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"End it, Riley," he pleaded. "Please."
I closed my eyes for the briefest of moments, then took a deep breath and said, "Tell me who your boss is, Misha. Please, just give me that."
"I can't."
"Not even a hint?"
"Not even… Not dead." He coughed, bringing up more flesh and blood. "Please. Stop."
I leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss against his battered lips.
"May you find what you're looking for in your next life, Misha."
He raised a hand to my cheek, cupping it gently, his skin like ice against mine and his eyes gentle. I'd been wrong before. A lab-born creature could feel love. It was there, right now, in his eyes.
"But I have already found what I want. We could have been good together. Real good."
The tears blurring my eyes fell down my cheeks. "Yes," I whispered, and raised the laser.
He caught a tear on his fingertip, raising it a little, a touch of wonder briefly lifting the pain from his gaze. Then he closed his eyes and smiled, and I knew in that moment that he was thinking of us together, thinking of a future he could never have had.
I fired the laser, ending his pain, and his dreams.
It was only after I'd run from the building and his body, when I knew I was safe from the spiders and the creatures, that I let myself cry for the man I didn't love.
Chapter Thirteen
Five days later, recovered from my wounds if not the memories, I was back in the bowels of Genoveve, my hands clasped behind my back as I stared out over the bloody sands of the old arena.
Behind me, Jack was speaking to Rhoan, but his words were little more than a babble of sound that was making no sense. Not that it mattered. I knew all the important stuff already. Roberta Whitby was dead. Jack and Rhoan hadn't got there in time to save her—a bomb had blown the vehicle apart long before she'd ever reached the tu
Despite all he'd done in the last few days, all that we'd been through, Jack still didn't know the location of the second lab. Still didn't know the name of the man behind it all. While he mightn't be back at square one, he hadn't advanced much beyond it, either.
Except for the fact that Misha had, in the very end, come through with his promises. In the aftermath of his death, he'd given me the answers I needed—although that wasn't something Jack knew just yet.
I closed my eyes against the bloody images crowding my mind. I didn't want to remember how Misha had died, but rather, how he'd lived, in the times when he'd been just a lover and a good friend. Because that was what he was, despite everything. A friend.
A friend who had died loving me.
He'd been buried without fuss in the traditional wolf ma
It was the letter that had provided all the answers. I reached into my pocket and lightly touched the folded piece of paper. I'd read it often enough over the last few days to be able to recite it by heart, and yet the words still had the power to shock me. Or maybe it was the sentiment—the fact that he really had loved me.
Even if he'd never really understood what that meant.
If you are reading this, then I am dead, it started, and you and the Directorate are left to fight this monster alone. For that, I am sorry. I want his madness stopped, as I have wanted almost nothing else, and everything I have done in recent times has been to that end. But I fear I have played my cards too close to my chest, and that in doing so, have placed myself in his hands.
He has two identities, Riley. I ca
The other identity he has taken, and the one he most closely resembles, is Deshon Starr. He has taken over the cartel who rule the docks and claims i
One thing more I must tell you.
For the longest time, the only emotion I have ever felt was the hunger to succeed. Then I met you.
Is love the desire—no, the need—to be with that person, whatever the cost? Does it cause the rue of rage when you see that person with another? Does it make you ache to hold her, to whisper things that sound foreign and strange to your tongue? Does it make you wish for things you know can never be?
I haven't the answers, Riley. In all that I've learned over the years, no one has ever mentioned a force such as this. Bui whatever it is, I feel it for you.
We would have been good together.
I closed my eyes against the tears suddenly stinging them. I may not have believed his words in life, but I had no such choice on his death. He'd proven he meant what he said, because he'd given me—or rather, the Directorate—the answers, and the name we needed. And he didn't have to do that.
"Riley? Are you paying the slightest attention to what I'm saying?"
Jack's barked question made me jump. I took a deep breath and turned around. "Actually, no, I wasn't. Was it something important?"
"Hell, no. I just say these things because I love to hear the sound of my own voice." He waved a hand to the spare chair in front of his desk. "Sit, woman, and pay attention."
My gaze met my brother's as I walked across the room. There was understanding there, like he knew what I was feeling. And he probably did. We might not share the communication of twins, and we might not be telepathically linked, but we very often knew when the other was hurting. I sat down, and he reached across, grasping my hand, squeezing it lightly.
"In his own weird way, he cared."
I smiled. "I know."
"People, can we get back to business here?" Jack glared at the two of us for a moment, then continued. "As I was saying, we have two people who, given everything Misha told you the day he died, fit the bill. One is Frank Margagliano, and the other is Deshon Starr. Both men have apparently undergone subtle changes in recent years—"