Act of Mercy

Chapter One

Duke Marlow stretched the two typing fingers he used because he wasn't exactly gifted in the way of a keyboard, and hunted and pecked the last of the reports that'd been due in to his handler—who also happened to be captain of his ops team—several days prior. With Duke's reluctance to do any type of record-keeping, let alone the kind that involved a computer, his handler would be happy to see the files this quickly. Duke was actually at least one month early if anyone went off his past turn-in dates, or the fact that occasionally he never turned in a report at all. The idea of leaving the damn things to sit for a few more weeks had crossed his mind.

That would piss Corbin off for sure.

Corbin Jones headed one of the many Paranormal Security and Intelligence Operative Teams (PSI-Op) and Duke already knew he was Corbin's most trying team member. He wore the badge with honor. What could he say? After knowing the guy well over a hundred years, he had to do all he could to keep their working relationship interesting. Plus, Duke was set in his ways. He didn't embrace change.

Never had.

Besides, he enjoyed getting under Corbin's skin. Corbin was a lion shifter, and everyone knew cats and dogs didn't mix well together. As a full-blooded, born wolf-shifter, Duke tended to get a kick out of giving Corbin as hard a time as possible.

Came pretty easy to him and that nearly took the fun out of it.

Nearly, but not quite.

And Corbin looked like a blond underwear model. That alone was grounds to be given a hard time.

The phone on his desk rang, drawing him from his thoughts. He sighed. He disliked the phones at PSI. Too many buttons. Too many options. It was never just answer and be done. They had people who normally handled routing the calls. Without them, Duke would be totally and completely lost. It was way after hours and he knew there was still a group who worked somewhere in the building, handling these types of things. What he couldn't figure out was why they'd send a call his way. Corbin had taken Duke's phone privileges away when he'd told a conference call full of people to get bent. He'd then followed that up with the suggestion they lick his balls.

Corbin hadn't been amused and said Duke lacked anything in the way of phone etiquette. Duke could have told him that to start with.

He answered the phone. Hell, the apocalypse could be starting, and Duke suspected Corbin wouldn't want him getting called over it. "What?"

There was silence on the other end. Duke waited a fraction of a second and hung up the phone. He wasn't in the mood for bullshit. If it was important, they'd call back.

The phone rang again.

"What?" he practically shouted as he answered it again.

"Hello?" came a voice that was soft and sweet, extremely feminine and hot as hell, making his loins stir, surprising him. "I was told to call. Did you get the information I sent?"

As much as the voice moved him, its owner was making no sense. "What?"

"Do you know how to say anything else?" she asked, sounding annoyed with him. Most people tended to after short bursts.

He stiffened. "You called to give me crap? Striker put you up to this, didn't he?"

"Striker?" There was beeping on her end. "I can't talk long. They'll hear me."

"Woman, you're not making any sense." But damn if her voice wasn't making him hot and bothered. He was nearly ashamed of his reaction to her. It wasn't like he made a habit of getting a hard-on for random callers. The idea of phone sex had held little appeal to him before, but now, hearing this woman's voice, he was fast changing his outlook on it.

"I need to know if you're them," she said.

"Them who?" As turned on as he was, he had reports to get done and the conversation wasn't going the route of phone sex, so it needed to end sooner rather than later.

"Them. The one Test Subject 87P told me to send the information to," she insisted.

Great.

Sexy voice and bat-shit crazy. Just his luck. He hung up on her. Whatever game Striker was playing wouldn't work. Duke was busy. Too busy even for hot voices with riddles.

Duke rotated his neck, running his hands through his shoulder-length dark hair, working out a kink as he sniffed the air, the wolf in him catching the scent of pending rain.

Good.

The area needed some rain. He grinned, knowing he'd be running free in it soon enough. Well, as soon as he finished this damn paperwork. He didn't understand the point of it. It wasn't like the organization existed to anyone who asked about it—not that anyone even would. They were ghosts. Operatives who never were and never would be, at least on paper.

What the fuck did they want with a paper trail then? Did they enjoy redacting crap later? Maybe the guys who sat around drawing black lines through important information had blackmail photos of people in high positions and threatened to expose them if they didn't get enough papers passing across their desk.

Made no sense to him.

Not much involving the people running the PSI show did.

Seemed like they'd be keen on keeping no records. Records proved a lot. Immortals tended to avoid them, photographs and the like. It was getting harder and harder to hide in the open. The fucking internet was a curse as far as he was concerned. You wouldn't catch supernaturals taking pictures of themselves and posting them on the internet.

Most supernaturals took great care to reinvent themselves every so many decades. It threw off suspicions. He'd been the sole beneficiary of his own fortune several times over already.

Duke liked to reinvent himself, as far as the human public was concerned, every twenty to twenty-five years. That was as long as he could pull off, not aging. That was hard. Most supernaturals kept it around fifteen years. Then, they'd go off the grid for just as many. In the beginning it had been hard knowing he'd never be able to see the human friends he'd made within that invented persona's lifespan. With time, it got easier, and he found himself befriending fewer and fewer humans to avoid issues at a later date.

PSI gave him a network of supernaturals in like situations. That was part of why he stayed, despite the technology advances and dumbass higher-ups. He liked the good they did as well, but he'd rather everyone not catch on to that tidbit.

Do-gooder didn't fit his manly code.

It was simply easier to hang with others like him. He was young as far as PSI was concerned. And he was hardly a pup. Most of the people within the organization had been part of it for a hell of a long time. Longer than any administration had been in control of the White House. From what Duke had been told, longer than there had even been a White House. They operated above the law and didn't answer to anyone but themselves. Certain people within positions of power in the government were on a need-to- know basis regarding PSI-Ops.

Most didn't need to know jack shit, so they didn't.

Duke liked it that way.

The ones in the loop were supernaturals, hiding in the open in front of humans. Duke nearly laughed at the thought of it all. He'd seen enough humans freak out over the course of his lifespan to know they couldn't take the truth. Hell, they couldn't handle much at all, let alone knowledge of immortality.

Immortality.

The idea would lead one to think of eternal life. Of invincibility. Nah. That wasn't how it was. It just meant an immortal was harder to kill and tended to live a lot longer than a mortal. Enough of his family and friends had fallen to know they could be killed.

Time and volume did nothing to lessen the losses. And there always seemed to be more losses ready to pick open the scabs of the old ones.

He hated people who died.

Hated them.

The phone rang again, and Duke's already thin temper wore through. He snatched the receiver up and put it to his ear. "What!"

"Please, I need to know if you're them," came the sexy-as-all-get-out voice.

His nostrils flared. "Woman, this is a private line reserved for shit you can't possibly wrap your mind around. Stop using it for your crazy."

"I'm not crazy."

"Oh, you just go around talking about test subjects all the time?" he asked. "Let me guess, you were taken by aliens who did naughty things to you."

"I'm sorry, what?" she responded, huffing.

"Hey, if it's an anal probing you're after, I'd be happy to volunteer."

"You are a pig," she shouted back.

"No. I'm a wolf. So, is that a yes or no to the anal probing?" Damn, she had a hot voice and he'd love to have her bent over before him. His dick throbbed at the idea.

"Jerk!" she yelled before hanging up on him.

Whatever.

