Autumn's Blood: The Spirit Shifters, Book One (2 page)

But Dumas shook his head. “I’m the one
who makes the decisions around here. I don’t do bargaining.
Especially not with a bunch of freaks.”

“Perhaps her idea is a good
one.”

The three men sitting at the control
panel turned at Blake’s voice.

Dumas appraised him with his cool,
blue eyes. “And why would you say that?”

“Let her feel what the boy is
suffering. Maybe if she experiences the sort of pain he’s in, it’ll
help her make her decision.”

Dumas narrowed his eyes and opened his
mouth to speak, but Haverly interrupted. “I think Sergeant
Wolfcollar might be onto something. We need to change things up a
bit.”

Dumas looked between the two men and
gave a slow nod. “Very well.” He turned to the man controlling the
current. “A thousand volts to the woman.”

Miller nodded and pushed his wire rim
glasses higher on his nose. He reached out and switched on the
electricity. The brunette went rigid, her eyes wide. She juddered
in the chair as the volts raced through her body. Her fingers
curled, her knuckles white, her eyes bulging from her
head.

Dumas gave the nod and the other man
flicked the switch back again.

The electricity stopped and she fell
forward, slumped in the chair. Her whole body heaved as she
breathed in deep gasps, her hair falling over her face.

As they watched, the muscles in her
back rippled beneath her t-shirt. Her slender biceps bulged,
swelling against the material of her clothes.

She lifted her face to them, her dark
eyes wide. “It’s happening! You need to let me out of these cuffs.”
She yanked on the shackles on both her wrists and ankles. Blake
caught sight of painful red burn marks beneath the metal. He wanted
to look away, but duty kept his eyes focused. He was playing a part
in this and needed to see it through. His involvement was for the
best in the long run.

Dumas laughed. “I think
not.”

With his stomach sinking, Blake
realized what was about to happen. “You need to undo the cuffs.
They’re too small for her.”

Dumas spun around. “They fit
perfectly. And what is it to you?”

“They won’t be in a
minute.”

The woman lifted her head and
screamed. The sound of bones cracking ricocheted around the small
room. She dropped her head again, panting.

Miller’s eyes widened behind his
glasses, his already pallid face paling further, and he leaned back
in his chair. “What the hell?”

This must be his first time witnessing
a shift, Blake realized. He wondered if the tech guy would return
for a second viewing.

Her hair seemed to shrivel away, as
though a flame had been applied to it, revealing the shape of two
ears curling from the top of her head. She lifted her face again,
her dark eyes now flashing yellow, but her features were no longer
those of an attractive woman. Her canines were white in her
elongated jaw, her skin covered in thick, black hair. Her bones
cracked, her fingers curling in to create paws, claws piercing
through the skin of the second knuckle of her fingers. More short
black hair sprouted from the backs of her hands. The thickness of
her forearms grew, and Blake looked on in horror, knowing exactly
what was going to happen.

The metal rings didn’t give with the
growth. Instead, her skin, bones, and flesh gave way beneath the
restraints, snapping what had previously been her wrists but were
now her front legs.

She twisted in her shackles, growling
and hissing in agony. Under the cuffs, each limb had been crushed
and now hung at painful angles. Though Blake knew she would
heal—and heal quickly, it was part of the make-up of their kind—if
they didn’t get her out of the cuffs right away, her joints would
heal at those awkward angles and they would need to be broken again
to heal straight.

The team looked on as the bleeding,
snarling, still-cuffed black panther twisted in agony behind the
glass.

Chapter
Two

AUTUMN ANDERSON SMOOTHED down the
skirt of her suit and trotted up the stairs toward the entrance.
Doors of darkened glass hid whatever lay inside from view. The
building looked like any other high-rise in Chicago. With the
exception of the lack of signs proclaiming the business housed
within its walls. If she’d not been invited here personally, she’d
never have known the building was government-owned.

Nerves skittered around her stomach.
This wasn’t like a regular job interview. She’d been invited here
by the head of a department who needed her skills. Assuming she
didn’t manage to somehow insult the guy or fall flat on her face,
the job was hers.

Even so, the mystery surrounding what
the job actually involved had her concerned. All they’d told her
over the phone was that the information was
“classified.”

Placing a hand against the smooth,
cool glass, she pushed. It didn’t budge. Positioned on the wall on
either side of her head, cameras, like bionic eyes, swiveled to
take in the new arrival. She looked up at them and suppressed the
urge to wave.

A sudden voice made her jump. “Please
state your name and business.”

She glanced around, but found she was
still alone. Then she noticed what she hadn’t before—a small silver
intercom embedded in the wall at head height. There were no buttons
to press, so she hesitantly spoke into the circle.

“Umm … My name is Doctor Anderson.
General Maxim Dumas is expecting me.”

No one responded, but a faint buzz
sounded and the door clicked open.

Autumn took a deep breath and stepped
through.

Blocking the way was a large metal
detector, similar to the type she’d been through at the airport. On
either side of the detector stood two large men in blue security
uniforms. Her eyes flicked down to the firearms attached to their
hips and then back up again, pretending not to either notice or be
bothered.

“Doctor Anderson?”

One of the big security
guards stepped forward and handed her a security badge. She was
surprised to find her name and photo on the card instead of a
regular generic visitor badge, though the word
visitor
was printed beneath her
name.

She took it and offered him a smile,
but the man remained stony-faced. Instead of returning the gesture,
he nodded past the detector, toward a set of elevators beyond.
“General Dumas is on the twelfth floor.”

