Chapter Twenty-Two

As he stood next to Vivi and Roman on the fourth floor of the empty office building, Ky’s heart slogged through each beat. He worked through worst-case scenarios while studying all angles of the open space. He’d never been here before. It wasn’t their underground headquarters but some neutral ground, likely to keep Vivi out of their secret space.

The bogus construction signs at the building’s entrance deterred visitors, but the inside was finished, yet unfurnished aside from the solitary desk at the corner of this floor. A black phone sat on the desk along with one yellow sticky pad. No pen. That would’ve made a decent weapon in a pinch.

Of course, they’d been “ordered” to come unarmed. As if they hadn’t seen that red flag to indicate this was a death-trap ambush. Even with Flynn outside to monitor what he could of cameras inside and outside the building, this felt wrong.

He didn’t like the open windows. Made them an easy target. A scan for sharpshooters detected one potential in the building directly across from them. If it was someone with a rifle, the person was cool and silent. His steady pulse indicated he or she had the focus of a hunter. Intuition told him they were being watched through a scope.

Ky caught Roman’s gaze and said in Gaelic, “Aon.” One.

He moved subtly to block both Roman and Vivi from the potential shooter.

“Where’s the third one of you boys?” Ben Slater, Chief of the Secret Intelligence Service or MI6, who went by Slate, flashed a smile about as warm as dry ice. He stepped off the elevator and stalked to the opposite side of the desk. Gerard skulked behind him. They’d met Slate in person once in all the decades of following the king’s orders. He wasn’t someone they answered to, nor were they obliged to follow his orders. Only the recently crowned king got that distinction, and their handler, Gerard, who served as a representative of the king. However, if the king made Slate someone inside his protected inner circle, then Ky and his brothers couldn’t touch him.

“He’s on a recon assignment,” Roman said. “Gerard specified that Ky and the lycan we found incarcerated needed to be at this meeting. I figured I’d tag along for kicks and giggles.”

“All of you were to be here,” Slate said.

“This is who you get. You don’t command us.” Roman didn’t flinch, but his jaw clenched so tight Ky was surprised he didn’t break his teeth.

In his ear, Flynn said, “There’s no feed of the inside of the building. There are a few external cameras but nothing internal. The building is owned by a bogus company that’s a shell for MI6. No other hostiles entering.”

“Was I not clear, Gerard?” Slate asked of their handler, who leaned against the wall to Slate’s left.

The normally poker-faced agent who managed the Crown’s Wolves seemed pale and more unkempt than normal. Gerard seemed twitchy and off-kilter. His usual button-down shirt was rolled up at the sleeves and wrinkled. Gerard didn’t know Slate’s plan, which made Ky more nervous. None could be sure how far the human who’d worked with them for over thirty-five years might go to betray them if Gerard had been offered a promotion within MI6 or some other form of power, which they’d long ago learned was his weakness. Maybe Gerard’s nerves stemmed from the fact that he, too, distrusted Slate.

“Is he your new boss?” Roman asked Gerard.

“I’ve always been his boss. He works for my section, which means me.” Slate’s confidence bordered on cockiness. “That means, technically, you work for me, too.”

Gerard cleared his throat and swallowed. “I was instructed to bring in the lycans who were incarcerated, which are Ky and the one he rescued. Beyond that, there was no instruction.”

“Did you tell Gerard to order I give myself up so I’d end up in that prison, Slate?” Ky asked and dropped all glamour to present his unfiltered self, even if he hadn’t shifted to his feral, more powerful form. Without his glamour—the magic that kept him more human-looking—his innate predator scared humans. They recognized him as something they couldn’t fight in any situation.

Slate rocked his head to the side but didn’t answer. He didn’t smell of the sweaty fear most humans developed around them when the brothers made their true natures visible, as if he were acclimated, a stark contrast to the last time they met when he’d almost peed himself out of fear. It raised suspicions he’d spent time with other lycans since then—or he felt he knew enough about them now to be safe. Bottom line, he had to be neck-deep in the incarceration facility business. Now to find out for certain.

Slate rounded the desk, leaned his butt against it, and crossed his legs. He stared in silence at Vivi. “What are we supposed to do with you? You’re a threat who knows too much. A problem.”

“Who are you?” she asked without a hint of fear, eyes narrowed and chin elevated. Spectacular.

“Ben Slater, MI6 chief.”

