Dangerous (17 page)

Then the gentle touch tightened to a point just shy of hurting her.

“Are you going to tell me that you spent years locked away in this cold, sterile room all alone for day—no, wait, knowing you, it was for weeks at a time, right? Just for this?” He gestured back and around himself. “You spent this enormous block of your immortality a prisoner to this room for the sake of bringing . . . what did you call it . . .
balance
to the world of humans and Morphates?”

He stepped much closer, towering over her, so tensed with rampant emotion that he fairly quivered with it.

“You tell me, Devon, and don't you dare fucking lie to me this time, or so help me God, you won't like the consequences. You tell me
why you did this
.” The truth! Tell me why you buried yourself in this obsession. What drove you into these cold, windowless rooms, day after goddamn day, when you knew it was a path to being utterly ostracized, not to mention a certain death wish.”

Liam was looking down into her eyes, his nose barely three inches from her own. As he poured those acidic words and emotions over her, it stripped open the old wounds until she was raw and shaking.

“I d-didn't lie to you,” she stammered, her hand instinctively pressing against him to hold him at bay. She could struggle with him and free herself, but that would get them nowhere. He was so clever, so much more astute than he first appeared. How many people would walk into a room and see it the way he was seeing it? See the truth?

“I distinctly remember asking you over and over again why you chose to embark on this particular task. Omitting is as good as lying, sweetheart, and I refuse to hang my ass out for you if you are going to blow smoke up it!”

“Liam, please, you don't understand! I can't—”

“If
you
can't, then
I
can't.” He let go of her roughly and did a sharp about-face. “I'll be damned if I'm going to risk my life and the lives of my crew on ‘I can't' when what you really mean is you won't,” he threw back over his shoulder as he left the room.

Devon moved, her preternatural speed bursting out as she overtook him in a mere heartbeat, slammed the outer vault door shut and spun the tumbler. She turned to face him, breathing hard not from exertion but from raw fury. It burned in her eyes and clenched tight in her fists and muscles.

Liam had drawn up short in total surprise at what had to be the very first real display of her Morphate abilities. It was strange how it made him feel, seeing the stark, albeit brief, display of what she really was. It made him realize that she had been hiding among humans for quite some time in order to have become so very good at blending in with them. At suppressing what ought to have come naturally for her.

“What the hell is it you think you're doing?” he growled, his hands fisting as he stalked up to her. “If you think you can trap me and try to coerce me into changing my mind, lady, you are looking for a frigid day in hell.”

“Always so cocksure, aren't you?” she hissed in retaliation. “Always so
right
!”

“You bet your sweet ass I am!”

“Well, let me tell you a few things you don't know. A few things you've got very, very wrong,
Mr
. Nash,” she spat out, her flushed face and bottle green eyes radiating her incredible anger. He was not surprised. He'd stepped into that lab and within moments he'd realized that here was a woman who felt fury with an unquenchable passion. Just like she felt lust, he recalled all too vividly. He suppressed an involuntary shudder when he found himself contemplating what unquenchable lust of this magnitude would be like.

Devon wasn't even thinking any longer. She was only feeling. It was pain, rage, and frustration, renewed betrayal and old abandonment.

“I had a family,” she rasped, her voice rough from emotion and shouting. “I had a
life
and they stole me away from it. Eric Paulson and his experimenters stole hundreds of us, from asylums, from workhouses, and right from the streets of the Dark Cities and anywhere else they thought no one would ever miss us. If you had the misfortune of crossing Paulson in the slightest way, say, perhaps, refusing his job offer once you finally realized what that job entailed, well, he couldn't have you running off to report his unethical behavior now, could he? Did they tell you that in your little Morphate 101 classes at the Secret Service? Hmm?”

No. Not all of it. Those, he knew, were the sordid details that didn't matter when it came to how to fight and defend against a Morphate. Who cared who or what they had once been? What mattered was what they were, what they were capable of, and how nearly impossible they could be to stop.

But this answered a question for him. She
was
one of the original lots of Morphates. She had lived life on this planet for at least fifty years as a Morphate, almost twice as long as she had ever been human. He didn't know how old she had been to begin with, but she didn't look a day over thirty. She would never look a day over thirty.

And with that horrendous over-ninety-percent mortality rate Paulson's lab rats had suffered, it was a wonder she had survived at all. It was a wonder any of them had. How could he begrudge her a single day of her life when she had come so close to losing it?

