Chapter One
As Told By Giselle Racini
Most of the lights are off. The doors are locked. There’s no one in the building but me, security, a few graveyard doctors and the experiments. I’m burning my brain out in an executive office at Lobos International’s largest lab facility: a bio-genetic miracle factory, the place where DNA testing was honed to perfection, where hormone therapy truly evolved.
Don’t worry. I’m not gonna get all technical on you. They’d kill me for that.
The work we do here sounds pretty mundane, doesn’t it? Not scary at all. Ha. If the world knew what we really did, they’d blow us off the face of the planet. Our specialty is wolf/human integration. We call it Project G.S. (Garou-Sapien.)
Are you familiar with the term garou?
How about werewolf?
I can talk about that all I want. No one would believe me, except maybe those who already suspect the truth, and they’re the ones you think are nuts anyway. People assume you’re joking or off your rocker when you say you believe in werewolves.
Seeing is believing, though.
Here’s the thing...movies, media, books, role-playing games...those are just out there to integrate the idea, to entertain you with the possibility, to warm you up to the lurking truth. Maybe the makers think they’re giving you fair warning; don’t walk alone at night; lock your doors; be afraid of what lurks in the dark.
I’m trying not to think about that, how I found out--damn, I’m tired, or my mind wouldn’t be going there. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Lobos International--
Think Frankenstein meets the Werewolf. Jekyll and Hyde. Reality goes sci-fi.
Nothing you ever thought you knew is true.
At least, that’s the premise we work on here. Stop looking at the boundaries that you already see. Look past those fences. See what hasn’t been envisioned yet--then make it happen.
Yeah. We’re working on world peace, too. No. Really.
I’m not seeing all that clearly at the moment. I’m going on hour forty-four. The clock on the computer screen says it’s after two a.m., which is about the time I usually get a second wind, only I got that last night, had a third wind about noon, and I’m running on empty now. It would be fine with me if another one would kick in any minute, but I think I’m going to have to go to bed soon. I hate that idea. I’m an insomniac and a workaholic for a very good reason. Nightmares rule my sleep.
There I go again, letting my mind drift to--
Man, I hate to sleep alone. He knows that. Where the hell is he?
The hall is empty. I can see through the glass. Everything has an open feel here. They’re all freaking claustrophobic.
I have to keep telling myself to pay attention to what I’m doing. My gaze keeps straying--to the clock, the hall--wondering where he is.
I’ve been checking international flights for hours, days?--Weeks, actually, only two days on this stretch since I slept--looking for anything that will give me a clue to where the hell Hood’s sister’s run off to. He’s probably waiting for me to come through--before he rewards me.
Hood’s my boss.
I take that back. He’s not just my boss. He’s an icon, the face of Lobos International--a world renowned bio-geneticist. But more than that, he’s my nemesis and my heart. He’s every breath I breathe, the love of my life.
And every mistake I make.
Even more than that, he’s the sexiest man walking. I’m not kidding. Coming or going, there isn’t a man alive that has more natural grace. He totally belies the nerd-scientist stereotype. He single-handedly boosted the female interest in the fields of biology, science, and medicine as a whole--across the world.
He does his own commercials. No. Really.
Tall, dark and handsome never had half a chance beside the stalker of my dreams.
He’s brilliant, too. You probably got that already. Sorry.
It’s just that I can’t outthink him. I can’t get past his defenses. And my mind is always working on that. But, I swear, I’m gonna get around him one of these days, or die trying. You can take that to the bank. Or you can see me at my grave. One way or the other.
He knows I’m working on something--on my own time. And I think that’s why he’s so edgy. But I don’t know how to reassure him, and let him know what it is. I sure as hell can’t tell him that I’m trying to figure out how to make him fall in love with me.
Yeah. Like that’s gonna happen.
That would be like, what? Bringing down a mountain? Stopping a raging river?
I don’t want to do that, exactly. Just...make him love me. Which would be totally impossible.
He doesn’t trust anybody. I call that the alpha complex. No. It’s not a vitamin we’re working on. It’s more like ‘pack mentality’.
Although, I think Amway sells a vitamin by that name. Hm. I should check their scientific database and see who, from Lobos, is working under their umbrella. Talk about your sense of humor. Alpha complex keeps you going, and going, and going, like the Energizer bunny. There’s a double-straight-forward analogy. You’ll understand that more when I explain about alphas in the habitat room.
