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  Tohr spoke before anyone took off. "There's one other thing. Got a phone call tonight. Civilian female found a young male out on his own. He had the name Tehrror on him. I told her to bring him to the training center tomorrow night."

  "Interesting," Wrath said.

  "He doesn't speak, and his translator's coming with him. It's a human, by the way." Tohr smiled and put the lesser's wallet in the back pocket of his leathers. "But don't worry about it. We'll scrub her memories."

  As Mr. X opened up his cabin's front door, his mood was not improved by Mr. O's affect. The lesser on the other side was looking steady, unflappable. Humility would have gotten him further, but any form of weakness or submission was not in the man's nature. Yet.

  Mr. X motioned his subordinate in. "You know something, this confession-of-failure thing we've got going on is not working for me. And I should have known not to trust you. You mind explaining why you killed your squadron?"

  Mr. O pivoted around. "Excuse me?"

  "Don't try to hide behind lies, it's annoying." Mr. X shut the door.

  "I didn't kill them."

  "But a creature did? Please, Mr. O. You could at least be more original. Better yet, blame it on the Brotherhood. That would be more plausible."

  Mr. X walked across the cabin's main room, keeping quiet for a while so his subordinate could get good and worked up. He idly checked his laptop and then glanced around his private quarters. The place was rustic, the furniture sparse, the seventy-five surrounding acres a good buffer. The toilet didn't work, but as lessers didn't eat, that kind of facility was unnecessary. The shower ran just fine, however.

  And until they settled on another recruitment center, this humble outpost was the society's headquarters.

  "I told you exactly what I saw," Mr. O said, breaking the silence tightly. "Why would I lie?"

  "The why is irrelevant to me." Mr. X casually opened the door to the bedroom. The hinges creaked. "You should know that I sent a squadron to the scene while you were driving out here. They reported that there was nothing left of the bodies, so I assume you stabbed them into the great unknown. And they confirmed that there had been one hell of fight, a lot of blood. I can imagine how your squadron fought against you. You must have been spectacular to win."

  "If I'd killed them like that, why are my clothes mostly clean?"

  "You changed before coming here. You're not stupid." Mr. X positioned himself in the bedroom's doorway. "So here's where we are, Mr. O. You are a pain in the ass, and the question I need to ask myself is whether you're worth all this aggravation. Those were Primes you killed out there. Seasoned lessers. Do you know how long—"

  "I didn't kill them—"

  Mr. X took two easy steps forward and coldcocked Mr. O in the jaw. The other man went down to the floor.

  Mr. X put his boot on the side Mr. O's face, pinning him. "Let's quit it with that, okay? What I was saying was, do you have any idea how long it takes to make a Prime? Decades, centuries. You managed to wipe out three of them in one night. Which brings you to a total of four, counting Mr. M, who you sliced without my permission. And then there were the Betas you slayed tonight, as well."

  Mr. O was spitting mad, his eyes glaring up from around the Timberland's sole. Mr. X leaned into his foot until those lids were wide, no longer narrow.

  "So, again, I have to ask myself, are you worth it? You're only three years into the society. You're strong, you're effective, but you're proving impossible to control. I put you with Primes because I assumed you'd fall in line with their level of excellence and temper yourself. Instead, you killed them."

  Mr. X felt his blood rise and reminded himself that anger was not appropriate for a leader. Calm, levelheaded domination worked best. He took a deep breath before speaking again.

  "You took out some of our best assets tonight. And it is going to stop, Mr. O. Right now."

  Mr. X lifted his boot. The other lesser immediately sprang up from the floor.

  Just as Mr. O was about to speak, an odd, discordant hum weaved through the night. He looked toward the sound.

  Mr. X smiled. "Now if you don't mind, get the hell into that bedroom."

  Mr. O crouched into an attack pose. "What's that?"

  "It's time for a little behavior modification. A little punishment, too. So get into the bedroom."

  By now the sound was so loud it was more a vibration of the air than something ears could register.

