Page 258 of Golden Eagle

“I have nothing but a formula, and some notes, somesuggestions, and have been gathering my own blood samples – all highly inferior. Sometimes the drug doesn’t even work! Did you know that your father has a seventy-five percent higher success rate than my facility? Do you? That’s on purpose. He wants to shame me. So don’t any of you preach to me about power, especially you” – he jabbed a finger toward Mia – “when Talbot’s the most power-hungry of all!”

Trina had recovered enough to say, “That still doesn’t explain why you murdered those rejected applicants.”

“They weren’t rejected, were they?” Mia said, tone one of dawning realization.

“It said so in the file,” Trina said.

“The file lied, didn’t it, Dr. Fowler? You administered it to them, and it failed. They showed no results. So you doctored their files, and, then, when you got too paranoid, you had them murdered so no one would find out. So your success rate wouldn’t be effected.”

His face twitched, a fast, ugly spasm, giving truth to Mia’s words.

“God,” Trina said. “You’repathetic. This is some kind ofcompetition? You go on about the end of the world, but you’re just trying to get yours, huh?”

“Obtaining my place as the most valuable–” He cut off, suddenly, jaw clenching. He’d said too much, he realized, gotten too disturbed.

In the moment of silence that followed, Trina heard a faint sound, a soft scrape. Barely detectable, but she rushed to cover it. “Dr. Fowler–”

“No.” He stood, and never noticed the shadow that fluttered past the window, there and gone again. “No, you’ve wasted enough of my time.” He buttoned his suit jacket, and attempted to sound composed, though his hands were shaking, and it took three tries to slide the button home. “You and your pack have stood in the way long enough. You’re like mosquitos: a persistent annoyance. It’s time you were finally swatted.”

Somewhere out beyond the conference room, Trina heard the unmistakable crack of a gunshot.

Dr. Fowler smiled. “I would say it’s been a pleasure, but it really hasn’t.”

More gunshots, a volley. Too many to be Fulk and Anna. Too many…the plan going awry…

The window shattered.

And an arrow caught one of Fowler’s guards in the side of the throat.

~*~

The hall eventually dead-ended, T-ing off to the left and right.

To the right: a heavy set of double doors, its narrow windows reinforced with a cross-hatch of wire.

To the left: more hallway. According to the blueprint, it led back toward the front of the building.

They needed to go right.

Nikita was turning that way, going at a jog, when something zipped past in front of his nose and buried itself in the sheetrock of the wall. The crack of the gunshot registered a moment later. He whirled, dropped to one knee, and saw men dressed in black riot gear, clear face shields in place, charging out of the purple smoke toward them.

He drew on every ounce of compulsion, and when he spoke, his voice was low, deep, and resonant. “Stop.”

They didn’t stop. The one in front squeezed off another two rounds, and kept coming.

Nik jumped to the side, tucking and rolling, and came up in front of the double doors, around the meager shelter of the corner of the wall. The others had followed.

“They must be wearing silver,” Will said, in answer to Nik’s unasked question. “In their face shields, somewhere. After last time, they won’t be taking any chances.”

“Shit,” Lanny said, “we’ll be useless.”

Boots thumped over the terrazzo, coming closer to their position. They could go through the doors, and keep to their course – and they would – but Nikita didn’t relish the idea of being chased the whole way.

“If I may?” Val asked, drawing their attention. When Nikita glanced toward him, he found the prince grinning hugely with excitement. It was, frankly, eerie. “Just a moment.” He closed his eyes, and his smile slipped a fraction, and he seemed to settle, a bit, weight sinking down into his heels.

Lanny put a hand on his shoulder, ready to catch him; he didn’t look steady. “What’s he doing?”

“Dream-walking,” Will said, sounding impressed. Nikita wasn’t sure he’d ever heard the wolf sound anything other than polite, or faintly amused. “I’d imagine he’s–”

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