He looked across the main office in division headquarters. Rows of black desks filled the large gray bullpen area. There was a raised walkway that circled the rounded room. Various doors dotted it. Some were offices. Others were interrogation rooms. Some were briefing rooms. The hallway to the left led to the restrooms. On the walls of the hallway were various awards and other items of valor. Except the Asshole of the Week Award. That one wasn't exactly legit, but they had fun awarding it all the same.

Boomer Walsh was the current winner of the award. He'd held the title two weeks running. He'd gotten piss-ass drunk and fallen asleep in shifted form. The rest of the team had carried him to the zoo, unlocked the panther habitat, and added Boomer to it. He woke with a female panther trying extremely hard to convince him she was mating material. The entire event made for a great picture that hung next to the award plaque.

Duke had held the title of Asshole of the Week a few times in his career as well.

The time he'd decided to provoke an entire den of vampires when all he had to defend himself with was a stick had earned him the title for two consecutive months. Took the cleanup crews about that long to get all the dead vampire cleaned out of the area. Took him twice as long to get the stench of extra dead vampire off him. Some smelled rotten no matter what, and others held very little scent. He'd always wondered about it, but not enough to bother asking any of them.

The hallway to the right led to the infirmary. Duke wasn't a fan of hospitals or clinics, no matter how state-of-the art they were. He didn't mind needles or anything like that, it was just that he'd seen a lot of death in his life. Too much to make him pleased to be around people near the end. Hospitals made him itch. Not as much as planes or anything that flew did.

He fucking hated to fly.

He'd had to fly more times than he'd cared to for the week prior when he'd been called in to help a fellow PSI-Op. Eadan Daly was someone he considered a friend. The guy was also the reason Duke was now forced to type out reports.

Damn Fae.

Eadan was young yet, barely thirty, but like Duke he'd stopped aging. Somehow, Eadan, even at his young age within the immortal world, had managed to find love and happiness. He and his mate were together. That was what was important. Not the how or whys of how they'd come to be that way. Too many people stuck their noses where they didn't belong and mocked the idea of happiness that could last. Duke didn't really find the matter to be a laughing one. He'd have given anything to have it, even if just for a few minutes. Instead, he was left scratching his manly itch with women who meant nothing to him. Quite honestly, he often didn't bother to catch their names. They weren't his mate or mate material, so he didn't bother with attachments.

It was easier that way.

Most of the women he allowed to warm his bed weren't supernaturals, so they weren't permitted to know anything paranormal really existed. Never good to start anything serious with someone you can't tell the truth to. He never told any of them he loved them. Hell, he didn't even bother saying he liked them. That was implied if he fucked them. He was open with them all, telling them firmly he was only in it to get off, nothing more. They wanted a night with him, so they accepted it. He held no guilt over that.

Besides, they were mortal. It couldn't last. They'd age and die. He wouldn't—at least not for a long, long time.

Unless he got himself killed. Which could possibly happen with the devil-may-care attitude he possessed on some things.

He had to be so careful with humans. They were fragile things.

The supernatural females he'd taken to his bed were fine to help pass the time, but they weren't what he wanted to spend forever with. Hell, Duke wasn't sure if he even was forever material. Despite how much he knew he wanted it. Longing still lingered deep within Duke. He wanted what Eadan had. What so many of the Immortal Ops (I-Ops) had—a mate.

Wouldn't happen.

Not at his age. It wasn't as if she'd just suddenly show up out of the blue after all this time. He didn't have that type of luck.

If his woman had been out there, he'd have found her by now.

The Immortal Ops only just found their mates, he thought to himself.

Could be hope.

The damn phone rang again. He lifted it, already expecting it to be the nut case who made his dick hard. "Woman, what now? You rethink the anal probing?"

The woman made an annoyed noise. "I did not call in any alien abduction and I do not want to be anally probed by you. Can I please speak to someone not you? They do have someone who isn't an asshole there, don't they?"

He thought about it. "Nope. We're all pretty much assholes."

She sighed. "If they find out I'm calling you at all, they'll kill me."

He stopped being annoyed and started paying attention—not that his dick had ever stopped being attentive to the voice, but the conversation was getting serious now. "Okay, slow down. Who will kill you?"

"The Corporation," she said, pausing for what felt like forever. "I have to go."

She hung up.

Duke tried to figure out how to return the call, but he couldn't even get a line out of the building without assistance, he was that phone-challenged. Worry for the woman coursed through his veins and he held the phone in his hand until it began to beep, signaling the line was dead.

He waited, hoping she'd call back.

She didn't.

His gaze drifted downward to his groin. It was still very interested in the woman's voice. More than it should have been considering it was just a phone call —okay, several phone calls.

Still.

Your luck, it was your mate, calling you out of the blue, dumbass.

He growled, hating how sentimental and emotional he was letting himself be. He'd have to track down Jinx, a madam who headed up underground paranormal brothels out in Seattle and see what kinds of girls she had available. It had been too long since he'd last had sex and soon enough the wolf in him would demand it as well.

It liked sex as much as he did.

Maybe more.

Horny animal.

"It is what it is," he grumbled, pecking at the keyboard once more, his mindset slightly on work. A lot of crap had been going on. More than normal.

Until a few months ago, PSI and I-Op division stayed very separate. He didn't know why, only that they'd been tight-lipped on both sides about the matter. All that had changed. They now had to work together.

And that meant even more paperwork.

Damn I-Ops.

He focused on his reports. While they may be done, they still needed to be emailed. Damn, he hated computers. Everyone around him loved them, but he liked putting pen to paper, not fingertips to keyboard. He took a lot of grief at the office about his aversion to certain technologies. He wasn't a luddite, but the others in PSI enjoyed calling him one.

He wasn't fond of technology, and he wasn't a fan of being lifted thousands of feet above sea level by a hunk of metal. People should protest it more. He came from a time when you worked with your hands and steam-powered locomotives were impressive. People used to talk face to face. Not like it was now, where everyone had their noses pressed to their phones.

He missed the old days.

While he would forever look to be in his mid-thirties, he was considerably older. With that age came the reluctance to accept change with ease. Plus, he was stubborn by nature. And truth of the matter was, most of what he was given technology-wise ended up breaking. In his opinion, it was shit. The quality of it all kept going down, but the prices seemed to jump.

Rip off.

He'd seen a lot during his lifespan. Some good. Some not so good. And some downright horrifying.

An auburn-haired, bearded giant poked his head into the room. Striker McCracken was there, grinning a grin that said he was ready to be up to no good. The man was larger than Duke muscle-wise and in height. That was damn impressive, considering just how big Duke was.

Striker was Dougal only to his momma, who had been buried over a century. Duke knew his real name because he'd met the man's mother way back when. She'd been a sweet woman half her son's size, yet still managed to keep him in line nicely. Her death still hit Striker hard. No one ever brought her up because of it.

"You almost done?" asked Striker, traces of the Scottish accent showing through. Striker's accent had been so bad at one point that barely anyone could understand him. He might as well have been speaking Gaelic for all the good it had done him. "I'm positive the bar at the corner has beers with our names on 'em. What do you say we go and fill ourselves full of cheap alcohol?"

With a groan, Duke emailed off his reports. "I fucking hate this thing," he said, as he tried to get the computer to go to sleep, but it kept instantly waking up. The thing was cursed. That or it had it in for him. One or the other.

"Name one thing you do like," Striker mused.

Duke flashed a wide smile. "Women. I like women."

"That you do." Striker eased up next to Duke and held out his cell phone.

Duke looked at the small screen and tipped his head. "What the fuck is that?"

