Damage Report

Chapter One

If Weston Carol didn't shift into a bear soon, he was going to tear someone's head off and possibly munch on their skull like a jawbreaker. He didn't much care that he'd be picking bone bits out of his teeth for weeks. Wouldn't be the first time. And it sure as hell wouldn't be the last. His life had been long and hard. There were things in his past he wasn't proud of and things in his future he was sure to come to regret.

Such was the way of it all.

He was tired, in need of a shift, hungry, and he wanted sex. He wasn't even sure in what order he needed it to happen, only that it all needed to happen sooner rather than later. The shifting was winning out. Though, he'd have put money on his dick needing satisfied first and foremost. Guess the bear in him had other plans.

His bear was an asshole.

Add in the fact he was exhausted and hadn't slept worth a damn for weeks because of screwed-up dreams, and Weston was pretty much a raging bear waiting to happen. He rubbed his jaw, his hands moving over his closely clipped beard. He'd never been one of those clean-shaven kind of guys. Wasn't his thing. Even before becoming a shifter.

A lot had changed after his testing. His grooming habits weren't one of them. Neither were the dreams. He'd had those for as long as he could remember, but whatever had been done to him years ago had made them much more intense.

Intense.

Telling.

Sometimes horrifying.

Closing his eyes for a moment, he relaxed and thought about one of the dreams that had been both soothing and oddly terrifying. The one with the faceless woman. He could see her from behind, her long hair down and going in all directions, curly and glorious—made for a man to run his fingers through. And he could smell her.

Berries and cream.

The scent was burned into his brain. He wanted to wrap himself in it. His mouth watered with desire as he opened his eyes, his attention now on the woods before him. He couldn't keep dwelling on whatever it was his dreams were trying to tell him. He'd already listened to his fucked-up dreams once in the month and had come out of hiding to do so. He'd spent decades staying under the radar of people who wanted to study him or kill him, and he'd flushed it all to help a friend. Someone he considered a brother.

Weston had sought out Casey Black, a fellow Immortal Outcast, and even assisted the guy's mate. When Weston's dreams had led him to believe that Casey's mate, Harmony, would be taken captive and killed, he found he couldn't stay hidden any longer. He had to do something to try to stop the events from unfolding. He had. Sort of. When it was over, she'd been alive and unharmed, but he'd been a bit late to the party, so to speak, and she'd been taken captive. That had left him no choice but to get himself captured as well—to be sure he was taken straight to her, as he had been. He'd been drugged, chained and imprisoned —again.

Though not for long.

Since he'd allowed himself to be captured in the first place, he'd always been in control of the situation, at least to some degree. And he had to laugh at the men who had tried to keep him held prisoner. What jokes. They were the type who probably had trouble catching and keeping a bug in a jar when they were little.

Idiots.

Dead idiots now, but idiots all the same.

No, Weston had done his due diligence. He'd helped another Outcast. Paid some good forward. Now, though, his work was done and he didn't need to stay in the area any longer. With Harmony home safe, the dreams should have eased up or at least stopped for a while. In the past, once the danger was over, he'd always been given breaks.

Not now. The Harmony dreams ended only for new, more confusing ones to begin, and they'd started when Weston was drugged and held captive. Whatever sedative they'd pumped him full of was more than likely a trigger. Though, he didn't understand how or why.

The dreams brought with them the sinking feeling something bad was close to happening to someone he loved. But since he didn't love anyone that in itself was confusing. So was the berries-and-cream girl. He'd never been blocked from being able to see a face in his dreams before, but hers was a mask of nothingness to him. Whoever she was, he had a strong sense that she was either in trouble or about to be, but he didn't have any details beyond that. Didn't matter how many times he tried to dream of her, all the information he received from whatever it was he tapped into when he was asleep wasn't much to go on.

"Some gift you assholes gave me. Should have kept my receipt and demanded a refund," he ground out between clenched teeth, thinking of the scientists who made him what he was today. They'd messed up with him and others like him.

Big time.

And there wasn't anyone to complain to. No one to rat them out to. The people who'd done this to him didn't exist on paper. They were ghosts. Men like them had been around forever and a day, getting away with atrocities all in the name of science. Several of the scientists in the Ops program when it started were true monsters in every sense of the word. Over the decades, new ones were brought in. Ones who had visions of an end goal but weren't willing to kill to get to it. Weston understood that everyone involved in the program wasn't evil to the core. And despite all he'd been put through, he understood the need for men like him—soldiers who could shift into animals or something more. That didn't lessen the sting of it all any or take away from the horrors he'd endured.