“What does MI6 have to do with any of this?” she asked.

Slate didn’t answer. A wolfish smile ghosted across his mouth.

He planned to kill her. Or more likely force them to do it.

They predicted this. He just hadn’t accepted it. Now in it…

Ky’s chest squeezed tight until his breaths came in short gasps as if something smothered him. Spots appeared in his peripheral vision. His hands shook. He should grab her and run. Before they proved they could control her. But what if the elevator wouldn’t work? No other obvious escape from this room presented itself. Too many stories up to jump. They couldn’t fly. Even magic had limits.

He whispered to Roman in Gaelic, “We should leave.”

“Yes.”

She didn’t like Slate. Didn’t trust him. It radiated from her in waves. “About what specifically do I know too much?”

“No one’s supposed to know about our wolves who serve the king. I read somewhere in a report that even to their own kind, they’re ghosts.”

“They’re not wolves,” she muttered. “They’re also not yours.”

Slate said, “You’ve been imprisoned for God knows how long and likely indoctrinated into whatever training they’ve been doing at those facilities. Don’t give me the raised eyebrows, Roman. I’m intelligence, and I know everything.”

He might know things, but he was human. Sociopathic, sure. Narcissistic as well, yes. But he wasn’t superior to them. Ky wondered if he had the same technology that was in the prisons, the earpieces that prevented the brothers from successfully using voice coercion. Why not test it?

Ky smoothed out his voice, trying it out. “Why are we here?”

Slate frowned but didn’t rush to answer, as he should’ve if compelled by the voice coercion.

It hadn’t worked. To resist coercion meant either he wasn’t human—unlikely—or he had the earpiece tech. Ky darted a glance at Roman whose face remained impassive, but his shoulder muscles tensed.

Roman asked. “Since you’re obviously aware of those facilities and our retrieval of Ky, can you explain to me which of you two idiots came up with the brilliant plan to release the Curmsun Disc into the world again?”

“What?” Gerard seemed surprised, but it didn’t come off as genuine as it should have. “It’s locked away.” He shook his head. “I didn’t…”

“Do you know what it does, Slate? You know what’s required to stop it?” Roman cast a glance between each human.

“We no longer need these guys. I should have all three of you executed right here,” Slate said.

Roman chuckled, low, dark, and scary. “You think a couple of brainwashed lycans who are little better than bulked-up bodyguards can deal with the disc? You think you have it all figured out, huh?” He flashed his terrifying smile. “You’re delusional, Slate.”

Ky compressed his lips against a smile. “He doesn’t know what we actually do, does he, Gerard? Does he think we’re just lycans?”

For a brief instant, insecurity flashed in Slate’s eyes.

“You need magic to stop the disc,” Roman said. “You do know that lycans are against magic, right? That they forbid it and have done so for almost two centuries? That means ninety-nine percent of living lycans know nothing about it. They won’t be able to find or convince a witch to help you and possibly give up her life to contain that disc again. Hell, I’m not even sure if there are any witches left in the world who could pull it off, since the last one incinerated herself to help us. She believed so much in containing the disc that she gave her life. It’s that bad.”

“You think all we have are lycans?” Slate blurted.

Gotcha. Proof of involvement.

Hold on a sec. They’d captured other nonhumans? They controlled others? What kind?

Roman pointed a finger at Gerard. “You fucked up. Big time. You have one job. One. That’s to keep those items safe and not let assholes like that one”—he pointed at Slate—“use you to make the world worse. He has become a paranormal terrorist. He is the one who threatens all of us. And now, undoubtedly, he’s going to use all in his power to try to destroy us, since we may be the only ones who can stop him.”

Slate’s face flickered with irritation. “You’ve been replaced…upgraded.”

“Does that mean the king is rescinding the curse? Are you free to be his representative and speak for him?” Roman asked it without an ounce of emotion, because they already knew the answer was a resounding no to both questions. They were the ultimate weapon, older and more skilled than any other lycan in existence. To own that power was something no monarch would ever relinquish. It kept the Crown one inch of power above the government, even above this slick asshole who thought he understood the world. Roman held up his wrist, banded by the curse’s tattoo. “Or maybe you have the power to free us, Gerard?”

Gerard seemed to turn inward and remained silent.

