“Then why cut out the wombs and ovaries in the women, or the penis and testes in the men?”
For a moment, Rose didn’t answer. She paced the floor behind him in long, aggravated strides. “Do you know what it is like to be a twin? To share your twin’s every thought, every desire and every anguish?”
His smile was grim. He should, but he didn’t. Perhaps he would regret it one day, but for now, he was happy to continue blocking Stephan.
“I spent half my life physically locked away from my sister,” Rose continued softly. “It didn’t matter, because even as a child, all I had to do was reach out and she was there, in my mind, ready to comfort or talk.”
So, even as babes, the two had known about each other. “What kept you apart as you got older? Hopeworth?”
Rose came back within sight. Her face darkened. “The bastards sucked her dry, and then they spat out the husk. They didn’t care what
happened to her once they’d finished with her. I was the one who had to pick up the pieces. I was the one who had to see and feel her agony as the cancers their treatments and explorations had left her with ate away her body.” She hesitated and clenched her fists. “I was the one who had to watch her die and feel her relief as death sucked her soul away.”
And the experience had obviously left her more than a little off-center. “Why didn’t you bury her, Rose? Why not offer her the dignity in death that she couldn’t get in life?”
“Because once the soul has gone, the body is only a lifeless shell. It doesn’t matter what happens to it.”
Rose and Emma where born shifters, and yet they obviously had none of the beliefs that were ingrained into most shifter families. Maybe it was because they’d been adopted at such a young age and raised by humans. But even humans buried their dead. Gabriel shifted slightly, trying to ease the ache in his side where the glass had cut. His fingers brushed against something sharp. More glass. If he could grab it, he might just be able to cut the ropes and escape. All he had to do was keep her talking and direct her attention elsewhere.
“It is a belief among my people that if the body is not properly interred, the soul cannot go on and be reborn.”
Rose raised an eyebrow. “And sticking them six feet under is supposed to aid this rebirth?”
He smiled grimly. “Sticking them six feet under is nothing but a waste of good planting soil.”
“Well, at least we agree on something.” She turned away and continued her pacing. “Let’s go back to your earlier question. Why do I cut up these innocents, as you call them, so badly?”
He raised an eyebrow. He’d asked that question a good five minutes ago. Had she just decided to answer, or was she simply trying to keep him talking?
“You told me Emma wanted them dead,” he said. “But you wanted them to suffer. To suffer as much as your sister had suffered.”
She stopped and regarded him in surprise. “Very good, Assistant Director. And yes, I wanted them to know what Emma had suffered to give them life. I wanted them to die suffering, just like her. But that is not the reason for doing what I did.”
She turned away and resumed her pacing. He caught the shard of glass between his fingers and began to saw at the rope.
“You must understand something about Hopeworth—it never lets people go. Not completely. Everything Emma did, everything she said, Hopeworth heard. Even though she was useless to them, they couldn’t let her go completely. It was the same with the adoptees, though not for the same reasons. By removing their eggs and sperm, I denied Hopeworth access to Emma’s line, as well as finally ending any connection Emma—and those who’d come from her genes—had with that place.”
“You can’t be sure of any of that.” Blood was slick on his wrists—he seemed to be cutting himself more than the damn rope.
“Yes, I can.” Her sudden smile was bitter. “Emma was microchipped, you know. Hopeworth wanted to be certain of her location at all times. The adoptees didn’t need it, however. They were bugged psychically.”
Several strands of rope gave away, giving him a little more movement. Blood rushed to his fingertips, tingling painfully. He ignored it and kept on cutting.
“How can you bug someone psychically without them knowing?”
“The same way a thief can pick your pocket without you knowing. It just takes knowledge and timing.”
If this were true, then Hopeworth might know a damn sight more about the Federation than anyone in the Federation wanted. Miranda had been privy to more than a few secrets.
“So Hopeworth has stealth-trained telepaths?” Which was harder to do than most people realized. The human population seemed to think telepaths could just read thoughts anywhere, anytime. In reality, it was nowhere near that simple. If it were, telepaths would be on a fast track to insanity. Besides, even the most psychically dead human could usually tell when he was being read—it was like walking into your house and realizing you’d been burgled. It was something you could just sense.
“My, you’re not just a pretty face, are you?” Her voice held a sarcastic edge. “Of course Hopeworth has stealth-trained telepaths. They’ve been breeding talents and God knows what else for close to fifty years.”
He met her gaze. In the green depths of her eyes, intelligence mixed with madness. A deadly combination. “How do you know all this?”
“My reject friend told me. He’d been doing a little investigating himself, trying to figure out where, and what, he’d come from. He’s stolen an amazing amount of information from the military with them being none the wiser.”
If they believed that, they were fools. He had a suspicion very little escaped Hopeworth’s attention. “Your reject friend wouldn’t happen to be that misshapen giant I felled, would it?”