The endless tests. The painful operations. The poking, the prodding and, in the end, what could only be labeled as torture before they outright tried to kill him.

It all took its toll on him.

Left him wanting to curl away from society and simply exist alone. After escaping their clutches, he began learning about the history of similar programs. It was amazing how much was documented in books and old journals. How much was there for the public to view and yet very few did. And when he'd reached out to contacts in the underground, he found even more information.

It was scary as hell to see just how many times comparable tests were done, some even known worldwide, like IIya Ivanov and his ape-army attempts. Ivanov had been one of Hitler's scientists, and he and so many others had participated in what would be later called Nazi's Eugenics and the attempts at creating a master race. The Nazis weren't the only offenders. Weston was living proof of just how caught up in it all America had been, and in truth probably still was.

He didn't believe for one second they'd stopped their programs to create super soldiers. They'd just gotten better at hiding it. Other countries kept their attempts out of the papers and out of sight of humans, but supernaturals knew the truth. Knew the programs and tests were out there. Knew people were still trying to play God and that they were failing in unimaginable ways.

Gisbert Krauss was just one of the masterminds behind some of the new creations, such as the hybrids Weston had come up against more than once in the past year. From what he'd been told, many of the hybrids had started off as full-blooded supernaturals, and after Krauss and his team of scientists were done with them they were officially monsters. Blends of so many things, some of them no longer resembled human.

Weston shivered.

No thanks.

Sharing himself with a bear was bad enough. His skin burned with the need for a change, and since he was currently alone, sex would have to wait. Yanking on himself was never his favorite way to get off. He preferred a hot chick to his hand, but had been known to resort to his hand when nothing else would do. Such would be the case soon enough at the rate he was going.

He'd been unable to roam free in bear form for weeks and he couldn't take one more day of it. He pulled his truck off to the side of the road near a large expanse of black walnut trees and a deep-set ravine and got out, his entire body tense. He couldn't tell if he wanted to shift forms or just go on a killing spree. At the moment, both were in a dead heat. Never a good sign when you were doing your best to walk the path of the righteous.

He nearly laughed at the idea he was holier than thou.

Hardly.

He had been to church in his lifetime, more than once even, but that was before he'd become what he was. Before the military and government scientists tried to play God. Before he ended up sharing his body with an ill-tempered bear who, when he didn't get his way, got downright deadly. Though in all fairness, he'd apparently been hiding the genes needed to shift shapes somewhere deep in his genetic makeup, which was why he was a success when so many others were a failure. But the scientists couldn't stop there. They couldn't be content. No, they had wanted even more. Even better. They'd made him something even supernaturals were timid around.

A shapeshifter with the power of a bear, a wolf, and a tiger all wrapped in one. He couldn't shift into a wolf or tiger, but he carried trace amounts of their DNA. That wasn't all. He had other abilities. Ones he'd been born with that the scientists had wanted to enhance to serve their own purposes. Didn't work out as planned, though. He didn't end up a savior to the world or even his country. Hell, he didn't even end up something they could use. He'd been cast aside, and then they'd tried to eliminate him. Apparently, they couldn't have an unpredictable bear-shifter running about. Especially one with the gift of foresight.

He'd done well at keeping his head down and simply existing. He'd managed to turn a decent profit, taking money for hire jobs that utilized his skill set. Most of the jobs were for unsavory folks, doing illegal things, but the money was green and spent the same. Plus, no one asked for paperwork or made him fill out government forms. They just let him do his job and leave. No muss. No fuss.

Perfect.

"I'm a gun for hire," he said softly with a slight snort, hating saying it out loud. He'd only ever wanted to do good with his life, but circumstances hadn't allowed for that. Though, for every bad job he took, Weston tried to balance it out with an act of kindness. Like giving all the proceeds from certain jobs to charities. He wasn't all bad. At least not yet.

He was a guy who'd spent the last few decades trying to make amends for being a piece of shit earlier in life. So far, he wasn't close to even. Didn't help that he, like many of the surviving Outcasts, hired out for mercenary-like jobs, taking work where they could get it while living off the grid. It wasn't a glamorous life, but the pay was good and it kept him out of the clutches of a government that would rather see him dead than admit they screwed up.

