It had been a week since Trace had left. He’d managed to get one message out to Myron Gray, and none of it had been personal to Benie. She knew he was being discreet, but it didn’t stop her lonely ache. She longed for Trace more than she imagined was possible. Ian had equated her pain to phantom limb syndrome. As if Trace had been nothing more than an amputated appendage. She’d slugged him in the shoulder and didn’t talk to him for almost two days afterward. Trace, whether Ian believed it or not, was integral to Benie’s life. A lot more important than an arm or a leg.
She knew in her heart, Ian’s theory was more about jealousy than true belief. Trace was a big, muscular guy. A warrior. For some stupid reason, her genius best friend thought he couldn’t compete with Trace physically. He found solace in believing the telepath couldn’t compete with him on a mental or emotional level when it came to Benie. With Trace gone, she didn’t disabuse Ian of the notion. Between the hiding, the waiting, the pregnancy, and all the revelations in between, she didn’t want one more thing to deal with.
Gray had moved Ian and her to another place. This safe house had a basement like the first, and it hadn’t taken Ian long to convert it. Their world crashing down around them, and Ian still made time for science. Benie didn’t know whether she resented or respected his dedication. A mixture of both, she decided.
Trace wouldn’t have liked the new place. It was a glorified box sitting amongst rows of other glorified boxes. He liked space, especially with his telepathic abilities. A twinge of ache and longing as she thought of Trace Calder laced around her stomach.
A heavy thump, thump, thump and a crash from the basement jerked her attention away from her thoughts. She jumped up from the sofa where she’d been pretending to read and relax, and ran down the stairs.
Ian was crouched on the floor of his laboratory cradling his arm to his side. Shattered glass was scattered about his feet. “Oh my God. What happened?”
“Nothing,” he gritted out, his tone edged with irritation.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Benie took Ian’s arm and asked him again, “What happened?” His protective sleeve was torn and blood seeped from a one-inch gash. A broken shard protruded from the wound.
Ian stood with some effort. “I said I’m fine.” He stared at Benie as if seeing her for the first time since she’d ran down to the rescue. “You’re not clean.”
“What the fuck, Ian?”
He smiled. Simple, but reassuring. Very cute and sexy, in an annoying sort of way. “I only meant, this is a clean room, Benie. You barged in here and didn’t use protocol.”
“Nag, nag.” Benie placed Ian’s forearm on the counter. “I thought you were being attacked!”
“This room has no access to the outside other than the door at the top of the stairs. You were sitting at the top of stairs. So, seriously, who would have attacked me? The lab mice?”
“After all the experiments you’ve been doing lately…” She shrugged. “Never know.” When he’d explained how he’d infused her DNA with his own, she’d been so fucking angry. The conversation had not been gentle or kind. She’d initially blamed herself for Ian becoming a shapeshifter, but when her guilt had nearly overwhelmed her, Ian told her the truth. He’d explained that because of her stem cells, the ones he’d injected into himself, his body had reacted to the werewolf attack and changed him at a molecular level. Which meant, he had no room to bitch if she was concerned.
He raised an eyebrow. “Hmm.”
She ignored him. “Anyhow, we should get this glass out. It looks like you’re going to need stitches.”
“Stop. Okay? I told you I’m all right.” His blue eyes sparkled with intensity, and the stern turn of his bow-lips melted Benie’s insides into a gooey mess. “Besides, one good wolf shift, and I’ll be good as new. The perks of being one of them.” His tone was only mildly bitter.
His words stung more than she would admit. He liked shifting too much. Benie had shifted once, so she understood the allure. The turn was the kind of high that could become addictive. Instead of protesting, as it would do no good, she stroked his cheek. “Okay, tough guy.”
Ian grabbed a first aid kit off the wall while she cleaned the floor. Opening the kit, he poured a reddish solution over the wound then used tweezers to retrieve the glass. After dabbing up the excess blood, he used some kind of glue to seal it all up. “There. See, all better now, and I didn’t even have to pull any tricks.”
“Wow, what a big boy you are.” Benie grinned. “You didn’t even flinch when you pulled out the glass.”
“Didn’t I?” He smiled. “I guess the adrenaline rush stemmed the pain.”
“Oh.” It was her turn to raise a brow. “And what caused your adrenaline to spike?”
“If I had to guess…” He wrapped his arms around her waist. “…I’d say it was you.”
