Chapter 4

"Ido not recommend more injection until fever breaks," Yvonne says as we hover over one of my recruits, Rex. In his polar bear form, he performed exceptionally well in the training exercises last night, but once the adrenaline wore off, he shifted back and immediately collapsed on the mat.

"No shit," I reply in a clipped tone as I watch beads of sweat run down his neck. "What's the half-life for the wrathenol at this point? Forty-eight hours?"

Wrathenolis a substance Yvonne created using my DNA mixed with sodium metabisulfite and saline. The goal of these injections is to see if my ability to breathe fire can be passed to a non-draxilio. It took her three years of research and testing to create the formula, and we've finally reached the point of being able to test it on the members of the pack.

"Not that long," she says. "We bring down to thirty."

Though Yvonne's accent is thicker than Mylo's collection of vintage encyclopedias, I'm now able to understand her, most of the time, without asking her to repeat herself. I don't have a clue where she's from, and the few times I've asked, she's given me different answers. What I do know is that she's a medical doctor whose license was suspended due to insurance fraud. Her background is in overseeing clinical trials, and I knew if I paid her enough, she'd be discreet about what I'm trying to achieve here.

"Give him a seventy-two-hour break. I don't just want the fever to break before we give him another. I want him rested and strong." I pat Rex on the arm. "Take it easy, Rex."

I hate seeing them suffer just to determine if the wrathenol is effective, but I have to remind myself that this is part of the process. They volunteered for this job, and I'm paying each of them handsomely to endure any and all side effects, but it still conjures memories of life inside the laboratory on Sufoi.

Yvonne nods and puts a second bottle of Gatorade on Rex's bedside table. "Yes, I keep in recovery."

We leave the dormitory, passing the shared kitchen where most of the men are eating breakfast, and head into the lab. I make sure it's empty before I pull out my phone. "I'm going to give you access to my financial accounts, as well as a document with specific instructions on what to do if I go missing."

"Missing?" Yvonne's makeup-smudged eyes widen in fear. "Why you go missing?"

"I'm not saying it's inevitable, but it could happen. There aren't many people I trust, and if the work we're doing here gets out, I'm bound to make some enemies. Powerful enemies who will steal our research and leave me for dead. There needs to be a protocol in place for you and Andrei to protect my assets and shut everything down within minutes."

"What about brothers?"

I let out a heavy sigh. It's not that I don't trust my brothers. Given what we've survived, there's no one else on this planet that I should trust more than those four idiots, but trust isn't what connects me and them at the moment. They're too distracted by their new mates and growing families to handle something this delicate, this time sensitive. It's no longer just the four of us. When it was, I could count on them in an emergency.

We grew up in a laboratory on Sufoi, the same lab in which we were genetically modified to become ruthless killers. Our only parental figures were the handlers charged with overseeing our modifications, our births, and our physical development until we were old enough to fight. They were cold, callous beings––always demanding more when we did something right and beating us senseless when we did something wrong. Sticking together was a necessity for me and my brothers in the lab. It ensured our survival.

I'm not a priority for them anymore though. Perhaps I never was. I'm the only one who didn't want to leave our home planet. Working as one of the king's assassins was a job I excelled at. The fury I was able to express with each kill brought me a sense of peace. It settled me.

My brothers have deep scars from our time on Sufoi. They would say I have them too, but I have yet to uncover them. Maybe I'm emotionally stronger than they are, or I have so much emotional damage that I'm beyond the place where help can reach. What I do know is that their kills still haunt them at night and mine don't. That feels like superior strength to me.

"You can alert them if I go missing, but they can't have access to this information," I tell Yvonne. "I'm dropping the file into our shared folder. If forty-eight hours go by, and you don't hear from me, you need to assume I've been kidnapped, okay? The code for this protocol is Key. Got it?"

She opens the shared folder on her laptop and scans the document. "Yes, code Key. I got."

My gaze drifts to the clock in the top right corner of her screen and I stifle a gasp. "Fuck, it's almost eight. The staff will start showing up soon. I need to get upstairs. Let me know if anything changes with our feverish recruit."

"Yes, yes," she says with a shooing motion.

I race down the utility hallway and slide into the secret elevator that opens directly into my private office bathroom. Then I scramble to splash my face with water and change into a fresh shirt, tie, and pants so it doesn't look like I've been here all fucking night.

When I step into my office, I find Naomi waiting for me, an impatient look on her face. "Where'd you come from? I was banging on the bathroom door for five minutes. Were you asleep in there?"

I knew it was a good idea to keep my bathroom locked. Thea found it peculiar, but it just saved my ass. "Did you knock?" I reply, feigning innocence. "I didn't hear you."