And boy, did they screw up.

He tugged at the bottom of his t-shirt. He'd bought the shirt, with a photo of a favorite rock band on the front of it, during a concert back in the seventies, and the piece of crap "vintage" ones retailers tried to pawn off on hipsters in the current market didn't compare, so Weston took the time to remove it—shifting forms in it would leave it in shreds.

He kicked his boots off and went to work on the button to his jeans. He couldn't seem to get out of his clothes fast enough. Dammit. His body burned with the need to change. To let the bear in him run and then wander the woods, doing whatever the fuck it was bears liked to do. He never understood the lure of half of what his bear side found fun. Picking berries in human form didn't do jack crap for him, but apparently, his bear side enjoyed it immensely. Weston just knew if he didn't get it together and shift soon, the bear would more than likely go on a homicidal rampage.

Weston, like his bear, wasn't anything anyone would ever label as scrawny. Standing well over six feet, he had the mass to match his height and kept his bulk to just this side of being too much. He'd met men in the past who were all about trying to be the biggest and baddest. Most often they ended up being the slowest. Weston liked a mix of speed and strength. And there wasn't much he could do about his height. He'd been born with it. Normally, that wasn't too much of an issue, unless he was entering a room with low doorways. But as he tried to shimmy out of his clothing, he found his size a hindrance. He hopped on one foot as he tugged off his jeans. The moment he was fully naked and about to shift forms, headlights pierced the darkness on the road that was rarely traveled.

"Son of a bitch," he shouted, stepping behind the side of his truck, knowing he'd already been seen in all his naked glory. He had no issue with nudity, but humans tended to. They were prudish, to say the least. He didn't need the local sheriff showing up to question him about his midnight escapades.

The SUV pulled to a stop in front of his truck and Weston groaned when the driver stepped out. It wasn't the sheriff, but that wasn't saying much. He stared at his fellow Outcast and friend. "Casey, are you stalking me? Man, if you wanted to see me naked you just had to ask. You didn't need to hunt me down."

"Heard you'd be here." The tall, raven- haired man flipped Weston off and then opened the back door to his SUV. When a tiny, wiry-haired man who looked a lot like he belonged in a mental ward exited the SUV and was then followed by a thin, pale man who stared in any direction but at a person, Weston tipped his head. The two sidekicks seemed to be attached to Casey of late. One was goofier than the other.

"You brought them here? Why?" he demanded, naked and unconcerned.

Casey pinched the bridge of his nose. They'd been friends a long time. The stress in Casey's expression warned Weston there was more to this than he was going to like. Casey pointed to the thin, pale guy. "Gus insisted we come."

"He's the mind reader, right?" asked Weston, stepping out from behind his truck and crossing his arms over his chest. He didn't give a rat's ass that his junk was there for everyone to see. Let them look.

Whatever.

The wiry-haired guy's gaze snapped right to Weston's package. "Wow. The scientists gave you that?"

Weston's gums burned with the need to change and eat the tiny nuisance. "Casey."

Casey touched the small man's shoulders. "Bill, remember what we talked about on the way over?"

Bill nodded. "Stand still. Don't talk. If I don't listen, the bear guy might eat me."

"That's right," said Casey, sounding more like a primary school teacher trying to soothe a small child than the bad-ass super soldier he was. "So asking Weston about his dick counts as talking."

Bill touched his chin and did an obvious ponder over Casey's statement. He shrugged and looked around Casey, pointing to Weston's groin. "Did you get a look at that? Are you all hung like that? Where do I sign up for that test and enhancement? All I got was LSD. Who do I complain to? We should get those standard at the door if we get tested on by the government. Seems the least they could do."

Weston tipped his head. "Can I eat him, please?"

Casey glanced over his shoulder. "He really can't help himself. They did a number on him."

"They did a number on us all, but you don't see me asking about his dick," stated Weston. No sooner did the words leave his mouth than the crazy little guy started to remove his clothing. The guy was furrier than Weston was in shifted form. And the man had nothing Weston wanted to see. "Seriously, I'm going to eat him. It would be a service to mankind."

Casey grabbed the crazy man. "Bill, no getting naked. We've already had this talk."

Gus began to pace back and forth, flapping one of his hands in the air as he did. "More than once. Had the talk more than once."

Casey glanced in the pale's guy direction. "Gus, no need to get worked up. I've got this. Go stand by Weston's truck."