Or the pheromones, she mentally added. Stupid sex creature. She was still secreting hormones, but luckily not as often, or at least not as often in public. It still happened frequently around Ian. He was just so freaking sexy.
They weren’t certain what effects would happen because of the polandrial poison. All she knew for certain was that the sample Ian had extracted from her had killed a bunch of white mice.
She kissed Ian softly on the lips, pushing the bad ju-ju to the back of her mind. “Oh yeah? Tell me about it.”
“How about I show you?” He nuzzled her neck, his hand sliding up her side to cup her breast.
“Even better.” Benie melted against his tall frame.
Ian slid Benie’s pink sweater down and off her right shoulder. He brushed his lips over the bared skin. “Mmmm. You smell good.”
“Better than antiseptic.”
“No contest. So much better.” Using both hands, he pulled her sweater up and off. He unsnapped her bra and slid it down her arms. “Even better still.”
“Fair’s fair.” She helped Ian out of his lab coat and his white T-shirt. “Goddamn, you look fine.” He’d been cute before, super cute, but turning werewolf had thickened his sleek muscles.
“The real question is…” He took Benie’s hand and placed it on his hard cock. “…how do I feel?”
“Oh, I’d say really good, but I think that’d be an understatement.”
Ian grinned. “I’m willing to let the empirical evidence speak for itself.” He dropped to his knees and pulled Benie’s jeans down, revealing her pink cotton panties. Written across the front was a big “C” for carbon and the words “I’m looking for something to bond with.”
“You’re wearing them.” Ian looked up, biting his lower lip and smiling.
“You did buy them for me.”
“I love them on you. But I think they’re going to be even better off you. But first…” He licked the already wet fabric between her legs. “Mmm, you are delicious.”
Heat, pressure, tingling—Benoica thought she would lose it right then and there. With her legs turning to gelatin, remaining up right became near impossible. Ian caught her thighs and held her steady. He pushed the pink fabric to one side and slid his tongue along the folds of her wet sex. Next he slid her underpants down her legs and off, then lifted her leg over his shoulder.
“Hold on.” His teeth found her sweet spot, nibbling her swollen clit as Benie braced herself against the counter.
Ian fed against the sensitive skin. He sucked and licked and nibbled until his face shined with her fluids. Benie squirmed forward, her hands tangling into his loose, brown curls. The tip of his tongue flicked against the spot just inside her, sending her body shaking forward.
Her hands slipped off the counter, spilling them both to the floor. She worked the buttons on Ian’s slacks. “Shit, you’ve got on too many clothes.”
His shaft was hard and engorged with hot blood. She desperately wanted him inside her—needed to feel his rigid length sliding in and out. Her aching desperation caused her stomach to flutter and her own juices wet her thighs.
Her breath became ragged, irregular and harsh. “Fuck.” She stood and leaned over the lab counter then slid her legs apart to give him easy access.
Ian kissed up Benie’s thighs, licking and nipping. His fingers slipped inside her wet heat. Shallow, not deep, playful. He stood behind her, his strong hands tugging her hips back until his jutting erection brushed her opening.
It was torture waiting for him to enter. “Please, Ian.”
“It’s all about thermodynamics, baby.” He chuckled, lust dripping from his voice. “I’m just trying to bring the heat.”
“Funny, Einstein.” She bit her lower lip, and added sexily, “Geeks are sooo hot.”
“I’ll show you geek.” And boy did he ever. Ian entered her, his cock sliding into her wet, hot depths with one smooth stroke. No hesitation and all demand.
She felt the pressure mounting, swelling with desire as he thrust in and out of her with a steady pace.
“It’s so good,” she murmured pressing her head against the cool counter top. She arched her back to meet his strokes. Her fingers gripped the far edge of the table as she rocked her hips to meet his. “Faster,” she panted. “Deeper.”
He plunged into her with a voracity she hadn’t seen in Ian before. She cried out his name as he took his pleasure without mercy, thrusting at a fevered pace.
So good, so good. Just the right amount of pain. She screamed as a hard orgasm quaked through her, and her entire body to drop forward in shuddering ecstasy.
Benie’s knees buckled, triggering Ian’s climax. The tremors took them both to the floor. When the tremors subsided, she opened her eyes. She stared into Ian’s deep blue pools. Breathless and completely sated, she teased him, “Don’t worry. You’ll be better next time.”
Ian reached around and smacked her ass. “Hey!”