Striker beamed. "Picture of me in my kilt."

"Where are the rest of your clothes and why are you standing in front of a mirror? What are you holding?"

Sighing, Striker shook his head as if he was going to need to speak to a child. "I'm holdin' my phone to take the picture and the ladies like it when I post pictures of myself shirtless on my profile page."

Duke stiffened. "You took a picture of yourself and put it on the internet?"

"Aye."

Duke seriously considered getting a new best friend. His current one was a jackass.

Striker leaned in and held his phone out, snapping a picture of them both. Duke grabbed his phone and squeezed, crushing it with one hand. It fell to pieces on the floor.

"Och, was that called for?" asked Striker, looking far too attached to his phone for Duke's liking.

"Think about what you're doing. How are you going to explain all that away later when you have to reinvent yourself?"

Striker licked his lips. "I'm gonna tell 'em I'm a vampire or a time traveler. Humans seem to be into wantin' one of those to be true. I say fuck it. We give 'em what they want. They're simple minded. They'll believe what we tell 'em."

Duke sat perfectly still, knowing his friend was on a roll. "Vampires are real. I took out an entire den of them just last month."

Striker waved a hand dismissively. "Not the rotting kind. The sexy kind. Like in the movies."

"Jackass."

"Thanks. You owe me a phone."

"Corbin keeps extras in his desk drawer for when I lose my temper. Grab one of those." Duke pointed in the direction of Corbin's desk and then went back to trying to get his computer to shut off. His computer won the battle four more times in a row. "Piece of shit!"

Laughing, Striker came to his rescue with a new phone in hand. He took the wireless mouse from Duke's grasp. "It's nae gonna shut down with you bumpin' the mouse. Here. Let me."

Duke slid back in the chair and then stood. He'd rather be in the den again with the vamps and a stick than dealing with the piece of crap computer. "Keep the fucker."

Striker continued to laugh. "You know, if you tried a little harder, you might actually learn to like the thing."

Sliding his long-time friend a hard look, Duke stood silent. No words needed to be spoken. He'd never bond with his damn computer. It simply wasn't in his nature.

Striker glanced at the screen. "Hold up, are these the reports on the Seattle incident?"

"Yep."

"Anything interesting you want to share? We ever find the person who relayed the faulty meeting coordinates to you?" asked Striker.

Duke understood what Striker was actually asking —did they find the traitor who sent Duke on a wild goose chase while one of their operatives needed assistance and backup. Shaking his head, Duke stood, allowing Striker to take his seat. "No. I knew the voice was off but, Striker, the guy had the passcodes. I didn't recognize the voice, but you know interference can be on some of the comms and relay equipment."

Striker sighed. "Aye, I'd believe the orders too if I were given the right passcodes."

"That was what they were counting on," Duke agreed. "I fell right into their trap. Eadan was lucky to have the Immortal Ops Team there to back him. I nearly didn't make it in time."

Striker shut off the devil computer and stood as well. He touched Duke's shoulder. "You couldnae help how it went down and, in the end, you did make it in time. Eadan was thankful for yer help."

There was nothing Duke could say, so he decided to change the subject. "Beers, huh?"

"Cheap ones." Striker laughed.

"You do realize we have more money than we could ever hope to spend, right?" questioned Duke. And they did. They'd all done well in their own rights and PSI paid ridiculously well. They had to.

"The cheaper the beer, the more I feel like home," Striker added.

"Missin' the good ole days?" Duke smiled as he walked toward the lobby. "When you ran around in a kilt, singing songs of William Wallace while you got shit-faced off crappy beer."

Striker paused. "Old days? Och. I call that William Wallace Wednesdays. He's a legend amongst lycans who fell too early. We should get a day off work each year in honor of him. I'll petition for it. Right after I finish drinking tonight."

Having seen the man drunk too many times to count in their long history of being friends, Duke knew it was closer to the truth than not. "Hey, after beers, I need to run. You in?"

Striker was a lycan as well and often ran in shifted form with Duke in the woods outside PSI Headquarters. The woods were stocked with deer and other woodland creatures on purpose, there for the operatives who were shifters to hunt and kill. Before they'd ensured something was there for the men to hunt, the men did it on their own, elsewhere.

What a mess.

This, while certainly not winning them any favor with animal rights activists, was the safest thing for everyone. Better a deer than an unsuspecting human. Sadly, it was part of the total package when it came to being a natural-born shifter, unlike humans who were bitten and infected with the virus that left them shifting forms and lived to tell the tale. Those lucky bastards weren't slaves to so many things as naturals were. Seemed like it should have been opposite, but nature had a funny way of saying fuck you—even if I created you.

A human getting eaten near headquarters by an operative had happened more than once in the past. Still kind of happened. They were just better at hiding it.

He put his palm to the scanner at the lobby door. "Weird that they check us in and out when we're salaried."

Striker wrinkled his face. "Big brother's way of keepin' track of how much we show our faces in here."

"I hate big brother," Duke said, knowing he'd get a laugh out of his friend.

"Aye, me too. Now, there are beers with our names on them." Striker rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and Duke wondered if the man had started the party without him.

"Had a few already?"

Striker lifted his thumb and forefinger. "Wee bit."

As Duke stood closer, he picked up on the smell of whiskey on Striker's breath. A wee bit would have worn off already. Their metabolism was that fast. Striker had had more than a few drinks. He'd probably put away a bottle or two.

"Mankind feels safer already," Duke jested. He was all for blowing off steam. They'd put in a lot of hours in the last month and been dealing with a rash of bullshit in the way of bad guys. They needed to relax and unwind every once in a while, to prevent them from losing their temper when a situation didn't call for it. "With us in charge of their safety, why wouldn't they?"

"Hey, they don't know we exist. To them we're the stuff of fairytales."

Duke slid his friend a hard look. "I'm no faerie."

"You're too ugly. They wouldnae take you," Striker said with a snort. "They'd nae take either of us. We're not pretty enough."

"True. Let's go get you drunker."

Striker pressed the button for the elevator. "In my defense, I've been off the clock for nearly four hours, waiting for you to finish yer damn paperwork. A damn monkey types faster than you do."

The elevator doors opened, and Duke entered. Striker followed close behind. Duke was happy whoever built this division office had the brains to make an elevator big enough and strong enough to hold multiple paranormal males. A few of the division headquarters were so tightly fitted that it was hard to move down the halls of them walking normally. One he had to turn sideways to pass through.

"So," he continued. "Do we have any monkey shifters on staff ? We should. That would be kickass. Speaking of ass, do you think they'd pick theirs like a monkey would?"

"You actually take time to think of these things?" Striker asked, pausing. "I think you might need laid, stat."

"Offering again, asswipe?"

Striker shoved him playfully. "Once you had a taste of me, you'd never get enough."

"I'm pretty sure I just threw up a little." Duke snarled, allowing his jaw and teeth to change shapes, partially shifting into the mouth of a wolf.

Laughing, Striker did the same. He too was a born wolf-shifter. Shifting forms was much faster and easier than non-naturals since they were born that way. For every perk of being a born-shifter, nature saw fit to add a "fuck you". Like the bloodlust and having a true mate that the odds of finding were astronomically small.

Yeah, Mother Nature is a bitch.

He looked to Striker. Duke's mouth returned to normal. "You look like a redheaded bear. You're a shame to the pack. You plan to cut that hair at any point or shave that beard?"