"Great, I get the nut job who is tuned in to channel static," muttered Weston, only partially under his breath. He still couldn't figure out why Casey saddled himself with these two. They were dead weight. They weren't shifters. They weren't part of the Immortal Ops testing, where the government had tried to make super soldiers, like Casey and Weston had been. No. Gus and Bill were humans who had gotten caught up in government testing—the not-too-fucked- up stuff and honestly that wasn't saying much when you had men who could shift into animal as a comparison.

"He's naked. I wanna be naked too," argued Bill, sounding childlike rather than the old man he was. "All the rage, apparently."

"Had the talk more than once," continued Gus, sounding like a broken record. He turned in fast circles near Weston, making Weston slightly dizzy. "More than once."

Weston groaned and snatched his jeans from the ground. He wasn't going to get to wander and run tonight. Damn Casey for being a bleeding heart. The guy had always been that way. Hell, he'd befriended Weston because of it when many others wouldn't have dared to get near him. "Want to tell me why you're here? And why it is you brought the two stooges with you."

Casey had hold of Bill's pants and was trying to keep them on the wiry little man. "Shit. Bill, come on. Cut me a break here."

Gus paced more and then pounded on the hood of Weston's truck. "Got to warn him. Got to warn him."

"This one sprung a brain leak," said Weston to Casey. "If he gets any brain goo on my truck, I'm gonna eat him. That crap is hard to wash off."

Gus stopped pacing and turned, his attention near Weston, and that meant something. The guy normally didn't appear to pay full attention to anything. The hair on the back of Weston's neck rose a second before he heard the man in his mind—on the same mental path the I-Ops had been trained to use. She's in danger.

Weston's gaze whipped to Casey. You hear him in your head too?

I do, returned Casey on the same mental path.

Gus wasn't a shifter and he wasn't an Immortal Op or even one of the failed Op attempts—an Outcast. He was something entirely different, and the guy had somehow managed to tap into their mental path of communication. Whatever he was, something deep in Weston's gut gnawed at him, demanding he at least hear the nut job out before dismissing him.

"Who is in danger? Harmony?" he asked. He wasn't sure why Casey would come running to him if his mate was in danger, but not a lot had been making sense lately. From the moment Weston had surfaced, letting others know he wasn't dead, things had been plain old weird. He was pissed he hadn't just stayed hidden. Things were simpler then. None of this drama bullshit.

He sighed, knowing that had he remained hidden, Casey's mate would have died. When Weston had learned Casey had a mate and that she was in danger, he'd stopped hiding in the shadows and he'd gone on a mission in search of the young woman. Harmony was feisty, opinionated, spoiled and someone he considered a friend. And he didn't have too many of those. "She okay?"

Casey held Bill off the ground by his belt. "Harmony is safe at home. Laney is over with her and James is hovering. They're trying to shut down sites that are posting information about the Ops testing. And they're also trying to assist in finding any sort of a digital trail to Lance."

"The I-Op guy?" asked Weston. "So rumors are true? He's not six feet under?"

Casey shook his head. "Nope. More like six shades in the wind. He's a puppet for an asshole vampire who is working with the regular known bad guys."

"Krauss and Helmuth?" asked Weston, his interest piqued. He'd been looking into each of them for some time. One was worse than the other and they'd taken to teaming up. Never a good sign.

Casey nodded. "And some vampire."

"Shit. And you're sure Harmony and Laney are safe?"

"Yep. James is with them. Why?" asked Casey, still struggling with Bill.

Weston thumbed at Gus who was now batting at the air around his head as if bugs were bothering him. "He jacked my brain and said she's in danger. I thought he meant Harmony."

Casey sighed. "James is with the girls. They're fine."

Weston snorted. Of course James was near them. The guy was mated to Laney, Harmony's best friend. Made sense. Casey wouldn't go far from Harmony if she didn't have a protector nearby. James would do.

Weston eyed Gus who was now spinning in a circle. "Is his head gonna pop off?"

Casey carried Bill over and gave Weston a pleading look. "Can you get dressed so he stops trying to get naked?"

"Free Willy!" yelled the crazed man. He jerked around in Casey's arms, attempting to break free. "Let me be free! I want to feel the wind on my face."

"It's not your face you want wind on," said Casey, struggling to keep Bill clothed.

Weston slipped his jeans back on and put his arms out wide. "See. Covered."

