Chapter One

CAPTAIN LUKIAN VLAKHUSHA walked through the halls of Immortal Ops headquarters, slightly disappointed to be back to work since he'd only had one week away at his estate in Maine. It had been a much-needed break. He owned nearly three hundred acres of wooded land that served well to keep who and what he was far from the prying eyes of humans. To keep him far from anyone being able to see what went on when he was home—how the woods seemed to burst at the seams with wolves whenever he was there. Or how the howls of packs of wolves could be heard for miles as his followers gave in to the moon's pull and the need to run and feel the wind on their faces. And most importantly, no humans were close to see those same wolves shape-shift into human form when they were done running free.

That was a biggie.

He loved his primary home but didn't get to spend nearly enough time there. Not with his current obligations and duties. Ones he'd taken on out of a sense of honor, not for need of the paycheck. He came from old money and didn't require any more. The estate had been in his family for generations, and he saw to its upkeep but felt no need to expand upon it. The main home on the property was big enough as it was. He'd picked up a two-engine plane several years ago to make the distance between his main home and work headquarters a much shorter travel. He didn't love to fly so much as he liked knowing he was the one in command of his fate, not some commercial pilot who may or may not have tied a few over before a scheduled flight.

Lukian tried to get home as much as possible, but work kept him busy. He had hired help back at the estate as well as trusted friends who came and went often, helping to oversee things there. His main concern was always his horses. The ironic part of it was, horses were notorious for being temperamental around supernaturals. He chuckled, remembering more than once in his immortally long life when a horse had decided it wanted nothing to do with him. Once while he was riding one. That ended with Lukian being unceremoniously dumped onto his backside.

Even with their unpredictability around supernaturals, he kept horses at his estate because he'd always been drawn to them, and while it had taken a while for them to trust him, they'd found a rhythm that worked well for them. They understood he didn't see them as lunch, and he understood they weren't at the point they'd let him ride them. At least not yet.

He chuckled as he thought of the horse he'd ironically named Gentle. It had bitten him several times already and had one hell of a temper. He couldn't blame the horse. It had been a rescue from an animal hoarder who had barely fed it and kept it locked up. Now, Gentle had wide-open fields and food. And a temper.

Lukian grinned. The horse had earned its foul mood.

He drew in a long breath, missing being home more and more as of late. He had a place not far from headquarters, but it didn't feel like home. It was simply somewhere he used to lay his head. It wasn't what Maine offered him—the privacy and all the acreage where he could let his inner beast out to run free. As a natural-born wolf shifter, or lycan as he preferred, he had to be sure to care for his beast side or run the risk of it overpowering him. He'd seen it happen to countless alpha males who thought they had a handle on their animal side, and it wasn't pretty.

He'd even had to hunt and put a number of those males down in his lifetime.

His chest tightened at the thought of it. He hated that side of the job. Hated having to kill his own kind.

Don't go there mentally, he thought. If he dared to let himself enter that dark headspace, he'd not recover. And in the end it would be others hunting him. Others stopping him from doing harm.

For now, he needed to remain calm and be thankful for the limited downtime he'd been granted. The lull before the storm. He and his men had worked long hours and months before they'd been given some leave. The break had been much needed, but not nearly long enough. He could have used another few weeks. It would take him at least that long to get Gentle to quit trying to take a chunk out of him.

He laughed softly.

It might take longer.

An announcement played overhead through the sound system, letting the men know of an update in the Middle East. The state of affairs from all over the world were monitored at the facility and every detail was shared with them, as if they alone could right all the wrongs.

The report had barely finished before another started. I-Ops HQ didn't provide much in the way of peace and quiet.

He sighed, missing the silence the time away had provided. The entire week away had been relaxing. No demands from those who were under him.

No weapons.

No violence.

Nothing but peace and solitude.

His primal instincts to hunt and kill were somehow sated when he was able to shift forms and run free. It was one of only a few activities that seemed to keep the beast at bay. Sex was another, but it often came with strings of attachment. Women always wanted more than he could give. They wanted a future with him. That wasn't an option. He wasn't a fish to be caught.

Nope. I'm a free agent and damn happy to be one, he thought with a grin.

He'd seen pack members meet their mates, and it left them testosterone-driven nutcases. That just wasn't for him. He didn't have time to grovel after some dame in a skirt. He had missions to worry about.

Not pussy.

That came easy enough.

Working helped to a degree as well. It kept him busy. He loved his job, he really did, but there were times it ate at his soul. What he and his team saw on a daily basis could give a normal man nightmares. Lukian was hardly normal. He also wasn't human. When he was young, he'd longed to be like the mortals. He'd wanted to blend with them, instead of hiding who and what he truly was—a creature humans thought existed only in fiction and fables. With age came wisdom and acceptance of things he could not change.