"The CEO from Langford House got here early and has been waiting for you in the conference room. I brought him and his assistant coffee. They barely acknowledged my existence. Are they assholes? They seem like it." Her foot starts tapping. I have no idea why she's so chatty this morning, but I find it irritating. "Are you prepped for the meeting? I went over the slides so many times, I think I have the presentation memorized at this point."

"Of course I'm prepped."

Her gaze narrows, as if she can see right through me, but I ignore it as I stride past her toward the conference room. Now is not the time to let a lowly assistant get inside my head and make me second guess whether I can handle my shit. I've been handling it on my own for years.

"Tom, good to see you." I shake his hand and give a quick nod to his assistant before I take my seat at the head of the long marble table. "Apologies for keeping you waiting. How was your flight?"

He chuckles as he strokes the length of his tie. "I didn't come from Manhattan to this backwater shithole to talk about turbulence and peanuts."

I'm surprised he didn't fly private on the fancy jet he purchased to overcompensate for his floppy dick, but whatever. Let him mock New Hampshire. What do I care?

"Certainly," I begin, gesturing for Naomi to fire up the pitch deck so I can begin my presentation. Once I deliver the overview, my VP of Sales will step in and take it the rest of the way, and I can hide out in my office until the workday ends. "Based on the rapid growth of Langford House over the last two years, you and your team need more than your basic email marketing software. We've been handling accounts like yours, with dozens of brands to oversee, for a long time, and you won't find another company out there with the same client retention as ours. When we promise something, we deliver. I know we can take the brands you own and implement a streamlined strategy that's easy for your staff to use and is so engaging, it'll jumpstart the growth you've established."

Tom scratches the neatly trimmed silver hair on his chin as he stares at me, looking bored. I continue going through the slides, but with each piece of data I share, he edges closer to falling asleep sitting up.

The heat kicks on, and warm air blasts us from the vents above. Out of the corner of my eye, I see the ends of Naomi's straight black hair lift off her shoulders and blow around her angular face. I wait for the scent of her to reach me, but it never does. It's then that I remember she has no detectable scent, and I find myself baffled by it all over again.

It doesn't make sense. Even Rex, a polar-bear shifter from northern Alaska, had the strong odor of a sweaty, feverish human as he tossed and turned in his bunk. Why does Naomi continue to smell of nothing?

I hear Tom mutter something quietly, but I can't take my focus off Naomi and her maddening lack of aroma. Why is she so odd?

She always carries that pink bottle in her hands, but I've yet to see her eat solid food. Could she be on a liquid diet of some kind? I suppose it's possible. I learned very quickly from Vanessa that the food trends of humans are often nonsensical and toxic, so I don't pay attention to the latest fads.

Tom continues to speak, his voice getting louder, but it isn't until Naomi gives me a strange, wide-eyed look that I snap out of my trance.

"My apologies, what was that?" I ask Tom.

He rolls his eyes and his assistant chuckles before he says, "Is this how you treat your top clients? Because if it is, I'm out." He gets to his feet, shaking his head in disgust. "You know, I've been talking to Markus at Excelsior Media Operations, and not only are his prices lower than yours, but he actually pays attention to the people he's trying to work with."

Fuck, I'm blowing this. My mind is fuzzy from lack of sleep, and I'm about to destroy the deal it's taken me over a year to set up. "Wait, Tom," I say, rushing to his side. "Allow me to explain."

Tom huffs a breath as he shoves his hands in his pockets, waiting for me to continue, but I've got nothing. My mouth falls open, and I silently urge a string of coherent words to come out, but they don't. Naomi rushes over with a jug of water and trips over Tom's foot, sending a big splash of water down my front.

"For fuck's sake," Tom says, staring at Naomi like she's a rodent about to run over his expensive shoe.

"Oh my god! I'm so sorry." She puts the jug on the credenza and heaves a pile of cloth napkins at me. "Please forgive me, Mr. Langford," she says to Tom, even though none of the water reached him. "This is my fault. The spill and, and the lack of respect you're feeling right now." Her small hand grips the sleeve of my shirt as she pulls me toward the door. "I accidentally deleted this very presentation yesterday, so Mr. Monroe was up all night working on it."

What's happening? Why is she lying?

"He had to start from scratch and wouldn't settle for less than perfection for you. Let me get another shirt for Mr. Monroe, and we'll be right back. Please don't leave."

Tom sighs heavily as he stomps back to his seat. Naomi continues dragging me to my office and doesn't say a word until my door is closed.

"Okay, you need to get your shit together," she scolds. "Where is your head today?" She looks around the room. "You have extra shirts here, right? Where do you keep them?"

I'm caught off guard by her tone and the ruse she created to get me out of that meeting when it was clear I was floundering. "How do you know I have extra shirts here?" It's not the first question I wanted to ask, but those are the only words that came out.