Bill stopped acting a fool and calmed in Casey's arms. "You let the man win. I've lost all respect for you, Yogi."

"Yogi?" he asked.

Casey paled. "As in the bear."

Weston nearly laughed. For a crazy guy, he was amusing. "Casey, let the guy run naked in the woods. What harm can he do?"

Casey's eyes widened. "If you only knew."

Bill beamed. "You're all right by me, Yogi."

"Call me that again and I will break you in two," warned Weston. He was touchy about his bear-shifter side.

Bill pursed his lips. "Can I call you Papa Bear?"

Weston stared at Casey. "Really, it would be nothing for me to kill him and take him off your hands."

Casey snorted. "I'll think about it. Now, Weston, please listen. Gus insisted we track you down."

Weston watched Gus as he swatted at nothing. He lifted a brow, wondering why the hell the crazy guy would want to find him. And how he'd managed to find him so quickly. Instead of asking, he looked to Casey, waiting for his friend to explain it all.

Casey grabbed Bill by the belt loop and faced Weston. "I trust Gus. He's different but he's brilliant, and he's connected to stuff we can't begin to understand."

"Okay," said Weston, waiting for the point.

"He says your mate is in trouble," stated Casey, sucking in a large breath afterwards.

Weston snorted, trying to play off the concern that lanced through him. His most recent dreams came flooding back to him, and for a split second he even smelled berries and cream. Weston fought to stay in control as he looked to Gus. He'd heard of what Gus could do, of the man's special gifts, but Weston wasn't sure he was totally ready to believe in them. Didn't matter that he possessed enough of his own to make people doubt him too at times. He wanted to know everything the strange guy knew, but it wasn't like him to ask for help. He'd been on his own for far too long to start now. "I don't have a mate."

"Said just about every alpha male until he happens upon his," countered Casey snidely. He then stepped forward, yanking Bill with him. "You saved my mate. I'm here to try to return that favor. If Gus says she's in trouble, I believe him. So should you."

Weston held his sharp-witted response and went with, "Okay, does he have any idea who this mate of mine is? That would be the first step to this, right? Before we can save her, don't we have to know who she is?"

Casey glanced at Gus. "He told me you needed to go to Seattle. That you'd cross paths with her there and that you needed to go soon."

"And you buy into this all?" asked Weston, already knowing his friend did. They'd both seen too much in their lives to discount anything, no matter how weird it seemed. "You think I should drop everything and head cross-country to a huge city, and I'll just magically walk into my supposed mate? A mate I don't think exists."

Berries and cream, said Gus in Weston's mind, making him gasp and nearly lose his composure. She smells like berries and cream.

Casey let go of Bill but gave him a stern look.

Bill grinned. "I win."

"If Gus isn't wrong?" asked Casey, ignoring the small man's goading.

Weston's gut tensed. "I'm listening to him. I'll head to Seattle and see what I can scare up information-wise there. I appreciate the heads up."

"You want me to head to Seattle with you?" asked Casey. "We might have better luck if two of us are looking."

Shaking his head, Weston reached for his shirt. "No, man, you've got a brand new bride here, and with the shit that's been going down, it would be unwise to travel that far from her."

The look on Casey's face said he knew as much. "But I will, for you."

"I know. But no. I'll go alone."

Bill clapped. "Gus and I will go with you!"

Weston's expression sank. He was not signing on to babysit anyone. "Hell no."

Casey's lips pursed. "You know, that may work. Bill speaks fluent Gus and Gus is somehow tapping into your mate and her destiny."

"Is this a trick to get me to take the stooges from you?" Weston pulled his shirt over his head. "You realize you'll never see them again because I'll eat them."

Bill moved closer to Casey. "Tell him I don't taste good without hot sauce."

"Tell him I can hear him," returned Weston, snapping his jaws at the man.

Bill jumped in place.

Gus paused in his circles and looked something close to the direction Weston was standing in. "We'll pack."

"Oh, no," said Weston, shaking his head. "No!"

Chapter Two

"How was the plane ride?" asked Casey, a teasing note in his voice.

Weston had to keep from crushing his cell phone with one hand as he held it to his ear and glanced over to be sure his traveling companions weren't getting into any more trouble. "Eat me, dickhead. You know exactly how the plane ride was."

Casey laughed. "Forgot to tell you that Gus doesn't fly well."

