Parallel Seduction (9 page)

A shadow passed over Marco's features, an expression that signaled the use of his empathic abilities.
In the closet,
came Marco's strained reply.
By the gods, we have to turn this situation around.

J
ake had the gun, but he
was the one they had cornered, period. And if Dillon arrived, this skirmish would be over before it had begun.

"All I want, my lord, is for you to hear me out," Jake began, hating himself for even holding a weapon against his king. "I have not come to harm you, but to warn you. I serve you. Only you."

"I've never seen you before in my life." Jared grunted at him, eyeing him harshly. "You claim you are a friend, yet look—you have a weapon at my temple. Trust isn't built when weapons are drawn."

"I did not draw the first weapon, my lord." Jake gave a slight bow of his head, holding the weapon firmly.

"Tell me who you are," Jared commanded. "Right now you are a stranger."

"In the future I am your most loyal servant and lieutenant."

"An Antousian hybrid, loyal to me?" Jared laughed coolly. "I find that highly improbable."

"Yet you have kept Lieutenant Dillon in your ranks for many years."

"He is my lifelong friend."

"I become your friend in our shared future. There is a group of us, a small band of Antousian rebels who are loyal to you, and I command them all. I used the mitres to come back and warn you … with your own approval."

Jared glanced sideways, acknowledging the pistol Jake had trained against his head. "How did I give this approval?"

Jake couldn't help but flinch; it had never been supposed to go this way. Quietly he said, "You agreed with me that it was the only way."

"From what time do you come?"

"Ten years in the future." Jake watched as Jared's gaze moved to Thea, and then to Marco. "You seem surprised—or maybe not at all."

"We have already been visited from that time," was all Jared told him, his eyes blazing with fury and something else, something Jake couldn't interpret.

"Already?" Jake asked, shocked to the marrow. They had set the mitres correctly, placing him here—they were almost certain—ahead of Marco's arrival from their own time.

"A battle has been waged and won,
vlksai.
Which rather leads me to question your purpose in coming here."

"Put me in confinement, then, and I'll tell you the full story, my lord. I beg you—just hear me out."

"Hear you out? A man who has a weapon at my head?"

Jake lowered his pistol and dropped to his knees. He placed one fist over his heart, showing his deep, monumental loyalty to the king before him, and whispered, "I surrender."

S
cott worked his way down
the stairs, holding the railing and groaning in pain with every partially drug-numbed step he took. Leaning on his crutch, he called into his comm, requesting an update on the crisis.

"We have him in custody," came Marco's terse reply. "He's going to the brig."

With a shallow breath, Scott managed, "Good. Almost … there."

When he finally arrived at the landing just outside of Jared's chambers, a fit of dizziness overtook him. He gripped the railing, seeing spots in front of his eyes, and gave his head a shake.
Not now. Anything but right now,
he prayed.
All, help me.

But then it wasn't just darkness or even pain; it was the world rent open, shattered as he staggered toward the open doorway, and the entire Earth dropped out from beneath him. A great wind began to whip against his face, like ten gs of gravity, like being in the midst of the mitres when it was fully powered.

"What the hell .…" he muttered, sinking to his knees. He tried to speak, to call out, but it was as if a massive hurricane had unleashed upon them all. It was the
vlksai
intruder,
some trick of his—had to be, he thought, taking hold of his weapon and crawling the rest of the way toward the open door.

"Jareshk!" he cried, needing to know that his king was okay. "Commander—are you …" The universe seemed to unzip, right then and there, as he sensed and felt a formless Antousian hurtle past him. The hair on his head stood on end, and all he could do was gape as the entity sped right out of his grasp. "Get him! Reinforcements!" he shouted into his comm, the great wind intensifying, but then—inexplicably—dying down completely.

For one long, endless moment Scott lay on the steps gasping, trying to find his strength. What he'd experienced as the
vlksai
had sped past him defied anything he'd ever known in the presence of his own kind before. Did that intensity signal greater power? More menacing intent? He wasn't sure, but there was only one man in the whole compound with a prayer of stopping that enemy. Himself.

H
ope returned to the medical
station desk and was relieved to find Shelby Tyler on duty there. During Scott's stay she'd gotten to know Nurse Tyler pretty well, and had felt a real affinity for the woman. She was a sassy girlfriend type, with a Texas accent (how did that make sense in an alien?), and a habit of offering unsolicited advice ("He's been having these dreams, and personally I think that .…"). Hope couldn't help herself: She had something of a girl crush going on Shelby Tyler, and felt happier the minute she heard her twangy voice from across the nurse's station entry.

"I can't believe he did it," Shelby announced before Hope had even reached her. It was slow going with her new cane, but at least it was easier than walking down here based on eyesight alone.

Hope thought of Scott, back in her bed, still in such obvious pain. "I'm learning just how stubborn that guy can be."

"Not typical." The nurse blew out a weary, sardonic sigh. "Not typical
at all
, sorry to say."

Her remark confused Hope. "Not typical how?"

"For our people." Shelby snorted. "Well, ahem, at least not typical for most of us. Some of us have at least an ounce of common sense."