Naomi starts going through the file cabinets along the wall, shoving papers around and digging through each drawer. "Because you seem like one of those guys. Am I wrong?"

"No," I admit, slightly embarrassed that she has such a clear picture of me. I pride myself on maintaining an air of mystery. "The closet next to the bathroom. Second drawer down."

I unbutton the shirt I have on and peel the soaked fabric down my arms before tossing it to the floor. I'm lucky the water only hit my top half. Though it went through the undershirt I have on too. "Grab me an undershirt too, please. A white one," I tell her as I walk into the bathroom and remove my t-shirt. I splash water on my face in an attempt to wake myself the fuck up before I go back into that conference room. Tom's patience is gone, and I have one more shot to impress him.

Naomi gasps from behind me, and in the mirror, I watch her drop my shirts on the floor while her eyes remained locked on my bare chest, widening in innate approval as she takes me in. "I'm sorry, I, uh, didn't realize you were undressed in here. How inappropriate of me." She scrambles to pick up my shirts and tosses them at me before racing out of the bathroom with bright red cheeks. "Sorry!"

A smile tugs at my lips following her quick exit. The heated look in her eyes…I put it there. She was frazzled and flushed because of me. I don't know what to do with this information; I just know that it pleases me.

Perhaps that makes me a deviant, knowing my subordinate appreciates my body. It's entirely inappropriate for a professional setting, but I can't help the way I feel. The longing in her gaze coupled with the way she scolded me the moment we were alone, makes my cock ache with need. I can't let these thoughts continue though. She is my employee, and I'm her boss. We could never be anything more.

I finish getting dressed and find Naomi rubbing her temples as she leans on the edge of my desk. When I clear my throat, she straightens and rushes over. "I'm so sor––"

"What were you saying before you retrieved my spare shirt?" I ask, eager to remove the awkward tension between us. We don't have time to waste. "That I need to get my shit together?"

"Oh, yeah," she replies, biting into her bottom lip as if she regrets her words. I hope that's not the case. I wanted more of her fire. "Why are you letting that creepy bastard talk to you like that? He'd be lucky to sign with us. I saw the projections on your deck. Sure, they've had some impressive growth, but it's nothing compared to what it could be if he became our client. And Excelsior isn't even a competitor. The company is made up of three developers and an accountant. That's like saying a goldfish and a shark are competitors. It's bullshit. He should be grateful you're interested in working with him at all."

Her ardent support leaves me speechless. It's her first week here, how could she care so much this soon? Perhaps this is her nature, and whatever she does, she does it with every bone in her body, regardless of wage or title. It's an admirable quality, but I don't consider myself worthy of such devotion. Yet I can't deny the power of her praise. Suddenly, I'm greedy for it, but she can never know that. "Is that why you intentionally spilled the water on me?"

Naomi scrunches up her nose in a way that makes my stomach flip. "Was it that obvious?"

A chuckle escapes me as I nod. "Very."

Her cheeks turn a deep crimson as she lets out a low chuckle of her own. "Damn, I thought I nailed that."

She kept Tom from leaving and lifted my confidence. It's not the path I would've taken to get there, but it worked. "You did."

Naomi's gaze lifts to meet mine, and she offers me a shy smile. Does she never receive compliments from those around her? How could that be? She's a spectacular and clever human, better than most I've met, better than most who exist, I'm sure.

I run a hand through my hair, making sure it's still gelled back the way I like it, and gesture toward the door. "Shall we?"

Naomi leads the way back to the conference room, and I enter as if the previous portion of the meeting never occurred. Tom makes a joke about the spill, but I ignore it as I revisit the key data points from the deck that I know Tom cares about. He responds to arrogance, and that's what I give him. Members of my team present their portions of the deck, and we negotiate the terms of the contract. Tom comes in low, as expected, but we settle on a three-year deal without offering to lower the prices a single cent.

The rest of the day goes by painfully slowly. I expect the thrill of the deal to provide enough energy to get me through the afternoon, but after an hour of staring at the back of Naomi's head through the glass wall of my office, my eyelids grow heavy, and I want nothing more than to climb into bed until Monday.

My staff scuttles out of the office just before five o'clock, as is typical on a Friday, and once the last person exits the office, I head down to the basement to check on Rex.

"How is he?" I ask Yvonne once I enter the lab. "Improving, I hope."

"Yes, yes, much improvement," she says, carefully pouring a lime-green liquid into a beaker. "He begs to train, but I tell him no. Must wait."

"He wants to train? So soon? That's a good sign."

She nods. "Yes, half-life getting shorter."

"I'll go see him."

I find Rex sitting on his bed sideways, reading a book of poetry. His face brightens when he sees me. "Hey, boss," he drops the book in his lap and holds his arms out. "My fever is gone, and I'm feeling fantastic. Can I get back out there?"