"Yeah, I figured that out at the thirty thousand feet mark," said Weston, harshly. He cracked his knuckles, wanting very much to hit Casey. In fact, the next time he laid eyes on the prick he'd show him just how great the plane ride had been. Had Weston known exactly what he'd been signing up for when he'd agreed to take the two stooges with him, he'd have driven cross-country. Instead, he'd had to hogtie a man mid-flight and nearly shackle the other as well. Probably why Casey neglected to mention Gus's flying skills, or lack thereof.

"Is Gus still breathing?" asked Casey, concern in his voice.

"By sheer luck, brother," returned Weston, the tension in his body keeping the bear in him on edge. The bear wasn't much on flying, either. Went against the natural order of things. "And you forgot to tell me how much Bill loves to fly. And I fucking mean he loves it."

"Oh no," breathed Casey, following it with a clicking of his tongue. "Dare I ask?"

Weston sighed, feeling like he'd just spent the last few hours herding cats. Hell, cats would have been easier. In truth, he'd simply been trying to keep Gus and Bill from bringing down the private plane they'd been on. One screamed like a bloody fool and the other was simply insane. "You're damn lucky the guy I chartered the flight with owed me. Bill would have gotten us arrested if we'd dared to fly commercial. He demanded he be allowed to help pilot the thing, and then wanted us all to make a break for it. To fly to the sun. To get out before the man and his brainwashed minions could try to stop us. Then he thought for sure he saw the President of the United States sitting on our right wing, winking at him. I think he may have been tripping."

"I forgot to check him for LSD before you left," said Casey. "Sorry. Harmony wasn't happy when she realized I let them go off with you all alone. Laney is pissed with me too. She seems to think you'll eat them both."

"I might." He'd considered it more than once. Though they were starting to grow on him, not that he'd tell Casey.

"Weston, it would be a big favor to me if you didn't," said Casey. "They're kind of like family at this point."

"I know. Which is why they're both still alive." Weston glanced over to see Bill chatting it up with another pilot. "Listen, I gotta go. Bill is now trying to talk himself onto a large jetliner. Shit, I think he's offering the guy weed. Where is he hiding all the drugs?"

"You may want to do an anal cavity search," said Casey with a laugh that stopped quickly. "And, no, I'm not kidding."

"Asshole." He hung up and rushed over in Bill's direction. The man had on an old- fashioned flight cap and huge goggles. He'd arrived at the airport before they left wearing them. No amount of pleading had gotten him out of them. Weston just hoped he didn't keep them on for good.

Bill put his arms out wide and began to run around the tarmac near another pilot. Much to the other pilot's credit, he didn't comment on Bill's antics. Gus stood perfectly still as Bill made loops around him. Bill stopped and stared at his buddy. He then glanced over at Weston. "Gus is mad at you for making him fly. He wanted a window seat."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Weston did his best to avoid losing his temper and shifting right there for all to see. Gus and Bill were going to make him a master of self- control by the end of the journey. He was sure of it. That, or he'd really eat them. Either was possible.

He grabbed Bill, pulling him closer to him and away from the other pilot. The man tipped his hat. "Interesting friends you have there."

Weston pressed a smile to his face and nodded. "They're something all right. Sorry if they bothered you. We'll be on our way now."

"Can I drive?" Bill shoved something into Weston's front jacket pocket. "Here. You hide these in case the feds show up."

Groaning, Weston pulled another bag of weed from Bill's jacket and growled as he grabbed Gus with the same hand he had the bag of pot in. "Come on."

Gus started to yell and swat at Weston.

Bill shook his head. "He doesn't like being touched."

"Would he rather be tied up and gagged?" Weston had very little patience for Gus's behavior.

Bill's expression grew somber. "You're mean, like the black-eyed one. The meanie mc-meanie."

Weston had heard Bill calling Duke Marlow, a Paranormal Security and Intelligence Agent, the name more than once. "Yeah, I make Duke look like a fucking ball of sunshine. Now let's go."

"Fine, but I'll get Gus. Not you, Grumpy Bear." Bill stopped and put his thumbs in his ears and waved his hands, sticking out his tongue as he did. "Grumpy Bear. Grumpy Bear."

"I'm going to flush your goods," warned Weston.

Bill snapped his mouth shut and reached for Gus. "Come on, Gus. We have to be nice so I can get the good shit back. You understand, right?"

