief. “Brioni here, the kids are okay.” Unfortunately, neither Allan nor Sam had been so lucky. Clearly dead, their broken bodies made Brioni avert her gaze. While she hoisted the youngest children to their feet and dusted their faces, the rest started going around those who were still on the floor. “He’s gone,” Rio said at length. Her voice was like a blade. “Haruto’s gone. That backstabbing little shit.” The words cut Brioni deep. But not as deep as the man’s deed. How could he have done this? Everyone had been right. He was trouble. She never should’ve agreed to stay. But then again, something didn’t add up. Why now? And why stick around when he could’ve been long gone? He’d stayed behind to help. Would a traitor do that? No, a traitor would flee as soon as he could. As they prepared the wounded and began to move, a tiny flash on the littered ground caught her eye. She stopped to take a better look. Her heart skipped a beat. After telling her charges to stay right there, she rushed over and picked the little item from the ground. Dented and scratched, the little ocarina glimmered in her dirty hand. She pocketed it, returned to her work. They finally reached the surface after a few other close calls. They emerged from a tunnel directly by the river, surfaced into the dawn to crisp, cool air that replaced the chocking dust of the underground. Brown stripes slashed the purple sky. To her right, the sun had begun to glow over the taller roofs. She took a deep breath, ignored the tears rolling down her cheeks. No time for this. Later. “Come on,” Rio said. She crossed the old parking lot by the river, which flowed gently and glistened under the moonlight. Checked all around as her sister did the same. Under the Batista sisters’ escort, the bedraggled group made it to the nearest building, a gutted factory lined with “habitats” of corrugated sheet metal held by willpower and nylon strapping. “I know a couple people around here,” a man said. For the dust covering him, she couldn’t recognize him. Jonas, maybe? Or Sergei? He and Rio set off at a brisk pace. Not five minutes later, they returned, accompanied by several women and a couple of children in slightly better shape than those clinging to her bathrobe belt. Grouped by age and familial link—she hoped the parents, somehow, somewhere had survived the raid—they entered the riverside slums. Brioni slipped her free hand in the pocket of her robe to touch the precious item there. Haruto’s ocarina felt smooth and cool. She clutched it for no other reason than the need to keep a link to him. Even if he’d betrayed them all.

It sucks, Metcalf. Long and hard. The one guy on whom she’d had a bit of a crush—okay, a big one—had turned out to be a liar and a traitor. What did that say about her tastes or her theory there was good in everyone? Maybe he was the exception. Maybe there wasn’t any good in him at all.

Chapter Four

Getting drunk was hard to do when one had a veritable army of nanobots diligently cleaning one’s systems of any dangerous substance. Even a simple buzz was a feat in itself. But Haruto was slowly, laboriously, getting there. The many tiny glasses lined on his staked portion of counter along the wall could’ve—and should’ve—downed two, even three normal men. But he wasn’t a normal man, now was he? With a grimace, he leaned another shot back and set it at the end of the neat row he’d made. Waited for the effect. A tiny bit of burn warmed his veins. Barely. His vision troubled a bit, doubled before settling back to the regular sharpness. So he drank another shot. The liquid fire raked down his throat. This one had a bit more effect. He felt woozy, dull. For a good half minute before the enhancements did their job. Too well. He’d have to spend a fortune just to get a bit drunk. He chuckled at the irony. He wasn’t a cheap date, that was for sure. A date. Ha. He’d never even been on one. The women with whom he’d had sex hadn’t been interested in anything more than physical release. As had he. Except for those glorious few hours with Brioni. That’d been more than sex. Haruto sighed, rubbed his numb fingertips on his thigh. It didn’t feel the same. Yeah, a bit of an alcohol kick slowly seeping into his system. About damn time. Blue eyes like ice. Shock and sadness. Cherry lips parted on a silent gasp. The look on Brioni’s face as the damn thing rang in his pocket still haunted him. He’d never even owned a portable decoder. For a good second, he’d wondered who the hell could’ve put it there. He’d quickly guessed though. He should’ve killed Allan when he had the chance. Cowardly and sneaky. Not that he cared what they thought. He didn’t. But Brioni thinking he was a traitor didn’t sit well with him. At all. And to top it all, he’d lost his ocarina. Both elbows on the dirty counter, he downed a shot then the last of the full glasses he’d set along the wall. The liquid fire left his mouth raw and tingly. He should get more. He wasn’t even drunk. And right now, the oblivion of a dozen shots of synthetic sake was the most important thing in his life. Sleep until next month, when the ache would be gone.

Those huge blue eyes staring at him through the disheveled mane of black and purple hair. The one other time he’d seen her that way looking at him through her hair was when she’d straddled him. The memory of her warm flesh making a home for him made him hard again. A presence by both his elbows triggered his defenses. He tucked his head between his shoulders, tensed. He didn’t want to be disturbed in his pity party. Couldn’t a guy have a bit of peace and quiet so he could get properly drunk? The fake leather jacket he’d stolen from a slumbering junkie creaked. Gray “fur” trim around the high collar tickled his cheek when he angled his head a bit sideways. He didn’t even want to see who had broken his ruminations. “Walk away,” he snarled under his breath. A woman’s voice surprised him. “You look lonely,” she purred. “My friend and me could keep you warm.” Haruto snorted in derision. They left, muttering curses. When he’d come in—earlier that day, last week, who knew—he’d thought the place was free of vermin. Apparently, he was wrong. Maybe he should move his drunk-fest elsewhere. Not two minutes after the women stormed off, a large shadow blocked the light of the lone bulb bolted directly on the dirty ceiling. Four-star luxury. “I don’t need to be kept warm,” he spat. “Walk away.” A hairy forearm appeared from his right. Haruto snarled a mocking laugh when he was roughly whipped around on his stool. His face a shade of veiny purple, a huge man in bits of Iron Conclave dragon-scale armor—stolen, obviously, the thing could barely contain the rolls of fat—cocked his fist back. Haruto didn’t even try to block or parry. He caught the row of ring-bearing knuckles right on the mouth, a hit that whipped his head back. Who cared? In a few hours, his lycan system would repair the damage anyway. For now though, he was bleeding. Grinning mockingly, he licked his upper lip. In various states of undress, both women had their arms crossed and wore expressions of righteous triumph. One kissed the air in his direction. Beyond the trio of troublemakers, the rest of the patrons went on with their business. Some of them appeared much more successful than he was at getting drunk. He envied them. “You been disr’pectful to my women?” “They’re women?” Haruto sneered. Another punch, this one in the solar plexus. It also hurt quite a bit more than the first. A gag reflex bent him over. The giant gripped the back of Haruto’s hair and forced him upright. The stool tipped and clattered to the floor. The toes of his black boots barely touched the floor as the huge pain in the butt reeled Haruto to his face. His breath smelled of greasy food and beer. “You gonna pay dem a drink. An’ you gonna like it, pretty boy. Gotit?”

“You gonna provide dem rubbers ’gainst rabies?” Haruto quipped, parroting the man’s speech. Why was he wasting his spit on that guy? He was drunk after all. Finally. Haruto blocked the next punch with a forearm that must have felt a lot harder than the man had anticipated because he grimaced in pain. He shoved Haruto back against the counter. Behind him, glasses fell to their sides and rolled around. A long, narrow blade flicked into view. One of the women grinned waspishly. “Yeah, rearrange his pretty face,” she goaded. Her friend licked her bright pink lips. Both looked like plastic dolls come to life. They probably sported more enhancements than even he did. Ha! The man put the blade right against Haruto’s chin. Just in case the idiot ruined his jacket, Haruto shoved the hand away. The tip of the blade caught his goggles, which ripped off his face and went flying to the floor to slide under a nearby table. Both dolls gasped in shock and backpedaled furiously while their pimp curled his upper lip in a deep grimace. “Argh, Jesus fucking Christ!” He backed up, spat on the floor. “You one of dem freaks!” Several people turned to stare. To his own shock, Haruto attacked. He lunged forward more rapidly than anyone could do—even if he thought his move was sloppy at best. With the heel of his hand, he hit the large man in the sternum. Felt bones crack under the violence. The impact propelled the man clear over the closest tables, arms and feet straight out in front of him as if a giant winch had suddenly reeled him back. He arced ten feet back to crash into the actual bar. Large splinters of transwood broke from the cast. People scrambled to get out of the way. Haruto snarled as he leaped on the closest table still intact. He crouched, momentarily, fighting to keep the claws and fangs from jutting out. His blood boiled. A red veil descended on his vision. “He’s one of them!” a man cried out, pointing at Haruto’s face. “Look!” A dangerous rumble spread in the crowd. Some jumped to their feet to get a look. Others merely turned to him, gasped then signed themselves. Cretins. “Get out of here!” a woman yelled. Cry taken by a couple others. Safety in numbers. A flash to his right. Haruto snapped his hand up, deflected the knife twirling at him. It clanged against the wall and fell to the floor. Pale-faced, those who hadn’t yet retreated from him did. He wanted to yell at them, insult them the way they had him. Throw curses and names at the whole stupid lot of them. Bigots, hypocrites and xenophobes. They were the monsters. Not him. He leaped off the table, pretended to go after the closest man, tasted the temporary delight of seeing everyone scamper well away. The pimp still lay on his back amidst the broken bits of bar he’d demolished. Behind the counter, the barman had a portable decoder to his ear. Probably calling

security. Haruto couldn’t be found. Inu had people in every echelon of authorities, here and elsewhere on Earth. The resistance had proven a perfect place to hide from them, but the surface wouldn’t be that safe for him. His DNA nomenclature would assuredly trigger all kinds of sleeper warnings. If arrested, Inu would come swooping down on him in a matter of hours. If that. Haruto used the tip of his boot to flick his welder goggles up, which he caught with one hand. He backed toward the door, slipped them back on. Names were hurled at him. Someone spat on the floor in his wake. “We don’t want your kind here,” a man snarled low, pulling a volter from his pocket. His companion put her hand on his arm, but her expression wasn’t any less disgusted or shocked. Haruto turned only when he’d cleared the front door. Once outside in the darkened, crowded and smelly alley, he flicked the fur collar of his jacket up by his face and walked away. Far. Fast. Aimless. He didn’t care where he ended up as long as he put some distance between the ghosts of their horrified expressions and himself. Sake couldn’t dull the sting of their reaction, even if he’d been used to it. The goggles could only do so much. In the underground, everyone had looked at him askew as well, only for different reasons. Not everyone. Only one had never looked at him with anything else but healthy curiosity and later with affection. He wondered how Brioni would have reacted to the sight of his eyes. Would she have signed herself? Spat on the ground? Recoiled in horror? Not that he’d blame her. Those who’d created him hadn’t had humaneness or charity on their minds as they adjusted his sight. They hadn’t cared if his eyes looked the way they did after they were done. He’d been twelve years old at the time and unfortunately remembered every second of every “treatment”. As he entered into another alley that ran perpendicular to the one he’d just left—riverside slums were just that, alleys—Haruto spotted old Global Alliance of Nations posters peeling off concrete support pillars of houses built on stiles to evade the crushing taxes. The posters reminded him of the one on which he’d found his name. That night, he’d hurt so badly, he thought—hoped—he was going to die. No such luck.

His body quivered with adrenaline. With panic. With fear. Several volter shots had grazed him, leaving behind fire and agony. His body would repair each, he knew. But he had nothing to dull the pain. No one to tell him everything would be all right. He was alone. Afraid. Bleeding. Confused. With a snap that made him see stars, one of his ribs crunched back into place. He groaned in pain. But he was free. Only hours before, he’d been still at the employ of Inu, a nameless subject, a breathing weapon they sent at their enemies. He’d killed more people than he’d befriended. By a long measure.

Rain fell on him, cold and greasy. His body racked with fever and privations, he looked up, spotted through the rain a peeling poster that bore a face sharing some of his characteristics. Young. Male. Almond-shaped eyes—only the shape though, certainly not the color—and a compact, wiry frame. An action vid star, or so claimed the poster. He looked at the man’s name, red slashes against black background. Haruto. He liked it, so he took it. No one had taught him not to. No one had taught him anything except what he needed to kill.

Haruto presently stopped when he hit a stone parapet. Panting, he gripped the handrail in both hands. Rusty metal dug into the portion of his hands not covered by the fingerless gloves. The small discomfort should’ve triggered a response. No adrenaline. Nothing. Alcohol numbed his reactions, dulled his mind. He chuckled. Didn’t know why. Was shocked to feel moisture gather inside his goggles. This present night reminded him of another. His escape a few years ago still blazed in his memory as though it’d happened the day before. He wondered if his creators were still looking for him after the explosion of the shuttle transporting him. Inu rarely made mistakes. They’d made one that night in not drugging him out during transfers. Overpowering and killing the half dozen guards had proven easy. Except for one. He’d let that one live. Haruto looked at the river scintillating beneath a deep purple sky. Floating above the roofs on the other side of the river, the “good” side of town, a hoverclock indicated nineteen hours twenty-two minutes and four, five, six seconds in acid green. So he’d been at that bar all day? The thirteenth day after he’d run away from the underground. Only two weeks since he’d seen Brioni. It’d felt like years spent on broken glass. Why had he run away? Why hadn’t he stayed to defend himself? He’d run because he couldn’t be bothered to explain how he’d watched Allan over the months pass intel to the other side. He’d kept an eye on the traitor but never been moved to act or confront him. What did he care? He wasn’t one of them. He didn’t care about any of them, did he? Of course not. So what if they thought he was a traitor and a mole? It’d been cynicism that had made him leave, not anything else. Not fear that despite his claims, she wouldn’t believe him. Not fear she would reject his words. Or push him away. It was better leaving this way than trying to convince her and failing. No, it hadn’t been the fear that’d made him run as fast as his lycan system could push his poor human shell. Liar. A metallic moan pulled him out of his downward spiral. Haruto realized with shock he’d bent the steel handrail. Disgusted with his lack of self-control, he pulled his hands away. The sky started to spin over his head. On a grunt, he rolled against the railing and leaned back. Such a pretty sky. A blue star reminded him of Brioni’s eyes. The same twinkle, the same light.

“Brioni,” he breathed, desperate to hear the name out loud. He couldn’t have the woman, maybe he could hang on to her name. Then again, why couldn’t he have the woman? She wanted him. He could see it, smell it, feel it on her. And taste it too. She’d made herself his, given herself over to him. She’d said so herself. Haruto ran numb fingers over the smooth portion of handrail not gnawed by rust. Bent far back until his spine hurt. Muscles over his belly and chest tingled with the exertion. That star winked at him. Brioni had done that too, before leaving his home, even with explosions rumbling in the distance, she left him on a grin and a wink. Unflappable. Beautiful, warm and sweet. He hardened painfully against the ribbed polymer pants. The bits of armor worked into the double layer would protect him from bladed weapons or stunner shots, but they could do nothing against the blade that he twisted in his own heart. How he wished he hadn’t wasted all that time. Maybe if he’d met her sooner… Or noticed her quicker. Although he had noticed her, only never worked up the courage to approach her. Not that she scared him. Nothing did. Cynicism had killed even that. He was afraid she’d look at him differently. “A fool,” he heard his voice whisper. He could smell the alcohol on his own breath. A ribbon of steam gave form to his whispers. “A damn fool.” Maybe he should… No. She was gone. He’d run away like a fool and now here he was. Alone once more. Cretin. Why couldn’t he have her again? He made no sense. Where had his orderly world gone? He was so drunk. His erection hurt as much as the memory of Brioni pleasured him. A growl left him. It was too late. Too late to think about her. “Fuck…” The change took him quickly. He felt the dual cocktail in his bloodstream, the dangerous alcohol and even more so lycan. He didn’t fight it. Welcomed it instead. What was a bit more pain? Claws and fangs hardened, protruded from the human flesh. Haruto smelled the air. So many scents. Natural, synthetic. He bet he could find her by scent. It’d be easy. Mmm, yes. Her sweet, intoxicating scent. He wanted her again and he would have her again. Running. Leaping over shuttles and clawing up obstacles. People slinking into the shadows to let him pass. Wind in his face made him growl a laugh. Rain puddles reflected the scenery. Twice the misery. He stepped in them with a vengeance. Broke the surface.

Female musk stopped him. He whirled around, threw himself at that smell. A slender body connected against his chest. Haruto encircled her with his arms, licked a long pass up the woman’s neck. She shrieked. A nudge to her foot parted her legs so he could crush his erection up her back. Smells of her reached him, blinded and deafened him. His balls constricted with lust. An arm around her waist, he pressed his hand on her sex. Heat. Sweet, wet heat. But she kicked and thrashed. He spun her around, pushed her against the wall. Maybe she hadn’t recognized him. Black eyes wide in terror reflected his mirrored goggles. Not her. With a low growl, he pushed himself off the whimpering woman. The hunt was back on. Brioni was his. His. “Mine.”

Chapter Five

Brioni had no idea so much could happen in only two weeks. After the attack on the underground home, Cristoval, Asia and a few others had fallen to the Iron Conclave. After a momentous rescue mission by Dex Solomon’s team of lycan mercenaries, during which both he and Cristoval had been wounded, things had settled down. Somewhat. She still couldn’t sleep more than three or four hours a night. What remained of the resistance had gathered in an old factory turned transient quarters. With help from the smooth-talking, blind lycan Liberty and her vast connections, cots, food and necessities had been brought. At least the kids had been able to get something to eat and fall in oblivion. Poor things could barely stand. Now it was Brioni who could barely stand. She’d gone over Haruto’s apparent betrayal several times in her head and something didn’t pan. Didn’t make sense. And when something didn’t make sense, Brioni Metcalf was known to dig and scratch and poke until it did. She presently stood to stretch her tired frame as the rest devised ways to hunt the rogue lycan down. Her blood pressure could’ve beaten records. Asia, most of all, wanted Haruto’s head on a pike. She’d lost Allan and wanted someone to pay. As much as Brioni empathized with the teen’s pain, revenge wouldn’t help a thing. Within minutes, only Asia and the Batista sisters remained, the rest having departed to make more permanent accommodation plans. “Slimy little son of a bitch,” Fortaleza growled. The portable decoder gleamed in her gloved hand. She tossed it back on the table, jumped to her feet and began pacing. She was armed to the teeth—literally. Her usual way. “We should put up a reward, see how long the rat can outrun the cats.”

“Goddammit, just settle down,” Brioni snapped. The verbal slug must have shocked the Batista sisters as much as it did Brioni. They’d always reminded her of a pair of beach volleyball players. Tall, strong and aggressive. She took a long breath. “We don’t know what happened.” “We do know what happened,” Asia retorted. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Smiley fucked us all! I should’ve listened for once.” She crossed her arms and rubbed her nose on her shoulder. A green-eyed, curly black-haired fury. Fortaleza threw her hands up. “We should go out right now, hunt his skinny ass down. Not sit here and wait!” The old factory reverberated with her voice. Metal I-beams created shadows between ceiling lights. Rows of cots lined the far wall. Small lumps under felt blankets that didn’t reach the foot of the cots told of tiny occupants. Blades of light fell on the sleepers. Through the large, ceiling windows, the pale sun had risen but still they slept. They needed the rest. Asia adjusted the volter at her waist. “I agree. I want…” Her voice broke. She cursed, angrily knuckled her eyes. “I want him dead.” Brioni’s blood pressure spiked. The whoosh-whoosh pulsed in her ears. “And what good will that do?” “An eye for an eye! Allan’s dead because of him.” “Allan is dead because the Iron Conclave killed him. Not Haruto.” “And who the hell let them in, huh?” Asia countered. “You? Me? No, it was Smiley. That thing was in his pocket. That’s what you all said.” Both Batista sisters nodded while Brioni tried her best to take long and deep breaths. She wanted to speak with Haruto, ask him why. How. Anything to explain his actions. But she didn’t want to hurt him, and surely not watch him die. The mere thought squeezed her chest. “We don’t know enough to make that kind of decision,” Brioni began calmly. “There’s something that doesn’t make sense.” “Yeah,” Fortaleza agreed. “Like why the hell did it take us so damn long to kick his ass out!” “Woman,” Brioni snapped. “Can you think with your brain and not your dick once in a while?” The younger Batista sister stomped up to Brioni, thinking maybe the volters, the knives, the muscles and the rest would scare her. Well, it did. But she’d be damned if she’d show it. “Get out of my face,” Brioni snarled low.

Rio reeled her sister back by the sleeve and sent her waltzing away from Brioni. “Keep it down, the kids are sleeping.” With a colorful curse, Fortaleza stormed out of the impromptu meeting room in the building’s former kitchen. Only a counter and sink remained. Doorless cabinets held some supplies. “That was a cheap shot, Brioni,” Asia let drop before she left too. The bits of armor swooshed as she walked away. Sighing long and hard, Brioni raked her hands back in her hair. “They’re scared,” Rio said. “And one is hurting. Don’t mind them.” “I know, but… Argh, never mind.” “You all right? You’ve been on your feet for hours.” Rio yawned. The Brazilian beauty looked tired and drawn. “Yeah.” She checked her watch. The black cat indicated almost eleven in the morning. By the corner of her eye, Brioni studied the portable decoder. It looked familiar. But not from Haruto’s, because the only item she’d seen him handle was the ocarina, presently tucked nice and safe into the pocket of her borrowed coat. The blind lycan and her protector, a giant man nicknamed Cupcake, had delivered clothes earlier that morning before leaving again to attend a briefing uptown in the financial district. Life as usual. GAN no longer seemed in control of anything and Solomon and Eva tried their best to form alliances with those politicians they deemed less slimy than the rest. He’d named one particular ally, Finance Minister Deng Muhua. She was apparently very close to reaching a deal with former GAN members to give full immunity to people in the resistance. Maybe the days of living underground would be over soon. Of course, not many agreed with the Deng woman. Yet she was their best hope according to both Solomon and Eva. Brioni walked to the table, retrieved the decoder and turned it around in her hand. She hadn’t had the chance to examine it herself since the attack. It felt cold and smooth. The thing that had damned Haruto. How could he have done such a thing? Still… “Hard to believe, huh?” she murmured. Rio snorted. “Are you kidding me?” “No.” The woman cocked her head. “It’s not hard to believe at all. Smiley always looked the backstabbing kind to me. And now we know he is.” “You can’t judge a person like that. Even if they ‘look’ like something, it doesn’t make them so.”

“Sometimes, when it looks like it, smells like it, sounds likes it…” Brioni sighed as she thumbed the thing on, checked the screen. “That doesn’t work for people. We’re more than the sum of our parts.” Something caught her attention. There were only two links opened the day of the raid. The first, which had been from the mole to the Iron Conclave operative’s own decoder, glimmered acid green against the slate-gray background. It’d been made at three fifteen that morning. “Whoa,” she breathed. A second check revealed the same thing. The supposed link to the enemy had happened a little after three, with the last—Fortaleza’s test—at around seven. “That can’t be right.” “What’s wrong?” Rio joined Brioni and craned her neck to see the screen above Brioni’s shoulder. “You found more links?” “No, but there’s something wrong with this. According to the log, the first link was made a little after three. Haruto couldn’t have done it.” Rio narrowed her dark eyes. “Why not? It was before the attack. He could’ve had time to open a link, tell them where and how.” “But the link only lasted two minutes. Definitely not enough time to pass all that info.” “They must have talked about it before then and only confirmed things during the last link.” “No, that can’t be it. Haruto wasn’t on a link. He was with me. Actually, I was with him. At his place.” “What do you mean you were… Oh.” Rio’s eyes flared. “Oh?” Her heart raced. She flicked the thing closed against her hip. Scenarios flashed in her mind’s eye. If this wasn’t Haruto’s decoder as she suspected, then whose was it? And what was it doing in Haruto’s pocket? Plus, she remembered its little red light flashing. She’d seen it before. Her heart skipped a beat. “Oh no…” “What?” Rio rested a hand on the butt of her volter. Brown leather creaked when she leaned over, ready for battle. As the Batista sisters always were. “I saw that decoder in Allan’s hand, around that time too.” “How the hell would you have seen it? Everyone’s sleeping at three in the morning.” Brioni could detect the resistance to the theory Allan, such a sweet and jovial young man, could have been the traitor. Not when Haruto, a cynic who loved pissing people off, fit the bill much better.

“I couldn’t sleep. So I went to the cafeteria to get tea, only there wasn’t any hot water. Allan was there, arguing…” She put her hand against her mouth. “Oh my God, Rio, he was arguing on the decoder. Looked upset and everything. He abruptly killed the link when he saw me.” Despite the doubt still plain on the tall brunette’s face, Rio did look a bit confounded. “If Smiley didn’t make that damn link, why didn’t he just say so?” “He never had time.” Cursing, Rio nodded. “True. Shit hit the fan.” “And you think anyone would’ve given him a chance to talk? Fortaleza already had her volter out and pointing at him. Shit!” Maybe she wanted to believe more than she was merely following the logical trail. She didn’t care. Everyone deserved a chance. Haruto, as well. But where could he be? If he thought everyone accused him of betraying the resistance, where would he go? She doubted he had much more than the clothes on his back. Her heart swelled with chagrin. She realized she’d started nibbling her thumbnail. A pearl of blood appeared in a corner. “We need to talk to him,” Rio declared. “Under controlled settings. But we need to talk to him. If it wasn’t him… My God, Allan?” “Not as convenient as Haruto, huh?” Brioni remarked caustically. “Do you know where he could be?” “No idea.” Rio narrowed her eyes. “If you two are close, then what tells me you’re not trying to frame Allan, conveniently unable to defend himself, for your guy’s sake?” “I’m not lying. You know it. You’re just not willing to believe you were wrong about both Haruto and Allan.” A long silence settled, during which Rio looked alternatively pissed off and contrite. In the end, the older Batista sister—the wise one—nodded. “Okay, we need to get a hold of Haruto before they set out after him.” “Fortaleza?” “Asia. When she hears about your theory…” She shook her head. Asia would hit the roof. Rio was right, they were already planning to “hunt the rat down”. Her heart rate doubled. He was no rat! Although she didn’t doubt for one second he could take care of himself, she’d rather he not kill a former friend, even in self-defense.

