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I just couldn't.
Jack might want me to be a killer, he might have trained me to be a killer, but killing so coldly, so matter-of-factly was a state of mind, a zone you went to. Or so Rhoan had once said. I didn't have that zone, not yet, and I'd be damned if I'd step on the path to that dark place unless I absolutely had to.
But I couldn't leave this guard as he was, memory intact, either.
Sweat trickled down my cheek as I went back into his mind and reorganized his memories. Made him remember not me, but a short, blond man with green eyes and a bulbous nose. I had no idea if such a man actually stayed here, but at least Starr would waste time looking for or interrogating him. Better than me or Rhoan. I left him remembering Merle's order for the papers - a fact Merle and his memories would strenuously deny, therefore heightening the confusion. Then I added a fight and gave him bruises to prove it with a quick one-two punch to the jaw that knocked him out cold, and threw him back to the floor.
His body had barely hit when the second man suddenly appeared. I saw the gun in his hand in one of those heart-stopping moments when you just know you're not going to get out of the way in time, and flung myself sideways anyway. The retort echoed loudly in the small room and the bullet tore through my arm rather than my heart. Pain bloomed, but I ignored it, unleashing my aura as I hit the floor, striking him with it as hard as I could.
It didn't affect him. He just stood there, gun aimed and expression fierce.
Shock rolled through me. I'd always believed, had always been told, that a werewolf's aura would devour any race. Hell, even the Government believed it, because they'd recently put in place laws that made the use of auras on humans the equivalent of rape. We could use it on each other just fine, just don't touch the precious humans or you'll find yourself thrown in prison.
So why wasn't he affected?
I didn't know, and right now, didn't have the time to wonder. I closed my eyes and forced myself to ignore the beat of pain in my arm, the sweet smell of blood seeping onto the carpet. Let my limbs go lax, as if unconscious.
For several seconds, the man didn't move. His steady breathing stirred the air, as did the scent of him, a weird mix of grease and earthy, heady pine.
I remained as I was, on the carpet and bleeding all over the place, and eventually he cautiously walked toward me. He toed my leg several times, then carefully bent to take my pulse. He was too ready for action, the gun too close to my heart, to react in any way, so I simply lay there as his fingers pressed into my neck. After several seconds, he grunted and rose. He walked across to his partner to check him, then walked back around me to the desk. As he reached for the phone, I kicked his legs out from underneath him. He was spinning, the gun swinging my way, even as he hit the floor. I launched forward, grabbed the gun with one hand and elbowed him hard in the face with the other. Bone and cartilage shattered under the force of the blow, and blood splattered across my face and arm. He made an odd gargling sound, as if he suddenly couldn't breathe, but I ignored it and knocked him unconscious with another punch.
He went limp and tension slithered from me. Instantly, pain bloomed again, becoming a red wave that left me momentarily gasping. The bullet might have been an ordinary one rather than silver, but it still fucking hurt. I quickly shifted shape to stop the bleeding and start the healing. Though the pain muted, it didn't go away.
But right now, I couldn't afford to waste more time on another shift. I had to get the controls for Iktar and get the hell out of here.
I swiped at the sweat on my forehead with my arm, grabbed the gun and shoved it on the tabletop. Then I scrambled back, gripped his belt and hauled him onto his side. Blood began to soak into the carpet and his breathing seemed a little easier. After unclipping the wire from around his neck, I dove deep into his mind and grabbed the code for the security cabinet that held the controllers, then did a quick search for other usable information - which came in the form of the location of the fire exits for the subterranean levels. Surprisingly, this wasn't the tunnel Moss had disappeared into, so where the hell did that go?
The guard didn't know. Actually, he had no awareness of that particular tunnel.
The sharp spikes beginning to drive into my brain suggested I'd better get on with it before said brain exploded under the pressure. An image that made me smile even as the pain grew and my eyes started to water.
I quickly gave him the same false memories as the first man, then re-clipped the wire around his neck and rose. A quick search in the nearby office uncovered the cabinet. After the code had been entered, the draws clicked open. Inside was what looked like game controllers, several bunches of keys, and a notebook that just happened to contain all the codes for the various areas. I found a bag and carefully shoved everything inside, then locked up and headed out. I was at the door when I remembered one vital thing - all the locks to security areas were key and thumbprint coded. I couldn't get out of this room, let alone into the labs or anywhere else, without both.
Fuck.
I glanced at the two men, then the knife the first guard had. There was no choice - and losing a thumb was infinitely better than losing his life.
I carefully lowered my haul then walked over to get the knife. A quick check told me his pulse was a little thready, but otherwise strong. Unconsciousness would hold a little longer. I stole his knife and walked across to the other guard.
The hilt seemed to grow heavier in my sweaty palm, as if the knowledge of what I was about to do weighed down the metal. I touched the second guard's neck lightly, checking his pulse yet again, then took a deep breath to fortify myself and splayed his hand on the floor, thumb well away from the rest of his fingers.
After another breath that didn't do a thing to calm my stomach, I raised the knife and sliced down as hard as I could. There was little resistance. The knife slammed through skin, muscle, and bone as easily as it did the carpet underneath, stopping only when the blade hit the concrete base. The force of the blow echoed up my arm, making my teeth ache. Blood welled from the wound, thick and rich.
My stomach rolled, then rose. Swallowing back bile, I raised his arm so that the flow was lessened, then gingerly picked up the detached digit, wrapped it in some plastic I found on the desk, and headed back to the door. Once through, I ran like hell down the tunnel for the next door. I barely got that one open when my stomach rose again, and this time there was no stopping it.
It wasn't until the very last second that I realized there was someone standing on the other side of that door.
And by then, it was too damn late. dn't last long enough. Awareness surfaced, drifting in and out, as if my mind was caught in a fragmented dream. My arm felt like fire, and the heat of it mingled with pain that seared deep and hard. Laughter rolled around me, through me, a pain of a different kind but just as sickening. Starr enjoying the moment, enjoying my agony.
The reeds under my back trembled with the force of approaching steps, then hands were on me, moving me. The blackness surged again, and for a while there was nothing but the peace of that void.
When consciousness surfaced again, it came with a feeling of time having passed and a deep sense of familiarity. Of having been here before, in this same situation if not the same place.
My arms were raised above my head, tied at the wrists with something that was smooth and tight. The pins and needles in my fingers suggested they'd been that way for some time. The fierce fire and pain of the break had gone, meaning somewhere along the line I'd shifted shape and healed my arm, but the memory of it still drifted through my limbs and there was a weakness in my right arm that had nothing to do with the pins and needles. The rest of my body just ached with a tiredness that made no sense. Rhoan hadn't bashed me around that much, nor had we fought very long, so why the bone-deep weariness?
Sweat stung the air, sweat that was both mine and another's and with it came the heady aroma of sex and lust. My back pressed against something soft, silky, my stomach against flesh as hot as the sun. Hands were on me, caressing me, their touch bruising and familiar. Heat filled me, thrusting hard and fast if not deep, but the crescendo he was reaching certainly wasn't mine.
I cracked open my eyes. It was Merle who rode me, Merle who reached for his orgasm.