  Mr. O shouted, "I told you the truth."

  "Into the bedroom. The time for talking's passed." Mr. X glanced over his shoulder, in the direction of the hum. "Oh, for chrissakes."

  He froze the large muscles in the other lesser's body and manhandled Mr. O into the other room, shoving him down on the bed.

  The front door burst wide open.

  Mr. O's eyes bulged as he took in the Omega. "Oh… God… no…"

  Mr. X tidied up the man's clothes, straightening the jacket and the shirt. For good measure, he smoothed all that dark brown hair down and kissed Mr. O's forehead, as if he were a child.

  "If you'll excuse me," Mr. X murmured, "I'm going to leave the two of you alone."

  Mr. X took the back door out of the cabin. He was just getting into his car when the screams started.

  CHAPTER 8

  "Ah, Bella, I think our ride is here." Mary let the curtain fall back into place. "Either that or a third-world dictator is lost in Caldwell."

  John headed for the window. Wow, he signed. Check out that Mercedes. Those blackened windows look bulletproof.

  The three of them left Bella's house and walked over to the sedan. A little old man, dressed in black livery, got out of the driver's side and came around to greet them. Incongruously, he was a cheery sort, all smiles. With the loose skin on his face, his long earlobes, and all those jowls, he looked like he was melting, though his radiant happiness suggested disintegration was a fine state to be in.

  "I am Fritz," he said, bowing low. "Please allow me to drive you."

  He opened the rear door and Bella slid inside first. John was next, and when Mary was settled back against the seat, Fritz closed the door. A second later they were on the road.

  As the Mercedes glided along, Mary tried to see where they were going, except the windows were too dark. She assumed they were headed north, but who knew?

  "Where is this place, Bella?" she asked.

  "It's not far." But the woman didn't sound all that confident. In fact, she'd been on edge since Mary and John had shown up.

  "Do you know where we're being taken?"

  "Oh, sure." The woman smiled and looked at John. "We're going to meet some of the most amazing males you've ever seen."

  Mary's instincts knocked around in her chest, sending all kinds of tread-carefully signals. God, she wished she'd taken her own car.

  Twenty minutes later, the Mercedes slowed to a stop. Inched forward. Stopped again. This happened at regular intervals a number of times. Then Fritz put down his window and spoke into some kind of intercom. They cruised along a little farther, then came to a stop. The engine was turned off.

  Mary reached for the door. It was locked.

  America's Most Wanted, here we come, she thought. She could just imagine their pictures on the TV, victims of violent crime.

  But the driver let them out immediately, still with that smile on his face. "Won't you follow me?"

  As Mary got out, she looked around. They were in some kind of underground parking lot, except there were no other cars. Just two small buses, like the kind you took around an airport.

  They stuck close to Fritz and went through a pair of thick metal doors that opened into a maze of fluorescent-lit corridors. Thank God the guy seemed to know where he was going. There were branches splitting off in all directions with no rational plan, as if the place had been designed to get people lost and keep them that way.

  Except someone would always know where you were, she thought. Every ten yards there was a pod set into the ceiling. She'd seen the
m before in malls, and the hospital had them, too. Surveillance cameras.

  Finally they were shown into a small room with a two-sided mirror, a metal table, and five metal chairs. A small camera was mounted in the corner opposite the door. It was exactly like a police interrogation room, or what one must be like according to the sets on NYPD Blue.

  "You will not have to wait long," Fritz said with a little bow. As he ducked out, the door eased shut of its own volition.

  Mary went over and tried the handle, surprised to find it released easily. Then again, whoever was in charge here clearly didn't have to worry about losing track of their visitors.

  She looked over at Bella. "You mind telling me what this place is?"

  "It's a facility."

  "A facility."

  "You know, for training."

  Yeah, but for what kind of training? "Are these folks of yours with the government or something?"

  "Oh, no. No."

  John signed, This doesn't look like a martial-arts academy.

  Yeah, no kidding.