“How old were you?” he asked, his own voice now hoarse with conflicting emotions. A huge part of him wanted to hold her tight and run a soothing hand down the wild mass of her espresso hair, to be gentler than he had been so far as he coaxed his answers from her.

“Thirty-one. Old enough to remember and to mourn. To feel so much fear and betrayal and anger I sometimes thought I would choke on it!” She was shaking so hard, her fists clenched so tight, she looked as though she would do just that.

Liam stepped closer to her on instinct and, although she jerked at the movement, she didn't step away. She did watch him warily though, looking unsure as to whether she wanted him that near her. Looking for the first time like the dangerous animal so many of his kind liked to accuse her kind of being. He supposed that made it easier for humans to take away their rights and not feel guilt about it. But he'd never been the sort to throw the baby out with the bathwater. Even when he'd been pinned to the wall of a lab very similar to this one, Morphate claws skewering him through his chest and his vulnerable human principal, the President of the Federated States, cowering under a table with the bodies of his dead Secret Service contingent bleeding out all around him, Liam had known that particular Morphate was not a representative of the Morphate people as a whole.

“Tell me what this has to do with that room inside,” Liam coaxed, the demand gentled by the look in his softened amber eyes. Devon saw the empathy there and tried to ignore it.

“I'm making a point, Liam,” she told him, her tone clipped. “There are so many things you don't know about the Phoenix Project. So many things you don't know about the Morphates. And how much information do you have, really, on what happened after we liberated ourselves and entered this world as aliens? Or rather, reentered.” She shook her head and ran frustrated hands through her thick hair, mussing it into even wilder disarray than his own hands had created only minutes earlier. “And then the new tragedies began. The hate and bigotry, the supercilious superiority, people treating people like things. And there was nothing that could stop it. There was nothing I could do to stop it.”

“Devon.” Liam closed the space between then, grabbing her wrists where her hands were fisted in her hair as though she would rip it out of her scalp. “What in the world did you think you could do to stop all of that?”

“I could have killed Eric Paulson!”

There it was. Decades of frustration and guilt tumbling out. What she thought she ought to have done to save them all. To prevent an unpreventable madness.

And what she had on her agenda still.

“When he was still mortal. Sitting across from me at dinner like a civilized monster, offering me fame, glory, and money . . . and me so eager to accept all of the above. So
thrilled
to be in his lauded presence.” She all but spat the words.

And light suddenly dawned on Liam.

This was why she had done all of this. This was why she had gone underground in human society, why she had taken on this task so many of her kind would look on as traitorous. She was gunning for the man who had started it all, determined to do what no other had been able to do in the fifty years since the Phoenix Project had come to light. Liam was very well aware of the rumors that, upon his escape, Dr. Paulson had chosen one of his own protocols and had changed himself into a Morphate. That he was still alive and crazy out there somewhere, with God knows what motivations driving him. And for some reason she felt it was her responsibility to put an end to him.

And now he understood so much more about Devon. He finally could see why she was so driven. She carried around elephantine guilt that was weighing her spirit down. There was no way he could possibly undo so many years of damage with simple words, so he wouldn't even try. But he could try and ease her burden just a little.

“Okay,” he said, drawing in a deep breath and exhaling it slow and loud on purpose as he drew her against himself with a hand at the back of her head, cradling her against his chest as he breathed again. She picked up on the third breath, following him perfectly through a fourth until he felt the tension unwind slightly from her frame. Enough to let her sink more softly against him. “Okay,” he said again. It was simple, accepting if not quite agreeing. He understood her passion. Her fever. He had once been filled with a similar fever. When he had been young, Colin's age, he'd wanted nothing more than to use his training to bring justice to those who deserved it. He had been fortunate, however, to have had the right hands to guide him, to shape him. Hands that had taught him the best ways to funnel his furies and his frustrations. Considering who she was at her core, considering the wild nature of the creature she was harboring inside of herself, it was a wonder she hadn't burned down half the world in her fever to find and destroy Paulson.

But there was much more to her than that. She was too exquisite and too refined, too intelligent to lose herself so utterly and blindly. So completely. So she had saved the obsession for her moments in this lab. Channeled it here. Alone? Had there been no one for her? What of her fellow Morphates? Which City had she been released to? Had she made no connections among them? Bad enough to be so ostracized, but to be ostracized and alone?