Though he found himself still envying humans to some degree. They lived in total ignorance to what went on around them in the world. They bought into whatever lie their governments or religious leaders spoon-fed them, and they seemed relieved to have stories of weather balloons in place of aliens. Hell, they had a show dedicated to the search for Bigfoot, yet all around them supernatural wonders existed. There was a naiveté about them that was appealing to an extent. It did border on stupid, so there was the issue of the fine line.

He shrugged. No use thinking about it anymore, as it could not be changed and he was what he was —part man, part beast. A lycan or man who could shift into a wolf and who had been born that way, not infected with the virus that created werewolves or other werecreatures. Lukian wasn't just any old lycan either. No. Lukian's bloodline was royal, leaving him in charge of the wolves in North America.

If only he'd taken to the political side of it all. He held the title of king but did little in the way of day-to-day needs the position required. He left that up to his advisers, who convened monthly at his home in Maine and then returned to their homes across the states, on call when need be. Lukian bucked the system and tradition. He chose instead to work—something his uncles still couldn't wrap their minds around. All of his uncles were on his advisory panel, and most were tolerant of his new ways, but one wasn't. One seemed to make it his mission to stand in opposition to everything Lukian tried to do as far as ruling.

Dick, he thought as he continued down the hall.

He rubbed his palms against his cloth-covered thigh, his body ready for a good run in the woods. The wolf side of him longed for the freedom to do as it pleased. What it was born to do. Wisely, the grounds of Headquarters were kept stocked with wild game. It was better he and his men hunt for animals rather than humans. That never went over well and always left more paperwork than anyone wanted to bother with.

Chapter Two

LUKIAN PAUSED AS one of his teammates approached. Geoffroi "Roi" Majors sang a song from a children's television show as he walked down the hall of Immortal Ops Headquarters past Lukian. Roi's ink-black hair hung to his shoulders and looked as if he'd just come from a shower. Lukian momentarily wondered what woman his friend had probably spent the night with. It wasn't often Roi slept alone. Lukian liked women just as much as the next guy, but Roi lived for them.

"Howdy, Captain. I'd ask if you'd be my neighbor, but I couldn't stand to hear you turn me down," said Roi with a tiny salute. He touched his chest. "It would break my heart. The wolf in me would curl up and die, and I'm sure I couldn't go on. Want to hold me close and tell me your love for me will never die? Come on, give Roi some sugar." He reached out, trying to hug Lukian, his lips puckered.

"I will shoot you if you kiss me," Lukian replied, though he was used to Roi's odd song choices and bizarre behavior. Honestly, Lukian was happy Roi had finally stopped whistling the theme song to a show that centered on the sheriff of a town called Mayberry. It had been getting so bad that Lukian had actually considered tearing the man's tongue out just to get him to shut up. As an alpha werewolf, he found it hard to resist the urge, but somehow, he managed.

It was difficult.

"Late start?" he asked, nodding his head to Roi's wet hair. While I-Ops Headquarters was state of the art, and it did have nice showers and locker rooms, the men preferred the comforts of their own homes. Roi's showering on location meant he'd not been home yet. That wasn't much of a surprise. Roi's playboy ways were getting out of control. Already the men had had to intervene and pick him up more than once when an angry female had tossed him out of her house while he was wearing nothing more than what he was born in and too drunk to shift forms and make it anywhere but to a ditch by the side of the road.

Lukian was hardly a monk, but his friend was taking womanizing to the extreme. One of these days he'd mess with the wrong woman, and she'd capture his heart and his dick. That would teach him. Lukian couldn't wait to see that happen.

"Guess what I spent my night doing?" Roi waggled his brows, a shit-assed grin spreading over his face. "Twins."

Lukian smiled despite himself. As much as he wanted to chastise the guy, a part of him found it amusing. He'd been young once, though he didn't look much older than his early thirties, and he had probably chased as much tail as Roi, maybe more. Now that he was older he knew that no matter how many women he fucked, he'd never truly be satisfied. None had been his mate. Until he found her, the one woman who would make his immortal soul whole, he'd always have an empty spot inside. The same void Lukian tried to pretend didn't exist. "You never stop, do you?"

"You know, you're king, you should really get twin action too." Roi tousled his wet hair, sending drops of water flying in all directions. "Chicks dig you."

Lukian disliked his title—by birthright—being brought up in conversation. He wasn't king of all the lycans. Just the American ones. He didn't wear his kinghood on his sleeve as did some royals he knew. France's king of Lycans was a total douchebag. The guy was a whiny little bitch who pranced around shouting his title for all to hear. As if anyone gave a shit. The last time the heads of the lycan councils gathered for a meeting, Lukian gave up trying to stop Roi from killing the guy, and hoped Roi would be successful.

Grinning, Roi lifted his arms out. "Seriously, you should live it up a bit, you're king."