  "What did he say?" Bella asked.

  "He's as curious as I am."

  Mary turned back to the door, opened it, and stuck her head out into the hall. When she heard a rhythmic sound, she stepped from the room, but didn't wander.

  Footsteps. No, a shuffling. What the—

  A tall blond man dressed in a black muscle shirt and leather pants lurched around a corner. He was unsteady on his bare feet, with one hand on the wall and his eyes focused downward. He seemed to be watching the floor carefully, as if he were relying on his depth perception to balance himself.

  He looked drunk or maybe sick, but… good lord, he was beautiful. In fact, his face was so dazzling she had to blink a couple of times. Perfectly square jaw. Full lips. High cheekbones. Broad forehead. Hair was thick and wavy, lighter in the front, darker in the back where it was cut short.

  And his body was just as spectacular as his head. Big-boned.

  Thickly muscled. No fat. His skin was golden even under the fluorescent lights.

  Suddenly he looked at her. His eyes were an electric teal blue, so bright, so vivid, they were almost neon. And they stared right through her.

  Mary sank back just the same and thought the lack of response wasn't a surprise. Men like him didn't notice women like her. It was a fact of nature.

  She should just go back into the room. There was no sense in watching him not acknowledge her as he passed. Trouble was, the closer he got, the more mesmerized she became.

  God, he really was… beautiful.

  Rhage felt like holy hell as he weaved down the corridor. Every time the beast came out of him and his vision headed off for a little vacation, his eyes took their own sweet time in getting back to work. The body didn't want to play, either, his legs and arms hanging like heavy weights off his torso, not exactly useless, but damn close.

  And his stomach was still off. The very idea of food made him nauseous.

  But he'd had it with being stuck in his room. Twelve hours flat on his back was enough wasted time. He was determined to get to the training center's gym, hop on a recumbent bike, and loosen himself up a little—

  He stopped, tensing. He couldn't see much, but he knew for sure he was not alone in the hall. Whoever it was stood close beside him, to his left. And it was a stranger.

  He spun around and yanked the figure out of a doorway, grabbing it by the throat, forcing the body into the opposite wall. Too late he realized it was a female, and the high-pitched gasp shamed him. He quickly eased up on his grip, but he did not let go.

  The slender neck under his palm was warm, soft. Her pulse was frantic, blood racing through the veins that came up from her heart. He leaned down and drew a breath through his nose. Only to jerk back.

  Jesus Christ, she was a human. And she was sick, maybe dying.

  "Who are you?" he demanded. "How did you get in here?"

  There was no answer, just quick breathing. She was utterly terrified of him, the smell of her fear like wood smoke in his nose.

  He softened his voice. "I'm not going to hurt you. But you don't belong here, and I want to know who you are."

  Her throat undulated under his hand, as if she were swallowing "My name… my name is Mary. I'm here with a friend."

  Rhage stopped breathing. His heart skipped a beat and then slowed.

  "Say that again," he whispered.

  "Ah, my name is Mary Luce. I'm a friend of Bella's… We came here with a boy, with John Matthew. We were invited."

  Rhage shivered, a balmy rush blooming out all over his skin. The musical lilt of her voice, the rhythm of her speech, the sound of her words, it all spread through him, calming him, comforting him. Chaining him sweetly.

  He closed his eyes. "Say something else."

  "What?" she asked, baffled.

  "Talk. Talk to me. I want to hear your voice again."

  She was silent, and he was about to demand that she speak when she said, "You don't look well. Do you need a doctor?"

  He found himself swaying. The words didn't matter. It was her sound: low, soft, a quiet brushing in his ears. He felt as if he were being stroked on the inside of his skin.

  "More," he said, twisting his palm around to the front of her neck so he could feel the vibrations in her throat better.

  "Could you… could you please let go of me?"

  "No." He brought his other arm up. She was wearing some kind of fleece, and he moved the collar aside, putting his hand on her shoulder so she couldn't get away from him. "Talk."

