Читать книгу Wilderness - Barbara Hancock J. - Страница 4

Chapter Two

Colin ran and his blood coursed through his veins like liquid joy. He had been less-than-alive for a week. First in a holding pen that smelled of despair and unwashed flesh, then in the back of a truck that reeked of gasoline and loss.

Except, of course, for the vanilla cappuccino.

He’d known she was there the whole time, even as his captors were oblivious. The scent of creamy sweet coffee hadn’t come from the cretins who threw his silver-weakened body into the back of the truck. Neither had the teasing scent of lavender shampoo.

He had waited patiently for her to show herself, but he had still been surprised. By her beauty, by her fear, by her intentions, in spite of her fear.

As each link fell away, severed by her purposeful but shaking hands, he’d been caught in another trap altogether.

Her vulnerability paired as it was with her obvious determination snared him as surely as wicked silver. He shouldn’t have touched her, but the heady rush of freedom’s call had overwhelmed his good sense. Now, he ran because of her. He lived again, because of her.

She had given him a second chance to save his people.

His father hadn’t been so lucky.

Jack Masterson had led their pack for twenty years, and he had kept them safe and prosperous. But he had led them during years of a population explosion when it was easy to survive happily on the fringes of society without being noticed.

Now, their pack was down to fifteen, including himself. They were his now to guide and protect. At twenty-eight, he didn’t even have his first gray hair, but he was Alpha.

Colin felt joy as he ran in the night, but he also ached. For years, he’d had the luxury of scoffing at ancient tradition. He hadn’t felt like a prince and hadn’t intended to be one. His father had talked of persecutions so old he couldn’t even imagine the time when they’d occurred. In the age of cell phones and civil rights that kind of wolf hunt just hadn’t seemed real.

Then an influenza pandemic changed the world. Suddenly, people with unusually strong immunity stood out. Werewolves and countless others who were different.

All of them were lumped under the term Supernaturals.

After the pandemic, his people and the other Supernaturals had no rights. They could be hunted, caged and killed, or worse-than-killed, all in the name of science. Scientists struggled to map and isolate the genes responsible for immunity, but he suspected that much of their time was spent trying to unlock the secrets to power.

Supernaturals held secrets in their blood and the government wanted those secrets.

His father had been one of the first to die. He’d actually gone willingly into the hands of authorities, hoping to shield his pack with his sacrifice.

No one spoke out against the experiments. Survival justified any measures the government cared to take. No one cared except for H.A.E.S. and naive little heroines with vanilla-flavored kisses.

Colin ran on.

Tess sipped a fresh, steaming cup of coffee. The whipped cream that floated on top wasn’t frivolous. It was medicinal. She needed the caffeine and the calories and the comfort. Her nerves were so shot she could almost hear them crying out for her favorite indulgence, but the brew didn’t prove itself as soothing as usual.

For one thing, the steam floating off the top of her Styrofoam cup teased across her lips like a moist reminder. Tess shivered and licked cream off her upper lip.

She was twenty-four years old. She’d shared a few kisses, but none had left her trembling hours later. Her lips still tingled from the werewolf’s kiss. The Super’s kiss. She corrected herself and looked around guiltily in case any of her fellow H.A.E.S. had detected her less-than-PC thoughts.

Supernatural was the appropriate name for any human with special abilities. Like Colin. Like Lily. Even like herself. Though, in her case, special might be too strong a term to describe her dreams. She had escaped being put on the government’s wanted list because she’d almost died from the flu. She’d been ill for weeks. Lily hadn’t had so much as a sniffle.

Logically, Tess knew she’d been weakened by her long bout with depression following her parents’ death. Her will to live had been shaken. Her hope for the future almost lost. Then, she had lost her sister and suddenly she’d found new depths of resolve. Logically, she knew that she and Lily shared the same genes and similar psychic abilities. Still, in her heart of hearts, Tess didn’t consider herself a Supernatural. She wasn’t super in any way. No cape. No tights. And she’d never heard of anyone shouting, “Dogged determination to the rescue!”