“I’m going after him. We need to know.” “You’re not going by yourself. We’ll wait for Solomon and Eva to come back with the arsenal he promised. We’ll have trackers and trancs then we’ll—” “Trancs?” Rio nodded. “You think the adrenaline alone wouldn’t be enough to send Haruto over the edge? We’ll need to sedate him before we can even approach him.” “He’s not an animal!” “Maybe not one hundred percent, but anyone with a bunch of lycans after him would react defensively. We can’t afford a fight and we can’t afford a single loss either.” Loss. Such a clean word for death. “I don’t agree. I’ll talk to him. He’s not the ‘rat’ you all think he is.” Rio shrugged. “I don’t care what he is. I’m not risking anyone’s safety—” “Hello? I may not be a lycan, and I may not be able to shoot a volter like you can, but I don’t need a babysitter. I’m going after him alone.” “No, you’re not. And he could be anywhere. Even out of the Koreas.” “Then I’ll follow him.” With a roll of her dark eyes, Rio walked toward the door. There she stopped and passed a hand back over her head, for the first time since she’d met the woman showing signs of stress. “I think it’s better for everyone if I tell the others about this new intel. Where are you going to be? Here?” “Yeah,” Brioni lied. “Since you think I need a babysitter.” “It shouldn’t take long to get everyone ready. Plus, I’m sure you’ll hear both of them long before they get here.” Rio zipped her brown leather jacket up to her long neck. “I hope for your sake it went down the way you said. Because if you lied to save your guy…” “I don’t lie, you know me better than that.” Brioni should’ve felt bad she was lying through her teeth. But she didn’t and that was that. She wasn’t about to let them tag along. And she wasn’t about to let them try to hurt Haruto, despite Rio’s assertions to the contrary. Fortaleza and Asia together, pissed off, would be hard to control. Brioni didn’t like the possibilities, didn’t like the numbers lining up in her brain, adapting to various inputs and probabilities. There were more chances of shit hitting the fan than there weren’t. When it came to Haruto’s safety, she wouldn’t gamble.

Brioni squeezed her hand around the scratched and dented ocarina in her pocket. The most precious thing she owned. She knew exactly where to start looking.

Rain fell thin and cold on the crowded street. The kind of rain that could—and usually did—last for weeks. She stood in the middle of the artisan quarter, the old bazaar that stretched the length of Seoul’s riverside. It was only late afternoon but with the rain creating an early dusk, streetlights were already on, stretched like garlands across the street. There were members of every societal stratum here, from the rich looking for an exotic item, to the poor hunting for bargains and a way to stretch their credit. And everything in between. Formerly, GAN security members would’ve marched in tight quartets, volters out and in view. Now the same guards patrolled in the same uniform even if things had drastically changed in the last few months. Only this winter, the resistance had had to buy contraband electricity to power a few of the hydroponics gardens underground. She could still remember the cost of that contraband power. She’d nearly had an attack as she tortured the numbers to try to stretch them as much as she could. In a way, the underground home being destroyed had forced a decision that she’d known was coming—they had to move out of there. Charity, sympathizers’ salaries and the rest of the credit input just wasn’t sufficient to run the show. Now up on the surface, they’d be forced to find something else. Hopefully, something better. Brioni looked around at the hard faces glistening with water. She could still easily see the schism. A subtle glower here, an open curl of lip there. Not everyone was happy to have the world’s “riff-raff”—vitriolic political ads plastered walls and skytrain stations—mingling with the rest. To her practiced eye, she spotted quite a few “genetic deviants” walking around, from deformations to enhancements to outright additions. In her pocket, Haruto’s ocarina felt cool and smooth. She wrapped her hand around it and squeezed. No one knew about it. Even after the confrontation with Asia and Fortaleza, she hadn’t shared that last card up her sleeve. It was enough that they doubted her word. And with Allan dead, no one could verify her claim. But numbers spoke volumes—Haruto had been with her when that link had been opened. Except that Asia hadn’t seemed impressed with that bit of news, even if Fortaleza had grimaced and shivered, muttering the “skinny jerk” definitely wasn’t her type. No worse blindness than those who refused to see. While they’d prepared and gathered weapons for their “rendezvous”—a manhunt to her—Brioni had quietly slipped out of the old factory through the kitchen door. Because of the rain, she doubted anyone could follow her trail by scent. She’d been around lycans and other genetically enhanced people long enough to know their capabilities. And limitations. She’d run hard and fast and had reached the bazaar around four in the afternoon. Right smack in the middle of the busiest time on the busiest day, Friday. Let them try to find her.

Because they were lycans, tall and powerful and well-armed, didn’t mean she had to follow their orders. She wasn’t without her own means and ways, her own recourse. She’d manage. Plus, her reasons for finding Haruto and confronting him were too personal to share with anyone. Artisans of every kind lined the narrow alley to her right. People stood shoulder to shoulder as they filed in and out. An older woman stood on the corner, clearly looking for a path. Behind her sat a small cart on wheels laden with cloth protected by a clear plastic covering. “Wow, it’s getting worse every day,” Brioni remarked as she made a big show of raising herself on the tips of her toes. The woman agreed with a grimace. “Worse now with all the new people.” Brioni politely cleaved a path and just as she was about to enter the crowded alley proper, she turned and emphatically invited the older woman to walk in her wake. Nodding with energy and much relief, the woman grabbed her cart and followed Brioni, who used her smile as much as her elbows to wedge in and out of the thick crowd. Behind her, the woman stayed very close. When they’d reached a relatively clear spot in front of a man demonstrating the virtues of “the world’s finest botler”—who would want a robotic butler—Brioni stopped and helped the woman set her cart up. Tiny hydraulics pushed both sides of the cart up to form a table. “Thanks, kiddo.” “No problem,” Brioni replied, feigning to leave but remembering something. “Oh, you wouldn’t know where I could find the metalsmiths, would you?” “Sure, at that corner there, to the left, then past the cook shop with the giant noodle bowl.” Brioni chewed on her bottom lip. “And those are the good ones, right? It’s for my mom. She has a medical condition. Her hip, right. Needs a new one.” With a nod of understanding, the older woman leaned over. “If it’s the white metals you’re talking about,” she started, stopped as people slowed to look at her wares. “You’re looking for the Japanese fellows. They have their guild up by the spaceports. I don’t know where exactly though. Sorry. Tell your mom to drink lots of green tea for her joints. It helps with mine.” White metals—aluminum, platinum, titanium and the likes—had become so prized that anyone caught with more than a tiny bit and no permit could face a long time in jail. Brioni smiled wide and patted the woman’s bony forearm. “Thanks so much. Good luck with the sales.” Brioni spent the next two hours fighting through the crowds on her way up to the spaceports. Twenty million people crammed in a city designed for five created all sorts of chaos. The worst of which was public transport. The rickety skytrain, noisy and belching great big clouds of toxic fumes, took her up to the more industrial part of town where she disembarked as near to the spaceports as she could.

Throngs of dockworkers, each burlier than the next, followed her out of the skytrain. Rain still fell. Overhead, space ships loomed like giant insects made of metal and bristling with antennas. Instead of following the streets, she used the back alleys to try to spot the foundry. If they dealt with metals, they had to have smelting facilities. That’d stick out amongst the private buildings. There. To her right. A chimney spewing black smoke caught her attention. It was short but thick. Too thick to be a regular household. She approached the backyard and peeked through the chain-link fence. It was getting dark, so people were starting to light their houses. She shivered in the cold rain, drew the collar of her borrowed coat closer. Dressed entirely in deep purple, from loose pants and tunic, sash and ankle-length coat, she could probably stand in the shadow and not be seen too clearly. Her heart skipped when she spotted a pair of Asian men sitting on the back metal stairs, smoking. One wore a thick apron and goggles pushed up on his forehead. She noted the house, rushed around to the street and narrowed her eyes at the front of a tiny store. They seemed to be in the business of, well, everything. From pipes to baby supplies to food. Hands shaking, Brioni opened the door and poked her head inside the cluttered store. A counter with an automated cashier whirred softly, lights blinking. The scanner must have caught her because a green light switched on. “May I help you?” the genderless voice asked. “Yes, I’d like to speak to the manager, please.” A few seconds of clicks and ticks from the automated cashier preceded the sound of footsteps. Brioni smiled at the ancient man who appeared in a doorway between a pair of cold drinks dispensers. He wore the most wrinkled shirt she’d ever seen. “Yes?” “Oh hi.” She approached, shook rain from her hand before she stuck it out. “I’m Janet, how are you?” “We’re not looking for workers,” he snapped, retreating by a step and ignoring the gesture. She fought to keep her smile steady. “I’m not looking for work, sir. I’m looking for a gift. For my sister.” The man’s eyes narrowed even further. “We don’t sell gifts here.” “Oh? I was told you did. I’m looking to purchase an ocarina. Do you know what they are? Little round flutes?” The man blanched. “You were told wrong.” He retreated into the darkened doorway. Oh? “No, no, I’m sure I have the right house.”

He backed away, not in fear but to her shock, in horror. He shook his head several times. “We don’t have that here. Go away.” He turned and walked the way he’d come. “Sir! Please, wait!” She followed him behind the counter, entered the doorway but stopped when he turned around and imperiously indicated the door. The gesture had such commanding effect that she almost backed off. This man had done something else in his life than own a tiny store. The glint of steel in his eyes confirmed her suspicions. “Sir,” Brioni whispered, digging in her pocket and pulling the little instrument out. “My friend is in trouble. I need to find him before someone else does. Someone who wants to hurt him. Please, could you tell me if you know anything about this?” As soon as his gaze fell on her hand, a transformation came over the tiny man. He ran a hand back over his balding head, eyes closed, lips moving in silent words. Was he praying? “Where…where did you find this?” “It belongs to my friend.” “I doubt that.” He opened his eyes. “There’s no friendship where this thing came from. Where did you find it? Did you steal it?” “I didn’t steal his ocarina. He lost it when—” Brioni cleared her suddenly tight throat. “He’s in trouble, sir. My friend is in trouble. Please, what do you know about this?” She resisted the urge to take it away from him when he reached out and delicately passed a gnarled index finger over the dented surface. Dust still clung to the black cord. “How old is he now, your friend?” “I’m not sure. Thirty, maybe a bit more? It’s hard to tell.” He nodded. Sadness washed over his face. “How long have you known him?” “About a year.” “You’re a friend, you say?” He planted such a penetrating gaze on her that Brioni felt herself blush right up to her hairline. “Then you’ll forget this place, forget him and move on.” “I can’t. I won’t. He’s my friend.” “Have you ever had regrets, child? Regrets so keen they’re like needles under your nails?” “Yes. I should’ve followed him right away. That’s my regret. What’s yours?” She hadn’t meant to sound so challenging but couldn’t help it. She’d act pushy with an old man if it helped her find Haruto’s trail. He took his hand away, rubbed his face. “We don’t have much time. Come with me.”

The thought he was leading her to some nasty surprise crossed her mind but didn’t stop her from following him deeper into the narrow place, down a corridor barely wider than she was, past maladjusted doors and into a tiny, dirty kitchen where the only real spot of color was a plant sitting on the windowsill. He picked up a remote from the counter, thumbed the screen. She heard the bolts in the back door slide into place. A tiny jolt in her heart made her ball trembling fists. If he tried anything, she’d have no qualm about kicking him where it hurts and running away. But instead, he methodically fixed tea and soon had a pair of tiny, handleless cups the color of coal in his hands. He offered her one. She took it, even if she had no intention of drinking whatever the strange man had brewed. To show good graces, she pressed her lips to the burning edge. It did smell nice though. Jasmine tea. “I’ve lived with this stone in my shoe for far too long.” He took a tiny sip. In the yellow light of a rice paper lamp hanging from the pitted ceiling, his skin looked like liver-spotted leather. “Your friend is more than what he seems. And he’s less at the same time.” Brioni pretended to drink again, pressed her lips and waited. At least the thing was warming her hands, which she’d cradled around the tiny cup. “Haruto is very secretive, I agree.” “Haruto?” The man looked surprised. A shadow of a smile crinkled his skin. “Funny how he chose a Japanese name for himself. Distant One. It’s fitting.” “Haruto’s not Japanese?” “Haruto is not even a man.” She bristled at the implications. “He’s very much a man, sir. And a good one too despite his, well, his caustic personality.” A white eyebrow raised, he seemed to study her as he drank his tea. “He’s made a life for himself, then. I’m happy. But you have to know that ‘Haruto’ is different from you and me—” “I know about his gift—” “Don’t interrupt me,” the man snapped. “He’s the best thing and the worst thing technology can create. Long before the Iron Conclave and even the fools behind the Genes Wars, secret societies have funded and created and tested experimental weapons. Like your friend, who was a prototype of sorts.” A prototype…? “The things that poor child went through,” the man murmured. “Science can be as ugly as it can be beautiful. Imagine being created in test tubes, being raised by researchers and weapons engineers, around machines and death, around metal and concrete. Imagine a child who can kill a man in more ways than he can count. A child treated like a… A thing.”

Tears welled Brioni’s eyes. She willed them away. “How do you know all this?” she whispered even if she knew the answer. “I was there. I saw it with my own eyes. And I did nothing.” “You were one of the researchers?” He shook his head, put his cup on the counter. Another stain joined the collection. “I was only a guard. Every day I’d go to work, and every night I’d come back home. But I couldn’t stop thinking. Guilt is a powerful thing, child. He had no one, no toy, nothing but tools of death and databases of violence. So I brought him this.” He pointed to her pocket where she’d slipped Haruto’s ocarina. “It was a small gift, but I think he was happy. In his own way, I think he was happy.” She agreed with a nod. God, not at all what she’d expected. She was dizzy with information overload, with the pain the man’s words created, the implications and horrors they triggered. Haruto had grown up and lived in a research lab? Empathy washed over her in a great, warm wave. The isolation, the crushing loneliness must have been terrible. “One night,” the man went on, as if he were reliving the past. Tears filled his yellowed eyes. “After we picked him up from a mission—he must have been sixteen or so at the time—I decided to do something. Instead of sedating him the way we usually did…” She put the untouched tea on the counter. “What did you do?” “He was awake when my colleagues went to slip the restraints on.” A grim look passed over his face. “He… All dead, except for me. He let me live.” She could imagine the rest. Haruto had killed his way to freedom. Who could blame him? “Did they blame you?” The old man shook his head. “I’d become very good at lying, I needed that skill to live with the fact I was letting Inu turn a child into a killing machine.” “Who’s Inu?” Hatred tightened his mouth. “The ones who’re on the other end of the link right now, listening to us.” Her heart skipped a beat. She backpedaled, cursing. “What?” “Oh, they won’t get here for another good ten, fifteen minutes.” He fished inside his wrinkled shirt collar, slipped a thin silvery chain from around his neck. On the end dangled a tiny chip of raw white metal. He approached until he stood barely a hand’s breadth away. “There’s a data clip inside,” he whispered in her ear. His breath smelled of jasmine tea and fish. “The chromium casing can fool any detector. Take it. It’s been my ball and chain for too long. I’d always hoped to have enough courage to use it someday. I never did.”

“They’re coming right now? These Inu people?” Her heart hurt from the mad beating. Sweat tickled a teasing course down her spine. He backed by a step. “They’re barely ‘people’, but yes, they’re coming. They monitor everything, know everything. Everyone owes them, either now or generations ago. They’re the keeper of memories, a database too vast to understand. As for your friend Haruto, if you love him, you’ll make sure they don’t catch you.” “I won’t let them hurt him.” The tone of her remark, the aplomb and cold, hard determination made the old man smile for a second. It didn’t last. “He doesn’t want to punish Haruto. That’d require emotions he doesn’t have. But he’s been looking for him, all this time. Searching, hunting.” She slipped the chain and pendant around her neck and tucked it safely into her tunic. It was still warm from the old man’s skin. A curious bond to him formed in her mind—they were now the keeper of Haruto’s future. She hoped she did a better job at it than he had. She tried in her heart to find compassion for him. But he’d let those horrors happen to a child and hadn’t helped. What sort of man did this? Fear was one thing, but to allow researchers without conscience to conduct experiments on a kid… She tried to hide the rage and judgment from her eyes, knew he could probably still see them, if only because they were a reflection of his own. “You said ‘he’s been looking’. Who’s he?” The old man cocked his head. “Where do you think they get their initial DNA?” The words left a bad taste in her mouth. “Someone inside Inu is… Erm, he’s the one who…?” A nod. “He wants his prodigal son back. Even if he never was a father, he was still the genitor.” “Does Haruto know this?” “No. And I suggest you don’t tell him either. No one needs that on their soul. And after I’m gone, there will be only two who know.” “That man and me?” She refused to use the word “father”. She agreed with the old man at least on that—Haruto had no father as far as she was concerned. She wouldn’t burden his heart by revealing he shared DNA with the monster who’d tortured him. “Please tell him,” the man went on as he manually unlocked the back door. “Please tell him. I’m sorry. I’ve lived with this regret all my life. If I could, I’d change things.” “Would you save him?” He nodded. “I’m saving him now.” He opened the door, gestured for her to follow him down the concrete staircase leading into a darkened garage. Through a door to her right, she spotted an orange glow. Acrid smells of rotten eggs and sulfur made her crinkle her nose. The foundry.

“Was it you who made it? The ocarina, I mean?” She followed him to an old and battered-looking airbike leaning on the garage wall. “My father. He’d made it for me when I was little. I never married, had no children of my own. There’s only one like it in the world.” A man’s voice rose beyond the door to the foundry. Her companion responded in quick, hard words. “Hurry. Take it. You’ll have a chance this way.” He grabbed the old bike by the handles and wheeled it to the garage door, which he indicated Brioni should open. She did, used her hip to force it wider. Rusted and stained, the bike collected tiny drops of water as they wheeled it outside. Night had fallen. The sky was slashed in brown and purple. Wind had also picked up quite a bit. High overhead, shuttles flew back and forth. It was a busy sky above the slums. The massive hulls of space vessels glistened as they hovered, moored to the spaceports overlooking this part of town like giant clusters of silver grapes atop needle-like towers. “Will you tell him?” the old man asked. Regret filled his eyes. He looked even more ancient this way, staring up at her as she straddled the bike’s plastic seat and pressed her thumb on the control panel by the handle. She nodded. “If he doesn’t know already, I’ll make sure he learns what you did for him. For what it’s worth, he’s become a good man. A bit of a cynic but good at heart.” A tired smile pulled the leathery cheeks. “I’m glad to know he made a life for himself and found a good girl to love.” She was about to argue Haruto and she were just friends but closed her mouth and nodded. Why rob this old man of a rare bit of good news? He’d probably suffered enough, if only through his guilt. Although she wished, as he did, that he’d acted sooner. Maybe Haruto would’ve turned out completely differently. “The Hwaseong.” The old man backed away from her as he fearfully checked the sky. “The Brilliant Fortress. That’s where they kept him. That’s where Inu has its research facilities. That’s where he is as well.” She nodded, logged the piece of intel in her brain. She’d have to find something to note all of this, maybe even open a link to Vonatos and data charge everything to him. Yes, actually, this was what she’d do at the first opportunity. She couldn’t take the risk the knowledge would go down with her. She knew her strengths and also her limits. She was no lycan. “One last thing,” she said. “Haruto, why does he wear goggles all the time?” The old man’s chin trembled. “He hides his eyes?” he breathed, barely loud enough to be heard. “I would too.”

Brioni was about to reply when a great whoosh of heat preceded a fireball like the mouth of hell opening right behind them. Only because she had her hand already on the handle and about to rev the engine did she escape the explosion when it ripped through the garage. The image burned an impression of itself in her retina. Orange, fiery background, and a tiny, bent silhouette like a broken puppet.

Chapter Six

Haruto spotted a bright ball of orange flames roll upward from a neighborhood beneath the spaceports. He watched, mesmerized, as bright flames rose above a portion of the city. In his enhanced vision, they looked like tongues licking the sky. Somewhere, a siren sounded. He smelled the emergency shuttles, smelled the fire retardant agents they used. Sensory systems honed into fine blades, he rushed up an old convenience store’s emergency ladder. Rain hit his face but didn’t cool the fire in his belly. Inferno that only Brioni’s flesh could quench. The images flashed in his mind. Vivid. Light and shadow. Pale skin and rosy flesh. On her back, up against a wall, on her elbows and knees, astride him. She was all his, had made herself his and would again. He leaped from roof to roof, across streets and alleys until he stood on a flat rooftop across the street from where a couple of buildings burned with a vengeance. The smell of fuel still clung to the air. A shuttle must have come by only seconds before. Where was it now? He should still be able to see it. The heat reached even to him. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the warmth even if it stemmed from destruction. One had to find heat where one could. In his life, he’d learned not to be choosy. Emergency crews were only starting to filter in. He smelled their clothes, their hair, everything that had ever stuck to the soles of their boots. They didn’t smell of adrenaline or fear. No rush. No one cared too much about a couple of houses burning up in Seoul’s slums. Haruto was about to turn and head back down when a faint tendril caught his nose. He froze. Sniffed delicately, mouth parted to roll the scent on his tongue. The subtle smell hardened his cock. His palms tingled at the prospect of his hands closing on the softest limbs, the smoothest skin. So he had found her by scent after all.

*****

The explosion tore a gasp from her. She frantically twisted the airbike’s right handle. The engine roared in response. The thing may be old but there was still life left in it. Howls of pain coming from the foundry tore at her heart but she couldn’t stay and help. If she were caught, they’d try to find what she knew about Haruto. And God help her, she’d rather die than give those monsters a single bit of intel. The pendant’s sharp edges pricked her skin. A constant reminder of her duty. Surely it’d been the same for the old man. She wondered if his chest bore any scars from years of wearing the sharp pendant. Turning away from the blast of heat, Brioni tucked her head low between her shoulders and twisted her hand hard. With a roar, the airbike lurched forward and up, gathered enough speed to lift off the courtyard’s broken concrete slabs, tore over the chain-link fence and flew at forty-five degrees over the buildings across the alley. Behind her, another explosion ripped the night. She felt the violence and heat against her back. A wave of hot air slammed into her. She revved the engine as hard as she dared. She hadn’t sat on one in years, since quitting her auditor job, selling everything and moving underground. Behind her, movement. To her shock, something large passed her, trailed a wake of heat and a smell of fuel that made her eyes sting. She glanced up. Nothing. Yet a definite whir of engines could be heard. Oh shit. A shrouded craft. She’d always thought only Leviathan-class space ships had them. Fortunately, with the rain she was able to spot a few angles here and there. A stunted wing, a glistening bow. She swerved when—she thought—the shuttle veered toward her. Slowly, almost gently. So they wanted her alive. With her coat and sash flying wildly around and behind her, Brioni raised the handles to try to gain a bit more altitude. Flying ten feet over rooftops wasn’t particularly safe. Chimneys, antennas, shuttle landing pads zoomed by. The shrouded craft moved closer, tried to keep her from rising. Burning heat suddenly spread all over her. A split second later, a blast of fire arced right over her head and crashed against a building around which she’d been about to fly. Bricks and debris rained to the ground. There could be people in those! Were they nuts? She tamped the fear down. Haruto wouldn’t have a chance if they caught her alive. She had to find a way, somehow, to lose the shuttle. Another blast tore a good chunk of a gutted office tower. Glass exploded in long shards. Brioni only had time to swerve to the left to avoid a shower of sparkling bits. People screamed in pain. Alarms, no doubt triggered by the fiery blasts, wailed behind her. Wind and rain made piloting the airbike tricky. Everything looked greasy and dangerous. A perfect opportunity presented itself. Near the end of the industrial neighborhood stood a cluster of taller buildings. Former apartment complexes. She aimed for that.

The shuttle’s occupants must have understood what she meant because the craft dropped dangerously close to her. She could have reached out and touched the damn thing. The shuttle’s warm hull tapped her. That was some piloting! They tried once, twice. Ram her “gently” enough to steer her in another direction but not violently enough to unseat her. Closer the apartment complexes grew. Brioni dove between the nearest two. She leaned over the handles, looking at the brick walls on either side. Graffiti. Darkened windows. The smell of fuel and garbage and urine overpowering. Where the hell could she go? She had to lose them. The skytrain. If she could make it to the nearest skytrain station, or even the tracks—high voltage would keep the shuttle well away. An airbike was small enough to fly between the live wires. Not the smartest thing to do. But in desperate times… Yeah. Get to the skytrain, Metcalf. Then she’d lose them in the crowd. The neighborhoods around the spaceports were almost deserted. But at the skytrain, she’d have a chance. There’d be lots of people, as always. Above her between the two roofs, the shuttle followed. Damn them. Focus. Breathe, for Pete’s sake! Haruto depended on her. She couldn’t let him down. Instead of maintaining speed and height, Brioni dropped to a foot above ground-level. Here, the smell of dead and rotten things made her breathe through her teeth. Above, the shrouded shuttle still followed. Same speed. Same heading. Shit, maybe they had heat sensors. Well, she’d give them heat, the bastards! A tiny noise at the far range of her hearing forced her to check behind. “Shit!” Right behind her. Two airbikes, thrusters blazing bright blue and illuminating two pilots dressed in black armor and face shields. She gunned it. Above her head, a dark form flashed from the roof to her left to the one to her right. Ah great, another? She didn’t have time to pay closer attention since one of her pursuers decided he’d had enough tailing. They came at her hard and fast. Like bike races—the full contact kind—she was sandwiched between the two, growled and kicked out at the black-clad one to her left. She was a leftie. So he got it right in the snout. Went violently veering away. Sparks flew in a wide arc when portions of his bike scraped against the brick wall. Before she could evade the other, that pilot reached out and grabbed a

fistful of her coat. A good yank nearly unseated her. She kicked, twisted the handles, cursed at him. But despite her best efforts, she wasn’t strong enough to get him off her. Slowly but inexorably, he forced her sideways enough that she had to let go of the handles. The borrowed airbike slowed until it plummeted to the ground twenty feet below. Brioni watched her only form of transportation hit the ground, roll several times before slamming against a concrete ledge that once sheltered pedal bikes. “Shit!” The man must not have thought things through very well because when Brioni was forced to straddle the back of his seat, she wrapped both arms around his head. Try to see now, buddy! She heard the curses. Gritted her teeth against the rough hand clawing at her so he could dislodge her. His cohort dropped right by their left. He leaned over, must have thought he could manage her with only one hand. She kicked him again. In the head, in the back. He veered away. Came back again. She was waiting. She felt the one sitting in front of her tense. Heard a muffled curse from within the helmet. Brioni didn’t have time to brace when he lost control of his bike. A first thud against the ground forced a growl of pain from her. Her tailbone hurt. Another thud. Sparks flew from the handle where it scraped the brick wall. The buildings ended. Both bikes shot out of the narrow aperture like bats out of a cave. With a bone-jarring, teeth-grinding, tailbone-compressing impact, both bikes collided against one another. Brioni only had time to lift her foot to avoid having her leg crushed between the two machines. The stench of fuel overpowered everything else. “Shit!” Screaming, she held on to the backseat as the bike’s backend rose. Higher. It flipped completely forward to crash against the pavement of an old pool enclosure. The impact knocked her teeth together. Pain radiated up her back and legs. Both bikes, pilots and she went tumbling down into the old pool. Her good fortune held because she landed—kind of—on one of the men. Get up, Metcalf! Haruto depended on her. Fear and adrenaline kicked up another notch. She clawed up the gentle incline, feet scraping rapidly, had managed to reach the shallow end of the pool when something gripped her by the coat and dragged her down and backward. She howled. Frustration and fright. Desperation. Kicking, clawing, cursing. They wouldn’t catch her alive. The bastards! “Get her! Hurry!” she heard behind her.