Hope's cane connected with the desk, and she stopped. The folding fiberglass stick was still unfamiliar in her hands. She'd always relied on the people around her, as well as her own fragmented eyesight, for getting around in the world. Or, in the immortal words of Blanche DuBois, she'd always depended on the kindness of strangers, at least once she started going blind. But since everyone up on this mountain was a stranger—well, nearly—she figured it was time to face her ever-declining fate head-on.

"What will happen to him because of this?" Hope spread her hands on the station desk, dropping the cane between her legs, and suspending it there with her knees. With a glance around her, she saw nothing but blurred antiseptic white and angled lights, black spots blotting out portions of even those details. Her retinopathy meant that large patches of what she could barely see were covered with dark floaters. In the past few weeks the floaters had been expanding faster than ever before, like a great ink spot slowly seeping outward, dimming her entire world.

"He's probably gonna get himself an infection. Could get real, real sick, Ms. Harper. That is, if he doesn't come to his senses and haul his butt back down here."

"So the prognosis for stupidity is that good." Hope felt dread gnaw at her insides. "That's just great."

"Course, he figures he needs to be back on duty, and neither one of us can hardly blame him for that." If Hope didn't know better, she'd have thought Shelby had appointed herself as Scott's personal defender—while also chastising him behind his back for risking his health.

Hope paused a moment, then admitted, "I'm just so worried that something bad will happen to him because of this." It had been a small, niggling fear inside her since she'd left him back in her bed, the sense that he was stepping into a yawning vortex of danger, just by taking this one action of leaving the hospital.

Shelby covered Hope's hand where it rested on the desk. "He's got a good head on his shoulders. Thick as it may be."

Hope nodded and Shelby removed her hand. It was strange, but the main thought in Hope's own head
wasn't
that the woman had a very comforting, gentle manner, but rather that Shelby was just one more alien who had touched her. And the strangest thing was that aliens, the idea of which had seemed like rumor and speculation and myth just a few months earlier, were becoming a routine part of Hope's daily life.

"So, they were going to send someone out for my diabetic supplies. Said I should come back for the test strips and shots." Hope's bottle of insulin had almost a month's worth of her medicine still in it. Fortunately she'd had it on her when her barracks were blasted at Warren; she now kept most everything she needed with her constantly in a hip pack, because she never knew when her quarters might explode, or a handsome alien might need dragging under a truck, that kind of thing. Just life's basic kinds of situations when you were diabetic and worked for the FBI translating intercepts.
Yeah, buddy.

"I've got everything right back there," Shelby told her in a sunny voice.

Hope listened as the nurse's footsteps receded, stilled, then finally returned. When her eyesight had started to go she'd learned to listen closely to what happened around her; it was one of the only ways to get a clear picture of her surroundings.

"Here we go," the nurse said brightly, pushing several cylinders across the counter. "You keep these extra bottles of insulin in the fridge up there in the cabin, right? You've got your long-lasting and short-lasting medicine in here. Until you're ready to use them."

Hope smiled at the alien's protectiveness. "I have been doing this for a long time."

"Of course you have, so here you go. Actually, wait"—Shelby retrieved something from under the desk—"this is a twenty-four-hour cooler bag, and you can use that too. I'm also tucking in some fruit juice in case you need it."

"So, how'd you actually get this stuff? If you had to go to town, couldn't have it made up, how was it possible for you to get me prescription medication?"

"Diabetes has been eradicated among our people. We have a fairly simple way of treating it, so you're right: We did have to go snag this for you." Shelby laughed softly. "As for the where, when, how? Well, you'd be amazed at our human connections and placements out in your world."

"You don't have diabetes at all; that's what you're telling me—but as a people, you used to? Somebody mentioned genetic therapy to me earlier. Is that what you're talking about?"

If Hope had been able to see better, something more of the nurse than her sheen of straight blond hair and general blurry outline, she'd have sworn the woman grew suddenly serious. Perhaps it was nothing; perhaps it was just the few extra seconds she hesitated before answering the question. But it was enough to cause a check in Hope's mind that something about their version of genetic therapy wasn't quite right. Still, the nurse's words were upbeat and chirpy. "It could be an incredible cure for you and your disease."

"How does it work?"

"It's a series of treatments—takes some time, and the explanation itself would have to come from the doctors, which we can arrange. But in the end, your disease would be gone. And you should also know we can fix your eyes up for you as well."

Hope's heart lodged right in her throat. "You're kidding me." What she really wanted to say, as her jaw fell slack and her eyes grew wide, was,
You've gotta be fucking kidding me
. But she kept her reaction more polite.

"No. I'm not joking at all. I wouldn't joke about something so serious."

Hope swallowed, trying to find her voice. "How?"

"Even your people know about laser therapy."

"Oh." Hope nearly burst into tears from disappointment. "No, I've already gone that route. Nothing more can be done."

Shelby patted her hand. "Sweetie, of course more can be done. Our medical technology is light-years more developed than yours." She laughed awkwardly. "I mean, no offense or anything."

"None taken." Hope gave a reassuring nod of her head, then asked, "Really? Really and truly there's more you can do for me?" More tears filled her eyes, and she couldn't stop them.