Liam tilted her head back between his hands, lifting her chin between his thumbs as he raised her eyes to his.

“It's late. It's been a long day,” he told her softly. “After all of this time, I think one more day won't make a difference.”

It took a moment for his meaning to sink in, and when it did, he could see the tears burning wetly across her eyes. She made a sound, like a sad, wounded little creature, and then hitched in her breath. Watching this proud, strong woman dissolve into tears was more painful to him then he could possibly have expected. It took his breath away, the way it affected him. He didn't have the opportunity to examine the feelings or worry about himself and the integrity of his own perspective. He was far more focused on what she so clearly needed in that moment. He didn't rush her to the door, because he knew she wouldn't want to be seen by anyone in such a state. She would probably be wishing he wasn't seeing her either, but there was nothing he could do about that . . . nothing he would want to do about that. As far as he could see, she had been on her own, stoic and burning beneath the surface, for far too long as it was. And with what, that jackass Carter as her only touchstone?

He rather surprised himself with his instincts to hold her and calm her. The closest thing he'd ever had to a sister was Veronica and he'd never invested much in his relationships with women. His was not the sort of career meant to foster those kinds of things.

Regardless, he'd learned enough along the way to keep from making a mess into a disaster. Enough to help her find calm after a few minutes and feel proud of himself for managing it. He helped dry her cheeks with his thick fingertips and somehow managed to get her to leave the vault.

As he brought her to her rooms, he very abruptly realized that he was in over his head. That all his principles were in jeopardy. All the rules he was so comfortable adhering to were quickly dissolving.

He was incredibly screwed.

Ambrose's brow was knitted in concentration as he watched the live feed of Devon's well-protected grounds, sent to him by his agents in the field. The relay was a very sharp image with well-controlled audio and his dispatcher on the other end was adept at zooming in on details he thought Ambrose might find interesting. It was quite thought provoking, all those humans being used to protect a creature three times as strong as any of them and a thousand times more indestructible. In the past he might have had his people simply tear a swath through the little mortals to get to his target, but the game had changed dramatically thanks to Devona. Mercury and its application via bullets had become the ultimate game changer.

In the past he had not hesitated to send out his agents to keep the unruly in check, both mortal and immortal, and had not put much thought behind it, but now . . . now that Devona had succeeded in her decades-long quest to figure out how to end Morphate immortality, there were much more serious ramifications to be considered beyond being called into check by the nosy interference of the Alpha Council.

He had shaken them off years ago, and he would find a way to deal with her just as well.

There were many ways for Ambrose to achieve his goals, other ways of penetrating her defenses. He merely needed to be smarter than she was. As he watched, though, he didn't see any of the usual markings that identified the group of mortals she was working with. Normally humans advertised themselves at every opportunity. On the sides of their vehicles. On their very backs in the form of T-shirts or jackets. But this group was clever enough not to do that, to remain as nondescript as possible.

“Follow the humans to their headquarters. Follow her to wherever she goes. Don't engage her unless necessary. Not yet anyway. I know the assassin in you chafes, Rhiannon, but right now I need the thief in you. I need what she is trying to protect so desperately. I need it before anyone else gets it.”

“I thought she was trying to protect herself,” Rhiannon said with a bit of confusion. “These are bodyguards.”

“These are a distraction from the real target,” Ambrose corrected her sharply. “She's very, very clever, and never forget that. She doesn't need protecting. Anyone who knows her knows she couldn't care less if she lives or dies. No, it's something other than herself that she is protecting. Or . . . something else she is planning. I haven't quite figured it out yet . . . but I am certain it will be of great interest to me and all other Morphates. Just obey me. Watch her steadily, stay out of sight until I say otherwise.”

Rhiannon shut off the connection to her boss with a frustrated sound. When Torque had the audacity to chuckle at her in a very “I told you so” manner, she flipped him off.

“Don't act so smug. You're just as tired of sitting here as I am,” she groused.

“On the contrary. I take a lot of pleasure sitting and working a problem out to my best advantage. Ambrose is right, you know, we can't go in guns blazing anymore. While mercury and its applications haven't hit mainstream human knowledge yet, it's guaranteed Devona has seen to it her humans are armed with it. I have no desire to end up a huge gaseous cloud.”

Rhiannon snorted out a derisive sound. “So suddenly you're afraid just because she has weapons that could actually kill us? Frankly, immortality made things a little bit boring,” she sniffed. “I like the idea of the challenge. Of living by my claws and my reflexes. There's more to being Morphate than our ability to heal and regenerate at a phenomenal rate.”