Lukian considered shooting his longtime friend and right-hand man just to shut the guy up. Seemed like a waste of a bullet though since Roi wouldn't learn any lesson from it and he'd just heal the wound over within an hour. He gave Roi a disapproving look.

Roi shrugged. "I'd bang triplets if I was king."

"You already bed triplets," answered Lukian, his voice even. Roi's position in the pack, which was second only to Lukian, held no bearing on how many women Roi bedded. The man could be pack beta and he'd still have a new woman next to him nightly.

Playboy Roi.

The nickname seemed to suit him.

Roi laughed. "Right. I do. What's four of 'em called? Is there a saying for that?"

"Yes. Man-whore."

Dr. Green entered from the other end of the hall. The man looked intimidating, tall, auburn hair, green eyes, and packed with muscle, but Lukian knew the truth—Green was a gentle giant. Books and all things science applied to Green. The shifter side of things—killing and death—did not. Though, Lukian suspected that if push ever came to shove, Green would not be a man he wanted to cross.

Green groaned as he looked in Roi's direction. "How many women this time?"

Roi held up two fingers and smiled wider.

Green glanced at Lukian. "One of these days he's going to regret having sex with every woman he meets."

"Probably not today though," Lukian said, moving closer to Green. The man picked science and the never-ending quest for knowledge over a social life. He hadn't always been that way. Once, long ago, Green had given the majority of his time to the woman he loved. Her death changed him. "What did you do with your downtime?"

"Read over some medical journals and attended three different seminars. One was especially good. It was about biometric engineering. They're doing some innovative things in the area, and I believe they could benefit wounded soldiers. And another seminar I attended was about signature-tagging mutagenesis. That was interesting as well."

Lukian held up a hand to stop Green. He'd go on and on if he didn't. The man's love of all things nerdy knew no limits. Lukian didn't have time to listen to a long, drawn-out discussion at the moment.

Roi's eyes widened with alarm. "You spent your downtime learning?"

Lukian nearly laughed at the horrified look on Roi's face. Roi wouldn't be caught dead in any sort of seminar unless it was on the finer points of picking up women. He'd be the one hosting the thing.

"I did," Green responded. "Very enlightening. There is another seminar not far from here in about three weeks. You're both welcome to attend with me."

Lukian froze. He did not want to attend any seminar with Green.

"Captain," Roi said, putting his hand on Green's shoulder as they both faced Lukian. "We really need to get this man laid, stat. I think we should make this priority number one."

While Roi had a point, Lukian knew better than to suggest such a thing to Green. The man had his own personal demons that kept him out of anyone's bed, and Lukian didn't question it. There was no point.

Plus, it wasn't as if Lukian had that many women warming his bed at nights as of late. He and Green must have looked like monks compared to Roi and his ways with the ladies.

To each his own.

They made their way into the conference room as Green continued to mumble something about alternating gene-expression patterns. Lukian glanced at Roi, already knowing Roi wasn't following the line of conversation. Lukian wasn't either. "I have no idea what he's talking about."

Roi shrugged. "I only understand about five percent of what he says when he starts talking about science crap."

"Five percent? Really?" Lukian doubted very much the percentage was even that high.

"It is really basic," said Green, lifting a hand as if he were about to launch into a lecture.

Lukian grabbed the man's hand and released it quickly. "Green, we're good. You'd be wasting your breath on us. We're lost causes with this stuff."

"Okay then," replied Green.

The men found their other team members already seated in the conference room. Field operative Lance Toov gave a small wave, and if Lukian didn't know better, he'd have sworn Lance tucked a dart gun below the table. Lance was a werepanther and dedicated team member, but he was also a practical jokester. It would be very like Lance to try to sneak a toy into a briefing.

Jon Reynell, a weretiger and the team's sniper, looked far away in thought, but Lukian knew the man heard everything that went on around him. Jon had always been the quietest of the team members and seemed to often get lost in self-reflection. That was probably what made him such a great sniper—he had patience where the rest of the team suffered from a distinct lack of it.

Wilson Rousseau, team smart-ass and wererat, was leaning back in his chair, fast asleep, his feet on the conference table. He was a fantastic operative, well-rounded and able to fill in wherever he was needed, but he didn't take much seriously. That was both good and bad.

Colonel Asher Brooks stood at the center of the room, near a whiteboard. Of all the men, the colonel was certainly the most clean-cut. At various points in Lukian's life he'd been the same way, but it never lasted long. He liked the slightly unkempt version of himself best. It was also the easiest to maintain.

Brooks never seemed fazed by much. Lukian had never been sure what Brooks was, but he knew enough to know the man wasn't human. The guy hadn't aged once in the years he'd known him, and he had no scent. None whatsoever. That wasn't normal. Not by a long shot. The only people he knew who could mask their scent were supernaturals, and none of them could do it to the degree the colonel could. All Lukian knew for sure was the guys who ran the show would never leave a human in charge of trying to corral the I-Ops. That would be unwise.

