Forsaken by Shadow (Mirus 1)

“Don’t get your panties in a wad, Lattimer. You wanna go back?”

“No. I wanna see this as much as anybody else. God knows this post is boring as shit unless you’re on Level 36, and I ain’t got security clearance for that.”

The rest of their conversation faded as they continued down the hall, never looking back.

Embry exhaled softly. Level 36. Security clearance. That sounds like classified paranormal beings to me.

Moving faster now, she found her way to the elevator bank. Of course, it wasn’t that easy. She didn’t have a security badge to activate the damn thing. Her window was closing. She could feel it at the back of her neck like a Hunter in the night. Stalking her.

It was sheer luck that she found the stairwell. By virtue of the fact that there was no key pad or retinal scan or other security measures, Embry was dubious that it would take her anywhere useful, but she needed to get on another level in hopes of finding an unmanned computer terminal. She slipped inside with barely a sound, then stood taking shallow breaths until she was certain no one was in the stairwell with her. Then she headed down. And down. She was thirteen floors up from the mysterious Level 36.

Down. Down. Down. Pausing every few steps to listen for footsteps. Moving again when there were none.

There was no door to Level 36. She went down another level, found the door labeled SL-37, then went back up a flight. It was simply a blank wall. Embry ran her hands over the cinder blocks, searching for some hidden mechanism or any indication of a camouflaged entrance. Her fingers traced only the rough, painted surface of concrete.

She could blow her own access point. Being the daughter of an elemental had its benefits. But that would hardly be subtle, so she retraced her steps back up to Level 35 and tried the door. No additional security measures. No alarms blared as she tugged it open an inch. As with every area she’d seen of the base, this hallway was flooded with light. But she saw no guards stationed.

Her skin prickled. This was too easy. But still, she slipped from the stairwell and made her way down the deserted hall. The fourth door on the right yielded access to a lab. The stainless steel tables were scrubbed clean and gleaming. Assorted equipment lined the walls. Microscopes, refrigerators, a centrifuge. And in the corner, screen dominated by a revolving geometric pattern, was a computer.

With a quick glance back at the door, she tapped a key on the keyboard. The screensaver disappeared, revealing the expected login screen. Now what?

A notebook lay open beside the keyboard. Taking a closer look, Embry could see a series of experiments listed. There were dates, amounts, chemical formulas, and what was probably subject numbers covering the page, but she didn’t understand the shorthand used. She paged through it, looking first in the front and working her way back. And there, taped into the back cover was a list of passwords.

She said a brief prayer of thanks that even government scientists couldn’t remember passwords and typed in the relevant one. A new screen popped up showing some kind of analysis that was 56% complete. She minimized the process and took a quick inventory of the machine and the network. As she’d hoped, this unit was connected to the broader network running through the base. They might pull this off yet. Making one last check of the corridor, she paused to lock the door to the lab and close the blinds on the windows facing the hallway before pulling up a chair and setting to work.

Chapter 9

The auburn of his hair was shot through with silver. His face was narrower, more haggard and lean, the strain of the last decade etched around his eyes and mouth. Beneath the patchwork of livid bruising, his cheeks had gone white, and his mouth opened in silent question. Son?

Gage drew on all his training to keep reaction off his face. He shifted his attention to Mackey. “What the fuck is this? This old guy’s already been beat to shit. He can’t fight.”

“Oh I think you’ll find that he can,” said Mackey. “He’s tougher than he looks.”

Gage looked appraisingly back at his mentor, who’d managed to cover his own surprise. He lifted his hands, cracking his knuckles to hide the quick, jerky message he signed to Adan. Here to rescue you. Fight now. Questions later. At the barely perceptible nod, Gage rolled his shoulders back, popped his neck and danced a little from foot to foot. “Okay then, let’s rumble.” He paused. “But I can’t be held responsible if I break him.”

Adan backed up and began to circle. Gage fell into opposite step, studying his foster father’s movements, assessing his injuries and weaknesses. Despite his appearance, his gait loosened as he moved. He favored his right side in a way that suggested he had a cracked rib, but that was nothing he hadn’t fought through before. They could pull off an exhibition match. But then what? And God help them, what would happen if Embry came back to find her father in the ring?

Conscious that he had to appear to fight as normal, Gage held back, waiting for Adan to make the first move. But his mentor only continued to circle, loosening his muscles. He hadn’t gone up against anyone in the last ten years who fought like he did—careful, analytic, waiting for his opponent to telegraph his intentions. It dialed up his adrenaline another notch. At the sound of the first catcall, Gage struck, his right hook snaking under Adan’s guard to slam into a kidney.

With an ooph, Adan stumbled back two paces before he righted himself. Barely even an attempt to block the blow. His fist snapped out, the breeze of it brushing Gage’s cheek as he bobbed to the side. This was not good. If Adan didn’t kick things up, the fight wouldn’t be believable.

As if hearing the thought, his mentor jabbed a knee up and into his side.

Gage jerked back, following the fight sequence in his mind and deliberately making the wrong move to draw it out. Adan landed more blows, keeping him at a distance with the reach of his kicks. It was like being a trainee again, falling into the traps, and he struggled to hold himself back.

A whistle blew. They separated, going back to their respective corners, though no one offered bottled water or towels to mop off the sweat and blood. He bent to stretch, surreptitiously checking the clock. Embry had been gone for nearly twenty minutes. He didn’t know how much more time he could give her. The sentiment of the crowd was shifting, unsatisfied. They expected to see an ultimate fighter, and he was letting Adan kick his ass like a newb. So when the whistle shrilled again, he changed tactics.

Focusing on the uninjured parts of Adan’s body, Gage moved in and hammered on his mentor, knocking him back on first one shoulder, then the other before dropping him to the mat with a sweep of his leg. Adan was ready for it. Almost as soon as his back hit the ring, he whipped his body up again, using that momentum to snap a punch that made Gage’s jaw sing. The crowd roared in approval.

They circled, trading blows more evenly now, moving so quickly that none of the observers should be able to see how they pulled back at t

he last second. It was Adan who moved the fight into grappling. Here Gage had to be more careful of the damaged ribs and other injuries. He needed Adan in good enough shape to move, if they had an opportunity for escape. Minutes ticked by. They continued to trade the upper hand, waiting for the end of round whistle. But none came.

As he rolled to the top, working for an arm bar, Gage caught sight of Mackey’s face. The sergeant looked grimly satisfied, arms crossed over his broad chest, his eyes holding a gleam of bloodlust that Gage recognized from people who came to fights only to feed on the violence. Mackey wanted Adan brutalized or dead. He wasn’t going to blow the whistle.

Taking advantage of his distraction, Adan got loose. Gage felt his leg a hairsbreadth away from a leg bar and rolled to mitigate the hold. They couldn’t keep this up forever. He couldn’t actually hurt Adan, and whatever orders he may have been given, Adan wasn’t about to really hurt him. Maybe if one of us feigned unconsciousness . . .

An alarm rang out, shrill and repetitive in a tone that Gage fully expected to be echoed by the metallic thunk of mechanized bunker doors sealing shut. He froze.