“This is true,” Torque agreed. “And it isn't fear, Rhi. It's reasonable caution. I will face those gun muzzles head on, mercury and all, when the time comes, but there are many ways to reduce that risk. And given a choice, I'd much rather bring down my risk level as much as possible.”

“Hmph. Never thought you'd be the sort to blink at a challenge,” Rhiannon goaded him softly.

“And I never realized how reckless you could be,” he mused in return. “Go on then, if you think you're so indestructible.”

Rhi shrugged a shoulder. “I may not be afraid of humans or Devona, but I won't fly in the face of my Alpha's orders. That's one thing even I won't do.” She smiled wickedly at him. “But I know our Alpha well enough to know that he frustrates easily when it comes to Devona Candler or her masters, the Alphas of Dark Manhattan. I will have my way soon enough.” She rolled her eyes as she plucked at a leaf and began to shred it into bits in frustration. “I just hope it happens before I go stark raving mad from boredom. What a way to waste my immortality.”

Torque narrowed his eerily fair-colored eyes on his companion, taking a moment to reevaluate the pairing he found himself a part of, as he had several times since this had begun. With his life on the line he didn't need anyone dragging him down and into danger.

He promptly began to formulate the ways in which he would sacrifice his partner to protect his goals and to cut away her dead weight at the same time.

 

Devon stood just inside the balcony doors leading to the small private deck that wrapped around her bedroom. She had left all of her lights off and had opened both the door and the screen and now stood in the doorframe, staring out into the night without truly seeing the vast array of stars that usually gave her comfort.

It was cold, a sure sign of the changing season, and her skin rippled in gooseflesh. Superior she might be, physically speaking, but the silk kimono robe went no farther than her knees and it was no protection against the sharp bite in the night air, even for her.

Devon laughed wryly to herself. Some great and powerful experiment she turned out to be. All of her pain and regrets, all the guilt she had borne for decades and all the work she had done to right it, and never once had she shared any of the emotion behind her struggle with anyone. Not even her Alphas. Yet she had spilled all the worst things about herself to a man who was little more than a stranger. A man who meant nothing to her and to whom she meant nothing as well. She had fallen apart and shamelessly turned herself over to his care, let him carry her to bed like a child, taking comfort in his hushing and gentle kisses against her temple.

She clutched the lapels of her robe tight against her throat as she shook her head with regret for her idiocy. Foolish, ridiculous woman. She had stood against dozens of threats and dangers, from the time of her original capture to her time as Amara's Beta, and on to her self-imposed exile among humans and her fight to survive against the Morphate assassins. Why, after all of that, would she choose now to fall apart? And what had been the threat? A man had threatened to walk out on her. Walk out of a
locked door
!

She laughed at the joke on herself, taking a sip of the drink she'd poured some time ago but was still nursing. She heard the occasional bark or footfall from the night crew patrolling the grounds, not surprised to find how quickly their presence had become normal to her. Since her bedroom was on the third story, it wasn't likely anyone would see her there. She was in total darkness, so she could pretty much guarantee they couldn't. Not unless they were using night vision, which was entirely possible. She didn't much care either way.

Liam hadn't gone to bed yet. Considering the hour and the fact that he was still healing, it had been a long day for him. She wondered what could be keeping him so late, then caught herself and wondered why she should even care.

“Devon, you're losing your mind,” she berated herself sternly.

It was one thing to want the man physically, but something else entirely when she started leaning on him when she didn't even have to. Maybe it was the sexual tension between them that was messing with her mind and her attitude. She should just take him to her bed, get good and tired out on him, and then get back to what was important. But that would require more disclosures and she wasn't certain she could deal with any more disclosures. Who knew what he thought of her now. He'd been kind, even sweet, but he'd had a hysterical female on his hands and wasn't that what men were supposed to do to get rid of them? Be kind and gentle and tuck them into bed so you could run for the high hills.

Devon groaned and bounced her head lightly against the doorframe. Now she was being bitchy. It sure as hell wasn't Liam Nash's fault that her life was a roller coaster of mistakes and unfortunate treacheries. None of this was his fault and none of it should be his responsibility, but here he was, he and his people, protecting her life. Bad enough the idea had rankled in the first place. How the mighty had fallen, to go from one of the most feared Betas in all the clans to cowering behind the fragility of humans.