“Kidding. Can I just say wow and fucking wow?”
“Yes, you have my permission.” He smiled.
Benie snuggled into the crook of his arm.
“You miss him. Don’t you?” Ian said, rolling to his side. He stroked Benie’s forehead.
She squeezed her eyes with shame. “Do you hate me for it?”
“Never,” Ian said softly. “It’s not your fault, Benie. Biologically you are connected to Calder, same as you are to me.”
It wasn’t just science for Benie, though she didn’t think she could convince Ian. She wished she could make him believe. “I lov—”
Ian put his fingers to her mouth to stop the words. “I love you, Benoica. That’s enough.”
He wouldn’t let her say it. He never did. Biology or no biology, she loved Ian Arent. Theirs was a deep affection built on years of friendship and abiding trust. But she loved Trace Calder too. Maybe not in the same way as Ian, but her soul cried out with loss for her other lover. And now they hadn’t heard from him in a week. Something was wrong. She could feel it, but at least he wasn’t dead. It was the only thing Benie was certain of—and the gray man had confirmed Trace was still breathing. She could still feel the bond between them. She didn’t think it would be possible if he was dead.
Sometimes she thought his volunteering for the mission had been an excuse to run away. One baby, two fathers—it was enough to freak out anyone. Add in the fact that Benie was on Garrick’s most wanted list, and it was enough to send anyone to the hills. If she could’ve run away, she might have taken that road as well. But it was hard to get away from the truth because wherever she was, it was there, too.
“Has Dr. Gray heard from him?”
“No,” she sighed.
“He’ll be okay, Benie. Trace is trained and,” he grudgingly admitted. “Bad ass.”
Benie nodded, but she couldn’t shake the knot of fear taking permanent residence in her chest.
* * * *
Trace Calder shivered as he thought of Benie. He desperately tried to reach out to her with his mind, but the distance between them was too great. Maybe it had been that way from the start. The first several days, he’d thought Keane had truly accepted him back as a warden, but by the end of the week, Trace had known his time was almost up.
He hadn’t suspected Keane’s betrayal to be so thorough though. He’d walked Trace right into Garrick’s quarters, the man Trace hated most in the world, and he thought, here’s my shot. My chance to take out this man who wants to kill my mate and our child. Before he could do little more than draw up the hilt of his sword, Trace had felt the sting of the dart in the side of his neck. He’d been hit with a tranquilizer.
Keane knelt beside him as Trace crumpled to the floor. “Sorry, Brother. You’re on the wrong side of this one.”
“You’re wrong,” Trace gasped as the sedative worked its way through his system. “Benie is—” Before Trace could say more, Garrick stomped his face hard enough to knock him out.
* * * *
Dr. Myron Gray tapped his chin as his foot, crossed over his knee, wiggled at the same pace. They sat in chairs opposite each other in the safe house living room. “How are your breathing exercises working? Are you finding it easier to control your abilities?”
“Don’t you mean disabilities?” Benie bit her lower lip, then held up her hands. They’d taken on the coloration and pattern of the white jacquard lounge chair she’d been gripping. It gave a whole new meaning to white-knuckled. “It’s been two weeks now. And we haven’t heard from him since that first stupid message! The longer I go without knowing he’s all right, the more I lose control? Have you seen what happened to the mice Ian injected with the venom from under my fingernails? I couldn’t bear it if my lack of control lost me someone I care about.” She thought of Ian and Trace. “Someone I love.”
Gray looked up, his eyes magnified in his glasses. “Try the exercises, Benoica. The practice may not seem like it’s helping you, but doing nothing will definitely get someone hurt.”
Benie pinched her wrist until the pain distracted her from her worry and began to breathe deeply. After thirty-seconds, the color of her skin returned to normal.
He raised a bushy brow. “You need to concentrate on controlling your abilities. I understand you’re worried about Calder. However, if you can’t find a way to manage your new behaviors, you will have very little chance of defeating Garrick. He will kill you, and I don’t want to lose any more family.”
His words stung Benie deeply, and they hurt her more than Benie could admit. She carefully controlled her reaction so the pain didn’t show. Scratching her nose, she leaned forward. “That sounded like a value judgment to me.” She shook her head. “Not very shrink-like.”
“No, you’re correct.” He leaned forward, his expression full of worry. “But it is very much like an uncle who doesn’t want to see his niece dead.”