  She started to struggle. "You're crowding me."

  "I know. Talk."

  "Oh, for God's sake, what do you want me to say?"

  Even exasperated, her voice was beautiful. "Anything."

  "Fine. Get your hand off my throat and let me go or I'm going to knee you where it counts."

  He laughed. Then sank his lower body into her, trapping her with his thighs and hips. She stiffened against him, but he got an ample feel of her. She was built lean, though there was no doubt she was a female. Her breasts hit his chest, her hips cushioned his, her stomach was soft.

  "Keep talking," he said in her ear. God, she smelled good. Clean. Fresh. Like lemon.

  When she pushed against him, he leaned his full weight into her. Her breath came out in a rush.

  "Please," he murmured.

  Her chest moved against his as if she were inhaling. "I… er, I have nothing to say. Except get off of me."

  He smiled, careful to keep his mouth closed. There was no sense showing off his fangs, especially if she didn't know what he was.

  "So say that."

  "What?"

  "Nothing. Say nothing. Over and over and over again. Do it."

  She bristled, the scent of fear replaced by a sharp spice, like fresh, pungent mint from a garden. She was annoyed now.

  "Say it," he commanded, needing to feel more of what she did to him.

  "Fine. Nothing. Nothing." Abruptly she laughed, and the sound shot right through to his spine, burning him. "Nothing, nothing. No-thing. No-thing. Noooooothing. There, is that good enough for you? Will you let me go now?"

  "No."

  She fought against him again, creating a delicious friction between their bodies. And he knew the moment when her anxiety and irritation turned to something hot. He smelled her arousal, a lovely sweetening in the air, and his body answered her call.

  He got hard as a diamond.

  "Talk to me, Mary." He moved his hips in a slow circle against her, rubbing his erection on her belly, increasing his ache and her heat.

  After a moment the tension eased out of her, softening her against the thrust of his muscles and his arousal. Her hands flattened on his waist. And then slowly slid around to the small of his back, as if she were unsure why she was responding to him the way she was.

  He arched against her, to show his approval and encourage her to touch more of him. When her palms moved up his spine, he growled low in his throat and
dropped his head down so his ear was closer to her mouth. He wanted to give her another word to say, something like luscious or whisper or strawberry.

  Hell, antidisestablishmentarianism would do it.

  The effect she had on him was druglike, a tantalizing combination of sexual need and profound ease. Like he was having an orgasm and falling into a peaceful sleep at the same time. It was like nothing he'd ever felt before.

  A chill shot through him, sucking the warmth out of his body.

  He snapped his head back as he thought about what Vishous had said to him.

  "Are you a virgin?" Rhage demanded.

  The stiffness in her body returned, like cement setting solid. She shoved hard against him, moving him not one inch.

  "I beg your pardon. What kind of question is that?"

  Anxiety tightened his hand on her shoulder. "Have you ever been taken by a male? Answer the question."

  Her lovely voice turned high, frightened. "Yes. Yes, I've had… a lover."

  Disappointment loosened his grip. But relief was right on its heels.

  All things considered, he wasn't sure he needed to meet his destiny this ten minutes.

  Besides, even if she wasn't his fate, this human female was extraordinary… something special.

  Something he had to have.

  Mary took a deep breath as the hold on her throat relaxed.

  Be careful what you ask for, she thought, remembering how she'd wanted a man to be enthralled by her.

  God, this was so not what she'd expected the experience to be like. She was utterly overwhelmed. By the male body pressing into her. By the promise of sex seeming out of him. By the lethal power he could wield if he decided to squeeze her neck again.

  "Tell me where you live," the man said.

  When she didn't answer, he undulated his hips, that massive erection moving, circling, pressing into her stomach.

  Mary shut her eyes. And tried not to wonder what it would feel like if he were inside of her while he was doing that.

  His head came down and his lips brushed the side of her neck. Nuzzled her. "Where do you live?"

  She felt a soft, moist stroke. God, his tongue. Running up her throat.