“Thank you,” she said, about to pin
the badge to her shirt. The guard picked up a small black tray and
offered it in her direction.

She realized what he wanted and dumped
the badge, together with her purse, into the tray.

“I’m afraid we’ll need your shoes as
well.”

Feeling faintly ridiculous, she
slipped off her sensible heels and added them to the tray. The
guard pushed the tray through a scanner and nodded toward the
detector again.

Getting the hint, she walked through,
half-tensed, expecting it to go off, despite there being no reason
for the alarm to sound. When it didn’t, she retrieved her
belongings and slipped her shoes back on.

“Thanks,” she said again and headed
toward the elevator. To her right, she spied a long corridor, glass
offices positioned either side. The shapes of people moved within,
but she wasn’t given any time to assess any of her potential
colleagues.

“This way please.”

She’d expected to go alone, but the
burly man had followed her and now gestured directly ahead. She
felt overly conscious of his presence close behind her left
shoulder. She hit the button for the elevator and the doors slid
open. Walking through, she turned around, searching for the control
panel. Before she had the chance to find the button for the twelfth
floor, the guard leaned in and pressed it for her before
retreating.

The
doors slid close and Autumn stood in the center, the rise of the
car leaving her already nervous stomach behind. Mirrors covered the
walls on each side. She gave her reflection a quick assessment,
making sure none of her blonde curls had escaped the tight knot at
the nape of her neck that she’d wrestled her hair into. One thing
she’d learned over the years: no matter how many letters she had
after her name, as soon as people saw her, they judged her on her
appearance—young, blonde, and female. She had to work her ass off
to fight against the stereotype and always tried to appear as
sensibly groomed as possible.

The elevator opened onto a corridor.
She stepped out, craning her head left and right, trying to figure
out which direction to go. Closed doors lined the corridor, but a
smartly dressed woman hurried toward her, files clutched in her
arms.

“Excuse me? I’m looking for General
Dumas’ office.”

The woman offered her a faint smile.
“Last door on the left.”

“Thank you.”

Autumn hurried in the direction she’d
been pointed until she reached the correct door. A bronze plaque
with Dumas’ name was positioned at eye level. She took another
steadying breath and knocked.

“Come in,” a voice called.

She pushed open the door and walked
through. A man in his fifties with silver hair sat behind a large
mahogany desk. He looked up from his paperwork, regarding her with
ice-blue eyes. He smiled, though something about the expression
didn’t quite fit.

The man half rose and leaned across
the desk, extending a hand toward her. “Doctor Anderson, I
assume.”

She took his hand. His grip was cool
and firm. “General Dumas,” she said. “It’s good to meet
you.”

“You too.” He gestured to the chair on
the other side of his desk. “Please, take a seat.”

She sat opposite, keeping her back
straight, her ankles crossed.

“So.” He looked down at a folder of
notes on the desk. “Doctor Autumn Anderson. Youngest woman to
attend Yale and youngest to graduate. PhD in molecular genetics, a
second PhD in molecular biology. And now, at the ripe old age of
twenty-seven, one of the country’s most sought after minds on
DNA.”

She risked a smile. “I enjoy my
work.”

“I see your father is also a
scientist, a leader in evolutionary biology.”

“That’s right. I guess you could say
my love for science is in the blood.”

He lifted his eyes to her. “And your
mother?” he inquired, eyebrows lifted.

“She died when I was five years old. I
don’t really remember her. My father raised me.”

“So you and your father must be
close?” He offered her no commiseration for her loss.

“We get along, as long as the
conversation turns to the topic of work.” She wondered why he
needed to know all of this, struggling to understand how her often
strained relationship with her father had anything to do with what
they wanted her to work on now.

“And I see you’ve had some success
splicing and manipulating genes to create new embryos of what could
potentially be new species.”

“That’s correct, though of course,
those embryos were never grown any further. That would be against
the law. You’re not asking me to try to create a new species, I
hope, General.” There was a teasing tone behind her
voice.

He shook his head. “No, of course not.
The species I hope you will work on already exists. But what I
would like you to attempt to do is manipulate genes to mutate in a
certain way in order for one gene to become another.”

“So what species is it you’re asking
me to work on?”

“You don’t need to know what it is,
you just need to know what result we need. Now, would you like the
job, or do I need to find someone else?”

Autumn straightened. “I’m the best in
my field. Good luck finding someone else.”

“Is that your way of telling me you
don’t want the job?”

She hesitated. While she knew she’d
find another job easily enough, it was never good to piss off the
people at the top of the food chain. Plus, she had to admit, her
interest had been piqued.

“Not at all, General. If you’d still
like me on board, I’d be excited to find out what you have
planned.”

A slow smile spread across his face.
He rose from his chair and extended his hand. She returned the
smile and shook his hand once more.

“Then, welcome to the team, Doctor
Anderson.”

“So when do I start?”

“How does first thing tomorrow morning
sound?”

The suddenness startled her, but she
didn’t have anywhere else to be. “Perfect.”

He made his way around the desk to
escort her from the room. Before he got the chance, a knock
sounded. The door cracked open.

A huge man with caramel skin and
piercing dark eyes dwarfed the doorway. Autumn had to stop herself
from staring. He wore a tight black t-shirt, and she could just
make out the swirls of some kind of tribal tattoo peeping from
beneath the material stretching around the bulk of his
bicep.