Blood Ties Book Two: Possession. Jennifer Armintrout

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СКАЧАТЬ tear himself from the comforting warmth of her body. And that frightened him more than any words his father might use to shame him.

      

      In med school, I dreamed of one day owning my own practice. I’d envisioned exactly the right colors and furnishings to put my patients at ease as they waited to be seen.

      The general should have called me for pointers. The waiting room of his office was as stark and white as the rest of the Movement’s underground compound. The general, however, took “stark” to a whole new level. Two cold, stainless steel chairs were the only furniture in the room. The fluorescent lights were so bright it seemed the place glowed, and the walls blended seamlessly into the floor, giving one the impression of floating in a void.

      Like purgatory, only with folding chairs.

      Max sat beside me, drumming his fingers on his thighs. “We weren’t supposed to keep him waiting, but he’ll keep us waiting?”

      My nerves were too fried for me to bother concentrating on Max’s sarcasm. I’d anticipated the general would be a hard sell, considering the way Max and Anne had spoken of him, not to mention the fact he’d been the only staff member I’d heard of so far with a military rank before his name.

      Of course, Max kept reassuring me things would be fine. I really wished I could believe that, but when the door to the inner office opened, I wanted to run.

      My stomach returned to its proper latitude as my eyes bugged out of my head. A woman, tall and slender, dressed from neck to toes in black leather, strode through the door like a Bond girl. Her deep gold gaze slid over us, her slightly upturned eyes deadly serious. Her black hair fell down her back in a perfect, waist-length braid. She growled at us as she passed.

      Max’s face flashed into feeding mode, his upper and lower jaws elongating to form a vaguely porcine snout with dripping canines. He snarled viciously, then his face returned to normal as quickly as it had changed.

      The woman didn’t acknowledge him again, and when the outer door clicked shut behind her, he stood and kicked the chair. “Bitch!”

      “What was that about? Bad breakup?”

      Judging by the look on Max’s face, my humor was not appreciated. “That filthy dog? She wishes.”

      I held up my hands. “Hey, I don’t know her, but I should inform you that it greatly offends my sense of sisterhood to hear you call another woman a dog.”

      “That’s what she is.” He pointed accusingly to the door. “A stinking werewolf. The day the Movement let them join the ranks, I should have turned in my resignation.”

      Morbid curiosity forced my gaze toward the closed door she’d exited through. “What is your thing against werewolves?”

      “It’s not my thing against werewolves that makes me dislike that one. Bella DeCesare. She’s a real bitch.” He winced at the terminology. “Breton gives her all sorts of prime assignments, flies her all over because she’s his only assassin who can travel commercial. He says it’s because she’s got the best kill record of all the werewolves in the Movement. I say he’s boning her.”

      “Nice.” I remembered Cyrus talking about lupins and how they’d distanced themselves from their more primitive cousins, but the way he’d described werewolves had made me picture hairy, half human beasts loping around in the woods, preying on innocent campers. The woman I’d seen had been anything but primitive. “So, they play for this side, as well. There were some lupins at Cyrus’s house, but I wasn’t sure exactly who they were.”

      A look of utter disgust crossed Max’s face. “Let’s limit your use of that name to about zero times a day. But she’s not a lupin. She’s a werewolf. According to them, they’re not inter-changeable terms.” He sounded as if he didn’t care two figs for their differences. “They’re not as different as the lupins want you to believe. Werewolves are still tied to the earth and moon. There was some pack council a hundred years ago where they met to discuss controlling their cycles—”

      “Wait,” I interrupted. “We are talking about their changing-into-dogs cycles and not menstruation, right?”

      “Yes. And let’s go ahead and put that one on the zero tolerance vocab list, as well.” He gave another disgusted look. “Anyway, werewolves have always been really into that hippiedippy earth magic crap like Nathan’s got in his bookstore. Except they know what they’re doing, because they’re more or less ruled by nature. For centuries, they’ve dabbled in magic to alter time and skip over the days of the full moon’s influence. Then some of them turned to science, came up with an injection that will suppress the change. The resultant rift split the species into two clans, werewolves and lupins.

      “The lupins believe they’re superior, because they advocate the vaccine that allows them to live as humans. The werewolves think the lupins are traitors for turning away from magic. So a war started, and since lupins have no problem feeding on innocent humans, the Movement sided with the werewolves. They join up and get the chance to kill lupins and vampires. Personally, I wouldn’t care if they lost their collective cool and ripped each other to shreds.”

      “I’ll remember that, when it’s time to call in a cleaning crew to mop the fur and guts off the walls.”

      I jumped at the cultured, but very commanding, British voice. So did Max. The man who’d spoken surprised me. I had definitely formed a picture in my head based around Breton’s military title. I’d expected a man in his fifties with an iron jaw, deep lines by his eyes and a haircut so precise as to be geometrical. Breton was nothing like that, except for the iron jaw. He’d probably been turned in his late thirties. His long, wheat-colored hair was pulled back in a severe horsetail, accentuating his sharp features and long, straight nose. His lips quirked in an expression that was either annoyance or amusement. It was hard to tell which.

      “General Breton, I presume.” I hoped I sounded more confident than I felt as I extended my hand and prayed my palms weren’t sweaty.

      The man didn’t take it. “We are not so formal here. You may call me General, Dr. Ames.”

      “And you can call me…” I hesitated, rolling his words around in my brain. “Doctor?”

      He gave me a cool, appraising look. “Come inside.”

      We followed him through the door, Max showing Breton’s back the middle finger the whole time.

      The inner office was a bit of a shock, considering the appearance of the waiting area. The walls were dark paneled wood, the carpet a deep, rich print. A huge desk with a carved emblem of a foxhunter dominated the room. Two stiff wing chairs stood before it, where Breton motioned for us to sit. It looked as if we’d entered a bad theme restaurant of British paraphernalia. A coat of arms and crossed swords rested above the mantel over a huge fireplace, and the Union Jack hung from a flag post in the corner. Behind the desk, two large windows—obvious fakes, considering we were below ground—showed a sunny country scene. Somebody’s missing the sunshine.

      Not that I could blame him. I found myself occasionally longing for a lazy day of sunbathing on the beach.

      “That’s very…pastoral.” I tried to sound friendly, but it came off wooden.

      Breton’s eyes narrowed. They were gray, but nothing like Nathan’s. Nathan’s eyes were changeable, storm clouds with the occasional silver lining. СКАЧАТЬ