Brioni lost all control over herself. Animal instincts kicked in. She heard them grunt and pant as they tried to subdue her. One of them managed to roll her underneath him. The heavy body crushed her into the concrete. He cocked his fist back. She arched, twisted away. Stars exploded in her vision when the fist crashed against her forehead. He must have hurt himself too because he grunted, fisted her hair for another go. “Come on!” he growled. His companion frantically fished around his pockets. She spotted the trancgun. “No!” Renewed fire in her veins. In her peripheral vision, she spotted more forms rushing in. “Don’t lose her!” one yelled from far away. The sound of a shuttle landing. Heat buffeting her face. They couldn’t get Haruto back! She wouldn’t let them! Then something happened. A black silhouette flashed by her side. It collided with the men holding her down, hurling them back into the deep end. One of them crashed back so hard he cracked the concrete wall before slumping in a heap. “Get the volters!” one yelled. “They want her alive!” “He’s here!” the same voice replied. Who was there? As they ran toward the pool, the men dressed in likewise black armor and face shields drew volters. She yelled a warning, didn’t know why since she hadn’t recognized her savior. Everything happened fast. The dark flash moved too fast for her eyes to follow. She only caught glimpses of it here and there as it leaped, rebounded, arced and flipped. It flew at the newcomers, crashed into them and sent them outward like a puff of black feathers. Bodies crashed pell-mell into bushes, against walls, over park benches and garbage cans. The telltale blue-white flashes of volters illuminated dark corners around the apartment complex. “Don’t shoot, you moron! It’s him!” Despite her state, she heard the deference in their tone. And the fear.

Her body protested as she pushed herself up on her knees then to her feet. Stumbling, she made it out of the pool. By the few remaining lights around the pool enclosure and the old park-like area, a scene of carnage. Men in black uniform. Literally flying ten feet in the air, projected and thrown and tossed like ragdolls. Bits of clothing flew. Weapons as well. And blood. It arced overhead in thin lines. When the dark flash slowed as it leaped atop the roof of a small utility shed right by her, she was able to get a good look. Her defender froze facing outward, clearly using himself as a shield between the oncoming attackers and her. Oh God… She knew him. The black boots up to the knees, the tight-fitting, ribbed black polymer pants, longish and spiky black hair. The gray, fur-lined bomber jacket was new though. She would’ve recognized the man anywhere, under any circumstances. When Haruto turned, she took a step back. Even if his face was still the same beautiful visage she’d always seen, he was clearly in lycan form. Black metallic fangs and claws glistened like ink. One of the light posts was right above his head and cut his face with slices of shadows. The mirrored goggles reflected only flashes of light and concrete. He crouched lower against the roof ledge, curled his upper lip at her, sniffed delicately. “Brioni,” he whispered. Her heart beat madly. “Haruto…” A flash of metal. “Watch out!” He leaped high and grabbed the light post, used it as a launching point to soar right over the enemy. He landed with impossible grace, crouched in a feral pose on the railing of a nearby wheelchair ramp. Perched there like a crow. “Run,” he calmly said to her. The goggles glimmered with rain. Like tears. It began to fall heavy and cold. Seeped in her hair and clothes. Brioni shook her head. She wasn’t going to abandon him to these bastards. “But—” “Run!” he roared. Fear and panic seized her. She backpedaled when he jumped from his perch and came at her. Turning around, Brioni raced out of the park area. Out of the apartment complexes. Past deserted streets and around detritus-strewn corners. Echoes followed her. Men’s voices raised in pain and alarm. She didn’t look back. She ran. Across a small park where children’s play structures stood frozen in the glistening rain. Everything felt slimy underfoot. One hand on her mouth to keep from giving herself away, Brioni left the sidewalk so she could sprint down a grassy embankment that ended with a chain-link fence. Her breath burned in her lungs. Her legs felt like lead. Hair hung in her eyes. She ran

along the fence, slipping on the wet grass, almost all the way down to the river but couldn’t see an opening. Damn. She sprinted back up the embankment, bifurcated into a tunnel that passed underneath the street. High above, the skytrain’s wires ran parallel to the street. There’d be a comms booth at the next station, she’d be able to data dump the thing around her neck directly to Vonatos’ account. But that’d leave her out in the open. And right now, she needed to lay low. Temporarily at least. Under the street she sprinted. Water pooled in the divot along the middle. At least she’d be able to get past the fence above this way. Her breaths and boots echoed in the corrugated metal tunnel. A circle of light indicated she was close. But Brioni whimpered when she realized the same chain-link fence blocked her way out here too. She gripped the fence, rattled it, cursing. Behind her, a small sound allowed a split-second warning. Something hit her in the back. She yelped, hit the fence, tried to brace the impact with her arms as she was pinned facing it. Rain made the metal slippery and cold. A lean and strong body pressed all along the back of her, from knees to shoulders. A hard lump was crushed in her lower back. To have felt that magnificent body before, she recognized it well. Haruto. Long fingers tipped in black claws glossy with rain curled into the chain links by her face. Like anchors. “There you are,” he murmured through the wet hair covering her face. “You’re safe!” she panted, swallowed the lump in her throat. She could’ve wept in relief. “I thought—” “Shhh,” he breathed. Adrenaline shifted gears. She quivered as he put his mouth against her ear. Brioni swallowed. “Are you…are you all right?” “Now I am.” “W-what are you doing?” She’d never seen him this way. The lycan was clearly in control. Although he wasn’t like the others, didn’t change that much in physical appearance when the lycan took over. Only became more. More menacing, more the lean and mean hunter skirting the shadows. Like a hungry wolf without a pack. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he breathed, stopped for a deep but delicate sniff. A frisson shot up her spine. “I’ve been hungry for you.”

She tried twisting her head to look over her shoulder but he pressed himself harder. Metal links dug in her breasts and belly. Created a thrill she never would’ve expected from the situation. “Are we safe? Are they…? Did you get rid of them?” “Gone back to their masters,” he replied in singsong. She smelled a faint hint of alcohol on his breath. “With their tails between their legs.” She felt him tense. “Did they hurt you?” She’d escaped an inferno by the seat of her pants, had fought two men while flying ten feet off the ground at forty miles an hour, crashed on an airbike, had received a punch right in the forehead. “No, I’m all right. I—” He pressed his mouth against the back of her hand, which glistened with rain as she gripped the fence. His breath warmed her skin. He slowly licked the droplets from her knuckles. “Did you miss me?” “I was worried. I thought…” She tried to go on but no sound came out when he raked his bottom teeth very, very lightly up the back of her hand. His metallic fangs dangerously tracing veins and tendons. She could feel the reined-in power, the suppressed violence. The hunter resting a delicate claw on the prey’s tail. But she was no one’s prey. “I was worried,” she repeated with more aplomb. “You should’ve said something. At least to me.” “Why?” “Because I’m your friend.” “Mmm. My friend.” He seemed to taste the word, test it, roll it around in his mouth. His licking her knuckles again closed her eyes. She shivered. The hard feel of him crushed against her was starting to affect her mental processes. Despite his state. Because of it. She couldn’t think. Torn between remnants of fear and a budding arousal. Between her relief he was all right and her worry about where he was taking this. Yet hoping he would. What a mess. A long lick from wrist bone to curled fingers. “I love your taste.” With the angle, rain still reached them, rendered his skin the richest shade of wet sand. He yanked on both hands, which were still attached to the fence with curled-in fingers, while pushing his pelvis against her lower back. The clink of the fence was like music. A ribbon of breath rose in the air when she opened her mouth. Haruto did it again, this time rolled his pelvis in an upward thrust that crushed his erection up against her butt. She bit her bottom lip to keep her focus sharp. She gasped when he fisted the side of her coat and tugged it up so he could slip his hand underneath. Stitching ripped. Contact. Skin against skin. The heat of his palm triggered frissons up her side. Haruto followed her waist, squeezed into the drawstring of her loose-fitting pants. Brioni didn’t try

to stop him when he curled fingers over her mons, parted her. Liquid heat gathered in her folds. The smell reached even her. “You missed me too,” he whispered, chuckled. She’d never heard him do that. Haruto? Chuckling? When he crouched behind her, one hand still curled into the chain-link fence while he pulled her pants down with the other, she let him. When he denuded her butt and thighs and yanked her pants down around her ankles then off altogether, she hung on to the fence and didn’t make a single move he could’ve construed as unwillingness. And when he straightened, plastered himself against her back, hand around her front and still pressed against her pussy, Brioni remained immobile. Waiting to fall over the edge. That one last gust of wind that would topple her off the cliff. Relinquishment was a powerful thing. As were the animal instincts keeping her put while he readied her. Because that was what he did—readied her. She knew what he wanted. The sound of a zipper made her tuck her bottom lip behind her teeth. Burning-hot flesh pressed against her lower back. He made his cock a cradle of her cheeks. She curled her spine to change the angle. Facilitation. Invitation he didn’t need but took. Puffs of hot breath curled as steam by her face when Haruto gripped the fence on either side of her head. Rain made his black claws glisten. His heat triggered frissons all over her shaking body. Naked thighs against naked thighs. His chest crushing hers into the chain-link. His lower belly molded to her butt. Sensualization spread through her. She felt each tiny detail—the way rain droplets teased and tickled down her naked legs, and how strands of Haruto’s wet hair stuck to her cheeks or the tendons of his hands corded. Small details. Petty details to the lucky ones who’d had a good life and never had to fight for the ones they loved. Each mattered to her. Each was treasured. He growled her name. Pushed inside. When he took her, Brioni thought her world had been snuffed out. Like a candle in a gust of wind. A claiming born of two bodies pushed to their limits. The fence clinked with his demanding push. His cock filled her while his heat seeped into her flesh. He didn’t pull back. Remained sheathed in her. She didn’t know how long. Couldn’t tell a minute from an hour. Her body molded itself to his. His unnatural warmth transferred to her. Give and take. She gave herself over to him. In turn, he shared himself with her. She ceased to exist except as an extension to him while he lost himself in her core. They became one and the same. The oldest circle. The purest number. One. He pulled back to the glans. Brioni only had time to bite down before he thrust back. Hard. Her gasp created swirls of steam. Then again. The burn of his skin mixed with that of her distended flesh. The fence rattled with each powerful penetration, the metallic sound, a rhythm from nature’s oldest song, reverberated in the tunnel and entered her very bones. Rain made Brioni’s grip slippery. But she held on. The burn accentuated, deepened into pain.

Haruto’s claws ripped into the chain-link fence as easily as she did when she tore the netting around oranges. What exacting control he must have deployed to modulate his strength to not harm her. It awed her. How the man could display such terrible force yet simultaneously contain it to the last iota. And still he pounded himself into her, as though he meant to disappear, cease to exist, lose himself in her welcoming flesh and loving arms. Took and gave. Claimed and shared. Subjugated and abandoned. United them—the lycan, the man and herself. One. He didn’t come. Neither did she. This union wasn’t about sexual pleasure but a triumph over adversity. They were together in spite of everything that worked and schemed to keep them apart. The sweat that slicked them both, mixed with cool rain, rose in steam around their weary bodies, like ghostly fingers reaching up to the stars. Haruto’s brutal claiming subsided, his body slowed, his breath softened from growls to half whimpers. He was changing. She felt it in her senses, in her flesh. He pulled out, gently turned her to face him then dropped to his knees to press his face to her belly, each hand on her hips, as if he held the most precious vessel and was afraid a mere touch would break it. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against her skin. “I shouldn’t have touched you. Not this way.” “Shh.” Brioni held on to the jagged edges of the chain links he’d broken. The discomfort felt like an anchor to her rioting senses. Her thighs throbbed, as did her sex. Half pain. Half satisfaction, even if she’d derived no pleasure from this hurried claiming. A hand over his head, she curled shaking fingers into his wet hair. Eyes closed, she could better savor their small victory over the world. Perhaps he felt he should make it up to her in some way—didn’t he understand she’d wanted this other side of him?—because Haruto began to softly kiss her belly. Tender hands moved in serpentine patterns over skin that pebbled with goose bumps. “You don’t have to…” she murmured. “We should leave.” “I want to.” So did she. Hanging on with one hand above her head, Brioni hooked a knee over his shoulder. Such a perfect fit. Made for this. For each other. Haruto turned his face against her inner thigh, pressed his lips but didn’t kiss her. His tongue darted out yet the lick never came. He rested his teeth… No bite startled her. And she yearned for it. Everything. She whispered pleas for him to seize it, consume it, taking it into him. Take her. His mouth was gentle when he pressed it to her sex. So hot. She sighed long and hard. Using his thumbs to part her wide, he licked in wide upward passes. Shivers tightened her denuded flesh, tingled in her clitoris. She shook for him.

“Take me.” Her murmur rose in the cold air like swirls of fuel in water. In black and white. Color had left her world. Drained to make room for other stimuli. Her body wouldn’t be able to contain it all. Maybe she’d blow up in a million shards of mirrored glass? Or go supernova and dissolve in pure matter no longer held by bounds of physics? Freed, elevated to absolute numbers. With his mouth, Haruto took her. Then with his fingers. She was so wet for him, so ready that he only had to blow gently on her clitoris to trigger an orgasm. Her moan lasted so long she felt deflated, ready to be filled again. He did. With skilled lips and tongue and teeth, Haruto brought her to the very precipice of reason. She came and came and came. Until she couldn’t differentiate the lulls between each climax, until her belly and lower back ached with muscular spasms and still he worked, diligently, tenderly, toiled for her pleasure and never asked a thing in return. Soon, strength abandoned her and she slid down the fence. Already kneeling between her legs, Haruto was waiting. On a long sigh, she took him into her as she sank onto his lap, aided by his strong hands on her hips. Her essence lubricated the gentle entry. She had time only for a quick breath before she came hard enough to burn. A series of frissons tightened her sex around his. Rings of pleasure squeezed his cock like a fist. Filled with the man she held so dear, Brioni let her head loll back against the fence, let the ecstasy take her. And with his arms around her while she leaned her head on his shoulder, he waited. Immobile, sheathed deep inside. The moment could’ve lasted an eternity. Should have. They belonged together. They’d earned the right. “You didn’t come?” she whispered through his hair. He smelled of rain and a hint of almonds. “I can finish you by hand. Would you let me?” “No.” He kissed her neck, sucked on the spot underneath her ear. Brioni’s toes curled in her boots. That man’s mouth was the eighth unsung sin. She pulled from him, reached between them to grip his cock, but he twisted his hips away. “Hey, come on, let me do it.” “I said no.” “Why not?” “For touching you that way.” “God, Haruto, don’t punish yourself—” He helped her up, retrieved her pants and pulled the legs right side in, even helped her put them on. They were wet and cold. She shivered.

“I had no right—” He raked both hands back in his hair. “Fuck, I think I’m still drunk.” Brioni must have done a lousy job hiding the hurt because he tilted his head down to her. “I didn’t mean it like that.” “I know.” “I’m good with pain. We’re old friends. But that was…” He turned away to pull his pants closed, zipped then looped the belt back. “I just wanted to make it stop, you know. I figured…” He shrugged. “Did it?” “No.” He faced her, shoved his hands in his pockets. “But you did. With you, nothing touches me.” She felt her cheeks grow warm. A thought crossed her mind. “Oh, I found this, after you left.” She pulled the dented ocarina from her pocket. He reverently took it, turned it around in his hand. “I found the artisan as well. The one who gave it to you.” She heard Haruto’s breath catch then resume. The mirrored goggles didn’t betray his reaction but the hard set of his jaw did. He looped the instrument around his head. “You did.” No question. A statement. “He said—” “I don’t care what he said,” Haruto cut in. “He is…was, very old in the end, Haruto, and remorseful. He said to tell you that if he could, he’d do something.” Haruto zipped his bomber jacket over the silvery item, flicked his collar up and shoved his hands back in his pockets. Clearly, this wasn’t a good time to bring up his past. But would there ever be a good time? She doubted it. Plus, all a person really had, in the end, was right now. Nothing but the present. She fished inside her tunic and pulled the little silver pendant out. “And he gave me this as well. There’s a data clip in it.” When he didn’t turn to her, she gently put her hand against his forearm and walked around him so they faced one another. “It’s all in here. Everything. Enough to bring them down, Haruto. Enough to make it right.” A shrug was all she got. “Haruto? We can bring them down. The ones who hurt you all these years.” “The man…” His voice was barely above a whisper. “What did he tell you?”

That he’d admit this to her, that he’d go back from what he’d claimed and ask her what the man had said warmed her heart. Haruto may be abrupt at times, but there was good in him. And vulnerability. He just didn’t know how to let it out. She wondered what sort of man he would’ve been had Inu not turned him into whatever he was. Lycan, lethal tool. But then again, if Inu hadn’t “created” him, Haruto wouldn’t even exist. On a selfish level, she preferred that he did. “Not much,” she lied. “He said he was very sorry, that guilt had eaten him all these years, then he gave me this. We have to transfer it to Vonatos. If we can upload the data, then it won’t matter if they catch us or not. The data will be safe.” “They won’t catch you.” “Well, just in case—” “I said they won’t catch you!” Startled, Brioni stepped back from him. For a second she thought he’d pounce or turn around and run away. He literally quivered on the spot. His fists shook in his pockets. Hair wet with rain and plastered to his forehead glistened. His chin trembled. A long and slow breath seemed to deflate him. He hung his head. “They can’t get you. I won’t let them.” She was reminded again of the old man’s words about Haruto’s shared DNA with the man behind Inu. Anger tightened her chest. The knowledge would destroy him. She had no intention of ever sharing it with him. Slowly so she wouldn’t aggravate the situation, she approached him, framed his face in her hands. He was burning hot. “We’re in this together, Haruto. It’s us now, not you and me individually. And we’ll be fine, whatever happens, we’ll make it work. Okay?” Haruto closed his hands over hers and for a second she thought he was going to pull them away. But he didn’t. Instead he stayed this way, his hot hands over hers, squeezing hard as if he were afraid to let go. After a long while, he did. “There’s a skytrain station not far,” he said. “We’ll use one of the comms booths. It should be safe.” She wanted to add “for now” but thought better of it.

Chapter Seven

He’d never felt anything like it. A sort of buoyancy tempered with cynicism. As if he’d separated in two and each side fought against the other. Haruto wanted to share Brioni’s outlook on life. He yearned to warm himself by her positive disposition and loving attitude. He wanted it so much. To be embraced, valued not for his deadly skills but for his capacity as a man, as a person, and for once in his damn life to be worthy of a good woman’s affection—a constructive element instead of a destructive force. Haruto wanted to build something with Brioni and not destroy something to be with her. Although he would in a heartbeat. Yet she hadn’t asked him anything like that. She hadn’t tried to use him as others had—even if it paid well. And this warmed his cold, distrustful heart. But at the same time, he couldn’t shake what had made him the way he was now. Couldn’t get rid of the taste of ashes. Inu had robbed him of much more than his childhood and even part of his dignity—they’d robbed him of hope. Even if hoping for some time with Brioni was his most burning imperative. He wanted time with her. Hours, weeks, years. Die old and gray in her arms, physically frail but emotionally invincible. As they walked back up the deserted street—rain had turned to sleet—Haruto shook his head at the ludicrous course of his thoughts. First, they had to transfer the data clip’s content to Vonatos’ account. She was holding something back. And knowing her, it couldn’t have been that good if she didn’t want to tell him. He respected her choice even if he’d rather she told him all she knew. After the transfer, he’d find a safe place to hunker down. And there, she’d tell him all. Maybe he’d even relax—a rare occurrence for him—and give in to the temptation his friend represented. My friend. He had a friend. A true friend. What a novel concept. “There.” Brioni pointed. Across the street and atop a squat, hundred-foot structure that resembled a diving tower, a skytrain station was lit in pitiless white fluorescents. One sputtered and blinked irregularly. In his enhanced vision, the thing was maddening. A comms booth stood near the ticketing kiosk. It gleamed canary yellow. “We’ll try this one,” she went on. She was well on her way across the street and was about to put her foot on the first concrete step when Haruto caught up with her, passed her with a pointed look—that she couldn’t see given the goggles. But he knew she could interpret his body language better than anyone. “If you don’t mind,” he muttered, passing her. Did she want to give him a heart attack? Setting off that way without first having him clear the premises. The steps felt greasy under the soles of his boots. The partly enclosed staircase smelled of wet concrete and urine. Cigarette butts and beer bottles littered the corners of wet steps into which had accumulated decades of grime. The bad part of town represented in each layer of detritus. He cleared the last landing, waited until she’d passed him so as not to leave her alone in the staircase then set out toward the comms booth. A few commuters sat hunched on metal benches, waiting for the next

skytrain as sleet ticked on the clear thermoplastic roof overhead. They didn’t even turn to see who’d arrived. While Brioni fiddled with the thing around her neck, Haruto stood facing outward. He heard her curse a few times before the chime of the link opening reassured him she’d succeeded. She keyed in her personal number. Each key bleeped a different tone. Not safe at all. Nothing was safe in this damn world. “Cristoval,” she said through her teeth. “This is Brioni. I’m attaching some data to this link. It’s very important. Bye.” Unfortunately, Vonatos hadn’t been there to answer. At least the upload had worked since Brioni joined him, slipping the pendant back into her tunic. The thing didn’t even look like a data clip. She leaned back against one of the metal support beams, let out a long breath that rose as steam in front of her. The purple of her tunic and coat suited her very well despite the mess of black and purple ribbons rain and wind had made of her hair. Lips like berries glistened when she moistened them. Her nose was red from the cold. He reached out, brushed a wet strand of hair from her cheek. “It’s done,” she announced. Haruto nodded because his voice had just failed him. She was so incredibly beautiful. Within and without. A caring person, a great friend, a sharp mind. “What now?” Her eyes sparkled like sapphires. He wanted to embrace her and never let go, but he tamped down the emotional élan to focus on the present situation. They needed a place to stay. Because of its numerous members, the resistance wouldn’t be safe. It was better to hang low just the two of them. Which wasn’t one hundred percent altruistic. He wanted her all to himself. “Now we disappear for a while.” She nodded. Just like that. Trusted him implicitly. He could deny it all he wanted but he was falling for his “Goth Fairy”. Falling hard. That made him cranky. “Where?” “Off-planet. One of the orbital colonies.” She grimaced, which crinkled her nose. “Ew.” “Not the luxury you’re used to?” He’d forgotten how cute she was when she crossed her arms and gave someone The Look. “Hey.”

“You don’t have to come.” Haruto found it impossible to remain cranky around her. How annoying. “But you’re welcome to.” “You always do that, front-load everything you say with a cynical shot.” He only smirked. His enhanced hearing picked up the first rumbles long before the other passengers would stand to approach the quay. “The train is coming.” With one last second of The Look, Brioni turned around and preceded him to the ticket booth. She thumbed the control, was about to pay for both their tickets when he reached over her elbow and quickly keyed in his own number instead. He didn’t have much, but he could pay for that. Felt a bit more like a real man. This was what a real man would do, wouldn’t he? Pay for his girlfriend’s purchases? How did it work, this relationship thing? Was he supposed to pay all the time? Half the time? Would she get pissed? Fuck. “Off-planet is a good idea,” she murmured as she perused her ticket. “It’s so crowded, they likely wouldn’t find us there. And it’s still close enough for direct link-to-link communication.” The rumbles grew loud enough for the other passengers to stand and join Brioni and him by the concrete quay. Coming from their right, the noise soon drowned everything else. He turned to watch the deafening arrival. In his enhanced vision, air rippled ahead of the bullet-shaped skytrain. Electricity crackled in blue arcs along the head pantograph on the white roof. By his side, Brioni drew near, stood arm-to-arm with him. He wanted to twist his wrist and grab her hand but fought the impulse. He didn’t even know why. Her hand would feel good in his. Would fit perfectly. Yet he couldn’t move. Prey to the most stupid and morbidly self-defeating notion that he couldn’t touch her even if he wanted to. He just didn’t know how to handle these things. Had never been taught, had never had the opportunity to “watch and learn” others do it. Inu hadn’t been a place of learning. Not in that sense anyway, because he’d learned a whole lot more in every other way. By the time he’d turned fifteen, he’d become a walking encyclopedia, hooked for hours and hours to decoders. Always tuned in to the same subjects—death, war, weapons, pain. Haruto sighed as he stepped a bit sideways so he wouldn’t feel her arm anymore. Like an angry banshee, the train rumbled into the station with a cloud of toxic fume and a screech of airbrakes. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a lone dark form fleeting from the railing to behind the comms booth Brioni had used to send her link. Then a very particular smell hit him. Volters had a distinctive odor caused by the resin-like finish on the handle. His heart sank. Inu had always been single-minded. Like a hungry dog with his bone. “They’re here,” he snarled loud enough to be heard. To her credit, the only outward sign that’d she heard him was the color of her face dropping to chalk white. She didn’t look around, didn’t put her hand to her mouth or betray them to the professional hunters Inu had sent. They would’ve known right away. They’d become adept at spotting fear.

The automated train’s arrival caused the quay to quiver underfoot. Haruto grabbed her by the wrist as soon as a set of doors went past them. He pretended to aim for the doors when in fact he had an entirely different goal in mind. He hoped Brioni would trust him. Shockingly, he’d put his money that she would. Someone trusted him. Years of suppressing his emotions and facial expressions finally played in his favor. He changed without Brioni turning around or even showing that she’d noticed. He had to watch it though in case he crushed her wrist. They reached the doors farther to the head of the train, rushed on as they started to widen. A couple of people stood inside and waited to disembark. He made sure to keep them to his right as shields between Inu and Brioni. He’d sacrifice anything and anyone to save her. Himself included. Although he hoped for purely selfish reasons that it wouldn’t come to that. Already he was getting hard thinking about her. Smells from her wet hair reached him. He forced his lips over the fangs, trying to part the seal. Breathing hard through the nose calmed him a bit. The doors opened. All hell broke loose. But he’d been waiting for it. The first volter shot created a scuff along the train’s dirty side. People began to scream and push out of the way. “Shit!” Brioni ducked. Haruto shoved someone out of the way, propelled Brioni into the train at the same time as he whirled around and slammed his free hand on the control panel. The doors closed with a whoosh. Volter shots hit the dirty thermoplastic, melted through. Masked men in black tactical armor rushed out of half a dozen hiding spots. One carried a grenade-launcher under his arm. He stopped, took aim. “Down!” Haruto barely had time to tackle Brioni when the side of the train disintegrated inward. Bits of metal and thermoplastic flew horizontally. Chocking dust rose from the grimy rubber floor cover. They hit the deck hard. He took the brunt of it, rolled her underneath a seat then stood just as a pair of Inu men were trying to pry the doors open. The train began to leave the station. Fast. Faster. Running now, the men managed to keep up until Haruto stomped to the doors, kicked right through the window. It detached from the moorings in a shower of cubic diamonds. His foot connected hard against the closest man, who folded in half. “Watch out!” Brioni yelled from behind him. What the hell was she doing out of the hiding place he’d put her? Part of the roof burst inward a split second before several men jumped in the messy opening. Broken but live electrical wires took care of a few but at least three or four remained upright as they landed in the aisle. They stepped over their fallen comrades and fanned three abreast to face Haruto.