"No." He shook his head, sending his long auburn hair in every direction. "You think I'm sexy. Admit it."

"Fuck off, Scot." Duke shoved him out of the elevator as the doors opened. They didn't make it too far before they found themselves standing in front of Captain Corbin Jones. Sighing, Duke pivoted and walked back into the elevator, holding the doors open with his hand. If the Brit was in this time of night, it could only mean one thing.

Something big had come up and there would be no drinking tonight.

Striker groaned. "Beer had our name on it."

Corbin lifted a dark blond brow and followed them back into the elevator, his long sandy-blond hair pulled back tightly. Duke noticed most of the PSI- Ops kept their hair long. Probably had something to do with their ages—they were older than dirt and came from times when it was socially acceptable for men to wear their hair long. Well, that and none of them really gave a shit what people thought of them.

"It will have to wait," Corbin said, his words clipped and polished. The Brit continued, "Boomer should be here any minute. Pack a bag. Paris has your names on it."

"Dammit, Captain," Duke said. "I hate to fly. And I hate Paris."

"This time I'm with you on the hating bandwagon," Striker added. "I hate Paris too. Been arrested more times than I can count there. Plus, they're French."

Corbin eyed them both. "Something wrong with the French?"

Duke punched in the code to go to the lower level. "I wouldn't know where to begin with answering that, sir."

With a laugh, Corbin nodded. "I could add to the list."

"I bet you could," said Duke.

"Hold on!" Miles "Boomer" Walsh yelled as he ran through the main lobby, bag in hand, a rifle slung over his left shoulder.

"Christ, tell me you didn't walk through the streets with that." Duke shook his head.

"Nah, was in my trunk. Didn't unload it until I was parked in the lot here, you know, secret government facility and all." Boomer's hair was wet. When dry it had a strange mix of colors in it. Duke swore the guy had honest to God blue-black pieces in the mix. The panther in him showed more in human form than any other shifter male Duke had seen in all his years. Boomer's eyes were violet and often creeped people the fuck out.

Not Duke.

He knew the man well. Knew Boomer, while earning his nickname for his love of explosives, had a heart of gold. The guy was tough yet would give his life for his fellow brothers in arms.

As a good PSI-Operative should.

Striker laughed. "Hey, how is your lady friend? You know, the hot little number at the zoo?"

"Dick," Boomer said, shaking his head.

Boomer, while a born shifter, had an ugly past before he'd come to be what he was. From the little bit Duke had learned about it over the years, Boomer's mother survived an attack by a werepanther when she was pregnant with him. He was born a panther shifter, to a mother who couldn't control her urges and hated what she'd become. Corbin had mentioned once, when they'd all had too much to drink, that he'd been the one to pull Boomer from the situation when Boomer was barely a toddler. Duke wasn't sure where Boomer grew up from there, but he did know it wasn't with his biological mother.

Boomer was older than Duke yet hadn't really aged past his late twenties. Duke leveled off around the age thirty-three. He couldn't complain. Though, he did have the tiniest starts of white hair on his temples that had begun to grow right before his body decided he wasn't going to age anymore.

Chicks seemed to dig it, so he didn't make too big of a fuss about it. And it wasn't like he was about to go to one of those fancy salons and ask to get his hair colored.

No way in hell would that happen.

Getting old sucked and he was doing it a snail's pace. He couldn't imagine being human.

He nearly shuddered at the idea and he was nowhere near as old as some of the men on his team —what was left of it. They were two men down from their normal six-man teams and were adamant on refusing to accept any new ones. One was on a forced sabbatical, attempting to clear his head. Malik had seriously lost his shit recently and Corbin had ordered him to take personal time to try to sort out whatever the hell had crawled up his ass. Duke didn't know what all had happened and figured it wasn't his business to pry. He just knew Malik, or Tut as they'd nicknamed him, would be pissed when he learned they went on another mission without him.

The other man?

They'd been without for years now.

James Hagen.

They'd refused to accept any new team member when one of their own was accused of getting a fellow operative killed.

Duke never believed the rumors. James had a hot temper, but all the shifter males did, and he was a great operative. He'd never willingly get another member killed. Not James. The man had been a doctor more than once in his long life of reinventing himself. He took his oath to save lives seriously. He'd never purposely cause the death of a fellow operative. It wasn't James's style. The fucking higher-ups didn't seem to recognize that.

And now he was missing presumed dead.

"What up?" Boomer asked of Corbin.

Duke groaned at Boomer's attempt to sound hip and young. While the men looked young and forever would, they were hardly spring chickens.

Corbin pushed the stop button on the elevator and then said nothing for a few seconds. "It's James."

Duke stiffened. When word had come last week that James had been taken months prior, Duke assumed the worst. He was positive he was about to hear that a man he considered a brother was dead and that it had been confirmed. They'd all been waiting for this day. The day they'd learn the fate of James. He'd been a member of their team since before Duke had even joined on. Then, ten years back, that all changed. They'd lost their team medic and a trusted friend who was like a brother to them. They'd all tried to bring James back into the fold. He managed to go off the grid. Until a year ago. Then he reached out to PSI to help a young girl that intel said he thought of as a daughter.

The girl ended up being Eadan's mate, Inara, and she told them all that James had been taken by a van of masked men months earlier. They'd not been able to find out anything more regarding his whereabouts.

"He's being held in a testing facility in Paris," Corbin said.

Duke stopped and stared at Corbin, waiting for more information. He'd been held prisoner before, and he'd prayed each day for death to come. Shifters, in particular, could physically take a lot of damage and heal again and again. Mentally, though? He knew what that kind of hell could do to a person's mindset.

"It's bad," said Corbin. "The people holding him have ties to every known genetics evil genius."

The men all shared a look. This wasn't good. Not good at all. They'd seen some of the sick shit that went on in those types of places when they'd been dispatched to a secondary location the Immortal Ops had been unable to sweep in Brazil. What they'd found had stuck with them.

"What condition is he in?" asked Duke, unsure he wanted to hear the answer.

Corbin looked at Duke and no words needed to be spoken.

Duke closed his eyes. "Fuck."

"Word only just reached us about him, and the intel is scrambled. The tech analysts are working as fast as they can to decrypt it but it's sophisticated. Unlike anything we've run across before. From the little we could gather, we know the city and that he's in bad shape, but we have very few ties to him beyond that. We do have a name—Mercy Deluca."

"Enemy?" asked Striker, suddenly sober.

"At this point, yes, our analysts seem to think so," Corbin responded. "She's our target. We get to her, shadow her, if we can't find James by normal means we use whatever force is necessary to bring him home."

The men nodded.

Boomer squared his shoulders. "If it's not something our techs can break, then how do we know the intel is good?"

"They had James's code," Corbin responded.

"What about King Tut?" asked Striker. "The Egyptian is gonna want in on this."

Corbin shook his head. "Malik," he said, correcting Striker for calling Malik King Tut again. It was too fun not to. Malik was literally from Ancient Egyptian times. The man was old as could be but didn't look a day over thirty. "Is not to be brought in on this. He needs to get his head cleared, or he's of no use to all of us. Am I clear?"

"Yes," they answered in unison.

Chapter Two

Mercy Deluca headed down the seemingly endless corridor of the sub eleventh floor of Donavon Dynamics Corporation. Fluorescent lights flickered softly, their hum sounding louder than it should. They were made to back-light what was meant to resemble windows, giving a false sense of where one was. Mercy's senses had always been better than others. She'd never been fooled, even before she'd learned it was an underground facility.

