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“No,” growled Carson. Carson had never been one for subtlety or subterfuge.
“I’m dying, little brother. Nothing you can do about that. Let me take as many of the bastards with me as I can. Get your mate and the package to Colby. He will keep you safe. I’ve got your back, bro.’
There was another volley of gunfire as they tried to make the crest of the ridge. They pushed to make it to the top amidst intermittent gunfire, which only barely missed them. Once at the top they stopped. Carson was at his side in an instant—the way he’d always been.
“The saddle bag on the right side of my snowmobile has a couple of guns and a couple of grenades. Leave those with me. The two of you…”
“We’re not leaving you,” said Amelia. His brother’s mate was no pushover. She wouldn’t submit easily, but when she did, Mason thought she’d be well worth it.
“You have no choice, little sister,” Mason said, hoping he could make them both understand he was dying. He didn’t want to die, but he didn’t think he had much choice. All he could do was make his death count. “I’ll slow them down up here. Halfway down the ridge, leave the other snowmobile. Turn it on its side like it flipped and booby trap it so if they get there and move it, you’ll know how far they are behind you. At the foot of the ridge, drop all the other supplies. All you’ll need at that point is speed, the package, and each other. Get to the coordinates. Colby will take it from there.”
“Mason,” started Carson.
“We don’t have time, little brother. I love you. You love me. I can die knowing what I was doing was important and that you will have her.” He took her hand and placed it in Carson’s. “Take care of each other. Love each other. Now go.”
Mason knew he was right and knew Carson knew it as well. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a very expensive cigar Colby Reynolds had hooked him on. He lit it up and puffed contentedly as he watched the ridge.
He could barely hold the cigar between puffs, and it hurt like hell to smoke, but he didn’t care. It gave him something to focus on other than the feel of the warm blood draining out of his body—lethargy creeping through his limbs, but he’d find a way to slow down those who wanted them dead. He would find one last way to protect his little brother.
Three-quarters of an hour later, he saw them creeping down the hill. His killers had thought to mask the sound of their coming by abandoning their snowmobiles and coming on foot. Well, he was about to make plenty of noise.
He waited for them, watched them coming—five, no six of them. Apparently, the Shadow League didn’t count pennies when they wanted someone dead. They must be very afraid of what they’d thought Carson had heard.
The light was starting to fade, but so was his ability to handle a weapon. It wouldn’t take much to use a grenade, but could he wait for them to get to him? He decided by the time they reached him, he wouldn’t have the ability to do anything. He was out of time, and he knew it. He lobbed both grenades at the approaching men. The darkness closed over him and he prayed he’d given Carson and Amelia enough time to get away. He died believing they would live on, and he would see them when they left this plane of existence to move into the light.
* * *
Northern Lights Genome Project
Reykjavik, Iceland
Mason came to in a cold, sterile room devoid of color and life. What it did have was light—way too bright for his eyes to remain open. The pain was unbearable; it seized his body and squeezed until it made him want to vomit.
A needle pierced his arm and something warm rushed through it, easing the pain and the nausea.
“That should help with the pain,” said a calm voice. “They thought you would sleep until they could get you anesthesia. I’m glad I thought to check. Everything will be okay, Carson.”
He opened his eyes again, focusing on the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. They were set in a beautiful face with the sexiest set of lips he’d ever seen. Lips he could well imagine being wrapped around his cock. As the sedation kicked in, he chided himself for two things. One, she thought he was his baby brother, and two, what kind of sick fuck who was dying looked at an angel of mercy and wondered how she’d look naked and giving him a blow job.