"Oh, my. I'm sorry, doll," Shelby whispered, stepping around the counter and walking quickly toward her. The woman slipped an arm about her shoulder, pushed a Kleenex into her hands, and repeated, "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to upset you like this."

"These are happy tears," Hope said, blotting at her eyes. "I mean, not being able to see the simplest things, like my hair when I'm trying to fix it or the laces on my boots." She paused, then added quietly, "Or like Lieutenant Dillon. What I just wouldn't give to see him, Shelby. To really see him."

"I know," the nurse replied in a gentle voice, letting her arm drop. "Listen, you come back here tomorrow when the chief medical adviser is in. He's out today, but we'll get you an appointment with him to discuss your options."

Hope nodded, still unable to quell her tears of release or even find her voice again. Slowly she turned toward the nurse and whispered, "Thank you, Shelby."

Shelby gave her arm a light pat, and got her to promise that she'd come back for a consultation. Hope agreed, and set out on the long route back to her room.

Making her way through the circuitous tunnels that led there, she realized there was one more question she'd meant to ask, but had been so overwhelmed with emotion about the possibility of regaining her eyesight, she'd forgotten it. She'd meant to question why Scott would be so adamantly against genetic therapy.

Only later, much later, would she realize it was a question she should have remembered to ask.

S
cott stood in the
hallway upstairs, gripping his crutch. Of all the unholy moments in his life to be without the full use of his legs, this was the worst possible one. With a light sniff of the air, he sensed the intruder moving down into the lower area of their compound toward the medical complex, where undoubtedly he planned to escape into the surrounding deep woods. Jared stood beside him and asked, "What do you sense, Lieutenant?"

He shook his head, sweeping their perimeter with his highly refined tracking skills. Then his eyes flew open. "He's moving quickly, Jared," he said intensely. "Much faster than I can follow."

"If you can't keep tracking, we'll lose him," Jared said, his implication more than obvious. So was the blazing look in Jared's black gaze, which told Scott exactly what his king was asking of him.

Scott nodded, again closing his eyes, because he understood what was required of him. As distasteful, hateful, and truly mortifying as it was, there was no other choice. Not at a moment like this one. "I'll do it," he said resolutely, letting the crutch fall away.

Jared caught it as it fell. "You're not selling your soul, S'Skautsa," he said. "You know I'd never ask you to."

Again Scott nodded, and wondered whether his best friend could really understand a twisted, dark soul like his own. "We have no other choice," Scott said, taking a tentative step without the crutch. A cascade of pain ricocheted through his entire body, further clarifying his decision. "That's good enough for me."

"I know you can stop him, but don't kill him. Not yet."

Scott shot him a curious look, unbuttoning his uniform jacket and shrugging out of it. The fewer clothes, really, the better. At least in the end. "One thing you know about me, Jareshk—I show no mercy to
vlksai
."

"This one claims to be an ally."

"An ally who points a weapon at my king?" He shook his head resolutely. "No mercy."

Jared seemed to hesitate, but then gave an abrupt nod. "Do what you will."

Scott issued a crisp salute to his commander, then with a shimmer of energy became what he had always been, in his soul and in his heart of hearts: an Antousian ghost shifter. Without another thought or a sound, totally undetectable by Jared or the others around him, he slipped through the walls and spun toward the hospital corridor, following in his enemy's wake.

W
alls were no problem for
Jake, not in this amorphous, invisible state of his. In fact, he gave little thought to the security perimeter around him, or the fortress, or any other physical element that stood between him and the outside. Being invisible and without substance except for his energy shadow meant he was utterly unstoppable. No, his current predicament of being trapped in the compound barely bothered him at all.

But what did upset him was that, based on what they'd just told him upstairs, McKinley had already come through time and been shut down. This new intel meant one of two things: Either they'd already changed the future, or McKinley would still betray them in the end. But neither of these options left room for Jake to hang around in the compound, hoping to make nice and be buddies. None of them believed he was an ally, and he certainly couldn't tell them the full truth about his identity anyway.

Penetrating the elevator that would lead to the bottom level, he shifted back to physical form. It was dangerous to spend any longer than short bursts in this ethereal body of his; well, not unless he wanted to spend hours trying to regain his physical equilibrium when he shifted back. And so he would have to maintain a careful dance between his two halves of formless and physical self.

In these past moments, during which he'd traveled as far from Jared and the others as he could, one choice had imprinted in his mind as the only real option: He had to get the hell back to his own time. Somehow, some way, he had to use the mitres to travel ten years back into the future. And that was the biggest problem of all—when he and Kelsey had aligned the mitres and opened inter-dimensional space, it had been for a one-way journey.

They never figured he would need or want to return.

E
ntering the main corridor
, Hope hit her stride, neatly folding her cane. This part she had memorized: Twenty-eight steps would place her by the elevator. Plus, the lights were bright enough that she could see if anything got in her way. Yeah, it would be simpler just to use the cane, but she hated the thing already. Counting off her steps—
twenty-one, twenty-two
—she heard the elevator doors slide open. Immediately a towering, dark form appeared just ahead, blocking her way.