Benie gulped the lump forming in her throat. She’d recently found out she had a living relative. Myron Gray, her psychiatrist and apparently “the gray man”, was Benie’s uncle on her mother’s side. Her biological mother—not the woman who’d raised her. The one who’d raised her, well, Benoica had about a dozen issues to work out about that, considering her adoptive parents were the hired hunters who’d killed the biologicals. At least two of them.
“Why do they call you gray man?”
“It’s not a very long story,” he said. Gray held out his hand. Benie watched as his skin turned to ash gray. “When you can blend into the shadows, your target never sees you coming.” He suddenly looked more ferocious to Benie. More lethal. “You already know that, though.”
“So, because your skin can change. Is it similar to mine because we are related?”
“Not just because of my skin. I inherited my ability shift to various shades of gray from my biological father, Maxtan Gray. He would be your great grandfather. One of them. Gray smiled. “My fathers, Maxtan and Eustice had equally loved my mother and each other. It made for a happy triune and a peaceful rule of Caledon.” He leaned forward. “How are things with Ian?”
“Fine,” Benie said too quickly. She didn’t want to discuss Ian with Gray. Especially since she wasn’t exactly sure what was going on in that department. Despite the awesome sex, their intimacy seemed shadowed by their doubts, their fears.
“What happened to your parents?”
“They went the way of old kings and queens.”
“Dead?”
“Not dead.” Gray shook his head. “But gone to a happier, less stressful place away from the politics of our world.”
Benie sighted. She wished she could join them in this happier, less stressful place.
Gray gazed at her meaningfully. “It is the way of our people. It is what must happen when a new Triune is formed.”
Instinctively, she placed a protective hand on her belly.
“Yes,” he said, answering her unasked question. “It will soon be time for you to take your rightful place.”
A text alert whistled. Gray pulled his phone from his pocket. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Excuse me a moment.”
“Sure, no prob.” Benoica slumped back into the chair. She watched Dr. Gray exit the house, instantly on guard as she saw another man outside the door. Gray shook hands with the large, dark figure and closed the door behind him. If her uncle wasn’t afraid of the newcomer, it meant he was part of the resistance. One of the good guys. At least she hoped so.
Benie thrummed her fingers on the chair until boredom and curiosity got the better of her. She stood and walked to the door, quietly, carefully putting her ear to the polished cherry wood. She could hear bits and pieces of the muffled conversation on the other side. But two words stuck out: “Trace Calder.”
Her knees nearly buckled where she stood. Gray was talking to someone about Trace. Frantic for news, she dropped to the floor and butted her head against the threshold where there was a minute crack between the bottom of the door and the floor. They sounded far away, but at least Benie could make out the conversation.
“He’s still alive then?” she heard her uncle ask.
Who was alive? Trace? Had Gray doubted it before?
“As of yesterday, that was the case, sir.”
Relief mixed with anxiety. Benie’s heart threatened to leap from her throat.
“I don’t know if that’s good news or bad news.” There was a pause. Then Gray continued. “Tell Destan to gather his brothers and meet me at the safe house tonight,” he said. “We must move quickly.”
Benie heard his footsteps and knew he was heading back into the room. She scrambled up off the floor and practically jumped into the chair.
Her uncle walked in rubbing his dome. Benie wiped her palms on her jeans, anxiously waiting for whatever news he had to tell her.
Gray leaned against his desk, pursed his lips, and placed his fingers to his brow. “I know you were listening.”
She couldn’t keep the desperation from her tone. “Where’s Trace?”
“It’s not as simple as where, Benoica.”
“Quit coming at me with your Yoda-wisdom, and just tell me what the fuck you know.”
Myron Gray scrunched his nose and pushed his glasses back again. “He’s been captured.”
“What? How?” He’d been so certain he could seamlessly infiltrate Caledon by becoming a warden again. “How did he get found out?”
“That’s the question. The first report was promising. But since all communication had stopped, I feared the worse. I just found out that he is alive.”
“He’s okay?” Benie asked.
Gray took her hand in his. His long fingers were warm as he gently squeezed. “He’s alive.”
“Tell me what’s happening. I need to know, and I need the truth.”
“Sources say that Trace Calder has been captured by Garrick. They report he is being questioned about your location.”
“For over a week?” Feeling her gorge rise, Benie fought to push the panic down and bury it deep.
“Yes.”
Suddenly it dawned on Benie. “Oh my God. They’re torturing him, and I’m just now hearing about this?” And if he was still alive, it meant he was enduring. Keeping her safe at great personal cost. “We have to help him.”