People had told her more than once in her life that she was very different—an out-of-the-box thinker. Her I.Q. was off the charts and that had a lot to do with how others perceived her and, frankly, how she perceived others. Her social skills seriously lacked as well. She'd tried hard to mimic others growing up, doing her best to be a social butterfly, but her attempts fell short. Like her sophomore year of college when she'd finally been invited to a party and decided to go dressed in costume. She'd selected an orange sweatshirt and had stitched the sign for Pi on it. She'd been a Pumpkin Pi. No one got it. They thought she belonged to a sorority that wasn't widely known and who had really ugly color choices.

Being brilliant was hard.

Maybe, had she a better skill set in the social department, she'd have noticed The Corporation's tricks. She'd have seen the trap coming. As it stood, she hadn't. She'd been blindsided. By the time she leaned the truth, she was in far too deep.

The Corporation was into some heavy things and only a few were legal. Those were just a front for all the bad. She'd not understood the depth of their reach or the scope of their operation when she'd agreed to work for them.

"Work for us," they'd said. "Help make the world a better place."

She'd fallen for the lure, hook, line and sinker. How could she have known that a corporation known worldwide as being leaders in the fight against sickness and disease was a giant front for mad men?

They'd wined and dined her, puffing up her ego, making a point to talk about how brilliant she was in her selected field. No bones were made about how she was one of the sharpest and most innovative biomedical engineers and that her medical degree only added to the total package. After having faced so much resistance to being so young while in college and the same when she graduated and began a job pursuit, she found this change welcome. Finally, someone had recognized her talents and saw within to her extreme potential. She'd wanted so desperately to do good and make a difference that she failed to see what was right before her. It wasn't until she was locked in—just shy of signing in blood—that they'd revealed who and what they were.

Evil.

Men who hid behind fancy cars, expensive suits and a false sense of righteousness. Men who wanted to create a master race of super humans. Men who didn't learn from the atrocities of the past but rather seemed hell bent on repeating them for their own twisted gain.

She was in now.

Part of their network of wrongdoing.

Trapped.

And she had other people to worry about. All the test subjects. They needed her help. If her life was on the line, it might as well be at risk for something good.

And freeing them would be good.

If she could only figure out how to do it.

She'd called the number Test Subject 87P had given her, but the jerk who kept answering the phone refused to put her through to someone who could possibly help her, or at the very least tell her if they'd gotten the information she'd sent.

She nearly growled with anger, thinking about the unbelievable jerk who had accused her of phoning in fake alien abductions. As if she would ever.

If an alien had abducted her, she would've have far too many questions for it to bother with wanting to turn it in. She was simply too science-minded not to.

As it stood, she still wasn't sure if any help was coming.

Though, apparently, they'd come running if she was up for an anal probing. She wanted to hit something, preferably the jerk-off who had answered the phone. Didn't he understand the danger she was in— the danger they were all in?

What have I gotten myself into?

Yes, she'd been an unwitting accomplice, but an accomplice all the same. She couldn't forgive herself. She was in too deep to simply say no and leave. No one walked away from The Corporation and lived to tell the tale later.

No.

She had to be smart. She had to take them down. Had to make their empire crumble. It was the only way she could ensure the safety of The Corporation's secret prisoners, not to mention her own safety.

Mercy continued, walking with a purpose so as to not alert the guards to the fact she had no actual business to attend to in the area. She was in a heightened state of awareness, fearful she'd be caught. Every precaution she could take to head off being discovered, she'd done. Was it enough? It wasn't as if being a spy came easy to her. And espionage wasn't part of her skill set. At least it hadn't been.

"Concentrate," she whispered, scolding herself.

She'd designed the majority of the biometric scanners, and sensors used for security within the facility. She knew her way around them. She also knew that most of the guard station doors were rigged to explode if tampered with too much. The Corporation wouldn't hesitate to bring the building down on everyone's heads rather than allow their enemies inside and access to their research.

But she'd been smart. When she'd first created the systems, she'd made a backdoor into them. It didn't matter what it was she'd created for The Corporation, she'd installed a kill switch and a back entry point. Her conscience had demanded she do so because her gut had sensed there was something off about the company almost from the beginning.

The security measures she'd built into the systems meant that, if need be, only she could access and control the technology. Back then, it had felt like too much power to hand over to people she'd only just met. She was glad she'd had that tiny bit of forethought.

Gaining entrance via the backdoor path she'd created was a last resort. Even she would have to use care around their safeguards to avoid tripping anything dangerous. For now, she would simply walk through all the checkpoints. She kept her gaze ahead, already knowing cameras were mounted everywhere, showing her every move to the men hired to watch everything and everyone who had anything to do with The Corporation. She had high clearance but not level one. As a Level Two she was afforded nearly free roam of the facility—but kept under constant surveillance. She was required to show her identification upon entering the building and then at each guard station between here and the lowest level.

Armed guards were stationed on each floor. She'd already made her way past several checkpoints, doing her best to maintain an even façade. She'd come too far to get caught now.

The lower you went, the more heavily the guards were armed. Currently, she was eleven levels underground. Anything below lobby level wasn't shown on records available to the public. The low areas simply did not exist. At least not to anyone who wasn't in the know.

And she was in the know.

She was a trusted member of the staff. She hated everything The Corporation stood for—the lies they perpetuated to the public when in truth they were sick sons-of-bitches.

She'd spent the greater part of her year working for them, collecting evidence against them. Problem was, Mercy had no clue where to go with the information. Certain politicians were in the pocket of The Corporation. They were so powerful, some governments backed them fully, knowing what they did. She'd been at a loss until she'd met Test Subject 87. He'd given her a channel to reach out through for help and she'd taken it.

She shuddered, fear racing its way up her spine at the thought of being caught.

"Steady," she whispered to herself. "You can do this."

Pressing a smile to her face, she approached the guard at the desk at the end of the corridor. Gaspard was by far the nicest guard employed at the facility. He would often smile and make small talk with her. She'd have thought him an ally, but she'd witnessed him torturing test subjects with his other guard buddies. He was also cruel to the test animals kept on the premises. Ones Mercy hoped to free as well as the human test subjects.

While this guard had not been the ringleader, he'd been a participant. She always remembered what he was capable of, despite his warm smile. She showed her badge.

Gaspard pursed his lips. "Doctor Deluca, that is a customer loyalty card," he said, his English laced with a heavy French accent. He licked his lips, as if he were doing his best not to laugh. "For a coffeehouse."

Nervous, she thumbed through her lab coat and groaned. How could she have forgotten her badge? She'd had it when she'd entered the main lobby. The more she thought about it the more she realized the other guards had simply waved her through after first entering the building. She was that well known throughout The Corporation.

The phone at Gaspard's desk beeped. He put a hand up indicating she needed to wait a moment. Tension filled every muscle on her body.

This was it.

She was busted.

She just knew it.

He spoke in French faster than she could follow along and then hung up the phone. He grinned at her. "Your badge is at the desk in front. Try to remember it next time, yes?"

"Yes," she managed, her palms sweaty.

"At least you have on matching shoes this time," he said, shaking his head, mumbling something about doctors being forgetful, especially the Americans. She did have a tendency to be absentminded, but that was only because her mind was always full of other thoughts. Just the other day she'd arrived at work only to discover she had on two different sneakers—they were the same brand but different colors. Things like that happened often to her. She'd grown used to it.