It wasn't that she was afraid to die. By all means, she thought, let death come. Only it had to wait. Just a short while. She could not leave humans at the mercy of rogue Morphates and she couldn't leave Ambrose or Paulson alive and loose upon the world. Only she truly understood the horror of what these men were willing to do in order to obtain power.

Once her task was done, let it come.

 

Liam made a final circuit of the house before heading to bed around 1
A.M.
Overall, the day had gone well . . . at least as far as the job was concerned. He was annoyed that he was three days behind, but pleased that Inez had taken over for him and done an excellent job at it. It might be time soon to consider promoting her in the ranks, but it seemed a shame to extract her from her partnership with Kellen. They worked really well together. He wondered which Inez would prefer, especially when Parker was taken into consideration.

When he reached the floor he shared with Devon, he noted quickly that her light was out already. He'd already gained permission to make her bedroom part of his nightly rounds, since she'd admitted that locking doors and windows wasn't one of the things on the top of her mind most nights. He imagined tonight that would be especially true.

He turned his Maglite toward his body and gingerly turned the knob to her door. She had to be exhausted, considering the time she'd spent caring for him and her emotional upheaval earlier, and he wasn't about to wake her and disturb the first peaceful sleep she'd probably had in a while. Focusing the light to a narrow beam and keeping it low, Liam made his rounds of her sitting room. He then slipped into her bedroom.

He already disliked the room. It had a high percentage of glass, which left her very exposed, to his way of thinking. The decking wrapped around from western glass doors to northern ones, then on to include the bathroom as well. Since the house was in the mountains, surrounded by nothing but trees and vast lawns, there was no need for curtains, blinds, or even tinting. She was on the third floor and isolated in the mountains, so, under normal circumstances, why should she worry about exposure? He checked the bath doors and windows, giving the deck a scan, then moved to do the same for the bedroom.

He could hear her breathing deeply and evenly, a heavy, restful sound shadowed by a purring feminine snore of sorts. It made him smile, and like so many things about her, it titillated him sexually when least expected. He absently checked the lock on the door as his gaze drifted over to the bed. As his eyes adjusted fully to the darkness, he could see her sprawled face down among mounds of bedding and a half-dozen pillows. He stepped closer and brought her into better focus.

The first thing he noticed was the spread of dark hair over the pillows and mattress. He followed the bare expanse of a long, beautiful spine right up to the upswept curve of her bottom, where a sheet and comforter concealed the rest of her from sight. Her hands were above her head and he could see the swelling of her breast squeezing out from between the weight of her body and the press of the mattress on the side nearest to him. There was something submissive about the pose, the antithesis of her powerful personality and steady strength. As erotic as he found her strength, this was equally stimulating, proving to him that she truly was sex incarnate. Even when she wasn't conscious of it.

At least, she was to him.

Her skin glowed just about iridescent in the moonlight, even though it wasn't very strong moonlight. As he stared at her, all he could think was that she looked so warm. So incredibly warm. All of that skin. Soft, warm, promising responsiveness that he already knew too well. And yet not well enough.

Liam crossed to the bed in two strides, gently standing his flashlight on the bedside table.

That inner voice in his head was telling it like it was, no doubt about it. She trusted him to come into her room while she was vulnerable and asleep. What he was doing was no better than what that animal had intended to do before shooting up her hotel room like a carnival gallery.

No. It was even worse. Worse because she depended on him. He knew she depended on no one, yet had chosen to trust him to guard her back. Not to ogle it and think far too luridly vivid thoughts of sex and lust.

What in the world had gotten into him?

She had. She'd crawled under his skin and was putting down roots. She wore insanely provocative dresses, spoke incredibly intelligent observations, and sat by his bed for seventy-two hours, spending most of that time soothing him. She had survived the unthinkable fifty years ago. She made him laugh, made him think, and invented weapons no other man, woman, or Morphate could or would.

Yeah. He was in big trouble all right.

The part that sucked was that a man like him thrived on trouble.

He could also thrive on satin smooth skin, given half a chance.

Liam kept his breathing soft and even as he leaned over and reached for the center of the bed. His fingertips touched her back and he swallowed down a groan of pleasure. She was so supple it was like running his fingers through piles of silky, yielding talc that clung to you no matter which way you turned your fingers. He followed the curve of her spine, feeling the light chill of her skin because the room air was so cool.