“Benoica, it’s not a good idea—”
“I don’t give a shit what rationale you’re about to spew. Even if you don’t want to help me, I’m going to get Trace, and I’m going to bring him home.” For once, she played the family card. “I need him home, Uncle.”
Myron Gray, apparently in deep thought, looked out the window, blinked slowly, and then nodded. “All right.”
“Thanks,” she said, not sure if she was thankful at all.
Benie calmly walked to her room, close the door behind her and cried.
* * * *
Ian Arent locked the door to his laboratory. He didn’t want Benie walking in on him. Not today. Ethically, he had always been opposed to such practices as eugenics and genetic engineering of human beings. Morally, he had a huge problem with selective breeding or the idea of a “super soldier.” Even after her stem cells had created a gateway for his genetic mutation, he’d continued his experimentation. He had to make himself stronger, more capable.
He had to be more.
For her.
To be worthy as her mate, as a father to their child.
The last batch of serum hadn’t killed the lab mice, and though some of the results were unexpected, they appeared more vigorous, energetic, and stronger than normal. Of course, even as he held the injection to his arm, Ian’s justifications did not hold up in his mind. He could present all the reasons more genetic modification would be good for human existence, when in reality he knew at the core of his work, he didn’t really care or believe his own rhetoric.
Benoica was his first and only priority, and she would need more than his intellect to keep her safe.
He pressed the plunger, watching the contents sink into his flesh.
The red light at the top of the stairwell blinked.
The door opened and Benie shouted down. “Time for the war table.”
Quickly, Ian disposed of the empty syringe and put away the serum before hurrying up the stairs.
He opened the door of the small clean room, and then exited into the living room. The three brothers and a large man with long black hair stood next to Dr. Gray in the living room.
Benie cleared her throat and headed to the dining room. “Come on,” she called to them. “Let’s get this party started.”
* * * *
They took the bag from his head, and Trace Calder blinked as the room came into focus. Ah, yes. Here he was again in the torture chamber with its slate gray slate walls and no obvious exit. He lay against a large flat rectangular stone, at least six feet long and three feet high. There were shackles connected to chains bolted into the floor at the four corners of the monument.
He looked up at Keane, who stood on the side, his gaze on the far end of the room. Trace followed the warden’s stare, unsurprised when an insidious figure emerged from the edges of darkness. “Will today be the day?”
Garrick was tall, thin, and looked like a frail man in his sixties. Trace knew better. The appearance was camouflage. Nothing about the leader of Caledon was weak. His short white hair was slicked back. He stared at Trace with bright gray-green eyes that reminded him of Benie. Little did Garrick know how much strength the reminder brought to Trace.
Trace braced himself against Garrick’s thoughts—calm, calculated, and cruel. During these long sessions, Trace had come to know Garrick very well. He understood his motivations, maybe even more than what was comfortable. Garrick had allowed his fears to drag him over the line of sanity.
Maybe Trace would go that way as well.
“Let’s begin,” Garrick said to Keane.
The dragon lord took a long metal spike from wall, a tool Trace had become way too familiar with. His face was carefully blank as he shoved the spike through Trace’s shoulder joint.
Trace cried out, unable to silence his screams as the pain ripped at his flesh. Garrick had done something to stop Trace from shifting, from being able to heal, and every new wound become more intense than the previous.
When he could catch his breath, Trace said to Keane, “Kill me.”
The blond man, his oldest friend turned enemy, shook his head. “I cannot,” he said, a hint of sadness.
“Why?”
Keane’s answer was simple and succinct. “I serve at the pleasure of my liege.”
* * * *
Shade had kept vigil over the woman and her companion. She’d followed them from the cabin to another remote location. She’d been surprised to see the gray man. If he was involved, it made her glad she was in a holding pattern. There were certain people in the world you didn’t piss off. Unfortunately, she was caught between two of those exact kinds of people. What the hell had Keane gotten her into?
She wondered about Trace. She hadn’t seen him since him and that woman…Shade didn’t even want to think about it. She didn’t have a right to be jealous or angry. Not now, and never again. She’d forfeited the privilege.
A breeze picked up, knocking leaves down on her mini-coup parked down the street from the house. Shade scrunched down when the woman and three men exited the front door and piled into a black SUV. After they pulled out of the small drive, she started her car and followed from a distance.