The station disappeared from the windows. The train gained speed. Lights from the city flashed by as the train sped on its monorail to eventually reach the spaceports uptown. Wind howled through the shredded doors and burst-in roof. One of the men pulled a stunner from a holster strapped to his thigh. He took a step forward. Electricity was the one thing Haruto couldn’t fight, even in lycan form. It’d been used—extensively—by Inu to keep him more docile. Except for the night one of the guards, the one who’d given him the ocarina, had “forgotten” to put him out after a mission. To his shock, the sound of thrusters outside drowned the train’s racket. Someone was following them in a shuttle. Were they mad? “If you follow, she won’t be harmed,” the one with the stunner said. The face shield distorted his voice. A subtle nod from one of them put Haruto on alert. Instead of waiting for them to make the first move, he did. He always did. Haruto pounced, claws leading. Fangs ready. The stunner wielder fired. Muzzle flash. The dart flew harmlessly a hair’s breadth from his cheek. On a mocking snarl, he landed in their midst. With a kick to the sternum that crushed the fragile rib cage, Haruto sent the first man outward hard enough to dent the wall. The next lunged with an electric baton aimed at Haruto’s thigh. He deflected. The prongs pierced the polyurethane seat. Remained stuck. The Inu man only had time for one tug. It didn’t dislodge the weapon. With a backhand that destroyed part of the man’s face shield—and the face under it—Haruto sent him spinning. Caught him by the shoulder pad and knee, flipped him sideways to use as a ram. “Run!” he roared for Brioni’s benefit. “Change wagons!” He felt movement behind him, knew she’d listened to his instructions. Outside, the shuttle appeared out of nowhere. It must have turned its shroud off. He had barely a split second to drop the man and hang on to one of the silvery poles running the length of the wagon. The shuttle hit the train. Metal against metal made his ears hiss painfully. The stunner wielder crashed back against the intact wall, dropped the dangerous weapon. His colleagues fell over like pins in a bowling alley. Brioni yelled. Went tumbling head over heels dangerously near the destroyed doors. His heart stopped. “Brioni!” Before he could get back to her and help the clearly dazed woman to her feet, she’d already clawed away from the edge and used seats to stay put. His brave little Goth Fairy! The shuttle’s rivet-covered side appeared in the window closest to him. The next heartbeat, it hit again. Violent lurch. Lights blinking off then back on. A shower of sparks arced from the train’s

busted doors. Some of it melted holes into seats. Brioni yelped as she scooted away, tripped and floundered over and around seats. He had to get them out of here. Through the front-facing window, he spotted the next station. It was announced over the comms too. So normal. Automated, the train would keep going unless and until it was destroyed. Which the shuttle pilot seemed bent on doing. Brioni climbed to her feet. “Hang on!” she yelled. What the— Haruto’s reflexes saved him. He barely had time to extend a hand and grab the handrail by a window. He saw her reach out to the emergency brake. With a yell, she grabbed the lever and literally hung on it. The sudden deceleration felt like a horizontal fall. Broken bits, loose seats, men in black armor went flying toward the front of the wagon, past Brioni who’d looped her arm into her own bit of handrail. The smell of burnt rubber. A thundering noise like a dragon. His hair flying out in front of him. The train stopped a few feet from one of the support poles. Moans rose like smoke. Haruto cleared the wreckage in two jumps, grabbed Brioni by the back of her coat, and before any of the dazed enemy could climb to their feet and try to stop them, he forced open a set of doors and leaped out. Brioni’s shrill yell drilled into his brain. But his aim had been true. Claws on his free hand leading, he raked their way down the support pole. Ribbons of metal curled out as he used the pole to cut the rate of speed. Heated metal burned his hand but he didn’t let go. He could survive the hundred-foot fall easily. Brioni wouldn’t. She yelled the whole way down. Keeping her well away from the flying ribbons of razor-sharp metal, Haruto dropped to the slick ground while still holding on to Brioni’s coat. After he’d landed, he set her down by his side. But she crumbled to her knees. His lycan part suddenly gave way to the man as he cradled her in his arms, her head on his shoulder. She shook violently. Had he hurt her? Had he misjudged his strength and hurt her? The thought revolted him. “Brioni? Brioni?” Tears filled her eyes and streaked down her cheeks. “G-g-give me…” She puffed air through pursed lips. “Give m-me a…a second.” They didn’t have that. He scooped her up in his arms, fearful eyes up at the train overhead. The diminutive woman weighed little in his wound-up state. Adrenaline still pumped his veins and sluiced his systems with all the enhancements Inu had put in him over the years. The shuttle circled like a vulture. Search beams came on, lit the place where they’d landed. An old shopping mall turned habitats. A few people could be seen in the tall windows, peeking through curtains. They wouldn’t help. He knew the kind.

“Put me down,” she protested. “I’ll…I’ll b-b-e okay.” Haruto ignored her objections and carried her away from the searching lights. He heard voices calling for positions and reinforcements. Inu men. They’d come down from the train as well, using the emergency pegs in the support pole. Damn them. They were well trained. “Shh,” he breathed against her neck as he carried her around the old shopping mall. Everything was dirty and slick with rain. He wondered how life was on the other side of the river. The good side of Seoul where “genetic deviants” still weren’t allowed to go. Not that it made a stitch of difference right now. He just would have loved treating her to a safe place that didn’t have bugs or nasty neighbors. They definitely had to get off Earth if they wanted to ever have a chance. Over the years, he’d come to understand how Inu worked. They preferred to keep their cards close to them, not move too many pieces at once, stay on-planet where they were well connected and stronger. Off-planet, with the population in such crowded clusters, connections would’ve been too hard to control. And too far to reach in a hurry. Yes, off-planet would be perfect for them. Them both. Because he wanted to be with her. Always. For the first time he wanted to be with someone for no other reason than the pleasure of their company. No ulterior motives—well, except for the kind that happened in bed. The smell of her wet hair against his cheek made him close his eyes. He deposited her near a decrepit fountain long dormant. Cracked concrete made for a poor seat but it was all they had. How he hated his life right now. He wanted to give her so much more. Soon, he would. He made the vow. One day, he’d treat her the way she deserved to be, and not forced to hide like a rat. Someday… “There,” he murmured. Her coat was half off her shoulders so he pulled it back up, tucked the collar down. “Take your time.” “I’ll be fine,” she whispered, repeated it several times as if it’d become a mantra. Despite the poor light, he spotted the moisture on her cheeks. His heart ached. What should he do? Hesitantly, he crouched in front of her, brushed hair from her face. He was surprised to note that his hand shook. Badly. “We’ll be fine now. We’ll find a way to get off-planet.” She nodded. With her sleeve she rubbed her nose and cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. Something in his chest ached. He had no idea what was going on with him. “I…” What was there to say? It wasn’t her fault she was caught in his web of violence. Trapped in his world. With remnants of ancient societies that didn’t belong to this century. He sighed long and hard. It wasn’t her fault he was such an expensive piece of freakish technology.

The heat of her palms forced his eyes closed when she framed his face. “Why are you apologizing?” Her voice was so gentle, so full of compassion and affection. Dare he say more than affection? Don’t go there, man. “You’re stuck in all this.” “It’s my fault. If I hadn’t tried to find the artisan who made your ocarina, I wouldn’t have triggered the trap.” “It’s not your fault.” She shrugged. “I think it is. I’m the one who’s sorry. You’d managed to escape them. Then I come along and mess everything up, brought them right on your back again. God, I was so stupid.” Haruto kissed her so she wouldn’t keep blaming herself. She encircled his neck and held him close. Something stirred deep in him. Something he didn’t know he had. Something he thought had been bred out of him by genetic manipulations and years at the hands of Inu. Love. He loved Brioni.

Chapter Eight

When he stood and held his hand for her to take, Brioni had to fight the impulse to throw her arms around his neck and never let go. They couldn’t afford it right now. But later. She made the promise to herself to stop for a second, even amidst the chaos of running from Haruto’s tormentors, to stop and tell him all that was in her. She wanted more than this. More than a few stolen moments here and there. She wanted to be with him. The pair walked around the old shopping mall. Through apertures in the curtains, she knew people watched them. Probably scared of the pair more than in the mood to offer help. She couldn’t blame them. GAN and its secret-no-more enforcer, the Iron Conclave, had done this to people, made them scared to offer help, to become involved. Decades of iron rule, centuries of slow eroding of the fabric that held a society together. “We have to get to the spaceports,” Haruto murmured. Outwardly, he seemed his smooth, regular self. The man into whom nothing and no one could make a dent. A shadow of smirk even played on his lips. But she felt the difference, the closeness that had developed between them. Closeness that

transcended sex. He’d let her in. Brioni sensed it as clearly as if he’d voiced it himself—Haruto had decided to trust someone and for this, a special gift, she burned with renewed fire and enthusiasm in life, which in turn made the danger tailing them that much darker. They had so much to lose now. So much. The odds were stacking up against them. Several high and several deep. She didn’t like those numbers, the chances of their fragile bond breaking under forces outside of their influence. She liked the odds of their making it off-planet even less. Where would they find a ship, first of all? Other numbers of great portent that were taking on negative variations had to do with what was growing in her heart. What if they didn’t make it? What if they went down without her sharing how she felt for him? He had to know. Brioni cleared her throat. “Haruto, when this is over—” “Shh.” He raised his hand. “Don’t.” How could he have known what she intended to say? Was she so easy to read? Not that it’d surprise her, she’d always been expressive. “Why not? You should know. You have a right to know.” “What if I don’t want to know?” he snapped. Just by the tight set of his shoulders, she could tell he didn’t feel as smug as he looked. Brioni slipped her hand in his, squeezed it. “I’ll let you have that one back.” “So generous of you.” Despite the flippant tone, he squeezed her hand. “Not at all. You’ll owe me later. And I keep wicked scores, believe me.” He didn’t look at her or change his demeanor from the watchful man she’d come to know, yet she felt his attention was on her, the body language that always spoke louder than the rest. His chin was tilted slightly toward her as she walked by his side. This alone would’ve sufficed. “I’ve been rude to you,” he went on. “Why aren’t you mad?” He seemed more confused than frustrated. “Everyone has bad days. I think today qualifies for both of us.” “You’re too good—” “For my own good?” she interrupted. “And for mine.” “You don’t believe that. You’re just going with what you’ve always gone. Keep your bubble, I don’t care, I see right through.” “What bubble?”

She slipped her hand from his so she could bow her arms and bring them together in front then behind her, as if she followed an orbit around her waist. “Personal space, you know, your bubble.” He shook his head. “You’re stranger than I am.” “Thanks.” By the angle of his chin and the set of his shoulders, she knew he’d thrown a quick glance her way, maybe trying to ascertain whether she was being sarcastic or not with her “thanks”. “Someday,” she began tentatively, “will you tell me about the time in-between? What you did before you came to the resistance but after you left Inu?” “No.” “Ouch.” Haruto was the one who slipped his hand in hers. She’d come to expect this, subtle amends in the way he’d touch her, or how his mouth would thin to a line. Even if she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew when he felt contrite about something he said. Such as right now. Or maybe she was seeing things that weren’t there to make herself feel better about his lack of basic courtesy? Who knew? “There’s nothing to tell, Brioni,” he murmured after a while. She shrugged. “You know how it goes, you show me yours, I’ll show you mine. But that’s okay. I won’t tell you about my old boyfriends or about that time I had sex on the roof of a shuttle.” He didn’t say anything. But the smirk was back. They rounded the corner of the street, crossed it and had reached the opposite side when he let her hand go so he could check into the darkened alley. She waited by the lamp post. Cool metal against her cheek. She was shivering despite the sweat. Somewhere behind them, a dog barked. Haruto froze in place. Electricity barely reached this part of the city. Except for the spaceports looming over the skyline, the sky was so dark it could’ve been drawn in ink. The street was deserted. Yet they weren’t alone. He turned to her, opened his mouth. The smirk abruptly turned into a grimace of pain. He shuddered as if something had hit him in the back. Took a step but froze. He began to shake violently. “Haruto!” To Brioni’s shock, blue arcs of electricity danced over his skin and clothes. From shaking, he began to convulse. She heard his teeth chattering. “Oh no! Haruto! Haruto!”

By the corner of her eye, she spotted several dark forms spilling out of the alley across the street. Damn. She tried to reach out, snapped her hand away. It’d be no use getting electrocuted as well. “OhGodohGod.” She took a step, clenched and unclenched her hands. Water droplets landed in arcs with the sheer violence of his spasms. She couldn’t leave him this way. She had to do something. Do something, for Christ’s sake! Panic hit her. Never mind the enemy catching them. What if he died? Gritting her teeth, Brioni grabbed the lamp post, reached out then closed her hand around Haruto’s. Hot, cold, hot, cold. She heard herself grunting with pain. At once, the current traversed from him to her, shot straight to her heart. But because she’d become a mere conductor, the jolt of electricity passed through her and into the metal post, to be dissipated by the structure and its armored concrete base. Within a second or two, it was over. She couldn’t keep Haruto from slumping on the sidewalk. Neither could she keep from joining him a second later. When he crumbled to his side, his head thudded against the concrete and his hair whipped across his face. Brioni fell likewise on her side, facing him. Through sheer willpower born of desperation, she “walked” her hand to his and grasped it. “I-I…” I’m sorry, she’d meant to say. Sorry they wouldn’t have a chance together. Sorry she’d brought them down on him again. They’d found him because of her. The guilt would crush her. Fear and panic rose in waves when a small army of masked men dressed in black descended on them. Her hands were clipped together behind her back while a sack was slipped over her head. Before the cloth obscured her vision, she saw that Haruto was suffering through the same treatment. They’d come so close. Shoved and pushed and carried. The sound of struggling then someone poking her in the back hard enough to make her yelp. The struggling subsided. They were using her to force Haruto to cooperate. How she hated them. The feel of cool air, the sound of engines whirring softly. At idle. Being thrown into a…shuttle? She was sure when she felt the lift-off, the angle of the craft. Engines powering up. By her side, a warm form pressing against her. A hand searching along her side then closing on hers. Haruto’s unnatural heat seeping into her cold fingers. She squeezed back. The flight was short, eventless. The landing, smooth. Picked up then moved, forced to walk, carried when she couldn’t manage the difficult terrain. Steps everywhere. Uneven floor. Stone? Wind howling. They stood somewhere high. By the river, perhaps? The Brilliant Fortress! That’s where the old man said Inu conducted its research.

“Home” for Haruto. Despair closed in. She cried silent tears of rage into the sack over her head. Soon they were indoors, walking again. No one spoke a word. Warmth replaced the cold rain. She shivered. The sack was pulled from her head and her hands unclipped. Brilliant light from a dozen lamps strewn around the place made her eyes water. Brioni hung her head to use her hair as a shield. Around her, a large room like an old-world library. Rows upon rows of books thirty feet high lined the circular room. Divans and comfortable-looking chairs sat in clusters of two or three. By her side, Haruto was suspended between a pair of large men, his head lolling on his chest. His ocarina dangled outside his jacket. Dented and scratched. A bright flare of fear and anger washed over her. “What have you done to him?” She turned to confront them but another door between two bookcases opened and in came an older man sitting in a hoverchair. His jet black hair was slicked back over his perfectly shaped skull. He nodded in her direction, aimed his silvery chair with murmured verbal commands until it set a few feet in front of her. The small whirr indicated the tiny thrusters had turned off. She hadn’t expected this. She’d envisioned someone physically imposing, not an invalid man in a hoverchair. Although the steel in his eyes made her swallow hard. “Did you scan her?” One of the men holding Haruto nodded. “Scan her again.” While the same man held on to her friend, his colleague pulled out a handheld decoder and directed it at her. A single swipe top to bottom. He checked his screen, pronounced her “clean”. She resisted the urge to touch her pendant. The artisan had been right, the chromium casing didn’t let any signal out. “Miss Metcalf,” the man in the hoverchair said. “My name is Miura Yoshizumi. You now belong to Inu, whose roots go beyond the nineteenth century Meiji Ishin revolution in the land formerly known as Japan. Do you understand?” She cast him a venomous glance. “You will be fed, clothed and well treated,” he went on, still in a frustratingly calm voice. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing to see, folks, move on. “Your cooperation will ensure the specimen’s well-being. You will remain here until we no longer have use for you. Do you understand?” She would’ve taken a step toward Haruto, but one of the men holding him up shook his head once. She froze. They’d hurt him to force her to behave. She had no doubt they would. Instead, she directed her anger at the old man in the chair. “The ‘specimen’ has a name. Haruto.”

“It has no name.” It? “Go to hell,” she snarled, rethinking her words as she went. She had to be careful here. “You can’t do this! It’s wrong.” She sounded so puny and lame when she wanted to rage and throw things and break whatever still worked in the old man. That hateful monster. He didn’t seem pleased or displeased, just mildly irritated. He cocked his head. “You should have left when you could.” “What do you mean?” “When our vassal attacked your underground stronghold. You should have left instead of trying to find the thing’s maker.” “He’s not a thing! He’s more man than you’ll ever be!” “Not the specimen, the ocarina,” the man clarified with a haughty curl to his lip. “Your attachment to the specimen is fascinating. And very useful. Bring the instrument to me.” One of the guards pulled the ocarina up over Haruto’s head and brought it to the old man, who took it in careless hands, turned it around. He blew in the dovetail end. A trembling but beautiful note rose. She hated his guts even more. “That’s not yours, it’s his.” “So it can produce beauty,” he mumbled under his breath. Clearly, that Haruto was capable of something other than killing surprised the old man. “Interesting.” “It’s not yours,” she repeated, this time with as much emphasis as she dared on the last word. She was too chicken to tear a good one off him but still… “Keep it if you wish. I do not need it.” He tossed it at her. Brioni caught it in both hands, would’ve made a big show of wiping the dovetail had she been confident Haruto wouldn’t pay. But in case he would, she just slipped the ocarina in her pocket. She’d wash it later. If there was a later. “You know,” she ventured, waited for a sign he’d let her finish. His head cocked ever so slightly was as good a sign as she’d get. “Statistically speaking, it’s very unlikely you’ll be able to control both of us long enough to be worth a damn. He’ll escape again. You know that, don’t you?” The man shook his head. “We only need to control you.” She crossed her arms. Anger was winning over everything else. Her heart beat so hard it hurt. She was afraid. Terrified in fact. A nervous pee burned her belly. She sweated like a pig. Afraid for her,

somewhat, but even more for Haruto. But she’d die before she let it show. She had to be strong. For him and for herself. These people had done unspeakable things to a man she liked very much. Bastards. She kept that in mind, to push the terror away. “You look damn sure keeping me here will change a thing. It won’t. Plus, what you did to Haruto is despicable and twisted and someday he’ll kick your ass.” A smirk rose to the man’s lips and this was when she realized precisely who he was. Not only one of those who’d treated Haruto so poorly, but the one about whom the old artisan had spoken. The one who’d provided the DNA. In a sense, the invalid man in the hoverchair was Haruto’s father. A gag reflex threatened. She swallowed hard several times. Now that she’d come to the realization, Haruto very much resembled the man. She uncrossed her arms and put her fists on her hips. One of the guards shifted on his feet. “You know, he looks like you. Only better.” A twitch played on the older man’s sculpted jaw. Bingo. “Is that why you’re playing around with genetics, trying to find a way out of this?” She motioned for his chair with her chin. “For all of your power,” she gestured at the room around them, “you’re still a sick, scared little man stuck in a chair. You’re still someone who’d torture a child for a chance to stand on your feet.” “Your attempt at finding a flaw is commendable. Exactly the sort of things we taught to the specimen. Perhaps you will be a positive influence after all. In addition to a safety deposit.” “Numbers don’t lie. There are more chances of Haruto kicking your ass than there are of my cooperating with your sick plan.” “A fellow mathematician?” A shadow of a smile rounded his hollow cheek. “How unexpected. I will look forward to exchanging with you. Life is a rich tapestry of numbers, do you not agree?” “We have nothing in common. No common denominator.” “We have it in common. Even if our goals vary, it is still a common element. We both value its safety. But you value its comfort, and I do not.” Brioni swallowed the lump rising up her throat. A mumbled curse preceded Haruto’s feet shuffling on the floor. He was coming back to his senses. “It is time,” the man said. The pair of guards holding Haruto turned away.

“Wait!” Brioni felt torn between rushing after them and staying to confront the old man. Maybe if she overpowered him? Maybe his guards would back off? Then what? But with Haruto barely conscious, she wouldn’t stand a chance. The numbers didn’t add up to a sum she liked. “Where are you taking him?” “Had I foreseen a person’s level of devotion for the specimen, I would have changed a few things.” He seemed genuinely interested in her bond to Haruto. Sick bastard. “People have always looked for the redeemable, even in things not even human and thus incapable of such sentiment. It cannot feel remorse, Miss Metcalf. Nor affection, nor resentment. It looks human and shares traits with us, but in the end, it will remain a construct. Bio and mecha. The ultimate fighting, thinking machine. But still a thing, even if flesh covers its surface.” She watched, impotent, on the verge of tears, as they took Haruto away. The door closed softly. With finality. Something in her broke. “You’re…” Her throat squeezed. Tears burned her eyes. The man reached into the side of his hoverchair and produced a large portable decoder. She noticed that his hand shook. He looked so frail despite the steely gaze. Could she use that? They wouldn’t do anything to damage Haruto. They needed him alive. No, if there was hurt to be had, she’d be the one to get it. They hoped to control him through her. Yet the man had told her he wasn’t concerned about Haruto’s comfort. Clearly, he wouldn’t shy away from causing her friend pain. How could she gamble with Haruto’s safety? She felt like a pendulum. Tick, tock. Swing to one side, swing to the other. Caught between a hammer and a nail. Both sides would hurt. Both could kill her. She had to stay alive. Haruto needed her. Clearly, this Yoshizumi man was mad. But he had all the cards. She took the proffered decoder. The wide screen, the size of an old paper magazine, glowed faintly. The urge to whack him across the face with it almost won. Her hands shook from trying not to attack him. “What’s that?” “You will be able to follow the specimen’s movements with this. Your actions will have direct and immediate consequences on it. It is already undergoing certain modifications so that we do not lose it again—” “What modifications?” She sounded more scared than angry. An appropriate reflection. God, what were they doing to him now? She couldn’t possibly hate them more than she did. Shaking, she thumbed the screen. At once, it filled with a multi-split relay of what looked like vital signs in a corner while the other half of the screen was devoted to a vidcaptor recording a scene that froze her blood. A crowded medical room of some sort, and Haruto being stretched out on a gurney, his clothes cut from him while the two guards buckled crisscrossed straps over his legs. Within seconds, the efficient madness had prepared him. There he lay, tubes coming out of—or went into—his

arms and behind the crooks of his knees. The goggles were gone but his eyes were closed. He looked asleep. Her heart sank. “How can you do this to your own son?” “The specimen is not my child. It merely shares my DNA. As do the others.” Yoshizumi activated the chair again. It lifted a few inches off the floor. Fear crawled up her spine. “The…others?” “It is one of many, some as old as it is, others more recent. Although it is the best. A crowning achievement. And during its absence, we found ways to accelerate the lengthy maturing process. This is a complex, ongoing program, Miss Metcalf.” “Why?” she breathed to the back of him. The chair hovered in place when he reached the door. “Why do you do this? To find a cure for your disease? What?” “Who do you think holds the leash to the Iron Conclave? The resistance thinks they have decapitated the enemy. But like the hydra, it has many heads, most of them secret. Hector Killen was only one such head. I am but another. Inu is vast and ancient.” He turned his head back. “We have worked years to perfect this particular specimen, and have searched ever since it left. We are many and we are patient. Do not force our hand.” Brioni stalked up to the hated man. “Leave him alone, you sick bastard!” She didn’t know what she meant to do. Hurt him at the very least. But as soon as she touched the chair’s metallic surface, with the full intention of at least sending it against the wall, a jolt of pain hit her in the chest. Her arm felt as if it’d stretched. She collapsed to her knees, panting. “Do you know what negative reinforcement is, Miss Metcalf?” the man asked. That smirk again. God, he reminded her so much of Haruto that surely he’d seen the similarities. “The removal of negative, or painful in our case, stimuli is a form of conditioning. Your good behavior will remove its negative stimuli.” He left her there, kneeling on the marble floor as she massaged her throbbing arm. Tears welled in her eyes. She angrily knuckled them away. Think, Metcalf. Put that 159 IQ to good use. She had to find a way to get Haruto out of here. First though, she had to get in contact with him. She threw a glance down at the screen, compared its time with her watch. The cat’s black paws indicated eleven-thirty-four. Same as the decoder, give or take a minute. So this was happening right now.

To her shock, she saw Yoshizumi appear in the medical room with Haruto. That was fast. Haruto must have been pretty close. Her gaze switching from the screen to where she was going, Brioni rushed for the door through which the older man had just disappeared, put her hand on the handle. Locked. “Damn.” In the screen, Yoshizumi slipped surgical gloves on, injected something in one of the tubes going into Haruto’s arms. Almost right away, he began to stir then to struggle until he was violently arching from the gurney and straining against his bonds. “Please no…” Tears splattered on the screen. She whimpered in impotent rage as she watched the “medical” team do the unspeakable to Haruto. The modifications Yoshizumi had talked about obviously involved something about Haruto’s blood since she realized it was being pumped out, run through a machine then pumped back into him. But they must have added something because it seemed incredibly painful to him. His mouth was opened wide. She didn’t have any sound—a small blessing—but Brioni knew he was screaming. A small item like a golden pen in hand, Yoshizumi looked up directly into the vidcaptor. Directly at her. Brioni’s heart skipped a beat. Sweat slicked her hands. He put the implement directly over Haruto’s heart. “No,” she whispered. “No, no, no…” As soon as it touched the skin, Haruto arched violently against the crisscross of straps. Some broke, which sent the medical team in a frenzy of movement. Other straps were added. Guards joined the white coats. Black metallic fangs and claws sprouted from Haruto’s mouth and fingers. He’d changed and still couldn’t fight them off. They must have given him something to counteract the incalculable lycan strength. That golden pen had triggered the change with alarming speed and efficiency. Eyes closed, Brioni began to weep as she pressed her forehead against the edge of the screen. Yoshizumi had warned her her actions would have direct and immediate repercussions on Haruto. She believed him now. To her undying chagrin, she believed everything he’d said. But if there was justice in this mad world…

***** They stood in front of him as he knelt on the floor of a large, stone hall. He’d never been in this part of the fortress. White coats and curious eyes. Behind them, the ever-present guards hiding their expressions behind face shields. Then he came in. He’d added another cane to aid his ungainly posture

but it barely kept him upright. He seemed in pain as he sat on the lone chair in the room. A straight-backed, wooden affair. No one spoke. No one ever did. But they waited. He could feel the anticipation in the air like a thick perfume. And his own stench of fear. The hated man nodded. Then pain began. In his limbs, his jaw, his cranium. Things snapped, crunched, changed. He was…different. Black claws made of metal pushed out his quicks. He howled in agony. Too much. What was happening to him? What were they doing? Where had these things come from? A door opened. If the smell of his fear was offensive, the newcomer’s was even worse. Guards pushed this new person—a bearded, unkempt man—into the room until he stood a few paces away. His own personal Satan pulled a small implement from his jacket pocket. A golden pen? A small click inside his cranium made him blink. Another somewhere in his chest triggered a gag reflex like a punch to the solar plexus. Everything turned red. He fell with a vengeance on the newcomer. The claws and fangs that had shredded out of him made ribbons of the man. So soft. So weak. Like dough. It didn’t take long. Death added another layer of smell to his world. One of the guards shot him with a stunner. Darts pierced his skin and delivered vicious jolts of electricity. He collapsed on his side, face-to-face with his victim. Dead eyes like glass balls. He closed his so he wouldn’t see his handiwork. Why had they made him do this? Why did they make him do all these bad things? He’d turned eleven the next day.