Apparently, so had the guard. He waved her through.

Once inside the small holding area, Mercy moved to the retinal scanner unit. She stood still; her eyes open as a red laser scanned them. Seconds felt like minutes as she did her best to keep from shaking or sweating. She couldn't tip them off. She'd designed the scanners to pick up on distress. They were far more advanced than any others in use around the world. She had only herself to blame if she was caught. It would be her own tech turning against her.

She had to do this.

Lives depended on her.

Be calm.

A red light appeared, followed by a loud beep.

She tensed. It had rejected her. Her own damn machine had rejected her.

Gaspard leaned in. "Relax, Doctor. I know you were worried about your badge. It has been found. Be calm."

She did her best to do as he commanded. Though, she was hardly nervous about the badge. More like being worried she'd be discovered as a traitor and executed, but if he needed to think her anxiety originated from forgetting her badge, fine.

This time the scan worked. The large door beeped once and a green light lit. The huge metal doors slid open. Mercy had to fight to keep from running through them. With slow, deliberate steps, she entered the laboratory. Her heeled knee-length boots clicked on the hard floor, echoing throughout the room, announcing her presence. Two scientists glanced in her direction. The first cursed in French under his breath at her. He'd never cared much for her.

The feeling was mutual.

He was best buddies with Dr. Bertrand, whom she hated.

She hated all of them.

They were demons dressed in lab coats.

Bertrand was worse than most, though.

Still, she was a trusted doctor and biomedical engineer and was vital to what they were doing. They knew as much. She continued, as if she was due in to check over her current projects. She wasn't due for two days. That was her next scheduled maintenance run on the equipment in the cellblock. By then it could be too late. Test Subject 87P could already be dead. She couldn't allow that to happen. Not if she had it in her to save him.

Or at least try.

She'd failed others.

She'd not fail this one.

After several more security checkpoints she finally made it to the main cellblock—where the prized collection was held. These were the test subjects with high research value—yet little actual value for their lives. Even in death their bodies could be studied and dissected. Each cell was specially designed to hold different types of test subjects.

Not test subjects, she thought. People. Human lab rats.

Yes, they were certainly more than human as she'd learned during her time with The Corporation, but they were people nonetheless and they didn't deserve what was being done to them. When she'd first happened upon data sequencing reports on various test subjects within the facility, she'd thought it was a joke. That a scientist there had suddenly developed a sense of humor.

That wasn't the case.

Back then she'd had a hard time making sense of what she was looking at. Animal, human and unidentified DNA. As she'd read further, she'd discovered the DNA splicing that had gone on and, even more remarkable, the evidence many of the test subjects had been born with these traits. As horrifying as the idea of genetically splicing human and animal DNA was, she'd been unable to tear herself away from the source material. All the while she read it, she kept thinking about the ugly history of science—of monsters like IIya Ivanov and his ape-army attempts, of Hitler's scientists—known better as Nazi's Eugenics and their attempts at a master race, or the fact that this master race attempt had ties to America and its own sordid past with eugenics. Aside from being wrong ethically, each event was a mar on science's good name. One more reason people feared it being left unchecked.

And rightfully so.

She'd been an advocate for science, but after learning the truth of what The Corporation did and what it really stood for, she found herself standing against them.

No matter how one looked at it, this was wrong. What they were doing was monstrous, and they had to be stopped.

At great risk to herself, she'd smuggled large portions of their research out on small drives that she'd specially created. Once home, she'd looked over it all in more detail. The science side of her brain said what she was looking over was extraordinary and impossible. The test subjects who were born with animal DNA in them naturally—natural-borns— were the next wave of human evolution. But the brutalities they'd endured at The Corporation's hands were simply unspeakable. And the others—the ones not born with high levels of mutated DNA—had DNA introduced to them in ways that made her skin crawl. The Corporation's think-tank team attempted nearly every variation and splicing of the human genome they could think of, with no thought to the test subject or the ethics of it all.

To the monsters who ran The Corporation, the end justified the means.

She hated them all.

There had been one set of results she'd found herself unable to walk away from. The only notes had told of the subject being male and a natural born. The man's sequence spoke to her, as only DNA could to a scientist. Mercy had been so fascinated with it that she'd printed it and put it on her wall in her bedroom so she could gaze upon it as she drifted off to sleep each night.

Worry laced through her that her obsession with that particular sequence meant she was predisposed to be like Bertrand and the others.

Monster scientists.

That was part of why she worked so hard to bring The Corporation down.

The obsession with the one sequence of DNA had never waned. Even in the face of all she'd learned. That sequence was special to her though she couldn't explain why. She did know that its owner possessed a great deal of wolf DNA. So much so he could no doubt change forms.

Her fascination hadn't stopped there. She'd felt compelled to test herself as well, though she'd kept the results hidden from everyone else at the lab and had even gone so far as to have them processed under a fake Test Subject number.

The results baffled her. They were inconclusive.

How could that be?

You know how, she reminded herself.

She'd seen so much working for The Corporation that nothing should surprise her. But still, she wasn't able to shift forms or do what many of these test subjects could do. She was just boring old Dr. Mercy Deluca. There was nothing extraordinary about her, despite what her DNA tried to say.

She'd come across video recordings of varying test subjects that had been held at one time or another within the facility. Mercy had seen with her own eyes what marvels they could perform. Things she tried to deny but had proof. Some could shift into animals, other could perform what could only be labeled as magik, some could do a mix of both, some craved and lived off blood… The list went on and on.

The Corporation exploited it all, and it sickened her. The way they were going about trying to duplicate and even increase the results they already had was sick. In addition, others seemed to be able to do certain things, things she had a hard time explaining away scientifically.

Because it's magik.

As a scientist she'd been trained not to believe in magik. That everything could be explained.

This couldn't.

She'd tried.

She'd accidentally walked in on the torture of one. Test Subject 87P. From the very moment she'd locked gazes with him, she'd felt a connection to him. A friendship born out of necessity but one she didn't want to lose. Already the guards and scientists pushed the man's limits too far. They'd kill him soon if she didn't get him and any others that they were holding out of there.

Mercy couldn't think on the horrors now. If she lost her focus, she could lose her nerve. And if she lost her nerve, people would die.

Including her.

She was only valuable if she wasn't trying to sabotage their entire operation.

Which was exactly what she was trying to do.

Once discovered, they'd make her death painful. She was sure of it.

The last guard waved her through, speaking in French to her. Her French was limited, but she knew enough to know he didn't want to be bothered with conversing with her. That was fine. She didn't want to make small talk with him either. It would be nearly impossible for her to pretend she cared what he had to say. She viewed him only as a monster.

They all were.

What would she say?

Come up with any new and interesting ways to torture people? Find a way to wipe out any races yet?

Sickos.

The main door closed behind her and she put her hand out. Without looking, Mercy was able to shut off the audio to the area by simply using her hand and remembering each key's position on the pad.

She was that good.

She'd already placed a virus within the software running the cameras. The cameras would cut in and out all around the facility, keeping the guards busy for a bit as they scrambled to fix the issue.

She hurried down the stark white hall to the last cell. There was only one test subject remaining in the high value area. The others had been taken to another location. One she'd yet to figure out, but with more time and more digging she knew she'd discover it.