“Do it,” Roman said. “Let us go. Do you think we want anything to do with going after the disc again or those brainwashed lycans? Do you think we give two fucks about you or your plans? Go, destroy the world for all we care. We would gladly disappear and leave you humans to try to clean up your own messes. We do this shit only because of this goddamned curse.”

That was a lie but worth discovering if they’d be freed. Keeping the world safe was in their core, and they would always fight for those who couldn’t. Going after the disc was inevitable, even if it was a pain in the ass.

Slate’s mouth scrunched into a sour line. “His Majesty likes the thought of owning you.”

“You can’t do it? You don’t speak for him.” Roman shrugged. “Figured you’re still a peon.”

“Gerard, leave us.” Slate pointed at the elevator.

Interesting.

“Sir, my job is to know exactly what’s going on with them at all times while they’re in the UK. With all due respect, I can’t leave.” Gerard held his ground. Good for him, even though he was about to get kicked out.

“You report to me. I will replace you if you don’t follow orders.” Slate made a shooing motion with his hand to encourage Gerard to get moving.

“The king won’t replace me. You promised—”

“Get out or my promises are void.” Slate pointed at the elevator.

With an apologetic glance, Gerard left. That was why he might be an effective desk jockey but never rose beyond his position. He wasn’t willing to risk his job or his life.

As soon as the elevator doors shut behind Gerard, Slate addressed Vivi. “They killed your sister, you know, while under orders.”

How did he know Nova was her sister?

She swallowed. “I heard.”

Slate shot her a cunning look. “You’ve done terrible things.”

He rotated a tablet to show her a video. Although gritty and in black and white, there was no doubt the woman with the long dark braid was Vivi. Ky recognized the curves he’d learned last night. She moved through the security desk of a building, killing all in her path. Amazing skill with a knife. Fast, brutal, and efficient. The next camera shot showed her in an office. She wasted no movement in her assassination of the man. Clean strike to the neck. It was over in seconds.

Vivi watched in horror. “That can’t be me. I don’t… I couldn’t. The video’s been doctored or something.” She sought Ky’s gaze. “Is that me?”

“That’s not you. It’s not the person all of us know. Who I know,” Ky said gently.

Slate’s cell phone buzzed. He answered, then held out the phone and carefully enunciated, “There is a telephone call for Vivienne.”

“Don’t answer,” Ky said. There was something very odd about the calculated look on Slate’s face.

She didn’t even look at Ky as she automatically reached for the phone.

Ky grabbed her hand. “Don’t.”

She threw off his grip. Something about the way her face had gone blank alerted him she wasn’t herself.

He wrapped himself around her to stop her taking the phone. “No. You won’t do it.”

It’ll be okay. You can snap her out of this. You just have to reach her. He kept telling himself over and over it’d be okay. But it wasn’t going to be. The Vivi he knew wasn’t here anymore.

He gasped to try to control his breathing while he shook her to get her attention.

Her head rocked back with a sudden and blunt force that bashed his nose. Shocked, he released her.

“Don’t do this,” he whispered, desperation lacing his voice. “Please. It’s me…us. Stop.”

Slate had put the phone on speaker.

Six German words came through the line.

“What are you going to do?” Slate asked her, far too calm. Far too assured of his safety.

“I’m going to kill the king and anyone who gets in my way,” she said softly.

Shit.

His wrist with the curse band tingled. He met Roman’s gaze, noting he too massaged his wrist.

A paranormal threat to the Crown meant they had to stop her. They didn’t go all automaton like her, though. They simply knew their job, but he also realized if they could un-trigger her or fix her, then they could save her. They hadn’t been ordered to kill her. Right now, she represented no more than a potential threat. Apparently, Slate didn’t know the difference.

“I’ll see you boys later.” He wiggled his fingers as he stalked toward the elevator. “Or maybe not. We’re about to see if you’re better than your replacement.”

“If she or her sister is our replacement, then you’ve got a lot more work to do on your brainwashed soldiers,” Roman called out. “Have fun figuring out how to stop the disc.”

Vivi rounded the desk and removed a serrated knife and a handgun, a Glock, from the top drawer.

“Vivi, I need you to put down the weapon and tell me you’re you,” Ky said.

She didn’t respond as she paced toward the door.

A few steps and he had his hand on her shoulder, clamping down hard enough to stop her. The scent of her flew up his nose and ran through his body. He couldn’t hurt her. But letting her threaten the king was a surefire way to seal her death warrant.