Haruto passed a hand on his shaven head. He felt denuded, vulnerable without his hair. He’d never fully realized how much of a shield it’d been. Until it was gone. To gain better access to his cranium and whatever they happened to have ready for implementation, they’d kept him constantly shaven. It’d been the first thing he’d done after he escaped, grow his hair long. Before the goggles, he’d been able to hide his eyes behind his bangs. And after the goggles, he’d still kept it a bit on the long side. Old habits. At least Inu had let him keep the goggles. They’d retrofitted them to include a tiny vidcaptor. He didn’t know who was at the end of the relay but he could guess. Inu wanted Brioni to see. Another way to control him. They didn’t need a leash to keep him coming back to them. They had Brioni. They knew it was enough. And Inu was right—he’d never try to escape again. Not if that left his one friend behind to face the consequences of his actions. This time, they owned him body, mind and now soul.

There wouldn’t be anyone to help either. The resistance would use the intel Brioni had shared, wouldn’t give a second thought about where she was or what had happened to her. At least she’d given them a few good steps ahead. Inu wouldn’t be able to fight back every attack. As far as Haruto was concerned, Vonatos was smart—if a bit too soft for his tastes—and well connected with the addition of Solomon and his team. Remnants of a time under N’Namdi’s chancellorship when GAN wasn’t so bad. The resistance would put the intel Brioni had shared to good use. At least there was that. Unfortunately, he was about to put a serious kink in the resistance’s wire because Inu had tasked him with a certain politician’s assassination. A prominent and lycan-friendly member of the official opposition party, Minister Deng Muhua had adopted all her children from “genetic deviant” households no longer able to care for them. The public outcry would be massive. The pro-authoritarian regime would use this against change. It’d be a mess. Inu had specifically tasked him to make an example of her, show exactly who—what—had killed her. He’d do it. But only because disobeying would jeopardize Brioni’s safety. He’d never do anything to put her in danger. She was doomed because of him. Because she’d cared enough to go after him. Damn them. Despair threatened to swallow him into a dark and cold pit. He wiped rain from his goggles as he presently waited for Minister Deng Muhua to come out on her balcony for her nightly cigarette. Crouched below the opposite building’s parapet, Haruto had been waiting for three hours. Unmoving. A gargoyle of flesh yet barely alive. Shuttles flew over his head. Deep-space ships transitioned to FTL in a bright blue flash that arced over the horizon. So many of them. Like upside-down shooting stars. And he had but one wish to make—Brioni’s safety. If something happened to her… Haruto let cold rain seep into the back of his collar. He didn’t care. He never got sick anyway. The technology and lycan blood would clean his system right up. Sometimes he wished— A light came on across the divide. The part of him Inu had constructed analyzed each detail. Like old times. He missed very little. Lounge window. Third to the right. Fifty feet away. Maybe fifty-one. One of her bodyguards scanned the street below before pulling the curtains closed. Avoiding looking down at the bodyguard—another death on his hands—who’d been standing in Haruto’s spot before he took position, he worked his stiff legs to get some circulation back in his feet. The fingerless gloves creaked when he made fists, shook out his hands. The balcony doors opened, Minister Deng Muhua stepped out. She clutched a ratty bathrobe as she brought a lighter and cigarette holder from her pocket. He could smell the shampoo on her hair from where he stood. Fifty-nine years, only a few modifications. She wouldn’t take long or much effort. He hated his analysis. Hated how he could do it with such ease. What would Brioni think about it? Was she watching him right now? Were they forcing her to watch?

Haruto closed his eyes. Willed the lycan to take over. He changed silently. Pain racked his body for a few seconds. His gums most of all when the metallic fangs pushed out of the throbbing skin. Changed into the killer they’d made him. Silent amongst the shadows, he stepped on the parapet, waited until a shuttle flew by. Muscles fired with adrenaline and capabilities never meant for a human body, he crouched, readied. He leaped. Across the divide. Rain and wind tried to slow him down. But nothing could deny the lycan. The whirr of the shuttle’s engines muffled his landing. Concrete slick with rain. The balcony shuddered under the hit. She must have felt the tiny tremor. Turned just quickly enough to see him coming but not enough to do anything but raise her forearm across her face. Haruto looked away—the vidcaptor in the goggles wouldn’t record the next few seconds—as he wrapped an arm around her neck. A brusque tug. The snap of fragile bones. He guided her slow fall to the ground, gently pulled the frayed robe closed over her denuded knees. She wouldn’t want to be seen this way. It didn’t matter. Why did he bother? He’d never bothered before. Still, he kept his head angled away from what he’d done as he slipped into the house. He couldn’t let the little betrayer worked into his goggles from displaying his sordid handiwork to the one person whom he wanted to protect. From himself most of all. And more deaths were to come that night. Many more. Of them all, only one bodyguard managed to place a good hit. Haruto’s lower back radiated with hot and throbbing pain. But then that guard died like the rest. The stench of blood pervaded the house when Haruto emerged from the front door. Knowing none of the vidcaptors set around the building would be fast enough to catch more than a glimpse of him, he charged across the street, across the city, along the river until he came to the Hwaseong, the Brilliant Fortress. He heard it clearly when the alarm was raised a few minutes later in the diplomatic sector across the river, in the good side of Seoul. Someone must have discovered his victims. He leaped and climbed one of the vast fortress’s towers, using roof ledges and windowsills until he came to a large terrace of potted plants on one side and a wall entirely made of windows from floor to ceiling on the other. The place Inu had given her. The golden cage into which they’d imprisoned his precious songbird. He’d been granted rights of visit. They didn’t care what Brioni and he did together because they knew he was in no position to refuse them a thing. They knew he’d do anything for her. How he hated him, the one at the helm of this demented ship. He didn’t even know his name but his face had accompanied every dream of revenge he’d had as long as he could remember. Haruto hoped the man’s debilitating illness hurt long and hard. He approached one of the windows, peered inside the room. In a simple pale blue shirt, she sat on the couch with the decoder on her lap. Watching him watch her. She’d seen everything. Everything he couldn’t hide anyway. Brioni turned to the window. His heart skipped a beat. The lycan was no longer needed or welcome. The change gradually dulled his senses—as much as they could be given Inu’s enhancements.

He pressed his hand on the wet glass pane. She must think him a monster, killing people this way. An older woman and half a dozen guards whose only fault was to have been on Inu’s list. She stood, approached the window, pressed her hand on her side of the glass, level with his own. Instead of the stern disapproval or horror he expected, she shocked him—elated, strengthened and amazed him—with a quiet smile and a nod of welcome. He didn’t let himself believe her reaction until she left him there so she could open the terrace glass doors and poke her head outside. “Come,” she murmured. The tick-tick-tick of rain against glass. Wind tossing her hair back. “It’s cold outside.” Haruto felt as if he were in a dream as he followed her into the warm and candlelit room. He trailed water in, froze just inside the doorway. She slid the glass door closed behind him, took his hand. “Come. I have a hot bath waiting for you. It’ll feel better afterward. Everything will be better.” In a daze, he could only stare at his boots mucking up the slate floor as he followed her across the living room and into a darkened bathroom lit only by a candle on a stone ledge. Ceramic tiles in muted grays barely reflected the light. He felt this way with Brioni. A dull, porous surface against which even her bright light couldn’t reflect. Everything felt strange and dreamlike. Was he dreaming? Was she here? He was losing his mind. “Are you…?” He reached out, closed his hand on her shoulder to turn her around. His thumb left a reddish print on the pale blue cotton. Sullied her. He snatched his hand back. “Why?” She glanced at the stain then back up at him. “This is nothing we can’t deal with. You and me. Okay? We’ll deal with this.” She unzipped his jacket, slipped it back from his shoulders, took it off altogether. He stood frozen with confusion and stupefaction as she undressed him, pulled his boots off and piled everything in a corner. As though she’d taken the violence off him and dumped it. In a corner, where it belonged. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close but would never touch her with these hands. Not after what he’d done tonight. Instead, he stepped into the ceramic bathtub. The water was nice and hot and a boon to his aching limbs. He sat, leaned back. “Can you take them off?” She pointed at the goggles. To his shame, he shook his head. “That’s fine. We’ll work around them.” With a warm smile and calm hands, she passed him what he’d need for his bath. Straightening, she put a thick towel on the edge of the bathtub, turned to leave. “Brioni…” he whispered. He didn’t trust his voice. She turned, graced him with another smile. “You’re welcome.” She left.

As far as he could remember, he’d never cried. He couldn’t recall a single time when he’d shed tears. Out of pain or grief. Not one. Until she disappeared around the doorway. A single tear pearled out of his eye. He slipped his goggles off his head and dropped them into the water where the specks of blood came loose from the leather and metal construct. He touched the tear, gingerly, unsure. Perhaps it was sweat. Or rain. Liar. Haruto pressed both palms against his eyes. His abdominal muscles burned from trying to keep the sobs silent. Her gift was too great to process. She’d offered him a warm and quiet place, sanctuary, solace from the world outside. From his violent life. From himself. And someday, this place would kill it. Would kill what Brioni and he had. They couldn’t both escape. She wouldn’t be able to manage the jumps and runs and violence required to reach freedom. Plus, they only kept her to control him. They didn’t want her, they wanted him. They’d get neither. He’d set her free then destroy the one thing for which Inu would never stop looking.

Chapter Nine

Brioni turned the decoder off and placed it facedown on the couch by her side. She didn’t want to see him through that thing. She’d watched, horrified, worried and sick in her gut as Haruto was briefed about Minister Deng Muhua. She’d sat in the rain with him as he waited on the rooftop overlooking his victim’s apartment. And she’d cried for those poor people and for him as he killed them. For her. To keep her safe. She knew for a fact he never would’ve cooperated otherwise. She didn’t know him that well, but she knew this—Haruto was stubborn if nothing else. And now she sat while he had a bath to wash the blood off his hands if not his conscience. But this was a burden she intended to share. He wouldn’t carry all of it alone. No way. Inu could go screw themselves. The sound of his sobs broke her heart. But she didn’t move. He wouldn’t want her to see him this way. Vulnerable. So she waited with a trembling chin and shaking hands, doing all she could not to be heard. Until he’d grown quiet, until the pain had once again become manageable. When she was sure Haruto was ready, she stood and quietly poured two glasses of water, which she brought to the bathroom. “I’m coming in,” she warned a few feet from the doorway, even if she knew he could probably hear her heartbeat. Until she’d seen what they’d done to him, she’d never realized the amount—and

depth of invasiveness—of modifications and enhancements he’d received. He was practically quarter machine. “Hope you’re still naked,” she added to lighten the mood. He didn’t smile when she entered the candlelit bathroom but didn’t look as defeated and bone-weary as he had coming back from his… The thing they’d forced him to do. She hated them. But he’d slipped his goggles back on. Maybe some day he’d trust her with this. She’d wait. For him, she’d wait for as long as needed. “There.” She gave him one of the glasses. The black cat’s paws indicated three a.m. She wasn’t even sleepy. Going on adrenaline alone. He took the glass, drained it in one long draw then delicately put it on the bath ledge. Brioni sat cross-legged on the toilet cover. Not the sexiest position for sure. “Cheers,” she said, raising her glass. With a teasing wink at his frown, she took a sip. “Mmm.” “Why are you doing this?” “Keeping things normal, you mean?” When he said nothing, she went on. “People have to act like people, even when they’re surrounded by beasts.” He bristled. Water rippled outward when his entire body tensed. Skin the color of wet sand glistened with water droplets. Her mouth was suddenly dry so she took another sip. “You know I meant them,” she replied after another swallow of water didn’t cool the fire growing in her belly. His belly contracted and tightened with his slow breathing. She could look at nothing else. “Come to think of it, they’re not beasts. Way too much of an insult for the animal kingdom. No, Inu, they’re a special breed. And life will catch up to them eventually.” “You sound sure.” From dormant, his cock gradually rose under the surface. He shifted in the bathtub, raised his outward thigh. Why was he hiding his erection? “That’s because I’m a good bullshiter.” A tiny smirk curled his lip. She wanted to jig for joy. That was her thing. Make others laugh, lighten the mood so everyone—herself included—could go on with life. There was enough negative energy floating around. It was hard. Fighting against the current, especially in a place like this fortress and what went on inside. Maybe this was why she redoubled her efforts to keep things normal, keep them light despite what they forced him to do, keep Haruto and her from going mad. It’d be easy here. She wouldn’t give those Inu people the satisfaction. “Seriously, you can’t escape from the numbers you set into motion. You know what they say about every action.” She made a wave gesture of her free hand. “There’ll be an equal and opposite reaction. Someday, Inu will get its wave, its comeuppance.”

Haruto took his empty glass and set it on the floor by the tub. “Come here,” he said, grimaced before adding an awkward “please”. “Much better.” She deposited her own glass on the floor, moved the candle out of the way and knelt by the bathtub. Cool tiles pebbled her thighs with goose bumps. “Did they do anything to you?” he asked. “Did they hurt you?” “No. I’m good.” Whoever had shaved his head had done a crap job. If they insisted on having him walk around bald, then dammit, she’d do it. Obviously, they didn’t care about the humiliation they were causing or how their treatment could strip him of his humanity. Then again, Yoshizumi didn’t think Haruto was a person, only a collection of bits. She leaned her arm on the bath ledge so she could rest her chin. She was so close to him, she could feel his breath on her cheek. Need burned in her belly and thighs. “Do you feel better? A bit?” He nodded. Seemed about to say something before pressing his lips together. “You’re welcome,” she replied to his unspoken thanks. “Yeah…” Water dripped when he reached out and lifted a strand of her hair, one of the purple ones, and twirled it around his index finger. Water darkened the electric purple shade to deep plum. “The first few weeks after I escaped,” he murmured, moistened his lips. She tried not to stare at them too much because she knew how precious each of his few words were. “I didn’t adapt well. None of my skills were useful.” She could just imagine. “How old were you?” “Sixteen. But I was much younger in some ways. Especially around women. I hadn’t been ‘trained’ for that.” Brioni blushed even if it was all over and had happened a long while ago. “I fell for the oldest trick in the world.” A sardonic smile pulled his lips to one side. “I wasn’t very good either.” “Well, you sure changed that.” Her theatrical wink-wink, nudge-nudge made him sigh. “I didn’t even know I was supposed to pay.”

Brioni lost her smile. Prostitutes all had protectors, some of them thugs, others worse still. “Her protection must not have been very happy.” “They jumped me before I got to that part. Now this, I was trained for.” “From a kid, they must not have seen it coming.” “That night, they learned there were worse things than them. And that night, I learned I could make a living using the tools I already had.” Haruto, a pimp? Hmm. “And they’re lying—crime does pay. In credits anyway.” “Why did you stay in Seoul when Inu was right there?” “Because it was right there.” A smirk replaced the smile. “You said you’d show me yours if I showed you mine.” Brioni cleared her throat. “You remember that?” “I can’t forget. Anything. It’s all up here.” He pointed to his temple. “What do you want to know?” “Everything.” She smiled. “Even the little bits?” “Especially the little bits.” Haruto dropped the strand of wet hair and picked another, closer to her face so every time he twisted his wrist to wind his digit around her hair, his knuckles would caress her face. Heat from his hand made her close her eyes. She could’ve stayed this way forever. Never mind flowers and chocolates—this was romantic. She shut the rest out. The ugly surroundings, the uglier witnesses to their exchange—she had no doubt Inu watched and recorded every move that went on in this apartment or anywhere else in the massive complex. She shut it all out to preserve and protect what Haruto and she had created together. Their fragile bubble against madness. “I’m not from the United Koreas originally,” she began. “I was born in North America, the East Coast. We moved around a lot. My mom got a contract to work here in Seoul about ten years ago.” “What does she do?” “She works for GAN, at a bank. My other mom used to teach but she’s retired now. Says she wants to stop the advanced signs of aging.” Thinking about her parents made her smile. If any good came out of the present situation, she’d introduce Haruto to them. They’d love him. Quirky personalities—even as prickly as his—were a welcome challenge at home.

He dropped her hair, closed his hot hand on her wrist and brought it to his lips to kiss. “Didn’t you lose all your friends when you moved?” Brioni shivered with pleasure. His belly constricted and corded with lean muscles. Beneath the water, his cock pointed proudly. With her free hand, she gathered water and let it drip down his knees, which surfaced from the water in two ocher-colored islands that shimmered like satin. He had such glorious skin. Perfect. Muscles twitched on his thighs. He might act cool and composed, but she could sense the hunter crouching low, ready to pounce. The duality of his character thrilled her. “I make friends easily. Plus, I’m lucky to have cool moms who made us a home everywhere we went. But if I had anything below a B+ at school, oh boy, watch out. Uncool happenings in the Metcalf house, let me tell you.” “What about your boyfriends?” “Are you jealous?” “No.” She grimaced dramatically. “Not even a little bit?” “Should I be?” He nipped the inside of her wrist. Brioni gasped when he did it again. His teeth flashed in the warm glow of the candle by the foot of the bathtub. “I want you,” he murmured. The smirk was gone. Seriousness tightened his luscious mouth. “I want you hard enough that it hurts. Right here.” He placed her palm over his chest. Regular and strong, his heartbeat thudded against her hand. “I don’t know…” He sighed through the nose. “I don’t know what’s going on anymore. Everything’s a mess.” Brioni raised herself on her knees so she could lean over the ledge. His goggles reflected her when she pressed her lips to his. To her surprise, he put his palm over her shoulder and gently pushed back. “Not here.” Brioni nodded. “Because they’re probably watching? I understand.” A pronounced curl pulled his mouth sideways. Oh the wicked, wicked man. “I don’t care about that. I want it to be in a bed this time. This thing.” He pointed to her chest, to his then back again. “It deserves a proper bed.” This thing. Nodding, Brioni stood but took the towel before he could retrieve it. “I’ll fight for it if I have to. You don’t want to take that away from me, do you?” She gave him her best Evil Eye.

“Opportunist.” “You bet.” He stood patiently as she rubbed the towel all over him, more gently around the many bruises marring his skin to finish with his face, which she dried by patting in tender little circles. She even finished with a quick wipe of his goggles, to Haruto’s obvious incredulity. Not that she’d use the situation to her advantage, but she still filled her hands with as much of his taut and lean body as she could. When he was dry to her satisfaction, she draped the towel on his shoulders and gave him the corners so he could keep it there. “You enjoy that.” “What? Fussing?” Brioni grinned. “You haven’t seen anything. God forbid you ever catch a cold. You’d get the full treatment, right down to a mustard compress and almost-homemade chicken noodle soup.” “I can’t get sick.” A sigh deflated his glorious chest. “If you cough a couple times, it should be enough to trip my Nurse Switch.” “What are you wearing under that shirt?” His abrupt change of subject reminded her Haruto had very basic manners and even less finesse. The question still triggered wet heat between her legs. Maybe his unpredictability was as much a turn-on to her as it was a turn-off to others. “Nothing.” Haruto’s nostrils dilated when he took a delicate sniff. “I know.” “Why did you ask then?” The smirk reached epic proportions. “I wanted you to say it. Turns me on.” A puff of heat wafted out of her parted collar. “That’s a good thing for a woman to hear.” “Men lie most of the time, especially when they’re talking to a woman.” “Are you lying now?” “I can lie and do it well. But not to you.” He lost the smirk. “I want this to go slowly. I want us to take our time.” A note of despair tightened his voice. After what he’d been forced to do, no wonder he wanted to make a good thing last a bit. She did as well. “I agree. Nice and slow.”

Something fluttered in his chest. Trepidation, hope, elation. She meant all these things to him. And more. She meant everything. The heated tile floor felt good under the soles of his feet. He ached in several places as his systems were restoring him to optimum level. Sometimes, he enjoyed the pain if only to make himself feel more like a man, instead of… Whatever he was. She retrieved the candle and he followed her out of the bathroom, across the living room. She waved her hand once in front of the sensors on the lights panel. Darkness descended on the airy room. To the right, a narrow corridor ended in a bedroom that resembled more a monk’s concrete cell than anything else. But the bed was wide enough for them. Plus, he’d gladly lie on a cold, stone floor if it meant sharing it with her. Carefully, she placed the tiny candle on the ledge just inside the doorway then turned to him as she backed deeper into the darkened room. The wavering light graced her body, created burgundy highlights in what he knew to be the purple streaks in her hair. Shadow pooled high between her thighs visible below the shirt. Because of the unruly bangs dropping over her pointy face, he couldn’t see her eyes clearly. But he knew she was watching him. Only him. It turned him on like nothing else. His little Goth Fairy. She undid the first button. “Don’t.” Brioni froze, let her hands drop by her side. “You want to do it?” Haruto nodded because he couldn’t talk. The sight of her stole his breath away. By his ocarina, two small piles of clothes rested on a low table in a corner. Inu’s way of ensuring their “specimen” didn’t go naked. They’d even provided them with toiletries and a well-stocked library of digital vids for Brioni. So she wouldn’t get bored waiting while he killed people. How long would it take, he wondered, for this place to kill what they had? A week? A month? This place he thought he’d never see again. At least they could be together. Like a strange, old-fashioned hotel made of brick and stone and madness. With that odious man just there outside the wall. Watching. Cataloging. Patient. Haruto hated him. He pushed the thoughts away and joined her for a long and tender kiss. Just basked in her glow as he ran his lips on hers, her cheeks and fluttering eyelids. Her skin pebbled under his palms. The towel dropped from his shoulders and created a teasing scree of shivers as it rubbed down his back, his butt and calves to fall on the floor. The fabric had felt like hands. They spent a long while just kissing and rediscovering each other with their mouths, their fingertips, their breaths and hungry gazes. He learned all over again how to touch her, followed her voice as it modulated to a different touch or a subtle pressure. She sounded like a dove, softly crooning while he kissed her throat and licked it in long, upward passes. His cock was ready to explode. But he denied the burning urge. This had to last.

“Touch your breasts,” he whispered. Brioni cupped them as he knew she would. How? He had no idea. He just knew. He’d always known her, since the beginning of time and human conscience had known this woman, had loved her and would do anything for her. Run or hide, take on a thousand enemies or jump from a bridge. For her, he’d do anything. Kill. Die. Without warning, she abandoned her breasts and fell to her knees. He choked on a gasp when she fisted him, wolfed him down. Her throat was hot and smooth. Like her sex. Two mouths. Haruto couldn’t help himself and grabbed two fistfuls of hair. Anchors. With her hands on his ass, she showed him just how deep she could take him. Her forehead pressed against his belly. His breath came in shallow and quick. Fire licked his balls. The sudden urge to plough her almost broke his will. But he did allow himself a brusque roll of hip. She moaned contentedly. With fingernails digging into the skin of his ass, Brioni pulled him to her. She spared one hand to fist his shaft, knead his balls. Fuck, he was about to come. She must have felt it because she retreated to the end, grabbed him hard at the base and squeezed just in time to choke back the cum. Some managed to seep through and Haruto watched her, heart beating like a jackhammer, lick the thin white foam off his glans. “Stand up,” he breathed. His breath was ragged from trying to do ten things at once. He wanted her here and now, but not here and now. In the bed. Fuck the bed. Against the wall. No better, on her elbows and knees. Astride his hips? Adrenaline pumped his veins. Fire licked his joints and jaw. The lycan was clamoring to be free. He wouldn’t. Haruto was in control. Felt powerful, able to control even his lycan half. He could do this, skirt the edge without falling into the lake. With her—for her—he could do this. The quicks around his nails throbbed with chromium particles amassing there, ready to form the claws. His gums as well. Fangs wanted to come out. Brioni stood, wiped her mouth with the inside of her wrist. Through the parted collar, he spotted the nascence of a breast. He wanted to see more. The lycan wanted it all. “Let it come,” she said. She knew? How could she know when he’d become an expert at denying that part of him, when he’d trained for years to fight the effects of adrenaline? Although what laced his blood right now was more pheromones than anything else. He hadn’t trained his body to suppress that. He’d never had to. Brioni raked her hair back with one hand, which accentuated the V of her partly undone shirt. A pink nipple flitted between two buttons. Haruto’s breath caught in his throat. “It’s part of you,” she went on, undid the second button. “Let it come.” “I said don’t.” That hadn’t been him talking. That’d been the lycan.

Brioni only had time for a quick gasp when the change took him quickly. The muscles accentuated, became more prominent over his lean body. Black claws and fangs slid out of him. Glistening like fresh ink. He came for her. Upper lip curled over his fangs, Haruto gripped her by the wrists and back-walked her to the wall, kept her there. Her breaths came fast and thin. “I’ve been wanting this since I first saw you in it.” The fricatives whistled through the fangs. She bit her bottom lip, watched him bend over her. Was he going to bite her? She froze, stopped breathing. Snarling, he dove for her throat. She yelped. But he didn’t bite her. It was the buttons he was after. One after the other, with his front teeth, he clipped the buttons from her shirt, didn’t even damage the fabric. She’d been around lycans long enough to know this required rare dexterity and control. He spat them one at a time, grinned wickedly between each then clipped the next. He reached the end of the shirt, gave her a hard lick that started on her sex and curled all the way up to the sensitive spot under her ear. His hands still around her wrists, he straightened to press himself all along her front. His cock made itself a home between her shaking thighs. The muscles on his shoulders bulged when he left her wrists to part her shirt with delicate fingers tipped with deadly black claws. The contrast was riveting. He could’ve taken her right then and there. She wouldn’t have done anything to stop. But instead, he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed pushed into a corner. Laid her down gently. But as he walked to the foot of the bed and put his hands flat on the mattress, there was nothing gentle about the curve to his lips. “Let me see,” he murmured in a low voice. Bent over this way, arms corded with wiry muscles and eyes narrowed to black slits, Brioni couldn’t do anything but listen to him. She couldn’t think, couldn’t process anything other than the basest needs. She wanted him in her. Wanted it with a violence that should’ve surprised her. Yet didn’t. “Spread your legs.” She did. Unabashedly, without coyness or pretense. No games. Haruto grabbed her by the ankles and yanked her down to the foot of the bed. The covers wrinkled and rolled under her sweaty skin. She would’ve bent her knees up but Haruto’s grip didn’t allow for any movement at all, so she lay propped up on her elbows. “I could smell your cunt from outside the apartment.” He seemed to wait for a reaction. All niceties and finesse, what little he had, were gone. The lycan was in charge. Brioni raised her chin. “And? What did you want to do to my ‘cunt’? Hmm?”