Weston continued to growl as he followed behind the two. He had to stop and grab their bags, though he did consider leaving them. Bill probably only packed drugs anyway. Weston spotted another of his contacts as they stepped out of a SUV near the side of a small hanger. It had been years since he'd last seen Bane Antonov. They'd spoken on the phone and had sent cryptic messages back and forth for the last few decades, but Weston hadn't had eyes on Bane since before they all broke out of the secret government holding facility.

Bane's black hair was long now. Much longer than Weston remembered it being. Gone was the high and tight they'd both sported for a time when they served together. Their baby faces were a thing of the past too. Bane had a decent amount of facial hair, something else he'd not had last time they'd seen one another. Emotions Weston didn't want to focus on surfaced. This was a man who had shared a similar experience with him. As had Casey. They knew what it was like to be chosen. To be told you were special, fall for lies and empty promises, and then be discarded like trash when things didn't go as planned. They knew what it was like to be hunted by the very people who made the empty promises. The people they'd dedicated their lives to, entrusting they would be made into assets for their country. Not ticking time- bombs.

They were Outcasts. Men who weren't considered stable investments. Men who were flawed somehow in the eyes of their creators. And Weston was certainly flawed.

Weston grunted at Bill as the man glanced back at him. Bill kept Gus walking forward, in Bane's direction. As they grew nearer, Bane glanced down from what looked like an imposing height when compared to Bill and Gus, though he was at eye level with Weston. "They don't look very elite."

Weston snorted, missing Bane's sense of humor. "Ah, they're the cream of the crop."

Bill beamed with pride as he put an arm around Gus—who didn't seem to mind Bill touching him in the least. "We are."

Bane glanced over Bill's head at Weston. "Been a long time, brother."

"It has," said Weston, remaining in place. He wasn't much of a hugger. Bane wasn't, either.

Bill looked between the men. "You're brothers?"

"Served together," said Weston, knowing Bill would understand, as he'd served too.

Bill nodded. "Most of the guys I served with are dead now. They were part of the government's testing too."

Bane cast Weston a questioning look. Weston tapped into a mental path shared by those like him. LSD testing, back in Vietnam. This here is the famous Wild Bill.

Bane glanced back at Bill. The mechanical elephant rider?

One and the same. DARPA had tried to place mechanical elephants in the jungles of Vietnam in hopes it would help the fight. It didn't. They were a hot mess. And Bill had been brave enough to scale up one and ride it like a bucking bronco. When Casey had told him the story, Weston had found it amusing and he could totally picture the crazy little guy doing it. He could bet Bill gave the government a run for their money. Part of Weston felt bad for Bill and Gus. After all, they too were victims of the government.

What about the other one? Bane moved his attention to Gus. He okay?

I can hear you both, said Gus on their same mental pathway, and from the look on Bane's face, surprising the shit out of him.

Bane's lips drew into a thin line. Interesting.

"You have a place set up for us?" asked Weston, no longer bothering with the mental pathway.

Bane nodded. "We should get a move- on. Shit has been heating up around here lately."

"I heard about the attack at the docks. Ever figure out what caused all the carnage?" Weston was uneasy about being in the area at all. He had a long-standing history of losing control. He didn't need anyone else giving his shifter side any more ideas.

"No. From my understanding, the I- Ops and PSI don't know, either," replied Bane. It didn't surprise Weston that Bane knew what was going on at each branch, despite being thought dead for the longest time by both. Weston knew better. He'd known Bane was alive the entire time. They'd escaped together. "Though word in the paranormal underground is it's one of us."

"An Outcast?" questioned Weston. It made sense. Most of the Outcasts were either created by scientists using straight animal DNA, or such huge quantities of existing supernatural DNA, that it had all gotten away from them in the end, making monsters instead of heroes.

"You hear anything on your end?" asked Bane.

Weston shook his head. "Just that whatever has been going on is bad. And that it left one of the I-Ops yanking his mate out of here and making her close her business."

Bane paused as they headed in the direction of a large SUV. Bill and Gus stayed close. That was good. Weston didn't want to tell Casey he lost them. Bane cleared his throat. "That wouldn't have happened to have been a brothel for the supernatural, would it?"

"I think so. Why?"

"It was a happening place," said Bane, looking far off in thought for a minute. "A good place to go to get your needs met by women you knew you wouldn't accidentally kill during sex."