Anyway, they sell just about everything. It’s no surprise they’ve got a hand in the wolfy market, too, is it?
There’s a ton of name brands in on the conspiracy. Cross-market products. Just think about it. Shampoo and conditioner you can use on your horse, yourself or your dog. Breath mints for humans that you can feed to your dogs. I’m telling you, all you gotta do is open your eyes. You’ll see what I’m talking about.
But, hey, I got off track. You can tell I wasn’t born Lupey. What was I saying? Oh, yeah. Alpha complex. Hood. I’m never far off that track. There’s a man who knows his sex, and how to use it.
So, any guy at the top of a pack is gonna be looking over his shoulder, because there’s always somebody on his tail, somebody wanting his tail--for one reason or another. It’s all instinct: kill, eat, screw. Gotta kill to eat. Gotta eat to get your strength up so you can screw and kill some more. Totally a dog eat dog world.
Luckily, they’ve worked on getting civilized. They have a cafeteria at Lobos now.
But
--the same thing’s true with the bitches around here. Everybody wants to be top bitch. There’s a whole lot of backbiting. Not that that’s all that different from any other kind of woman. Anyhow, I steer clear. I mean, I wasn’t born a wolf. Or a shifter. Sure as hell wasn’t born a garou. So, thank God, I don’t think like they do.
I might sound crazy, but I have some sanity left. The rest went the night I was attacked. The night I was made into a werewolf.
That was pressed on me. Bitten into me.
Okay, thinking about that gives me the shivers. The nightmares. Damn, I’m tired.
What I’m beating around the bush is...I’m not at Lobos by accident. And the whole werewolf-biting thing you see in the movies? That’s bull. Garou are a helluva lot smarter than the Hollywood version. They don’t snag a victim without a little forethought.
First of all, they call the bitten the unnaturals. Most of them go nuts and end up being hunted down and put down. And that’s no good for anybody. Could end up exposing the whole can of worms. They can’t have that.
No. I was handpicked, plucked from the international genetic database as a good match for breeding, for the DNA acceptance program. That’s what they call those of us that don’t go insane from the bite. Yep. You get what I’m telling you, right? Selective breeding and integration. Better brush up on your genetic basics. Maybe get your DNA run. Learn a little more about pedigrees. But don’t call the A.K.C. They don’t care about breeding--not like I’m talking about.
You know about the A.K.C., American Kennel Club, don’t you? They think they’re keeping track of all the good dogs, registering the bloodlines. Ha. They don’t even have a clue.
Before long, there will be DNA scanners everywhere instead of metal detectors. Crazy, huh?
So, yeah...tested at birth, put on a list, watched. Mentors put in my path. Damn my mama for going to a hospital.
I know. That’s a little scary. They’re ‘chipping’ babies now. That way they can track them by radar, and satellite, not just by paperwork and scent. That’s another reason why it’s not smart to sleep. It only takes a few seconds to put one of those little puppies in.
Anyhow, if I get pregnant, I’m disappearing into the night. You can bet I’m not putting my kid on the list. Well...that is...unless it’s Hood’s.
He’d kill me if I ran off on him. Hunt me down and frigging rip my head off.
Not that he cares about me. But he’d care if I got pregnant.
High I.Q., specific physical requirements. Selected specially for the program.
I wonder who I’ve been assigned to. I know they’ve got me lined up for somebody unique. Hood’s keeping too close an eye on me. I thought it was this guy named Jack that they brought in, but I was wrong.
They hooked him up with Hood’s sister, Fera. That was about the biggest surprise I’ve had in a long while--ever since I got bitten.
See how tired I am? The nightmare wants to sneak up on me while my eyes are open now. Ah, I’m rubbing them again.
I’ve gotta find that bitch before somebody else does. Not just to get Hood’s appreciation, either. I could just strangle Jack for running off with her. I might, if I can, hunt them down. He better pray it’s not on a full moon. He’ll be a dead man if I go crinos on him.
The flight lists are endless, blurring together. I’m seriously falling asleep at the keyboard.
Whoosh.
The electronically controlled door startles me, but I don’t have to turn around to know who walked in. There’s a creep climbing up my back. One of those static impulses that make the hairs on the back of your neck stand up? It’s gotta be Hood. He’s the only one that does that to me. He probably thinks I’m ignoring him, but I’m tuned into every single move he makes.