A wicked smile pulled his lips to one side to denude only one fang. Her ankles in iron grips, he licked the insides of her calves, her knees and thighs. Crawled upward between her legs like a hunter would, head steady but shoulders rolling. She felt liquid seeping from her sex down to her anus. Flesh constricted. Muscles tightened. Then he was on her. His mouth, everywhere. His hands, demanding and precise, in her sex, her ass, along the insides of her thighs. She cried out, let her head loll back. “Look at me,” he snarled, bit her on the mons. “Look at what I’m doing.” Brioni watched while Haruto used his mouth and hands to alternatively make love to her sex then fuck it. She was bitten and sucked on, licked and caressed, spread wide, rolled onto her front then back supine before Haruto knelt between her legs. Hands like vise grips on her hips, he brought her up on his lap. He pushed in. Took her with near violence. Abdominals worked hard when he rolled and undulated against her butt. The feel of his cock in her made Brioni squeeze her eyes shut. The sensation of fullness, the unnatural heat of him… She felt the first tingling of an orgasm. He bucked against her. “Look at me!” Her bottom lip tucked between her teeth, she forced her eyes open and watched his cock slide in and out, the glistening shaft covered in veins that teased her and tormented her. Haruto left her hips, grabbed her ankles and raised her legs high. Tendons strained at the juncture of her thighs. Brioni welcomed the pressure, the weight of him as he thrust into her with feral abandon. Rendered shiny with sweat, her breasts bounced. Without warning, he popped out, flipped her over as easily as though she’d weighed nothing more than a wet towel, then took her from behind. With the acute angle, her clitoris received most of the attacks. From tingling, the orgasm finally hit like a slap of thunder. Her voice rose. His as well. Fire spread to her lower back, her cleft. Still he pounded into her. Took her and took her. But he didn’t come. She felt him move behind her then he popped out again. Brioni checked to make sure he hadn’t hurt himself and found him flopped onto his back. He hooked his index finger. Brioni crawled on her hands and knees and settled astride him. He put a hand on her thigh, gently caressed it. The claws and fangs were gone. Raising herself on her knees, she angled his penis. She sank on him with a contended sigh, which he shared. Leisurely, she rolled on him. His cock was rendered smooth by her cum and easily slid in and out. While she took him deep into her, Haruto cupped her breasts. Unhurried, their lovemaking lasted what felt like an eternity. She’d never made love this way, tenderly, soothingly, and discovered whole new layers to this man she hadn’t yet seen. From the demanding lycan who’d fucked her to the man who presently caressed her breasts while she rolled on top of him. The duality of his character was an intoxicating cocktail. She felt it come again. The pleasure rose like a wave. It unfurled over her. Taking

her with it. But this time, she felt Haruto accompanying her. His cum jetted into her in powerful little bursts. Brioni quieted, stilled. Sweat tickled her back and hairline. When she bent over him, a drop of sweat rolled to the tip of her chin. Haruto lazily pressed the tip of his tongue to it. “Don’t take it personally,” he breathed, yawned before closing his eyes, “but you won’t mind if I fall asleep?” Brioni chuckled, which cramped her vaginal muscles around him. “You mean right now? Just like that?” Haruto didn’t reply. Her first reaction was to punch him on the shoulder. But as she watched him sleeping peacefully, she couldn’t help but admire the perfection and symmetry of his form and facial features. And he looked so much younger this way, unburdened and without the characteristic smirk. So she let him sleep. With any luck, he’d find oblivion and temporary solace. With even more luck, she’d find some as well.

Chapter Ten

From the schematics on the various viewscreens, he’d seen the extent of the enhancements they’d done on him. Metal laminates, gene splicing, hormone fortifiers and a slew of implants, among them aural and ocular. He could hear a pin land from across the courtyard as clearly as a conversation taking place at arm’s length. He could see in complete darkness as well as under a midday sun. He wondered what life outside these walls would be like. From what little he’d been able to glean, here and there and from observing the researchers interacting, he figured he was in his early teen years. Maybe thirteen, fourteen. One time, he’d managed to steal a few minutes of free time reading a “newspaper”. The sheets of thin plastifilm had felt so strange and new in his shaking hands. He’d read about things like sports and fashion, travel to places he’d only studied in case he was sent on a mission there. He had been punished for it. Severely. As he sat in his bed, knees drawn up under his chin and waiting for the painkillers to take effect—one of the rare occasions he’d been given any—he heard the click of his cell door unlocking. Another training session? So soon? A guard slipped into the doorway. For the face shield and bits of armor, he could’ve been any age. Or even a woman. He cocked his head. “Do you know what Kodomo no Hi is?”

His heart beat hard. What did this man want? He was Japanese, obviously, if he asked about the Children’s Day. He nodded once. He couldn’t help the flinch of fear when the guard slipped his hand into his armored jacket, but instead of producing a weapon or one of the dreaded stunners, he held a small lemon-shaped item. It glistened like molten silver. “For you. Blow into the end while you keep your fingers on the holes. It’s called an ocarina. It makes music.” The guard deposited the item on the bed and retreated to the door. “Don’t let them find it or they’ll take it away. Happy Kodomo no Hi.” When the door had closed again, he tentatively reached for the silvery item. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Nothing in his life had served other purposes than those related to death or pain. This thing on his felt gray blanket served neither. It made music. It made beauty. He took it, turned it over and around several times in his hands for the sheer joy of watching light dance on its smooth surface. The guard had said to blow on the flattened end. So he did. Gently so as not to attract attention. The cell was soundproof, but in case someone walked by, he made a tent of his blanket, burrowed under the hard pillow and spent the rest of the night making different sounds with the ocarina. When morning and more lessons in death came, for the first time in his life, he couldn’t wait to get back to his cell. Because something special that was his alone waited for him there. Something beautiful.

The first explosion woke him abruptly enough that Haruto swore he didn’t even bend and just sprang off the bed. By his side, Brioni rolled onto her belly, head tilted up. “What was that?” “Something blew up.” He went hunting for his clothes, threw hers at her whenever he’d find a piece that didn’t belong to him. “Hurry.” He didn’t need to tell her since she was getting dressed faster than he was. Jacket on his shoulders, he rushed out of the bedroom in which he’d spent the best moments of his life. No light outside the wall of windows. “What’s going on?” she asked behind him. It occurred to him then she could die and he’d be there to watch it, unable to help, unable to stop it. The thought terrified him. What if…? No. He wouldn’t let it happen. Haruto tucked the ocarina into his jacket, which he zipped up to the collar. Another explosion rattled the glass panes along the terrace. His joints ached, as did his jaw. It was coming. The lycan.

The stress alone of keeping Brioni from harm caused him to change spontaneously. Shit, bad timing. Claws and fangs shredded flesh and tissue. The pain bent him in half. His senses magnified, sharpened, revealed layers of stimuli until then only tickling the back of his mind. People. Close. “They’re coming.” Brioni hurriedly shoved her naked feet in her shoes. Businesslike, afraid but in control. A faint odor of resin announced someone carrying a volter was approaching. He leaped up at the ceiling, dug his claws and “crawled” upside down until he was above the door. Not a second too late. It burst open. Half a dozen guards, some of them with votlers, others with stunners, piled into the room. Brioni yelped in fright at the sudden arrival. To his brief confusion, she turned right around and charged for the glass doors. “Haruto! Come back!” Clever woman. With the guards’ attention momentarily in the wrong direction, Haruto dropped from the ceiling. He sent the closest pair flying back with a roundhouse kick, followed with a palm-strike to a third’s sternum. The violence of the hit projected the man five feet in the air. Haruto whipped around, caught one of the guards by the collar. With no more effort than whipping a towel around in the air, he threw the man at the glass wall. The guard flailed and screamed when he crashed through the tempered glass. As if someone had thrown a bucket of white paint at the windows, the damaged panes turned milky white before disintegrating into long cascades of glass. The sound rang in his ears. Yells. The sound of volter shots. His own throaty growls. Bones snapped when he ripped the volter out of an attacker’s hand, slid it in Brioni’s direction—she made quick work of picking it up and firing at more guards barging into the room—before reversing his grip and delivering a backhand that made pulp of the guard’s head. Blood arced high and far. “Hurry!” he snarled for Brioni’s benefit. She fired another shot as she backpedaled out the room through the broken windows. Glass crunched under the soles of her shoes. Another volter shot illuminated her face. Fear and determination alternately widened then narrowed her eyes. She was the most beautiful and arousing thing he’d ever seen. A vision of bending her over and taking her flashed in brilliant colors in his mind. He shook his head, using another guard as a missile against those trying to squeeze into the door. The man’s broken body bent at impossible angles when he crashed partly against other guards and partly against the doorjamb. Behind him, Brioni yelled a warning a split second before the general alarm started wailing. “Hurry!” she implored him as she whipped the volter back and forth. Not practiced ease but sheer fortitude. Haruto turned and leaped outside on the terrace just in time to spot a shuttle descending from the rooftop and firing attitude jets to fly nearer to the ledge. The craft’s side hatch was wide open. Men in black uniforms and face shields crowded the hatch. Brioni shot at them, missed most of the time but

she kept them busy trying to dive. Bought Haruto precious seconds. He leaped the twenty or so feet between the terrace and the shuttle, landed on the bow. Claws poised behind his shoulder, he took a potent swing. Slashed armored metal. If he could slash through all three layers, he’d put an end to this shuttle’s flying capabilities. The pilot angled the craft left to right, hoping perhaps to dislodge Haruto. He cocked his hand back, slashed at the hull again. Electric sparks arced and danced on the fuselage when he punctured the covering that protected the power grid. Below, Brioni yelped. He turned, spotted black lines dropping like convulsing snakes from the side hatch. They intended to rappel down and storm the terrace. She’d be defenseless against so many. Haruto abandoned the shuttle with a back flip that brought him directly onto the terrace’s narrow ledge. He jumped off, joined Brioni by the wall. As he cleared the last few feet, intent on taking Brioni by the waist and bounding down a few tiers to get away from the dangerous shuttle, he noticed some of the guards waiting in the shuttle didn’t wear anything to conceal their identity. The sight of their faces stopped Haruto cold. They looked like him. Were identical to him.

Brioni’s brain turned to cold slush when she spotted a small army of Harutos soaring out of the shuttle’s side hatch. They arced overhead and landed on the terrace with the deadly grace of panthers. She backpedaled, put a volter shot in the two closest. One collapsed, snarling, the other turned to her and advanced. Except for the different clothes and goggles—they wore black coveralls and nothing else—these lycans were identical to Haruto. “Oh God,” she murmured over and over as she backed to the wall, firing her volter into exact replicas of the man she loved. “Oh God, oh God—” Almost too fast for her eyes to follow, Haruto threw himself at his doppelgangers. He tore into them, bit and clawed and kicked and fought with more violence than she’d ever seen. The fight was eerily silent except for the sound of each hit landing. Just as more turned to him, a bright searching light hit the terrace, swept back and forth. Another shuttle, this one smaller and with its side hatch likewise open wide, flew like a bat out of hell. What maniac piloted this? In the hatch, a blonde woman with a giant silvery gun roared in a language Brioni didn’t understand. But she did recognize the woman—Cristoval’s abrasive girlfriend. She’d never been so happy to see that one! “Wanna ride?” the tall blonde yelled over the din. Brioni waved but couldn’t spare another second as guards kept coming into the apartment then out onto the terrace. She missed about half her shots, but dammit, she gave it all she had. The blonde turned the monstrous volter at the terrace and delivered a long, uninterrupted hail of nickel beads that tore into the enemy and reduced walls to Swiss cheese. The smell of dust choked the air, despite the

rain. The pilot—against all odds and every flying protocol—brought the craft right along the ledge. Not even six feet from the parapet! Were they mad? A form flew out of the friendly shuttle. A tall lycan with a proud head like a jackal’s straightened to a considerable height. The thickly muscled man must have normally been dark-haired. He was huge, almost seven feet tall. She recognized him—Cupcake. He charged, took on three Haruto lookalikes. Two other forms also leaped, females. The Batista sisters. She could’ve hugged Rio right then, even the foul-tempered Fortaleza. The shuttle turned right away and fired a volley from its fore pulse cannon at the first craft and the building. Destruction rained on the terrace. She cried out when debris landed around her. A terrible battle ensued, with Haruto fighting other lycans who could’ve been—were, in a twisted way—his twins. He destroyed them. The rage was palpable. Not far in front of her, the large lycan threw himself at the guards spilling out of the doorway, blocking their progress with his massive body, effectively using himself as a shield while the Batista sisters laid waste to the rest. Brioni wasn’t a good enough shot to take chances and only fired when one of the “bad” Harutos or a guard detached from the rest. She realized tears were streaming down her cheeks. Fatigue, stress, fear. “Come on!” Cristoval’s girlfriend yelled from the shuttle. She put more nickel into the building. Parts of the roof collapsed around Brioni’s feet. Shards of light from the room below stabbed upward through the destruction. “Get in!” Volter shots coming up through the ruined roof prevented Brioni from moving away from the wall. With her back plastered against the bricks, she scooted sideways. One of Haruto’s doppelgangers leaped right in front of her. Fangs like black ink glistened when he snarled. As if in a dream, she raised the volter. Took aim. As she pressed the trigger, she squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t watch him die. The sound of a body landing on concrete alerted her the shot had been true. Whimpering through her teeth, she jumped over him. Both Batista sisters joined the towering lycan and blocked more guards from coming in that way. But the shuttle overhead was still buzzing around, black lines still dangling underneath its belly while sparks flew out of its damaged bow. The friendly shuttle’s pilot had to move out of the way to avoid getting blasted by the other’s pulse cannon. Haruto grabbed one of his copies by the armpit and crook of the knee and sent him over the edge of the roof. “The tower!” What tower? Because Brioni had no idea where the tower was, she followed when he started looking skyward. Only broken-down rock walls. The two shuttles had now entered into a dog fight that took them away from the walls. Blasts of pulse cannons reverberated around the massive stone complex.

Bright flashes of light accompanied each delivery and a sound like thunder each hit. The friendly craft had one advantage over its larger enemy—its pilot was dementedly skilled. And demented, period. “Hold on to me,” Haruto said as he encircled her waist with one arm. By their side, all three other lycans broke the fight and leaped up and over the wall. At least thirty feet high! She slipped the volter in the back of her waistband and hung on to Haruto’s neck. He climbed using only one hand, metallic claws digging into rock as though it were clay while he scrabbled for purchase with the toes of his boots. Each tiny crack became a rung in this impromptu ladder. She wished she could help. But this was above and beyond her capabilities. He was taking chances for her. Rage and love battled in her heart. She hated Inu for forcing him to do this but simultaneously fell in love with him all over again. Finally, with guards starting to line up shots a bit too close for comfort, Haruto climbed over the parapet and deposited her on the rampart proper. Three feet wide, one side faced inward and the courtyards while the other side opened out into darkness and a hundred-foot plunge into the icy Suwon River. No one, not even a lycan, would survive such a fall, so she made sure to stick to the left side as much as possible as she followed Haruto. He nimbly skipped broken sections and waited for her to pass then would soar right over her head and wait at the next difficult portion of the ramparts. His hot hand became a calming certainty after each hair-raising section of broken wall. The last few feet before the thick, circular tower proved easier and Brioni was able to run as fast as she could. Sweat and rain mixed on her face and in her clothes. She slipped at the last possible step before the stairs, cursed as she skidded to her knees. Haruto was there to help when she stood again. Her kneecaps throbbed. She nodded her thanks. “We must hurry,” he said, eyes searching the sky. Voices raised in alarm. She distinctly heard volter shots above the alarm still wailing its heart out. She just wished that thing would stop already! Hand in hand, they climbed the circular tower. The Batista sisters and Cupcake leaped and bounded past. So different from Haruto, who retained his human appearance. They disappeared around the first curb in the staircase. Haruto and she followed. The sound of thrusters drowned what he said when he reached the tower’s upturned roof. The complex had been built a long time ago, in the seventeenth century by a king who’d turned an entire city into a fortress. Contrary to its name, she’d never thought there was anything “brilliant” about it. Formerly twenty miles away, Seoul had since sprawled all the way here to Suwon, which was now officially part of the capital and taken its name. On a whimper of pain—her knees ached so bad—she ran to the crenels, leaned over them to see above and below. Wind made a mess of her hair. Then she saw it, the smaller shuttle. It was dented and covered in scuffs but flew rapidly to their position. They just might make it out of this mess alive. By her side, Haruto bent with the change back to man.

Rain thickened. She shielded her eyes as she turned to find the three other lycans changing back to human form. “Let’s go!” Rio said as she straightened. With agility and grace, she jumped onto the crenels and waited for the shuttle to descend. Thrusters blazed white as it did. A deep gash marred the silvery prow. Below her stood Fortaleza. She stared at Haruto and Brioni, seemed to debate something before she walked over and stuck her hand out to her companion. “Cristoval showed us the data… Allan’s name… Shit, it was on the list of contacts. I was wrong about you, Smiley. I should’ve checked the facts before I ran my mouth.” Smirk firmly in place, he looked down at Fortaleza’s hand. “Come on, man, don’t let me hang there.” Her smile hardened. Haruto turned his back to Fortaleza and her outstretched hand, grabbed Brioni by the arm and tugged her behind him. “Hurry,” he said without turning. Standing on the crenel, wind and rain plastered what little left of her clothes still clung to her tall and muscled body, Rio gestured for them to hurry. The change had wrecked her boots. “They’re coming!” A lone shot from a distant volter harmlessly passed overhead. Still close enough to pump Brioni’s tired legs. The shuttle tried to get closer but the upturned roof prevented them from landing on the tower itself. Dipping a wing, it fired attitude jets in quick bursts, showing impressive skill and handling on the part of the pilot. Closer still. Five feet from the crenels. The side hatch was pulled back wide. Cristoval’s girlfriend was there, grinning like a loon. “Wanna ride? Twenty credits each!” She reached out as far as she could while keeping her other hand on the handle, grabbed Rio’s wrist and tugged her onboard. Another volter shot arced in the air. Everyone cursed or yelled. Cristoval’s girlfriend the loudest. More volter shots accompanied the first. The enemy was closing in. The shuttle rattled with the precarious angle into which the pilot forced it. The thing wouldn’t last long before the laws of physics kicked the pilot’s ass again. “Come on!” the blonde growled. “Peanut and I have a date with those morons down below!” Haruto passed a seething Fortaleza and kept his hand on Brioni’s arm. Together, they climbed on the crenels. Rain made long glistening lines on his face. “Help her!” he yelled at the blonde in the hatch. Both she and Rio extended hands for Brioni to catch. She did and was quickly pulled into the shuttle.

Next came Fortaleza, who nimbly jumped in followed by the giant Cupcake, who took a run and leaped into the hatch. A collective “whoa” was heard when the shuttle leaned dangerously close to the crenels. Below one hundred feet of darkness waited. “Jesus Christ, Cupcake!” the blonde roared. Still cursing, she extended her hand to Haruto, the last to board. Brioni did as well. Her other hand on one of the cargo straps, she reached out to him. He could probably jump as Cupcake had, but she wanted to feel needed for a change. More volter shots stabbed upward from somewhere below the tower. The guards must have entered this portion of the courtyard. They’d be up on the roof any second. “Hurry!” she yelled for no other reason than the need to let some adrenaline out. She was shaking all over. From fear, from the thrill of freedom a mere moment away. Instead of reaching out, Haruto stood on the crenels, lance-straight, facing the shuttle. He smiled. Brioni’s heart stopped. “Come on!” she urged. The blonde by her side threatened him with bodily harm if he didn’t move his “skinny ass”. He took a step back. Shook his head. “You go! Now!” “Come on, Smiley!” Rio yelled as she stomped her foot. A deafening boom rattled the tower. The blonde whooped. “Solomon and Cristoval got in! That place’s gonna blow, buddy! Get in!” “It has to end this way!” The general alarm partly drowned his voice. But his expression was peaceful as he faced Brioni. Rain plastered his clothes on his lithe body. “Inu never would’ve stopped looking!” “No, please, Haruto. Please!” “There!” one guard yelled. “Get him!” They converged on him. Obviously, nothing else mattered than catching Haruto alive. Another explosion tore a yelp from Brioni. Part of the wall on which they’d run to reach the tower slowly collapsed in large articulated sections. Blocks of rock rolled and crashed into the courtyard. One guard reached the tower. Then another. They fired in the shuttle’s direction, missed. Another detonation from within the massive complex dislodged large clusters of tiles from the tower’s upturned roof and created fissures up the side. The tower could cave in any second.

The pilot’s skill was confirmed when the shuttle flew sideways to follow Haruto as he ran away from crenel to crenel, drawing the approaching guards with him. They converged on their true target, volters drawn but not firing. They wanted him alive. He jumped over the separation and landed on the next crenel. Rain pearled on his goggles and skull when he stopped to face her. The smirk was back in full force. “I would’ve loved you! Always!” The fissures widened into cracks as wide as a man’s thigh. Large sections of the tower disintegrated. Just as more guards reached the shuddering tower, he turned away, took a run. One of them ordered him to freeze. Too late. He was airborne. Horror paralyzed Brioni. She couldn’t talk, breathe, think. With guards barely ten feet behind him, about to close ranks on him, Haruto dived off the hundred-foot-high rampart and into the darkness below. A black-clad angel with broken wings. A couple of the charging guards climbed on top of the crenels to look down into the abyss. She couldn’t hear what they said over the wailing siren and the sound of her heart swooshing in her ears. Like an old-fashioned steam locomotive. Whoosh-whoosh. Her heart, which had surely been ripped out of her. Maybe this was why she could hear it so clearly. But her voice returned. A long wail ripped out of her. “Nooo!” Brioni almost fell off the shuttle deck when she reached out, hands impotently clawing at the air. Only Rio’s and Cupcake’s grips managed to haul her back inside. “Eva! Get us the fuck out of here!” the blonde roared. She slammed the hatch shut. The shuttle swerved away from the crumbling tower. Forcing her stomach down low. Leaving her heart behind.

***** He’d never done this before. He hadn’t been trained to know anything about this. How a man and a woman could come together, be one for a few precious seconds. At the purple-eyed girl’s insistence that he “fuck her cunt”, Haruto pushed deeper into her warm flesh. It molded to his penis. So hot and wet. Fire licked his lower back. His testicles. Her moan of pleasure spurred him on. He pulled out, thrust back in. She kept demanding more, so he gave more. He wished she could’ve let him close his eyes and learn the feel of her, the scent of her sex and how her breasts felt beneath the tight bodice she hadn’t wanted to remove. She wrapped skinny, bruised legs around his waist and held on tight. He felt trapped as much as embraced. At the apex of his next push, something happened. Liquid fire shot out of

him in tiny pulses. Sweat stung his eyes. He grinned in spite of himself. The girl, no longer moaning and demanding, turned her face away and nodded. Who was she nodding to when there was only the two of them in the dirty little room? Pain erupted in his back. Such a sharp contrast to the sweet fire still kissing his shaking legs and back. A blade. That, he’d been trained to recognize. It stabbed deep. Haruto felt the tip notch one of his ribs. Blood gushed between the fingers he pressed to his side. It’d been two months since he’d escaped the insanity of Inu’s fortress. He’d gone from mistake to bad judgment calls, such as the one that had brought him to the girl’s small room. She’d seemed so friendly. Smiled and winked at him from the darkened doorway of a decrepit building. The alley had smelled of urine and garbage. She’d smelled of perfume and woman. Haruto hadn’t needed a second invitation inside her humble home. He hadn’t known about prostitutes back then. Hadn’t realized her thugs had lain in wait, ready to jump him when he became “busy”. So much to learn. So far, freedom had tasted of sour beer and charity-handed free meal packets. But he wouldn’t change a thing. If he had to do it all over again, he would. In a heartbeat. “Stick him again,” said the girl with whom he’d just shared himself. Obviously, he’d misunderstood her winks and grins. She hadn’t liked him one bit. She rolled him off her, pulled her sheer underthings back on as she backed from the bed. Haruto rolled to his side just in time to catch his attacker, with his eyes yellowed from drug use—not much older than Haruto—cocking his arm back. The blade pierced Haruto again. Fire raced through his belly. He fell off the bed to roll onto his back. The dirty floor felt sticky under his naked body. Blood. He knew the feeling of it. Light danced crazily around the small room when the lamp crashed by his side. Both thugs angrily searched his discarded clothes to find nothing more valuable than a strip of plastifilm with a charity’s address. “He don’t have a thing,” one of them snarled. “He don’t have a fucking thing.” The purple-eyed girl gave him a sharp little kick in the hip. “You weren’t gonna pay me, you freak? Huh? Huh? You fucking freak?” A kick punctuated each instance of the word he’d heard so many times since he’d broken free. He could feel his systems already repairing the damaged tissue and stemming the flow of blood. He’d had worse at Inu’s hands. Much worse. What could these lowlifes do to him that hadn’t already been done? Haruto snapped his feet under him and stood. Snarling, the one with the knife aimed his blade at Haruto’s belly again but didn’t get anywhere near his mark. How could he when Haruto had just grabbed the young man’s wrist and twisted it sideways? Bones crunched as easily as if they’d been twigs.

The young man howled. His friends ran for the maladjusted door, started to yank it open. Haruto abandoned the moaning man, leaped over the narrow bed to plant his hand on the door. His bloodied palm made a long smear when he pushed it closed. The girl’s chemically enhanced eyes widened in fear. He could smell it on her. On all three of them. The two young men backpedaled to the opposite wall. The one cradling his broken wrist kept looking at Haruto’s belly. Horror widened his eyes. Was he admiring his handiwork? “You should be dead,” the thug growled accusingly. Fear was like a choking cloud. His clothes stank of it. It oozed off his every pore. His back connected against the wall when he tried to take another step away from Haruto. The other two stared silently, as though too afraid to speak, or still hoping Haruto would fall dead. He wouldn’t. Inu had taught him that if nothing else—death was a haven he wouldn’t be allowed to reach for a very long time. But something else snapped into place for Haruto. Right then and there, he understood concepts Inu hadn’t taught him. How to take advantage of a situation, of others’ fears. Humans—genetic deviants and otherwise—were masters at coercion and bribery, revenge and exploitation. He pressed a hand to his side, rubbed his thumb on the back of his bloodied fingers. He forever could taste pain but never the sweet oblivion of a mortal wound. “Things are going to change.” His voice sounded different. Deeper. Colder. Tears welled in the girl’s purple eyes. He heard her swallow hard. So strange to be on the other end of this. After having spent his life from the victim’s viewpoint. “Look, man,” one of the young men began. Rings on his ears and nostrils glimmered when he took a step forward. “Look, we can work this out, okay?” Haruto nodded. “I agree. From now on, you’ll work for me.”