Weston's throat tightened as he thought about Bane's past. The man had lost control during sex, and the woman he'd been with had paid the price. It hadn't been his fault. The damn scientists had forced the sex act to occur, wanting to study the effects of a mating. They had wanted to see what one of their prized were-gorillas would do and how difficult it might be to create one naturally through birth. They had no clue that they'd just sent a human woman to her death or that what they'd done would forever scar their creation—Bane.

Bane hated what they'd made him. Hated that he'd come out the other side a were-gorilla. A lot of the men in their group were more than your garden-variety shifter. The scientists back then had been going through a strange phase of wanting to try out new possible shifter types. Some Outcasts were able to shift into birds, marine life, polar bears, and alligators—hell, just about anything one could think of. And all of them were screwed up because of it.

Damn scientists.

Bane straightened his shoulders. "The place just reopened around a week ago. Word on the street is it's under new ownership. Still caters to supernaturals."

"You going to try it out?" Weston wondered where Bane was going with this.

His friend shrugged. "Maybe. It's getting close to that time for me."

Weston knew what time that was. He was teetering on the edge of it himself. If he didn't shift and have sex soon, didn't matter the order, it would get ugly and fast. Bane had even less control. Weston motioned to Bill and Gus for them to get into the SUV. They did.

He then turned his attention to Bane. "Listen, Gus, the weird one who can talk on our mental path, says I need to be here. That my mate is in danger."

Bane's eyes widened. "You didn't mention that in your call."

With good reason. Weston wasn't about to sound the alarms when he wasn't sure he even had anything to actually sound them over. It was big enough that he'd called in a favor from Bane, pulling Bane out of hiding. "Because I don't have a mate."

Bane tipped his head. "I'm not following."

"Gus seems to think I do and that she's in danger. Casey believes him," said Weston, setting down a bag.

"Do you?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe."

"But?" Bane lifted the bag. "What are you leaving out?"

"My head is a mess."

Bane stiffened. "The dreams back?"

"Dreams never left," answered Weston honestly.

"I'm sorry, brother. I am."

Weston shrugged. "It is what it is. I can't do anything to change it. Though lately my signals are getting crossed or something. I'm not getting clear pictures or feelings. My dreams are pretty much a hot mess."

"They hinting at a mate?" asked Bane, hope in his dark gaze.

Weston sighed. "I don't know. Maybe. I haven't shifted in forever and a fucking day and I need to get laid." Weston cracked his knuckles. "Bad."

"Let's get these two to the safe house and we can swing by the club," said Bane, loading the bag into the back of the SUV. "The new owners are supernatural and so are the workers—that's all I know so far. We'll get our rocks off and then be able to focus on this mate thing."

"And if the nut job is right?" asked Weston, his gut tight. "How do I explain to my mate when I meet her that I didn't come right away to help her because I was too busy making a paid bootie call?"

Bane exhaled slowly and then cast him a hard look. "You can't explain jack crap to her if you meet her, lose control and rip her head off because you denied your beast side and the alpha side of you too long. Hard to state your case to a dead person."

"Fair point." Weston exhaled, understanding Bane's words were correct. In his current state of mind, Weston wouldn't be any good to anyone. Dealing with Bill and Gus had left him even more on edge. He was hanging by a thread. He wouldn't be worth a damn right now. Not until he shifted and did something about putting too long between sexual releases. Unfortunately, he'd waited too long that jerking off just wouldn't be enough now. He made a mental note to buy more girlie mags to prevent the same thing from happening in the future. "Better to beg forgiveness?"

"Than ask permission," finished Bane, shutting the back of the SUV. Bane stood there a moment and then surprised Weston by grabbing him and giving him a manly hug.

Weston returned it and Bane released him.

"Enough, or people will think we're a couple or something," said Bane with a shaky laugh. Both men were fighting their emotions. They'd been through a lot together.

"You're not my type," said Weston with a cock-sure smile. "I like blondes."

Bill leaned his head out of the backseat window. "Are you two coming or are you gonna make out? We want ice cream. Ooh, and peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Stat."

Weston had to temper his breathing for fear he really would kill the little guy. "It takes all of me not to rip his head off."

Bane laughed again. "Nah. He's not that bad."

"The Bane I remember would have already killed him," said Weston.

Bane shrugged. "Spent some time with monks. Did wonders for my self-restraint. Also, I get really bad heartburn off guys full of drugs, and that little man smells like a walking weed plant."