How did they think bringing her here a smart plan? Of course, either Gerard or Slate would report to the king she was a threat so that she became their next nonhuman problem to eliminate.

In an instant, she transformed to her feral form, which was more muscular and spectacular. With a twist, she punched him in the solar plexus and jabbed his chin. On instinct, he swiped back at her, which she dodged with little effort, then landed a kick to his lower back.

He bear-hugged her, locking her arms in place. She struggled. “This isn’t you, Vivi.”

The elevator shut as Slate started his descent.

“Wake up, Vivi. Remember the waffles. There’s always the waffles.”

She stilled for a few seconds.

Thank God.

The instant he loosened his hold, she clocked him with the back of her head against his still smarting nose, sending him backward while swiping away blood. It’d been a fake-out. Smart girl.

As Roman moved in, a sniper’s gunshot pierced a glass window and caught him by surprise in his side, sending Roman behind a column.

Vivi had regained her balance and was stalking toward the elevator.

“Go low and move to the next column,” Ky called out. “I’m going to need that gun, Vivi, or we’ll all be picked off in the next few minutes.” He sensed the next bullet’s path while chasing her to the elevator.

Next bullet coming in.

He dove for her, shielding her from the next sniper hit that in his estimation targeted her. It tore through his side. Both of them ended in a tangle. “I’m trying to save you, damn it.”

She grunted and kicked, placing solid hits, but he remained focused to wrangle the gun free of her hand.

Successful in retrieving the weapon, he released her and moved to engage the shooter. “Roman, stop her from leaving. The shooter is targeting her.”

A bullet whizzed past Ky’s left ear. A second shot caught him in the heavily muscled part of his shoulder. Left side. Good. Could still shoot with the right.

Years of instinct and training took over as adrenaline coalesced with pain. Another slug entered somewhere in his side. He scrutinized the neighboring buildings through the window and used his kicked-up senses to find his target. With his left hand, despite the injured shoulder, he reached into his pocket and palmed the Ping-Pong-ball-sized sphere, a magical item that enhanced his focus and super-powered his telekinesis. Now came the magic.

He whispered and thought of the pendant of St. Michael, “I am the gift. I do not miss. Be my protection against the devil. God give this speed.”

Gun raised, he shot through the window. A normal Glock didn’t send the bullet with enough accuracy to make it all the way into a building across the street. That required a rifle. But with the push of magic or maybe simple telekinesis, the bullet soared across the long divide and into its target.

Roman had wrestled Vivi and had her restrained on the ground.

Blood loss was getting to Ky. Internal bleeding. Not good. He probably wouldn’t die, but he was about to get light-headed. That meant his depth perception would fade.

He shuffled to Vivi and locked her chin to make eye contact. “Waffles. Fight it, love. This isn’t you. Violence isn’t your thing. Please remember.”

“Were you under orders to sleep with Ky?” Roman asked.

“Of course.” She struggled but gave up when it got her nowhere.

A fire he hadn’t realized burned for her sputtered. All they’d shared soured.

Denial roared loud inside him. It meant something to her. It had to. “Tell me you’re lying, Vivi.”

“Get off me, asshole. You’re all assholes.” She struggled beneath Roman. No denial of what she’d said that she’d been told to sleep with him. Not even a moment of pause or even an emotional glance from her. Nothing.

They were but a fantasy inside his head. For her, it was manufactured, forced. It wasn’t authentic.

Focused on everything he’d lost, he wanted to scream and destroy. He’d imagined they had something special, a bond.

“Keep it together,” Roman warned. “Bangkok.”

“Dammit.” After centuries of fighting together, the Lanzo brothers had developed their own shorthand. Years ago, when chasing a psychopathic vampire through Thailand, Ky had feigned his own death to fake out the vampire, allowing Roman to ambush and dispatch it.

Roman wanted him to fake his own death. He had to admit, it’d help later when Vivi would have to decide if she would take the amnesia injection to erase her past and her brainwashing.

But then this would be it. The last time he’d see her look at him with recognition in her eyes. He glanced down to where Roman still had her pinned. She sneered at him.

Then again, she seemed set on murdering him. Maybe it wasn’t the most terrible plan.

“Hurts.” Ky dramatically slid to the floor clutching his side. He cracked his eyelids to see her. Got to sell this idea of him dying. Not too hard to do with numbness seeping into his body from her betrayal. She’d been given no choice. Her choosing to be with him had been an order she couldn’t refuse. Did she resent him as much as he resented every single errand the Crown forced on them?