Very unwise.

On his way to his seat, Lukian kicked Wilson's chair out from under him, sending the man crashing to the floor, jolting him awake. Wilson came up fast, his hair going in all directions, his claws erect, looking wild-eyed and as if he were ready to take on the world. "Who's your daddy?"

All men present simply stared at Wilson. Lukian blinked several times, trying to make sense of the question. Wilson knew who Lukian's father was. All the Ops did. "What kind of question is that?"

Roi leaned and lowered his voice, not that it mattered since the I-Ops had super sensitive hearing. "Slang thing. You wouldn't get it, old-timer."

Growling, Lukian showed fang in a playful manner. He enjoyed the light banter between the men and knew it was good for morale. They sometimes entered into some dark shit, and the ability to laugh and make light of things was needed. It was often all that kept a man sane. And he'd know, he'd seen enough of their brethren crack under the pressures of the Ops program. Seen their minds and spirits break. He wouldn't lose any more.

He'd lost too many already.

The history of the Ops program was steeped in horror and atrocities. Unspeakable ones. When science and politics mingled, the results often were less than pleasant. Years ago, Lukian had started to hear rumors of what the government was doing, but he'd dismissed them as fables. When he'd learned the truth, he'd been horrified and outraged. That got him nowhere. In the end he was simply one man, and he couldn't ask his followers to wage a war against factions of the government that were acting without the knowledge of the rest. He couldn't risk it getting even more out of control and humans finding out supernaturals were real.

That would end in a bloodbath.

So he'd gone to the source, to the places rumored to be conducting experiments on men and women. What he had found still sickened him to this day. History told the tale of mad scientists like IIya Ivanov and his ape-army project—when he had tried to cross-breed apes and humans to make super-soldiers. History also spoke of Nazi's Eugenics and master races, but it did not tell the tale of the Immortal Ops program or any of the other tests that were done on a global level to try to make men better—to make them all they could be and more. No, history failed to mention any of that, but Lukian had seen it with his own eyes and he'd stepped in to try to make a difference. He'd offered his pure lycan blood, and that of other full-blooded shifters and supernaturals, as samples to use in place of whatever it was the scientists had cooked up. He'd done so against his advisers' wishes, and men had lived because of his actions. Good men. Like those in the room with him.

Men he thought of as family.

Roi snickered, pulling Lukian from his thoughts. It was for the best. Lukian didn't want to go down that dark path again.

His second-in-command pointed at Wilson and then spoke, "Sit down. No one is scared of a rat."

"Bite me, asshole," mouthed Wilson as he sat and adjusted his T-shirt as if it were out of place. He flipped Roi off with both hands and then ran his hands through his hair, trying to look as if he wasn't acting like a teenager.

"Can I eat him?" asked Roi, a child-like quality suddenly in his voice.

Brooks set a file on the table, pulling attention to himself. "No." The screen behind Brooks lit up. "Gentlemen, I trust you had some good downtime."

"I did," said Roi, still grinning about his double action. "Green didn't. He learned all through his break. That is just sick and wrong. There are women to see and do."

Brooks paid Roi little mind. "Now, first order of business. We have an elimination order that has come in."

The men stiffened. Elimination orders were always touchy subjects. There had been more and more as of late, leaving the men feeling more like a hit squad than trained super-soldiers.

"Who?" asked Lukian.

"Tell me it's a vampire," said Roi with a smile. "I hate vampires."

"Me too," added Jon, suddenly seeming to be involved in what was happening around him.

"Me three," said Wilson, right before an orange dart appeared on his forehead, sticking there.

Lance burst into hysterical laughter.

Lukian gave him a stern look. "Children."

With a shrug, Lance handed over the dart gun. "I've been waiting for thirty minutes to do that."

Wilson pulled the dart from his forehead. "Asshole."

Brooks groaned. "Are we done?"

"Yes, Colonel," the men said, glancing nervously at Lukian.

Lukian motioned to Brooks. "Continue."

Brooks shook his head. "Sorry, boys, no vamps. The target is a woman."

The men gasped. They had never been sent to eliminate a woman before. Lukian cast Brooks a questioning look, and Brooks sighed, seeming as displeased with the idea of it as Lukian was. Brooks pushed the file toward Lukian, and Lukian opened it, his gaze whipping at once to the picture.

It took all of him not to stand and shout mine. Unsure where the urge was coming from and why he was having it, Lukian clasped his hands together and sat back in his seat quickly, as if the picture was some sort of juju set forth to bring out crazed proclamations from him.

Mine.

"Gentlemen," said Brooks. "This is Peren Matthews and she's the target. This came in as a high priority, but the details are sketchy at best. All I know is, the higher-ups want her eliminated. You have your orders. Make it happen."