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She’s quirky, with one side of her head shaved and the other covered in lush, long burnt-orange hair. Is she shorter than most women, or is this a normal human height? I wonder what she would look like when her forehead isn’t furrowed, her brows aren’t slanted down in angry slashes, and her mouth isn’t in a flat, furious line.
“You—” I cut myself off before I urge her to leave. She can’t leave. If knowledge of the splicers’ existence gets out before the military has time to prepare the public or do damage control, it puts all of us at risk. We’ve suffered enough!
How do I keep a civilian—and her headstrong dog—here against her wishes? Should I contact Colonel Slater now, or wait?
“You’ve stumbled into a top-secret military base.”
Her shoulders droop and she nods. “I wondered…” She gestures behind her. “The brand-new fence.”
“Yes. And…” I gesture toward my rack, my hairy legs and my stumpy tail, “me.”
“Holy. Shit.” Then she looks at me, her eyes wide, perhaps in unspoken apology because most others would construe her “holy shit” comment as rude. “I’m sorry. I mean… I didn’t mean…”
Seeing a splicer for the first time must be shocking. I grew up around humans, albeit evil ones. Even being in the presence of a human female for the first time in my life couldn’t be as surprising as what’s reflected on her face as her gaze slides up and down my frame.
“No offense taken. I’m Sylas, by the way.”
“Calliope Quinn. You can call me Cally.” She reaches out a hand to shake, then not only snatches it back, but retreats an extra step.
“We have a problem, Calliope Quinn.” I’m not sure why I didn’t take her up on her offer to call her Cally. Perhaps it’s because my body doesn’t need the smallest invitation of intimacy. I’m already easing out of fight or flight and returning to the insistent state of rut that forced me to the far corner of the property.
By the way her face drains of color, it appears she might have already figured out what I’m about to say.
“I’m a genetic hybrid. We call ourselves splicers. There are one hundred of us on this property. The press, and then the general populace, will eat us alive when they find out about us. Until certain things slot into place, our existence must remain a secret. The Commanding Officer isn’t going to allow you and Tater Tot to leave. Not after what you’ve seen.”
I haven’t felt my predator instincts so close to the surface since the evil scientists who bred me forced me to use them. Somehow, though, I know she’s about to bolt. The moment her muscles tense in preparation to make a break for it, I say, “I can take you to the ground in two seconds flat, Cally. Don’t run. I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s talk. See if we can work something out.”
Why did I offer that? There’s nothing to work out. Colonel Slater will never allow her off the property. Nor should he. It would endanger us all.
Chapter Five
Cally
I’ve never been so terrified in my life. My lips are trembling and my hands are shaking as I wonder if I’m going to survive this encounter. This guy—animal? monster?—has to be well over six feet tall even without the impressive rack on his head. He threatened to kick Tater into the next county, and by the thick muscles in his thighs, I think he could do it without much effort.
Even with Tater’s teeth firmly imbedded in Sylas’s ankle, I’m convinced he could still beat me to that hole under the fence if I make a break for it.
Sylas hasn’t taken a step toward me. There’s no menace in his expression. What’s scarier than him is his threat of what the military might do.
“Are you suggesting the military might… kill me?” My voice quavered on those last two words. All my bravado and empty threats are gone.
“No. No.” He almost takes a step in my direction, then thinks better of it and stays where he is. I noticed his hairy legs before, but now I’m struck by his shiny black hooves. “The commanding officer isn’t like that. Rumor has it that if something like this happened, they would hold the trespasser in the brig until they announce the project to the public.”
Relief flies through me when he denies I’ll be killed, but then my mind does the math. If this guy ages like a human, he has to be around thirty years old. If the public doesn’t know about him—them—yet, how many more decades will it be before the project goes public and they let me loose?
The thought that I’ll be held prisoner here for the rest of my life hits me like an atomic blast. Suddenly, my knees can’t hold me up anymore. As I sink to the dirt, Sylas spans the distance in a few long strides and scoops me into his arms.
My mind stops working. I’m stunned for long moments, aware only of time ticking by and my inability to think. Then, my thoughts come back online.
What’s shocking is Tater isn’t going crazy. Maybe he senses that Sylas isn’t a threat. He’s sitting in front of us whining with concern but not attacking.
I’m in deep shit, possibly doomed to be incarcerated in the middle of Nowhere, Texas for the rest of my life, and all I can focus on is how impossibly broad Sylas’s chest is, how impossibly warm and tan his skin is, and how impossibly perfect his human face is. And I don’t know how to feel about those antlers. Or is it horns?
Out of every word in the English language, and every possible permutation of ways to string all those words into phrases and sentences, I stupidly ask, “Antlers or horns?”
Some odd combination of emotions passes across his handsome face, then his mouth settles into a small smile. “Antlers. Elk shed them every spring and regrow bigger ones. These are permanent and have stopped growing. Thank goodness.”
Maybe it was the long minutes my body was on high alert, flooded with adrenaline, but now I just want to sleep. What a ridiculous, counterintuitive urge. If all humans reacted like this, our species would be extinct by now, because I can barely keep my eyes open.