Her eyes flickered, perhaps with a hint of concern? Or he imagined it.

He shouldn’t care that she’d been ordered to seduce him. His chest felt so tight he could barely move air. It had nothing to do with the bullet wounds in him, and everything to do with never seeing her again. Of letting her go.

Roman uttered a soft spell as he wrapped a woman’s bracelet around his fingers. It was too small to pass beyond his knuckles. He touched it to the back of Vivi’s head. She sank to the floor.

“She out?” Ky asked as he stood. He rubbed his chest where his ribs felt too tight.

Roman nodded. He slung her over his shoulder.

Ky fisted his hands against a need to grab her from him, to hold her more gently than Roman, and protect her. “She’s fine? Not dead?”

Roman tucked the bracelet back into its cloth pouch. “The muse’s bracelet kills only humans. It simply knocks out paranormals. You know this. She’s fine. Heart’s beating. She’s breathing. She’ll be out until I say the counterspell.”

Ky punched the elevator button, which opened immediately, and depressed the lobby button.

“You okay?” Roman asked.

He pulled up his shirt. The blood barely showed through his black shirt and jacket.

“A few bullets. Nothing major.”

“Not talking about bullets. I know you’re messed up over her.” Roman squinted at him as if trying to discern his sanity.

“I’ll get over it. None of whatever we shared was real.”

Roman compressed his lips and fixated on the mirrored wall ahead of him. “I’m calling bullshit on that. Something as strong as what you have with her doesn’t happen because a human told her to do it. There was something there.”

“Aren’t you supposed to feed my disappointment? Make it easier for me to let her go?”

“I feel you right now a lot more than you think. The partnership of the bond brings a balance I didn’t know I needed. It’s a level of strength that makes the shit of our lives easier.” He shifted to stare at Ky. “That said, the smart move is to let her go.”

“Dammit,” Ky muttered.

They made their way down to the lobby, and Ky asked out loud, “Flynn, ETA?”

“Thirty seconds at the corner,” Flynn replied in their ear communicators.

He and Roman stared at each other.

“It’s the only way,” Roman said. This was his cue to say a forever goodbye to Vivi as he knew her. Roman explained that he planned to give her a half hour with her sister and then she had a choice of death or injection with the experimental amnesia drug. She couldn’t be allowed to be a walking time bomb that someone could say a few words and turn on at random.

When she took the drug, she’d never remember him.

He felt hollowed out. “I understand.”

Standing here in the lobby of a government-owned building, he felt broken.

Unmendable.

Shattered.

Roman said, “I’ll see her through this. I swear. But she’ll either not remember anything—we’ll give her the amnesia injection—or she’ll be dead. The brain-erase formula is permanent. There’s simply no other way. If she chooses death, it’ll be her choice, but from what I’ve seen of her and know of Nova, she’ll choose life. Are you sure you’re strong enough to evacuate the rest of the relics? Slate could ambush you.”

“Has to be done today while we’re here.” Ky squeezed Roman’s free shoulder. “It’s a mission worth dying over. I’ll make sure it gets done. We can’t afford for any of them to be out there in the world again.” Did he truly want to die? Not sure. Hell, he felt half dead knowing if he saw her again, she wouldn’t remember him or what they’d shared. He wished there was another way.

“It’s not worth losing you over, even if it’s important. If you have to ditch them to survive, I prefer you alive. We’ll get them back, even though it might take us another fifty years. I don’t like that it’s just you alone, but I need Flynn to keep the flight control towers and monitoring off my back.”

Ky lingered on Vivi’s limp form, her long hair hanging in a braid down Roman’s back. Instinct pushed him not to let her go. This…her…everything they’d had in their short time left a huge hole in his chest. And it was about to get permanently erased. She was a survivor, which meant she’d choose amnesia, and in doing so, forget everything, including him.

Maybe the future amnesic her would choose him a second time. The brief flare of hope died in the wake of knowing they couldn’t be. Although, what about Nova and Roman? They could be secretive. Hope surged again.

But what if something about him awakened the programming in her head? And Roman being able to be with Nova had been predicated on her actually dying. He couldn’t count on supernatural resuscitation for Vivi.

The two of them together was impossible.

He pulled out every bit of have-it-together to say, “I won’t let any of you down.”