Chapter Eleven

How could she go on living when her heart wasn’t in her chest anymore? An empty cavity, wires still dangling impotently after having been ripped off. When she couldn’t take in a breath without fire singeing her lungs and shredding her throat? Brioni had never known the pain that tore through her. Yet she bore no wounds. She hadn’t been shot, stabbed or slapped. Nothing had even touched her. Small comfort when all she wanted was to crawl into a deep hole, lay her head down and go to sleep. With any luck, she wouldn’t wake again.

Haruto was gone. As she sat there in the back of the shuttle, directly on the metallic deck and with her knees drawn under her chin, Brioni stared at the pitted bulkhead separating her from the last sight of him. His lean body arcing like a diver, arms outstretched. Tears burned her eyes but didn’t spill. Her pain was too great for tears. “What’s wrong with her?” the blonde asked in undertones. Didn’t they think she could hear? Even those like her, the walking-dead, could hear. Rio, who alone could guess the depth of Haruto and Brioni’s bond, shook her head as if to say, “Let it go”. Fortaleza reached over from across the shuttle’s small cabin and smacked Brioni on the knee. “We’ll blow these fuckers up, okay? For him.” She nodded grimly, patted her volter. “We’ll do it for him.” By her side, the giant Cupcake remained silent even if she could feel his pale blue gaze occasionally turning to her. Of them all, his quiet presence was the most welcome. She didn’t even care about Inu anymore. Fortaleza could do whatever she wanted. The spark was gone for now. Maybe someday it’d return. Not tonight. Not while the fire consumed her and left nothing but ashes. The pilot leaned over in her seat. A shock of cherry-red hair cut asymmetrically framed a pointy face Brioni recognized. Solomon’s girlfriend. Soon to be his wife. “Gear up. I’m putting it down in the courtyard.” The tall blonde kissed her monstrous volter as she stood near the side hatch. Clearly, no one was going to the party before her. Cupcake climbed to his knees, put a bear-paw of a hand on Brioni’s raised knees. His one hand covered both her knees. “He gave you something. Don’t toss it back.” The tears that had threatened finally rolled down her cheeks. He was right. Haruto had shared himself with her when he hadn’t done so with anyone else. He’d trusted her, had dropped his guard and let her glimpse inside, even for a few precious seconds. And ultimately, he’d killed himself to make sure Inu wouldn’t go after her again. What right did she have to “toss” that gift back at him? At the memory of him? Brioni used the too-long sleeves of her purple coat to rub her eyes and nose. Self-pity would have to wait. There was work to be done. Everything felt strangely removed. As if she watched an action vid on a screen. In the thick of things yet apart by filters she couldn’t see. A volter was pushed into her hands. Everyone had to pitch in. The enemy was great and many. She fired her weapon. She killed people yet couldn’t work the guilt that usually followed her around like a shadow. The “tree-hugger” of the family. She ran and climbed stairs and waited panting with her back plastered to the door as her lycan escort destroyed the ones crazy enough to make a stand. Inu had unleashed a force it couldn’t hope to defeat. Pockets of fighting

erupted then died. Shuttles tore off the grounds in several places. Inu was running away. Those who could anyway. Her group met with others. Cristoval, first in lycan form then as a man, came to her, said a few words of encouragement. Rio must have told him of Haruto’s sacrifice. Someone finally cut the general alarm. Both Batista sisters were tasked with clearing the last of the fortress. Fortaleza left with an ominous spring to her step. Finally, they stood in front of wide double-doors locked from the inside. The inner sanctum, according to Cristoval. He had a portable decoder strapped to his wrist and provided navigation aids to the rest. It must have been part of the data Brioni had uploaded to his account. The old artisan had told her everything was on that thing. He hadn’t lied. “Jesus fucking Christ,” Solomon growled as he rearranged his greatcoat back on his chest. He hadn’t changed but still bore signs of the terrible battle. A pair of volters hung from a utility belt while stun grenades glimmered menacingly from clips on his harness. He pulled both volters out, widened his feet. “Make me a door, woman.” Cristoval’s girlfriend—Dragana, Brioni remembered out of the blue—backed away from it, indicating others should clear the deck. The giant volter in her hands resembled a silver squid with its tentacles grouped into a point. Everyone hurriedly backed from the doors and took cover around the corridor. “Knock, knock,” Dragana snarled before she fired. Despite the fact Brioni had closed her eyes, the blue-white muzzle flash brightened her eyelids before heat buffeted her face. With a roar like a dragon, the hail of nickel beads hit the metal doors and literally minced them. Metal bent and melted from the force and intense heat. Solomon and Cristoval were the first to rush through, followed by Dragana—Brioni swore the Valkyrie was elbowing her way through to get there first—and the rest. Brioni brought the rear. Lycans were much better suited for this than she. No guard waited for them. In fact, only one person stood—or sat, more aptly—in what resembled a control room. On dozens of screens set around a central workstation, vital signs blinked, flashed green or red. Some had flatlined. In another screen, a view of a narrow corridor lined on both sides with doors. It reminded her of a prison. It probably was. As soon as Brioni walked around the veritable wall of lycan, she recognized the man sitting in a silvery hoverchair. Him. Haruto’s “father”. Brioni felt her expression harden. That man was responsible for it all. That hateful man. The redhead, all grace and fluid strength, approached Brioni. “You know him?” “He’s behind Inu’s operations here…whatever it is here, it’s his work. It’s his fault.”

Yoshizumi reached to a console on his right. Solomon fired a single shot that missed the man’s armrest by no more than a hair. He looked surprised at the scuff marring the silvery chair. “You stay away from buttons, switches or dials, old man, you hear?” Yoshizumi nodded at the redhead when she quietly approached Solomon and whispered a few words to him. “Ah, I recognize you. Killen’s protégé.” Solomon bristled. “Okay, I think I’m gonna shoot him. Anyone got problems with that?” A haughty curl of lip to his mouth, Yoshizumi shook his head. Brioni remembered something the man had told her when Haruto and she had been brought in. “Where are they?” she asked. Her voice sounded rusty and raw. “The others, and the kids you keep here? Where are they?” “There are no children here, Miss Metcalf, only other models, some newer constructs. Someone with a gift for numbers should see more clearly than that.” He turned to a particular screen, dull, slate-gray. A thin yellow line blinked at the bottom. Cristoval rushed to the consoles, scanning quickly. “Children? Here?” “You are too late,” Yoshizumi went on. “Inu has already pruned this tree. I am but a dead branch that sap no longer feeds.” A shiver raced down her arms. “What do you mean, too late?” “Dragana and I will go,” Cristoval said from the demolished doorway. The blonde joined him there. “Yeah,” Solomon said out the side of his mouth. His volter never moved from its target—Yoshizumi. “If there are kids here, I wanna know where they are. Cupcake, get a team together and wait for Liberty. Make sure her media buddies record everything. We don’t want to mess this up. Not after Deng’s assassination. And tell her to send her medical team down here too. I think we’re gonna need them to deal with this.” He pointed to the screen showing the corridor of doors. “He did it,” Brioni quickly pointed out. “Haruto was forced to kill that woman, Minister Deng, under his orders. I saw everything.” “Liberty will want a word with you,” Eva replied, nodding. While the three left, Solomon, Eva and Brioni approached the circular console. Yoshizumi backed from it with a soft verbal command, floated around the workstation to stop a few feet from Solomon. Clearly, the moody lycan didn’t like this one bit.

“You know what,” he growled as he slipped a volter back in its holster. “I don’t think I like you sitting there like a smug cat. Been fucked in the ass—figuratively—by your kind a bit too often. You won’t mind if I don’t trust your lying face? I thought not.” Brioni couldn’t find it in her heart to feel sorry for the old man when Solomon grabbed him by the front of his jacket and hoisted him out of his chair. None too gently, he deposited the invalid man on the floor with his back against the wall. Eva deactivated the tiny thrusters and, as the cushion of air dissipated, the chair alit on the concrete floor. By the corner of her eye, Brioni spotted several forms on the screen showing the “prison” wing. Cupcake’s height blocked the view for the first few seconds but soon he walked across the corridor, opened another door. Young men cautiously came out. Some of them barely past puberty. All of them Asian. All of them versions of Haruto. Brioni’s eyes welled all over again. Solomon shook his head as he scanned the consoles. “This is some messed-up shit, old man.” Brioni noticed Yoshizumi had glanced at that particular screen again where the thin yellow line blinked. The next second, a clamor rose from outside. With an entourage of half a dozen people and vidcaptors buzzing around like giant, metallic insects, the blind female lycan entered the room. Liberty could’ve been a queen in her court. Dressed in a white suit that accentuated her dark skin, she extended her arm, addressed the media clustered around her like excited but grave-faced children. “Inu also financed the Iron Conclave’s most secret programs, among which is this one.” She indicated the consoles. “Children born in captivity, raised by rejects from the genuine science spheres, enhanced with illegal technology and sent out to do Inu’s dirty work. Political assassinations, industrial sabotage. It’s been going on for decades. Only last evening, Inu had Minister Deng assassinated.” The barrage of questions seemed to wash over the tall woman like rain on a duck’s back. She nodded solemnly. “You will have full access to this facility. Questions will be answered later.” With a small nod for Solomon, who grumbled something as he turned his back on one vidcaptor that buzzed a bit too close to him, the smooth-talking lycan left the room, followed by the open-mouthed members of the media. Surely they’d never had this sort of leave. Smart woman was exchanging positive coverage for access. Stragglers took a few last shots of the control room. Not a second later, an even larger group led by Cupcake entered the place. Some of them carried small valises and silver cases. The medical teams. Brioni took a deep breath. She didn’t relish facing Inu’s dirty deed but those kids would need a friendly face, not just lycans and doctors. She intended to be that friendly face. “I’ll go with you.” But just as she was about to walk away, a tiny spike from the thin yellow line caught her attention. Then again, another spike. She stared at it, waiting. The words “vital signs—receiving” flashed in the bottom left. From mostly flat, the thin yellow line spiked at more or less regular intervals.

She only noted then that particular screen’s position. The last one in the bottom right corner. The moorings around the screen looked newer than the rest as well. Yoshizumi’s eyes narrowed. He abruptly turned his head when she set her gaze on him. “Who’s at the other end of this screen?” she asked. Her heart beat hard and fast. He looked away. “Old man,” Solomon snarled. “The girl asked you a question.” A smirk much like one she’d known and sorely missed rose to Yoshizumi’s lips. He spoke in what she guessed was Japanese followed by English. “Foe unvanquished, I will not perish in the field. I will be born again, to take up the halberd seven more times.” Brioni stalked up to the man, crouched by his side. She wouldn’t manhandle an old, handicapped man but she sure would get in his face. “What’s that screen? Tell me!” “Ask the right question, use your scientific reasoning,” replied Yoshizumi. Clearly, he enjoyed this exchange. Sick bastard. “Who is that?” she demanded, pointing at the screen. The line was flat again. Sweat pearled at her temples. She felt each pore tingling at her hairline. Yoshizumi fished inside his jacket, which had Solomon rushing to press the butt of his volter directly on the man’s skull. “You be very careful about what you’re gonna do, old man.” “First answer mine,” the man said, superbly ignoring both Solomon and his weapon as he pulled a handkerchief to wipe his glistening forehead. He was sweating profusely. “Which is most important, deduction or induction?” Solomon cursed. “I’ve been patient—” “Wait!” Brioni cut in as she extended an arm in front of the lycan. “Deduction,” she said, turning to Yoshizumi. “Erm, deduction, if the premises are true, then so are the conclusions. Induction—that’s, um, that’s when the conclusion can be supported by premises but not necessarily produced by them… I swear, if you don’t tell me—” Yoshizumi smiled. Sweat literally poured down his face, which had taken on a dull, grayish tinge. “You…” He cleared his throat, coughed. “What’s wrong with you?” Solomon demanded. “You’re not dying, are you? We’re not done with you yet.” Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he sucked through his teeth as the man wiped his forehead again. His hand shook badly. “I answered your question,” Brioni remarked. She’d had enough of Inu and their craziness. She wanted answers.

His eyes rolled in the back of his head. “Argh! I hate when the motherfuckers do that,” Solomon growled, giving a shake to Yoshizumi. “Hey!” He spoke Japanese. Halting words, broken syllables. From gray, his skin turned very pale. He was dying. Brioni clenched her jaws against the rage. He was dying when she had questions to ask still, when the consequences of his actions still needed to be sorted out, when the ones he’d created would want to know why. He wheezed by the time he switched to English. “…chromium particles—unbreakable. Its only frailty was its heart.” He took a long, rattling breath. “I could never replace it…with a better machine—precise…humans are so frail.” Solomon threw his hands up. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” “What did you take?” Brioni searched his jacket, pulled the golden pen-like implement she remembered from watching Yoshizumi “work” on Haruto the day before. The thing felt smooth and cold. She hated it. Would have tossed it far from her had the man’s expression not stopped her. The black eyes focused once more. The triumphant look he gave her froze the blood in her veins. “In-indes…tructible.” Slowly, she turned her head to the wall of screens. That line. Rhythmic spikes broke it. A heartbeat? Life? “Oh my God…” Brioni pressed both hands to her mouth. “It’s him, isn’t it? That’s Haruto’s screen.” On a long, tight wheeze, Yoshizumi’s head lolled on his chest. Solomon pressed his thumb on the man’s throat, waited a short moment. “Alive but barely. Motherfucking chicken shit.” Brioni couldn’t even feel sorry for the man. Not here and now. Not after what he’d done. And especially not after the hope Haruto might—just might, good God—be alive. She jumped to her feet, slid the pen in her pocket. Stronger spikes began to break the line. She would’ve danced for joy had the fear she was wrong not tampered her hope down. “Cupcake!” she called. “Please! Come with me! I think he’s alive!” With a nod from Solomon, the giant of a man, who’d guarded the door, preceded her down the corridor. A flurry of activity hit them. Media vidcaptors buzzed around the place while doctors in civilian clothes walked by with children either in their arms or by the hand. She was heartened to see a lot of young faces guardedly relieved. One smiled at her. A tiny, skinnier version of Haruto. No more than ten at most.

God, how could these Inu people have slept at night, knowing kids languished in their cells, waiting for the next fitting, the next bit of machinery implanted in their tiny bodies? She didn’t know how they made it outside. All she knew was that if she hung on to Cupcake’s belt and didn’t let go, she covered ground at speeds she wouldn’t have been able to sustain for long. Outside, rain hit her square in the face. Destruction had leveled some parts of the fortress but others remained intact. Night still owned the windy complex but with the crowd of shuttles taking off and landing, the place was bathed in bright spots of white light. By the time they’d circumvented the thick perimeter wall, Brioni was running almost as fast as her lycan companion. By the riverbank, she slowed so she wouldn’t fall into its icy depths. By her side, Cupcake took one step for every two of hers. After they’d neared the place where Haruto had jumped—the crumbled tower had spilled over the ramparts and littered the place with broken stones—Cupcake suddenly extended a thick arm in front of her. She stumbled to a stop. “Wait here.” She craned her neck, squinted, wiped rain from her face. Darkness swallowed this part of the rampart’s base. The river rushed by. Its roar only drowned by those of thrusters above. “Why? Did you see him?” Rain coursed in rivulets on either side of his nose when he looked down at her. She felt like a kid compared to the man. “I think so.” “Where?” She meant to push past his arm but he held firm. “Cupcake! For God’s sake!” “You don’t want to see him this way,” he murmured. By a nearby shuttle’s search light, his pale eyes looked like chips of ice. Her stomach twisted painfully. But she took his calloused hand in both of hers—they barely went around. “I want to be there. I need to be there.” After an eternity waiting, Cupcake nodded. He held her hand to navigate the most treacherous parts where broken bits of tower had rolled down the embankment. They found him by the river. His lower half in the rushing current, and his torso and head wedged between rocks and debris. This had probably saved him from being swept away—and had undoubtedly broken every bone in his poor body. She floundered over and around the last few obstacles in her mad dash to reach him. At his side, she knelt as best as she could. Touched his neck with tentative fingers. None of his characteristic heat. Nothing. Her heart squeezed. She bent over, put her mouth on his. “Brioni…” Cupcake’s voice sounded so far away. A minute ribbon of breath touched her upper lip. Thank you, she chanted mentally. Thank you, thank you, thank you…

“He’s alive.” Her voice sounded strong even if she felt nothing remotely close to it. Tears joined rain on her cheeks as she held one of his hands. So long and slender. Gently, reverently, Cupcake slid his arms under Haruto’s broken body, lifted high enough for Brioni to fold his hands on his chest. A gleam of metal caught her eye. His goggles. She picked up these too, pocketed them then walked by Cupcake’s side as he carried her lover up to the fortress proper. Haruto looked like a child in Cupcake’s massive arms. As soon as they rounded the fortress limit and entered the courtyard, Brioni ran well ahead to get the medical team’s attention any way she could. She yelled, demanded, pleaded, begged and threatened. Soon, she had everyone’s attention. Including the Batista sisters and Asia, who’d come in with the rest after the initial attack. To Brioni’s shock—and renewed tears—Asia threw her arms wide and held her tight. “I’m sorry,” she murmured in Brioni’s ears. Over and over again. “It’s okay, he’s alive. I don’t know how…he fell…the tower…” “The docs will help. Liberty’s got only the best, okay.” That’d been Rio’s voice. It sounded tight. “Only the best.” They followed Cupcake and the medical personnel into the fortress. With the activity already buzzing the place, they drew little attention. One of the doctors, a tall blond with a Scandinavian air, asked her more questions than she could answer. She didn’t know half the words he used. Chromium particles… She’d heard Yoshizumi talk about that. Whatever it was. Cupcake followed this doctor and half of those who’d greeted them in the courtyard into the very room she’d seen through the decoder as Yoshizumi “worked” on Haruto. She swallowed as she surveyed the place. Metal and plastic, concrete and rubber. Sterile and cold. “You’ll be okay,” she murmured into Haruto’s ear. He couldn’t hear her, she knew. It still made her feel better. After a kiss to his blood-stained lips, she backed a few paces, was swallowed up by people with various equipment in their hands. But this time, they’d make him better. This time, they weren’t here to hurt him. She was pushed outside none too gently, told to wait in the observation room. There was such a thing here? Cupcake, his arms and canvas sleeveless vest darkened with rain and blood, gave a small nod to Brioni before leaving. With Asia by her side and the Batista sisters clearing the way, they climbed up metal grille stairs and emerged into a sort of tubular, upright tunnel made of unpainted concrete. Unforgiving fluorescents lit the room she’d just left. No seat here. She didn’t need one. Her hands on the railing around the clear thermoplastic panel, she slid to her knees. “He’ll pull through,” Asia murmured as she joined her on the concrete floor. Circles darkened the teen’s usually clear green eyes. Her black hair was a mess of curls. She nodded. “Plus, he’s just too damn stubborn to drop the bone.” Brioni chuckled through her tears. Wiping her nose with the cuff of her sleeve, she nodded. “Yeah. That guy’s stubborn.”

“Solomon said to tell you the old man’s in a coma. Who is it?” Yoshizumi. “The monster who created all this. Who wanted to turn Haruto into a machine.” Asia snorted. “Smiley’s way, way too bitchy to be a machine. That old guy’s high.” The teen’s irreverence brought another smile to Brioni’s face and a boon to her heart. Asia had suffered too. She’d lost Allan and found out a most awful truth afterward. It couldn’t be easy. “I’m sorry,” Brioni began, searching for words as she went. “I’m sorry for Allan. I wish—” “He’s gone,” Asia cut in. “Smiley’s here. Let’s focus on that, okay.” With the young woman’s hand in hers, Brioni leaned her forehead against the thermoplastic and watched, chewing her nails until they bled, as the medical personnel tried to bring Haruto back from the brink.

Later, much later, the doctor she thought looked Scandinavian appeared in the doorway behind her. Asia had fallen asleep on the concrete floor, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arm bent under her head. She looked incredibly uncomfortable. The doctor motioned for Brioni to follow him, which she did. Her legs had cramped with the time she’d spent kneeling or sitting cross-legged. Slowly at first, she padded out of the observation room and joined him sitting on the topmost stair. “Is he going to be okay?” The doctor nodded. He rubbed his hair back. “I’ve seen all kinds of genetic manipulations. Or I thought I had. That man should be dead.” He turned to stare at her. “No one should have survived that fall. Every system in his body shut down. He had more broken bones than—” Brioni raised her hand. “The good news, Doc. I don’t think I can take much more of this.” “He’s alive. He’s back together. I wish I could take the credit but I can’t. Whatever they did to him, it allowed his systems to repair themselves, heal the skin wounds, mend the broken bones. Even on the cellular level, any decay that occurred during his, erm, his temporary ‘shutdown’ was turned back. It’s as if nothing ever happened to him. He’s a complicated—” She stared hard at him. “He’s a complex person.” “So he’s back one hundred percent?”

The doc nodded. “I also took care of a tracking implant they’d put in his cranium. At least, I can take credit for that. But yes, he’ll be all right. Except for the residual effects of drugs—we had to pump him continually because his body kept fighting it off.” He grimaced. “Except for one thing…” Brioni’s instincts were instantly on alert. “Yes…?” “We discovered something odd. There’s a plate, a sort of trigger. It’s directly linked to his transformation abilities, to the lycan part of him. From what little we’ve gathered so far, I think the people here could trigger the lycan elements with that thing. The problem is, we don’t know where it is. None of the others like him have this trigger. Some of them aren’t even lycans per se.” “I think I know what you’re looking for.” She slipped her hand in her pocket to retrieve the gold pen she’d taken from Yoshizumi. “Could this be it? I’ve seen them press this thing on Haruto’s chest. He changed right after.” The doctor took the item, turned it around. “Yeah, that’s probably it. The same marking on the tip here. See?” He showed her the tiny engravings depicting a handprint with an eye in the middle. She’d never even seen it. “The same as on the plate.” “So that thing, it’s like a kind of remote trigger?” The doctor nodded, gave her the pen back. “That’s my guess too. We’ll need to research more, try to decipher Inu’s records. It’ll take years.” He suddenly looked tired and much older than his apparent early forties. A yawn puffed his throat. He tried to stifle it but she could still tell. “Don’t you want to keep it?” she asked. He shook his head, stood. “I wouldn’t want that kind of power over someone. A man should be allowed to carry his own lock and key, you know.” Brioni shook his hand, watched him lumber down the stairs. Over the railing, she called to him. “Excuse me! What’s your name?” He looked up. Dark circles underlined his blue eyes but he smiled nonetheless. “Hans Kulig.” “Thanks, Hans. I won’t forget what you did here.” Sadness washed over his expression. “Me, I’ll try my damnedest to forget what I did here.” Nodding, she pocketed the pen-like instrument. The doctor was right. Haruto should be the one to have it. No one should have that much power over someone else.

Chapter Twelve

The ocarina felt smooth and cool in his hands. He blew the last note eyes closed. Long after the ghostly sound had faded away, Haruto heard it float in the air like sweet perfume. It’d been a good day. He’d accompanied the resistance’s lycan strike teams into the “good” part of Seoul, had stolen a couple of generators then returned to the underground without losing a single member. He didn’t care about them personally, but they needed all able-bodied persons. Resistance. The word made him sneer. Resist what? The inevitable, the inescapable, the unwanted? Why fight against the current when it was so easy to just let it take one along the path nature had carved out of the earth? Just sit back and let life pass by. Less painful that way. Less complicated. But he’d given “the resistance” a try. He’d been bored with his life anyway. Protecting and escorting his employees across town on their rendezvous had quickly turned from entertaining—even educational—to mind-numbingly dull. What did he have to lose but a few hours of his time? So here he was, bona fide member of the resistance, taking orders from a teen with more mouth than manners—Asia was probably the only one who could get away with it…and in a sense, he enjoyed her blunt honesty. But what made that day special was noticing one woman. He’d seen her before a few times. She was cute in an old-fashioned “Goth” kind of way. And also a human calculator as far as he was concerned. But it hadn’t been Brioni’s impressive mental faculties that had required him to consciously focus on something other than her face during the next incursion’s meeting. It’d been her smile. It’d not only lit up the war room but also every dark recess in his soul. He’d felt…revived. As stupid as it sounded. Saved. Yet what could a girl like her want with a guy like him? He was the antithesis of her luminous personality, the antipode of her vibrant temperament. She was light. He was a dark pit. But it didn’t preclude him from watching her, which he did. Later, as he sat in front of his untouched meal in the cafeteria, getting ready to leave, Haruto’s heart had skipped a beat when two young women came in. Brioni nodded to him. He replied in kind. Because of the goggles, no one could guess what he was looking at. He didn’t care. Let them wonder. But he felt a bit awkward staring so hard at Brioni while she prepared her meal then sat to eat her bowl of noodles. Simple things. Ordinary, everyday things. Yet the most sensual to him. The few women he’d known in his years between escaping Inu and finding the resistance hadn’t excited him sprawled naked on his bed as much as Brioni did full-clothed and eating her lunch. He was probably being a cretin but couldn’t help it. Her every gesture and smile made him want to sit by her side for the

simple pleasure of basking in her glow. And she chewed her nails when she crunched numbers, which was incredibly sexy to him. So normal and human. So unlike him. Her friend, a tall redhead with freckles and a ready smile, said something. They both snorted in laughter. Haruto caught himself wanting to smile. He relegated the urge to some automatic activation from mirroring behavior. Still, he had to fight hard not to grin at the way Brioni mimed a surprised reaction, complete with gesticulation, only to knock her chopsticks out of the bowl and create the thing she’d just imitated. Both young women seemed on the edge of choking on their food. Others in the cafeteria joined in the fun. Sitting with his back against the wall and his face angled down at his untouched bowl, Haruto abandoned all pretense. Brioni couldn’t see him anyway. He smiled at her antics. Rio entered the room, spotted him then made a beeline for him in the corner. He felt his smile crystallize at the corners, turn into the smirk that had made him infamous—Asia’s nickname of “Smiley” had come to his ear. Coming from her, he didn’t mind. The tall brunette stood in the exact spot that blocked his view of the chuckling young women. “Move,” he said low in his throat. “We have to go. Vonatos needs us for a job.” Rio put her fists on her hips and waited. He sighed, dropped his spoon in his soup. “So?” Rio rolled her eyes. “Just come, would you, and keep the attitude for those who’re impressed.” Haruto leaned over ever-so slightly so he could catch a last glimpse of the smiling Brioni. The Batista older sister turned to see what he was looking at, shook her head then faced him once more. With an “I’m wise and you’re not” expression, she remarked that they weren’t “his type”. “And who made you a pro on my tastes?” But she’d highlighted a fact—Brioni wasn’t for him. They were nothing alike. Haruto stood, buttoned his coat up to his neck. “Does Vonatos always have so many pet projects? Is he lonely?” Rio shook her head. “You’re such an asshole.” For the first time he could remember, Haruto regretted someone speaking the truth about him, and regretted that, indeed, he was such an asshole.