Technology within The Corporation was leaps and bounds above anything currently on the market. To outsiders the place would seem like something out of a science fiction movie. To her, it had represented progress and hope—that was before she knew the truth. She keyed in the entrance code to the cell and held her breath, unsure what she'd find when she entered.

She only hoped its current occupant was still alive.

The door's tint faded away quickly, leaving it see- through. Her chest tightened at the sight of the man slumped on the floor. His body was bloody and broken. His ear-length dark hair was matted to his head, caked with dried blood. The guards had been in again. They derived great pleasure at Test Subject 87P's expense. How the man was even alive was a mystery to her. He'd taken more abuse than anyone ever should or really could.

She nearly lost her breakfast as she waited for the damn door to slide open all the way, allowing her to enter.

I have to free him.

"Ohmygod," she whispered, going to his side. There really wasn't a good spot to touch him so she simply leaned in, lowering her voice, hoping to be a soothing addition. "I'm here. I did what you asked. I sent all the information I gathered to the contact you gave me."

Test Subject 87P didn't trust easily. She couldn't blame him. The Corporation had played games with him mentally and physically. Yet he'd not broken in all that time. He'd never given her his name. Mercy had been open and honest about hers from the moment she'd walked into his cell to calibrate a piece of equipment one of the scientists had been using.

It was then she'd realized the full horror of what The Corporation did. She'd never seen anything like it. Had never been witness to torture. The hard resolve of Test Subject 87P, his refusal to let them see the obvious pain he'd been in, had moved her. There was a man who needed help badly but would not lower himself to ask for it. She knew the scientists would kill him at some point.

After that, she'd started digging into The Corporation, learning what they really did and how much they'd done it.

She was stunned.

She'd unwittingly assisted them by helping to create technologies they used against the test subjects. The truth of her role in it all devastated her. She made the choice in that fraction of a second to make a difference. To stop The Corporation no matter the personal cost.

Test Subject 87 opened his eyes and stared out, the green in his eyes more intensified because they were rimmed with red. "Dr. M-Mercy?"

Relief rushed through her. He was alive.

"Yes. I'm here." She nodded. "What can I do?"

He didn't speak for a few moments and she knew why—his jaw looked as if it was healing a break. She'd read his charts. He had a healing rate that exceeded many of the others who had been held at various times in the facility. "I can try to find something for the pain."

"No," he whispered. "I'll be fine."

"You don't look fine." And he didn't. He looked about as far from fine as a person could get and still be breathing.

Actually, a normal person wouldn't still be breathing.

"I've looked worse." His attempt at humor fell flat on her.

She doubted that he'd ever looked worse. "I did what you told me to. No one responded through the channels. I don't know if they got it all."

He coughed and blood flew out. His internal injuries were grave. "They got it."

"How can we be sure?" She wanted to comment on his condition, but she'd spent enough time talking with him over the past few months to know he had some sort of medical training. In fact, she'd hazard a guess that he had quite a bit. He knew what bad shape he was in. He didn't need her constantly pointing it out.

He let out a weak laugh. "Because once information like that begins to float in the public at all, they have a way of picking up on it, and if you sent it to who I said to, it went straight to the source."

"What does this mean?" she asked, her voice strained with worry as she balled her hands into fists in a futile attempt to keep from crying. The situation was grave enough as it was without her melting into an emotional heap. That would accomplish nothing.

He lifted his head slightly, and the action looked as though it took great effort. "Means the cavalry is coming and is gonna hand out a can of whoopass on this place."

A small smile pressed to her mouth, but she didn't feel happy, so it never reached her eyes. She hated what had been done to him and others like him. Hated that she'd been unable to release him. She'd thought of all the varying ways she could try to sneak him out, but none were plausible. And if he didn't get out soon, he'd end up dead.

Others had.

One life lost would have been one too many. There were far more than one.

She'd found records on the test subjects who hadn't survived, who hadn't had anyone there to help them. There had been too many to count. "I'm so sorry. I didn't know they did this…"

"I know," he said. He took a few deep breaths that looked painful.

She wanted to help him, to take away his pain, but that wasn't possible. At best she could ease it if he let her.

"You did everything I told you to, right?" he asked.

"Yes," she responded, her voice shaky. She couldn't cry. If she cried, she'd never get herself pulled back together. Now wasn't the time to go to pieces. She'd not let herself break down over this all yet. She would if she survived it all. Then and only then would she have a good cry. One that probably lasted days. "I gathered all the research I found they'd done here, encrypted it and sent it along with the message PSI-Op JH2."

He licked his lower lip, and she knew he was thirsty. She rushed out of the cell and to a small kitchen area not far from the cells. Paper cups were stacked neatly near a water jug. How cruel to put a jug of water so close and within sight of the prisoners but never offer them any.

I hate these people.

She filled a cup with water and was back in his cell within seconds. "Here," she said, lifting his head and putting the paper cup to his lips. He only managed to take a small sip.

He nodded slightly. "You added your name, right?"

"I did."

He blinked up at her. "And you added the other code word, right?"

"What other code word?"

"Tell me you added the GreenLightJH2 behind your name," he said, trying but failing to sit up. Everything on him appeared to strain, but he made no headway in moving. She'd seen him months ago when he'd been newer. He'd been ripped then, full of muscle and an imposing sight. He was pretty much skin and bones now, and the definition he'd once had was barely there.

Mercy bit her lower lip. She'd forgotten that part. All her energy had gone into gathering and encrypting the data. She wasn't a super spy. These types of things didn't come naturally to her. "No. Sorry. There was so much to remember, and I was nervous and…"

"Get out," he said, but without any malice. His command sounded more like a plea from a desperate man. One who didn't want her harmed. Even with all he'd been through he still held compassion for others.

His internal strength amazed her.

"Go!" he shouted. "When they come, they'll treat you like they will the rest of them here. Go! Run and hide!"

"I can't leave you here. And what about the others they have locked up?" she asked, her thoughts running to those she'd not been able to get to in time. "I can't walk away from all of you."

"Woman," he said, taking in a big, shaky breath. "The men coming won't play games. They won't stop to ask if you're friendly. They will end you to get to me. Without the safe word I told you to use, you're just another face in the crowd of fucked up around here."

She gasped. If he was right, she'd painted another target on herself.

"Go. Get as far from here as you can," he said, hope lost in his gaze. He'd been through so much. She couldn't let him go through any more alone.

She shook her head. She was already up against The Corporation. What was one more group that was deadly and possibly gunning for her? "I can't leave you all. Brad and Vic are counting on me as well."

Brad and Victor were test subjects who had been housed within the facility during her time there. They'd been with The Corporation longer than the current test subject. And she'd already failed them. She'd not gotten them out before they'd been transferred. She had to find their new location. They couldn't continue being subjected to the torture the scientists were putting them through. Not to mention the bizarre training.

She still wasn't sure what that had all been about. She just knew it couldn't be good. It was as if they were being groomed to be fighting machines for The Corporation.

The injured man before her put his head on the floor. "You can't stay. I can smell the Fae on you. The higher ups here have to know the truth too. If not, one of the other shifters here will eventually tell them. I've got a bit of Fae in me, so I smell it quicker than others. It won't take the shifters here much longer to figure out something is different with you. To save themselves, they might give you up. If my men don't kill you by mistake, these monsters will grab you and experiment on you too."

Mercy nearly ran but forced herself to stay in place. He was delirious and not making any sense. She didn't have any Fae on her, whatever that was. "I tested myself."

He looked at her. "And?"