I pull a chair over to the bed and pat him on the leg as I sit down. "I'm afraid not. I need you to take it easy for another day. I want to be sure the wrathenol has left your system, and you won't have further setbacks. Are you okay with that?"

His face falls. "Of course. It's your call. I'm just eager to hone my skills. I want to make sure I'm in top form for when the day comes."

Rex recently turned twenty-five, and he has the stamina of a spry young male, with the tenacity to match. He reminds me of a much, much younger version of myself, when we were first appointed to serve as the king's assassins. I had to be dragged from battle and felt too much time passed from one to the next. My body wanted nothing more than to fight until my combatants lay limp beside me. It was what I was made to do.

"I know, and you will be. Your muscles can't grow without rest. Give them what they need. The day will come soon enough."

"Yes, sir."

I change into a loose pair of shorts and a t-shirt in the locker room and meet the rest of the men in the large training room with mats covering the floor. I lead them through a series of sparring exercises while Yvonne sits off to the side taking notes on her tablet. Once the exercises are over and we're dripping with sweat, she leads the men to the side of the room, giving wrathenol injections to two of them.

"Once your bodies fully adjust to the wrathenol, there's no limit to what you can do, or the ways you can destroy the enemy who stands before you," I explain, stepping into the middle of the room, where I have the most room to shift into my draxilio. "Particularly with the addition of your fire. It doesn't matter what kind of animal you can shift into, or the physical limitations of being in that other form. Jaguar shifters, polar bears, werewolves, and snakes––you will all have the ability to unleash a ball of fire from the depths of your throat onto your target, and you'll be able to control the shape and mass of your flames using just your mind. Allow me to demonstrate."

My chest grows warm as I picture my draxilio and let him come forth. He is a dark, twisted creature of few words, and I've been able to restrict him to the deepest corners of my mind, but when I let him out, he cherishes the freedom.

We've developed a sort of understanding and trust between us since we first landed on this planet. I'm seldom interrupted by his thoughts, so long as I accept the parts of myself that long to kill. I spent years denying it, knowing my vicious nature has no place here. But the more I rejected this part of me, and him, the louder his voice became. He would scream at me through the night to flee, to find a victim and snuff the life out of them. I ignored him, much to my own detriment.

It wasn't until I found my true purpose here on Earth that I finally found peace inside my own head. Creating this space, assembling this crew, and giving them the tools to fight against the most evil creatures this land has to offer has settled my draxilio. He knows we are working toward something grand, and now he lets me sleep.

One by one, my bones begin to snap with the shift, my fingernails growing into sharp claws, and my skin tightening and expanding into blue scales. My horns almost brush the top of the ceiling, so I duck once the shift is complete and lumber over to the training dummies set up on the far wall.

My draxilio, now the dominant occupant of the body we share, purrs with delight. For the first target, I release a standard ball of fire. This takes very little effort, as it's the easiest to form. The target instantly becomes engulfed, but the nonflammable materials used quickly reduce the flame to a low flicker until it dies. For the second target, I take a deep inhale, and a shallow, low exhale, which forms a thin, straight line of fire. This is ideal for blocking an opponent's approach or burning several opponents using a single breath. The third and final target will be the recipient of my favorite technique. A deep inhale followed by a series of short exhales creates smaller balls of fire that can be shot from the mouth by creating a tight O shape with my lips and this has the same effect as bullets. One shot might not kill the opponent, but with enough of them, and fired to the right places on the body, it will stop their heart.

I explain all of this to my crew upon shifting back into my flightless form, and I'm met with a round of applause. The men hoot and holler their excitement to someday mimic my actions here, and pride surges within me at the thought of seeing that progression.

After we go through a few more exercises, carefully measuring the vitals of those on wrathenol, I change back into my business attire and make my way down the utility hallway and through the hidden door into the empty front office. Andrei's shift monitoring reported UFO sightings is long over, and I assume he's retired to the small, one-bedroom apartment I had built for him on the other side of the office.

Before I reach the door that leads to the parking garage, I hear a strange clinking sound. Puzzled, I slow my steps, trying to find the source. It's an uneven rustling of metal against metal, and I worry that rats have burrowed their way into my walls, creating a colony that will soon breach my private basement quarters. Then I see the subtle movement of the door handle as it moves up and down.

Someone is trying to break in. But why? And who? None of my employees even know I own the space down here.

Rage shoots through my veins as I watch the locked handle's stunted jiggle. This invasion is unacceptable and will not end well for the person on the other side. Wrapping my fingers around the handle, I yank it open, prepared to obliterate the criminal in a number of twisted ways, but what I find leaves me shocked and utterly confused.

"Naomi? What are you doing here?"