***** Surfacing from murky depths. Air in his lungs, both burning and a cool balm.

He woke to the familiar sensation of cold in his extremities and the emotionless talk of medical personnel. Except for two differences. One, he felt practically no discomfort—something potent laced his blood, he recognized the effects of painkillers. And two, he heard them speak of ways to “fix” the terrible things that had been done to him. Fix? Not enhance, sharpen or strengthen? Improve, hone, change or advance? “Fix?” he heard a voice mumble. His? “Shit, he’s awake,” said a woman. Older, gravelly voice. “Give him another shot.” He felt the familiar ring of cold from an injector and heard the swish of something being injected in his bloodstream. “You’ll be all right, young man. Just let the meds take you away.” Someone patted his shoulder. Seconds later, he felt himself drifting away again. His last thought was of ice-blue eyes sparkling through a shock of purple-and-black hair. Haruto smiled.

Later, a sound woke him. How much later? He couldn’t tell. Not cold anymore. Silence around him except for that tiny sound in discordant little bursts. Someone was messing with a flute. Not loudly, but with his hearing, he could hear a pin land across the room. His ocarina. Then he recognized her smell. “Don’t…” He cleared his throat. So raw. “Don’t give up your day job.” Her chuckles would’ve smoothed everything away had he been able to forget the last time he saw her. Escaping from Inu’s crumbling fortress. The insurance he’d given them that he was dead, that there’d be no need for Inu to hunt her down, looking for him. But here he was. They’d come looking again. She wouldn’t be safe. Didn’t she understand? It had to be this way. What did he have to do, climb into a space ship booster? He stirred, flexed some muscles. Everything felt fine. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t died. But he knew he had. At least for a while. He remembered the wind in his face as he jumped from the parapet and how rain had felt like tiny rocks on his denuded head as he plunged into the darkness. Then impact. His breath knocked out of him. Excruciating pain for a few seconds then oblivion. And now this. But as selfish as this made him, he was glad to be with her again, even if he’d have to make sure this time would be the last.

“Can I do something?” she offered. Her voice sounded closer. Haruto could feel nothing pressing on the bridge of his nose. His goggles were gone. Shit. He kept his eyes closed as he turned to the sound of her approaching. Felt cold and gentle hands cup his. Heat transferred. He felt her palms growing warmer and this, for no logical reason he could find, pleased and thrilled him. He could do something other than cause pain. He could warm this good woman’s hands. If he was nothing else, if he meant nothing else, he was at least that. With her free hand, she fiddled with the crisp sheets and the softest blanket he’d ever felt, tucked them along his side and thigh, adjusted them until she must have been satisfied. He let her fuss. No one had ever fussed over his comfort. It felt good. She felt good. He squeezed the hand still in his. “You scared the shit out of me,” she remarked, sighed, went on more gently. “I thought you were gone.” Haruto turned his head to face away. Maybe she wouldn’t see his expression. The fear and anger. “You shouldn’t have. Inu will find me again. He’ll use you and hurt you and he’ll find me again.” “Jesus,” she cried out. “Would you just let me love you!” He only managed not to let his shock open his eyes. His heart beat hard and fast. A tingling of adrenaline spread to his limbs. His belly cramped with muscular impulses. She loved him…? How could she when they were so disparate? He was slipping. Fast. “You shouldn’t.” “Well, I do and that’s that. Plus, he’ll never find you again. He’s in a coma.” Again, not opening his eyes proved hard. Could it be? The mighty master of the Brilliant Fortress, Inu’s representative in the United Koreas? In a coma? “When? How?” “Two days ago. Yoshizumi tried to kill himself. Poison. Solomon said it was some kind of cyanide-based compound and that it ate through the man like acid. But that’s not important.” Her voice sounded closer. She pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You’re back, and that’s the only thing I care about.” “Yoshizumi? That’s his name?” A Japanese name, like his. “You didn’t know? After all that time?” “They were always very careful never to name one another. And I was always ‘the specimen’.” “You’re Haruto,” she replied with aplomb. “You’re a person, with an identity and a name, and you have friends.”

Haruto wanted to say something but snapped his mouth closed when he heard the rustle, felt the faint brush of fabric against his naked arm. She pressed an object into his hands. “Here. I cleaned and fixed them for you. Good as new.” His goggles. He felt it as clearly as if he’d stood outside on a street corner. He had a choice. This way or that way? Trust her with his freaky eyes or stay hidden, keep this barrier between them. “Have you seen vids of me? From my time here?” “Some. Not much.” She was such a bad liar. “My eyes…” he began, had to clear his throat. “They’re not—” Brioni’s fingers landed on his lips. “Shh. You don’t have to do anything you don’t feel one hundred percent comfortable with. Okay? You don’t owe me anything. I’m okay with them. They’re part of you.” What if he opened his eyes, naked and without the goggles? Would she recoil in horror as others had? Would she stare in curiosity? Could he share himself with Brioni, so completely and trustingly? Because in the end, it was all about trust. Could he trust her with this? “You know I’d trust you with my life.” “I know,” Brioni replied. Her voice felt tight. Was she crying? He had to know. He had to trust. Goggles in a fist on the mattress, Haruto opened his eyes.

She’d dimmed the room’s lights. Pulled the curtains on the lone window of the room in “their” apartment. The same Inu had given them. A lot had happened in the last two days. She’d probably be looking at months of mental processing. So much around which to wrap her brain. Cristoval had wanted her to sift through Inu’s records, those still readable anyway since Inu had pretty much cleaned its slate. Yoshizumi had chosen to stay when everyone fled. She couldn’t explain it. Made no sense. Why stay? He’d said Inu had pruned the tree. Obviously, this facility was a mere part of what made Inu, which was hundreds of years old if she correctly remembered her conversation with the old man. With the help of Liberty’s forensic accountants, Vonatos and she had spent an entire night piecing together Inu’s web of research facilities and financiers. They’d even found records of the place in which Cristoval and Dragana had been held. There was money from Europe and from the Americas, from the oligarchic nations of Russia and Norway. The Global Alliance of Nations and its shadow enforcer, Iron Conclave, were infinitely small portions of Inu’s realm of power. Two of its many puppets.

Brioni rubbed her eyes. Since Haruto’s broken body had been found, a headache had taken permanent residence behind her eyeballs. But everything faded away now. When Haruto opened his eyes, nothing else mattered. He was letting her see this part of him he’d so guardedly hidden. He was showing her his eyes! Willingly. When she’d never known of him doing so with someone else, he was sharing this with her. But she now knew why he always wore the goggles. Brioni fought the impulse to cringe. His eyes… Black. Entirely black. No white cornea, colored irises or pupils. Two orbs that looked a lot like his metallic fangs and claws and that underlined the extent of the modifications Inu had performed on this man. Black metal eyes. Haruto stared at her. How could she know when the man had no iris or pupil by which to judge? She couldn’t explain it except that he was looking at her. She could feel it, see it somehow. And he waited. For a reaction. Anxiety tightened his mouth. Or perhaps it was fear. Of her pushing him away. Or that she’d react with revulsion or shock. He’d shared this personal sliver of his soul with her and she’d make damn sure he didn’t regret it. He temporarily closed his black eyes again when she pressed a gentle kiss on each of his eyelids. “You didn’t have to do this,” she whispered in his ear, “but I’m glad you did.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tight. For the first few seconds, he only rested his hands on her back. But as though a dam had been breached he squeezed her hard. Gradually, his arms tightened until she had to sit by the edge of the bed from the force of his embrace. “I love you too,” he murmured in her ear. “So much.” Something poked her in the thigh. The pen. “Is something wrong?” he asked, pulling away. His black eyes glistened when he rolled them from her face to the door. Scanning. Ready to fight. “I have something for you. Well, it’s, erm, it’s yours to begin with.” She cleared her throat as she pulled the golden item from her pocket. Haruto’s sharp intake of air broke her heart. She felt him tense. “The doctors. They said this can be used to force you to change. I’ve seen the old man do it.” His eyes narrowed. It felt so strange to see the expression flash in them, despite the lack of iris or pupil. “I recognize it.” Fingers steady despite the rage she saw in his face, he opened his palm for her to drop the pen. She did. He didn’t close his hand, just looked at the item in it. As if he were loath to touch the golden implement. It must have reminded him of Yoshizuma. Of the pain and ill-treatment.

“You keep it,” he said at length. “But you’ll need it. What if something happens to me—” Haruto shook his head. “Then nothing else would matter, would it? I trust no one else but you with this. Not me, not any doctor. I want you to keep it.” Tears in her eyes once more—she was turning into a blubbering idiot—Brioni took the pen and reverently slid it back into her pocket. The subtle poke in her thigh and light weight belied the import of such a small item. She had a man’s fate in her pocket. Literally. And his trust as well. Coupled with Yoshizumi’s blood tie with Haruto, that she held two great pieces of the puzzle this man represented should’ve burdened her, crushed with responsibilities. It did neither. She felt buoyed and trusted, honored that a man such as him would trust her with this. And she intended to live up to that trust. No matter what. She would protect him from his father’s identity and would guard his lycan half with her life. Haruto took her hand and kissed each of her fingertips. “You made yourself bleed over me?” She looked down and cringed. She’d really done a number on her nails. “It’s scary not being able to do anything—” A portable decoder she’d borrowed from Rio bleeped on the dresser. Haruto snarled a tight “fuck” that made her smile. She would’ve ignored the bleeping thing but couldn’t as easily overlook the demanding banging on the living room door. The panel rattled in its frame. “Brioni! Haruto!” She recognized Fortaleza’s voice through the panel. Brioni sighed long and hard while Haruto let her go to slip his goggles back on. “I’ll go get it, all right?” Some personal belongings had been salvaged from the underground resistance’s former home. She’d been lucky enough to get a full garbage bag of her stuff back. She was glad to wear her own clothes again, even if they smelled like an old ashtray. As she adjusted her knee-length purple tunic and wide black pants, she stomped to the door, yanked the thick panel wide. “What?” The Batista sisters, both dressed in bits of armor and armed to the teeth, stood close enough to kiss. “Trouble,” Fortaleza announced. “They want your guy’s ass.” “What? Who does?”

Rio raised an imperious hand to silence her younger sister, who fumed and shifted from one foot to the other. “Cristoval said to tell you that shit has really hit the fan about what he did to Minister Deng—” “It was Inu that did it, not him! I told Cristoval.” “Well, you can tell it to the security detail that’s on its way here right now. Solomon only learned about it ’bout five minutes ago. You guys need to haul ass.” Fortaleza didn’t seem at all sorry by the turn of affairs. Probably still chewing on Haruto refusing to shake her hand or even acknowledge her. This was so damn unfair! Brioni’s hands began to shake with repressed fury. Haruto had thrown himself off a tower to save them all. Didn’t that atone for what he’d done to the minister? “I don’t care—” Cristoval rounded the corner leading to her apartment. By that time, Haruto was standing by her side, a very close match to his old black coat reaching a couple inches off the ground. He flicked the collar up. His goggles reflected the three women’s faces then Cristoval when he joined them just outside the apartment. A five-o’clock shadow darkened Cristoval’s hollow cheeks and gave his dramatic eyes even more character. “I’ve arranged for a transfer off-planet,” he said to Haruto. He had a full head and a half over the lithe man. “No extradition law.” He turned to Brioni, his expression softening. “I’m sorry. We need to buy some time until Minister Deng’s death can be fully investigated. Plus, Liberty’s working her contacts and so is Eva. We’ll find a way to bring him home.” Haruto smirked. “My home is here.” Brioni opened her mouth to argue, thinking he meant the building but snapped it shut when she saw that he was pointing at her. It’d probably kill his reputation but she slipped her hand in his. He squeezed it. “Where he goes, I go,” she declared. Haruto nodded. Cristoval’s eyes narrowed for a few seconds then with a quick nod turned away. “You don’t have much time to get ready.” “We’re ready now.” Brioni checked her watch. Two o’clock. The black cat looked as if it were waving both its front paws in the air. Its tail twitched with every second. They trooped behind Cristoval as they had when preparing for a raid. Like the good old times. Or the bad old times. She wasn’t sure of anything anymore. Except for one thing. She linked her fingers with Haruto’s. He didn’t seem to mind holding hands in public. An urge to chuckle, despite the dire situation, forced her to cover her mouth as they emerged from the fortress and into brilliant daylight. Even Haruto stopped to look up. She hadn’t seen the sun in months. No one had. There were some clouds, sure, but not like usual. A group of kids went running by, some of them much faster than the

others, depending on their genetic makeup. She spotted one of the younger boys who looked so much like Haruto running circles around the rest, to general delight. He grinned wide. A figure detached itself from the main rampart and approached. Asia joined Cristoval and spoke a few words to him as they rushed out of the main courtyard. Noise and activity drowned the conversation. Shuttles were taking off and landing at regular intervals, using the complex’s grounds as pads. One such shuttle waited with its side hatch slid completely back. Dormant, thrusters glowed wine-red, ready to blaze bright white for take-off. Strangely, she didn’t feel as if she left anything or anyone behind. There would be comms and vidcaptors. They’d speak and see anyone they wished. She’d link home as much as possible. No, all in all, she was going to be just fine. They trooped around the shuttle. A pair of men she’d only seen a few times waited inside. They left the passenger area and slipped into both pilots’ seats. The thrusters rumbled with renewed life. The stunted wings and tail twisted and lowered with pre-flight check. Cargo containers in puke-orange had been stacked behind the passenger seats. Cristoval wrapped his arms around Asia and held her close while Rio and Fortaleza made their goodbyes. Haruto didn’t even pretend to listen as he checked inside the shuttle, must have deemed it worthy of her presence because he held out his hand for her to take. “Wait. I’d like to get a hug too.” She chuckled when he curled his lip and sat on the hatch’s stepladder. Cristoval finally let go of Asia. “Link to me as soon as you reach orbit, okay?” The teen nodded, rubbing her sleeve over her eyes. “I will.” “Where are we going anyway?” Brioni asked. Cristoval’s voice sounded tight on the first few words. He cleared his throat. “Solomon’s ship. It’s shrouded so no one knows where it is and a skeleton crew keeps it in high orbit. The captain is an old friend of Eva’s and can be trusted.” A shrouded ship. Whoa. She couldn’t imagine the hirsute lycan owning such a fancy ship. He’d probably stolen it from GAN. From a few paces away, Rio turned and indicated to Asia to join them. “No. I’m going with the Goth Fairy and Smiley.” Rio seemed about to argue but one look from Cristoval and she nodded. “I’ll see you soon then. Don’t cause trouble.” Her Portuguese accent made the word sound decadent. Trrrah-bull. “You’re coming with us?” Brioni extended her arm for Asia to wrap around her shoulders. “You two’ll need someone to keep things smooth. You’ll need me.”

When she turned, she caught Haruto giving the teen a small nod and a smile that disappeared a nanosecond later. But it’d been there. Cristoval shoved his hands in his pockets. His self-appointed niece grinned through the tears and waved. “Be careful,” he admonished. “Yes, Father,” Asia replied with a nasal voice. He joined her laughing then turned to leave. “Hey, don’t I get a hug?” Brioni opened both her arms. The much taller and larger man scooped her up in a bear hug. “The docs told me about the thing,” he whispered. “The trigger. Does he have it?” “I do. He wants me to keep it.” Cristoval put her back on the ground. He smiled. One of the rare occurrences he did. “Smart man.” They parted as the shuttle thrusters turned amber. Heat vortices distorted her view of the fortress as she joined Haruto by the hatch. He held her hand while she climbed, slid the hatch shut without a backward glance. Clearly, he wasn’t leaving anything special behind.

***** When she exited the bathroom, showered and still shivering from the difference in temperatures caused by the heated body lotion, Brioni caught Haruto smoothing the cover on the bed. Carefully, in slow strokes. Long and knowing hands she loved so much. Lotus flowers in her favorite color rested all along the dresser and headboard. His ocarina glimmered softly on the night table. “Where did you find flowers?” she asked, awed. Wearing only a smirk and nothing else, not even his goggles—which he took off only when they were alone together—he turned and cupped one of the flower heads. “No big deal. They’re not real.” Just like him to play down something this special. “I don’t care, they are to me.” She put her fingers to her silvery pendant. A habit she’d picked up. The data it contained had been copied and sent over links to a few people for safekeeping. But still, there was a certain weight to the information it contained. She made a bowl of her hands to receive the bright purple lotus and realized they were made of paper. Tiny creases and folds filled with shadows in the dimly lit cabin. Outside, the inscrutable blackness of space pressed against the large porthole. She wished they could see Earth from their position in high orbit. They could from the lounge. From the outside, the deceiving ship resembled a

rusty old freighter, but inside, state-of-the-art and expensive systems—including shrouding capability—and only the best for a ship that had, she’d learned since boarding, once belonged to the Iron Conclave but which Solomon had stolen “fair and square”. “I didn’t know you could do origami. That’s beautiful.” “That’s what they had me practice my dexterity on when I was too small to hold a gun.” She grimaced, shook her head. “I’m sorry.” “I was joking, Brioni. Can’t you tell?” He rolled his black metal eyes, patted the bed. “Lie down.” Haruto? Joking? What was she doing to the poor guy? She was a bad influence. “Oh, I think you forgot…” She paused for dramatic effect, held the lotus between her lips so she could make her hands into pulsing “stars”. “The magic word,” she said through her teeth. “Now?” They shared a quiet grin as she lay prone on the bed and leaned her chin on her crossed forearms. He must have cranked the heat to maximum because she was hot, and she’d spent the last week shivering and adding sweaters overtop sweaters. Haruto walked around the ship in a T-shirt and pants. Barefoot. She gave it fifteen minutes before Asia came pounding on the door to remind them they needed every iota of energy. The crew—a family of four with parents in their fifties and two sons—had begun to jokingly call her Empress. One of the sons, Brioni suspected, had a major crush on Asia. Speaking of parents, she’d need to open a link to hers through one of Cristoval’s secure channels. They must have been worried sick. She’d get an earful. Haruto delicately placed one of the origami lotuses in the small of her back. The corners prickled her skin. “I like when you do that.” She closed her eyes, sighed. “Do what?” “Squeeze your butt like that.” She groaned. He ran a hand up her thigh, over her butt and along her back. “Cute.” Brioni felt another flower join the first. One more shiver followed the others. Even if he could—and had—killed people with one hand, had anyone told her “Smiley” would turn out to be such a gentle and romantic man, she never would’ve believed them. Although she’d always known there was more than met the eye. More than the attitude and the smirk, more than the long leather coat and goggles. More than what Inu thought they’d made. The more layers she discovered of his personality, the deeper her love for him. When it would’ve been easy to hate everyone and everything, Haruto tried.

Around her he tried—to give people a chance, to keep a leash on his sniper comments. That was all she ever asked of people. That they try to get along. Life was too short to butt heads all the time with everyone about everything. It was too short and too precious. “Where do you go when you do that?” he breathed in her ear. A light kiss made the skin of her neck pebble. “Do what?” “When you daydream like that? Where do you go?” She twisted to look into his face. God, he was beautiful. Skin like satin the color of wet sand, lean muscles cording with every move. And some hair was coming back. Finally. “You never daydream?” He lay by her side, propped up on an elbow. “I wouldn’t know where to go.” A third paper flower alit between her shoulder blades. Then a series along the juncture of her legs. “You’re like a garden,” he whispered. “Beautiful.” When he knelt on all fours over her and began to kiss her back and shoulders, her thighs and calves and created shivers of pleasure, Brioni decided this moment had to be the best ever. His hand pressed home high between her thighs, found her sex, wet and ready, and rubbed small circles while he hummed the tune he often played on his ocarina. Brioni would’ve loved remaining immobile, partly because she didn’t want to damage all those exquisite origami lotuses, but couldn’t fight the impulses his fingers triggered. She rolled her hips back, pressed her elbows in the mattress. Haruto met her slow rolls with a finger sliding in, pulling out to gather more juices, going back in at the perfect angle. The pillow absorbed her first moan, but not the series of long whimpers as Haruto’s finger became two. In and out, small rolls. Her lower back burned from trying to follow his circles. Brioni gasped when he lay on her. She parted her legs wider. His cock replaced his fingers. On a leisurely roll, he pushed in. She exhaled through the nose, a lungful that turned to a moan, a whimper that tapered to shocked little gasps of delight as Haruto bucked the last inch in. “Mmm, you liked that?” His breath in her ear felt like velvet. She didn’t need to reply in words. The copious fluids that rewarded them both transcended mere words. He knew she liked it. She knew that he knew. A perfect little circle.

He’d read somewhere that love could blind a man. In his case, it was the other way around. Despite the technology with which he’d been changed and sharpened, he’d been blind. Not until he’d met Brioni had he seen for the first time. There were good people. The species wasn’t doomed to

annihilate itself. When he’d revealed his eyes to Brioni, fully expecting her to recoil or at least have some reaction, she’d merely cocked her head, those bright blue eyes of hers expressing nothing but affection. No shock, no horror. He didn’t think he could’ve survived her revulsion. Haruto stretched out on top of her. He grabbed her wrists and pulled up so she lay likewise, stretched like a plank. They connected from wrists to ankles. He loved it. His abdominals worked hard as he pulled out to the glans and glided back in deep. Again, he bucked to push the last inch of him. And again, she gasped in pleasure. The anticipation, the excitement mounted. He knew where this would end. Fire licked his balls. His heat seeped into her flesh and everywhere he touched her. Which meant everywhere. Period. A roll of hips. Another sneaky little thrust at the end of a slow and gentle penetration. Brioni’s groans grew louder. And louder. Turned higher. This was how life felt. To love and be loved in return by a woman like her. Strong and smart and beautiful. Haruto’s heart swelled with pride. And she was all his.

Brioni’s left leg couldn’t go any wider because of the bulkhead along which the bed was set, but her right, she pushed outward to make more room for her lover to do his magic. And he did. Slow and tender, he pushed himself in to the hilt, still humming and kissing the back of her shoulders and head. Heat built. Muscles cramped. Close. “Ahh…” As she came, Haruto froze with his cock sheathed deep in her. Time stood still. Frissons coursed over her and inside her and through each limb and every nerve ending. She ceased to exist. No emotion. No sense of self. Stars must have stopped their celestial course and the universe itself undoubtedly held its breath because as she hardened all over with a diamond-hard orgasm, everything stopped. A precious moment of pure clarity and stillness. A split second later, the dam breached. A kaleidoscope of colors, a scree of sensations over her shaking body, a cacophony of sounds—her heartbeat king of them all. Her voice broke on a note that deflated her lungs. Satisfaction, ecstasy, joy. “I love you,” she heard Haruto whisper in her ear. Her heart quieted, as did the throbbing in her sex. Wetness coated her thighs and his. Yet it was all hers because she knew he hadn’t come. “You…you holding out?” she panted. “I took care of that in the shower.”

A snort of unladylike laughter escaped her. Chuckling, she twisted her neck to look at him. He settled comfortably on the back of her. She humph-ed. He was much heavier than he appeared. “Took care of that, did you?” “Why not? I was thinking of you, if that’s what you’re wondering about.” “See? You daydream too.” “That’s not daydreaming.” Brioni yawned. Her muscles ached, her pussy felt nice and slick. A perfect world. “What time is it?” He leaned to the side to retrieve her watch, had to turn it over a few times before he found the right way up. “That thing’s more for show than anything. It’s three-oh-five.” “There’s nothing wrong with having a watch that’s—” The comms panel above the headboard had just lit up in shades of blue and aqua. A text-only message that flashed across the tiny screen read Forwarded from Asia. Solomon—New GAN chancellor elected, not pro-lycan, Purple-Hair to work on attached files from Vonatos. Old man died. The last line hit Brioni the hardest. She’d fully expected Yoshizumi to die from the massive amount of poison he’d taken. Yet the simple words Old man died impacted her. She threw a surreptitious glance at Haruto, who only frowned as he sat on the edge of the bed. “He’s calling you Purple-Hair?” “I’m sure it’s a term of endearment. That old man, it’s Yoshizumi.” Haruto shrugged with one shoulder. “I don’t care. He was never anything but a hated face to me.” She almost told him. Came that close to revealing the man’s identity and his link to Haruto but stopped herself. Her lover didn’t need to know. Not now. Not ever. She’d decided to be the guardian of that painful information and she’d do her job. If there came a time when she thought Haruto wanted to know more about his genetic background, then, maybe, she’d tell him. But for now, she intended to make sure nothing and no one—not even from beyond the grave—could hurt him. He’d suffered enough. Brioni knelt behind him to rub his shoulders. He hadn’t even sweated and she was still panting. “Solomon was talking about scrambling his lycan team once again. If this new chancellor is anything like Vonatos senior, then we’re in for a lot of trouble. Did you watch the news last night?” He rolled his shoulders and let his head loll on his chest when she rubbed a particular spot between his shoulder blades. “No.”

“On the UniOne channel, they had different anchorpersons, came up with some half-baked story about the others retiring and whatnot. You should’ve seen their cover of what happened with Minister Deng. Not good, Haruto. Not good at all. I think something’s going on behind closed doors.” “Something always is. Keep rubbing that spot, mmm.” Brioni smiled to herself, despite the dire turn of events. There’d be plenty of time for trouble later on. Right now was for Haruto and her. “Where were we?” she whispered in his ear, kissed the shell. Haruto turned too fast for her to even yelp. He grabbed her by an arm, overbalanced her so she landed on his lap facing up. Hungry and demanding, his mouth landed on hers and stole her breath away. He sucked the pendant into his mouth, held it there in his teeth then dropped it. He pulled back. The smirk broke all records on the Wicked Scale. “I think we were at the point where I fuck you senseless.” “Oy! My virgin ears!” she laughed, hands clamped to ears. “There won’t be a single virgin anything when I’m done with you.” She bounced her eyebrows. “Bring it on.”

Author Note

When the character Yoshizumi makes his last stand in the control room, he quotes a short poem from Imperial Japanese Army general and samurai from a long line of samurais Kuribayashi Tadamichi. Foe unvanquished, I will not perish in the field I will be born again to take up the halberd seven more times

About the Author

I am a mother, spouse, older sister, writer, ex-soldier, high school drop-out, dog owner (or dog owned), half couch potato/half intermittent jogger, wannabe renovator and avid reader who watches too much television, sinks too much money in clothes, likes animals more than humans, recycles, wore

braces, never downloads copyrighted stuff, was a nerd without the grades, has a belly laugh that turns heads in theaters, can’t stand bullying, is mother hawk more than mother hen, votes even if candidates aren’t that great and thinks formal education is highly overrated (probably because she has none).

Nathalie welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and e-mail address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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