"The tests didn't make sense."

He nodded, sadness edging the corners of his eyes. It was as though he pitied her. He was locked up by madmen but felt bad for her. "I know."

She held tight to the tears wanting to come. She knew the bind she'd gotten herself into. And she realized getting out of it would more than likely cost her life. But it was a small price to pay in the face of all she'd been an unwitting participant in. "Your wounds need tending to. I'm staying. That is that."

"You are a damned fool. That or you want to die. Have you given up on life so young, Mercy?" He looked tired as he said it but there was something else there, surprise maybe. He expected her to abandon him. As if he'd been let down by others many times before.

She understood what it was like to be let down by people close to you. She'd been a child of the system ever since she could remember, bouncing from foster home to foster home. She'd buried herself in schoolwork, and no matter what had been thrown at her she kept going, kept focusing on her dream to one day make a difference in the world. Though, this wasn't the difference she had in mind. "I've been called worse."

"Jimmy," he said softly, confusing her as to why he'd call her that.

"What?"

"My name is Jimmy, and you need to listen to me closely," he said, his hand moving to her thigh. His touch was comforting. Strangely, he managed to give off a protective vibe when he was the one who obviously required protection. She'd never had anyone be protective of her before. It was strange and nice all in one. "Get out of here. Go to a safe location. Not your home. They'll look there first. Don't use any credit cards. Cash only. Go and stay gone. I'll find you once I'm free. You've my word. Just stay alive, little doctor."

"You're not in any condition to do anything," she said, checking him over to see just how bad his injuries were. While she appreciated his concern, she couldn't do what he asked—even if she wanted to, which she didn't. The Corporation kept close watch on her. They'd told her that they had eyes on her apartment building—whatever that meant. And they seemed to know things they shouldn't, like where she'd go for lunch or if she left the city limits at any point. She'd never be able to outrun them on her own and if Jimmy's people had it in for her too, she was extra screwed. No point in running.

He caught her wrist, his eyes pleading. "Go, Doc. Just go."

She shook her head. "I can't."

He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. "You're a good person. I don't want you hurt."

"Well, that goes both ways, buddy." Standing, she glanced at the cameras, hoping her bug in the system was doing what it was designed to do. She left Jimmy's side and went to the medicine holding area. There, she was able to find something for the pain. She took a vial of it and a syringe. When she returned it was to find Jimmy trying again to sit up.

It didn't work.

She bent and administered the morphine. She understood his genetic makeup now. She knew why he seemed able to endure more than a human ever could. Mercy knew he had animal DNA in him along with something she'd never seen before. She also knew his body would go through the morphine quickly. That was why she gave him much more than one ever would a human.

He stopped moving around and blinked up at her. "Thank you."

She nodded and touched his forehead lightly, wanting to give comfort. "Anyone else would be out cold right now."

"I'm hardy stock," he said with a tiny laugh.

"How long will you take to heal?" she asked. "Assuming they aren't able to injure you again."

He rolled onto his back and the action looked like it wasn't comfortable, even with the morphine in his system. "A week, possibly longer. They are using weapons specific for my genetic makeup against me. That always takes longer to heal than most other things. If I was given a transfusion from another of my kind that would certainly speed the process."

His words only served to make her hate The Corporation more. "They're animals."

"No," he said, glancing at her. "I'm an animal and we'd never do this to someone."

She had to laugh softly at his words. He was right. He did carry animal in him, and his heart was obviously big. "You're right. They're just monsters."

A slight nod was all he added.

"Last time we were able to talk, you were telling me about your brothers," she said, knowing she should go before someone caught her there, but she knew he needed to take his mind off the pain. "You never gave me names before. Of course, you let me call you Test Subject 87P too."

He snorted and then coughed, touching his ribs lightly. "You like the stories about the one who seems to hate everything."

She smiled. She did enjoy the stories about that one. "He doesn't really hate everything, does he? He doesn't really curse laptops and think all technology is the devil, does he?"

"No to the first, yes to the second." Jimmy looked her over. "Something deep in me tells me he'd not hate you. Far from it. Hell, I've got a feeling that five minutes near you and he'll finally find something he loves."

She touched Jimmy's hand. "Is he one of the people who will come for you?"

"Probably, yes, but he hates France so he might just send someone else. That or show up and bitch me for being stupid enough to get caught in the first place. That would be a very him thing to do."

She laughed.

"What are you doing in here?" asked, Dr. Bertrand, surprising Mercy with his presence.

She stood and wiped her bloody hands on her lab coat. "I came to double check a malfunction in the ultrasonic wave generator. Aren't you who reported the problem?"

She knew it had a problem. She was the one who'd sabotaged it. Mercy knew she might require a cover story for being in the building. And she knew one of Dr. Bertrand's favorite torture devices came in the form of ultrasonic sound. The pain and damage it caused the test subjects with animal DNA in them was well known throughout The Corporation.

The man, tall, slim and disturbingly pale, leered at her through beady eyes. She couldn't miss the way he stared with glee at Jimmy. The German doctor was good friends with another scientist. One who had made frequent stops at The Corporation.

Gisbert Krauss.

Prior to getting to know him, Krauss had been somewhat of a hero in Mercy's mind. His advancements into human DNA and his theories on splicing it had kept her riveted to his journal publications.

That was before.

Before she knew the truth about him.

Before she understood the past monsters he'd modeled himself after and the lengths he'd gone to in order to gain his innovative ideas.

He deserved to be punished—to the full extent of the law—or fed to the guys who could shift into animals. Seemed fitting.

Krauss looked harmless enough, but she knew the truth. He had a dark heart and an evil soul. He'd brought Brad and Victor to the facility. They'd arrived in cages, like they were animals, and all the while Krauss had smiled, as if it were part of his crowning glory.

Bastard.

He'd been grooming Bertrand in his image. She'd seen firsthand what he would in the name of science. Bile rose just thinking about it.

She also knew what Dr. Bertrand was capable of. She'd retrieved footage of his cruelties.

"What are you doing in this cell?" he demanded.

"I thought he was dead," she said, keeping her distance yet placing herself between Dr. Bertrand and Jimmy. He wouldn't survive another round of torture. He needed time to heal. If she had to sacrifice herself to give him that time, she would. "And I know how much you value your test subjects."

He paused, looking her over as a man would a woman he wanted. She fought the need to shiver. If he dared to touch her, she'd do something violent. She wasn't exactly sure what, because she wasn't violent by nature, but she knew it would be something big.

He reached for her, and Jimmy reacted, trying to stop him. Jimmy was in no shape to help anyone, let alone her. He simply fell onto his side, crying out in pain, breaking Mercy's heart more.

Bertrand watched the actions of them both with a look that said he was onto them. She held her head high. "Do you want your damn wave generator fixed or not?"

"I do," he said. "Come."

Nodding, she followed him out of the cell and turned, keying in the code to lock Jimmy's cell door. She added a few extra orders to the door. It would take The Corporation at least twenty-four hours to find a way to get the door to open again. That would allow Jimmy at least some time to heal.

Bertrand grabbed her roughly by the arm. "Come. Fix the generator."

She had to fight to keep her lip from curling at his touch. He dragged her to the end of the cellblock, to an office used by the doctors who frequented the area. The generator was on the edge of the desk.

Mercy jerked her arm free from Bertrand and shot him a nasty look, surprising herself with her bravery. "Try saying please. An ounce of polite goes a long way."