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  The first subject they’d initially put through Project Muisti didn’t survive the second surgery. Mika had gambled with this subject after the attempt to enhance his memory failed. Not wanting the subject to go to waste, he tried to turn him into a clairvoyant with Project Nakija. However, the approach was a complete failure, but now they had an experiment that should be successful. Once it was, then Isha would see the future and tell Mika how to find the werewolves. He’d finally be one step ahead of the Lucidites.

  “She meets all the requirements to gain the skill of clairvoyance,” Drake continued, his chest out and voice proud. “And she’s agreed to take the first dose of bufotoxin tonight.”

  “Clairvoyance? That’s what you meant by paranormal? That’s what you do here?” Haiku said. He should have known by now that questions weren’t encouraged since he had worked for Mika at Parantaa Research.

  “As well as make monsters that are your worst nightmare, but your job is to catch those so hopefully you don’t scare easily,” Drake said, the smile showing under his bushy white and gray beard.

  Haiku’s eyes skirted to Mika, worry heavy in them. Soon Haiku would be oriented and know exactly what strange things happened at Olento Research, but the initial moment of dawning was always the most annoying.

  “Drake, need I remind you that orientation isn’t your responsibility?” Mika said.

  “Yes, sir,” Drake said, turning his attention to Haiku. “I spoke out of turn, which I’m prone to do. I am here if you have questions though. And I will be requesting your department’s assistance when I start Project Neandertalin, since I’m guessing cavemen will need to be restrained.”

  Drake would often make a show of respect, but then pull shit like this. He knew exactly what he was doing and apparently had gotten lax with his restraint. “We will not be discussing any projects in the company of a subject,” Mika said, his lips hardly parting for the hot words.

  “Of course, sir,” Drake said, his eyes dancing with evil delight.

  “Take Isha away and start her on bufotoxin immediately. I want an update tomorrow morning,” Mika said.

  “Yes, first thing,” Drake said, turning to the girl, his eyes rolling as he did. “Come along, subject.”

  Mika rolled his own eyes before looking at Haiku, who appeared to be assimilating the information.

  “What’s bufotoxin? Will you need security on this subject?” he said. Oh good, an employee with a proactive approach who didn’t ask impertinent questions.

  “No, she won’t turn violent, like the subjects in Project Neandertalin are likely to do. We are dosing her with a chemical found in psychoactive toads in order to trigger clairvoyance. Pairing this with other efforts should give us the results we’re looking for, if my research is correct,” Mika said.

  “Oh,” Haiku said, hiccupping on the word. This was leagues away from the projects at Parantaa Research. “And Project Neandertalin, is that what it sounds like?”

  “I have no idea how you think it sounds like. It is simply a project where we will try to de-evolve subjects, turning them into Neanderthals,” Mika said.

  “Why would you want to do that?” Haiku asked.

  Mika raised his chiseled eyebrow at the other man. “Because it’s interesting. And also, for the clear fact that I can,” he said.

  Chapter Four

  “I woke up one morning thinking about wolves and realized that wolf packs function as families. Everyone has a role, and if you act within the parameters of your role, the whole pack succeeds, and when that falls apart, so does the pack.”

  - Jodi Picoult

  “This is an all-time record for ice and snowstorms in Dallas,” the reporter said, her coat snug around her throat. The news program panned back to the broadcaster, who sat behind a desk in a warm television studio.

  “Thank you, Leslie,” the reporter said, with a practiced smile. “As a native Texan, I hope this weather ends soon. I can’t take the cold and I’ll admit I’m not good at driving in snow.”

  David Sanders tapped a button on a remote and the television turned off. His sister, Anne, had brought the old television to him that morning just before sunrise. She knew better than to visit him during the day, knowing that could create suspicion. After he’d escaped from that horrid lab with the other men, he’d traveled back to Dallas, getting rides with truckers who seemed to sympathize with him. It was three o’clock in the morning when he tapped on Anne’s window. He still remembered the look of shock on her face when her eyes adjusted to find him standing outside her window in the dark. Of course she had thought he was dead when he disappeared. That something had happened to him. She’d grieved, as had his mother. His friends might have grieved too, but he didn’t really have any.

  After a reunion filled with tears and unnecessary apologies, David explained to Anne what had happened to him. As he’d never lied to her, she believed him at once. Then she made a place for him in the back of her detached garage, which was where he resided still.

  He’d hardly understood what had happened to him or that he was in fact a werewolf now. However, Anne had digested the whole thing much easier. The conflict came when she insisted they tell their mother. David didn’t need anyone to know he was alive. If word got out then the men at the lab would look for him, take him.

  “No, I’ve already died and she’s grieved me. Let’s not make her go through a second death,” he said to his sister.

  “But you’re alive,” she said.

  “And I don’t know how much longer I have,” he said, his pulse racing.

  “What? Because you’re a werewolf?” she said.

  “Because there’s something wrong with me. Something more than me being a werewolf,” David said.

  “What do you mean?” his sister asked.

  He only shook his head, unwilling to tell her about the horrible dreams or the new power he’d acquired since escaping the lab. Why those were the parts he chose to keep secret wasn’t clear to him. However, every time he fell asleep he felt that he wouldn’t wake in the morning. And the dreams were so strange. He was lucid in them, visiting any place he desired; however, often he found himself stuck in places that were part of his greatest fears. And the skill, it always made him feel like his heart had froze and couldn’t start up again.

  “The less people who know, the safer I’ll be,” he finally had said to Anne, ending the discussion.

  The television would make the long hours cooped up in the garage a bit more manageable. David didn’t really mind being alone since he didn’t know what loneliness felt like. Sadness, yes. Solemn melancholy was David Sanders’ trademark. He’d been born with it, like it was his birthmark. Sure, he smiled. He laughed, especially in the company of his sister. But that wasn’t his constant state of being. No, he’d always felt defeated by the depression. The one that told him never to try so hard that he failed. Therefore, he didn’t have many achievements under his belt. He’d dropped out of everything just at the point that success became an obtainable prospect. School. The army. Relationships.

  Ironically, David was smarter than the average person. Talent lived deep in him, buried by the fear. And inside his heart was the true skill, a pure love for people. If he had ever tried anything, then he no doubt would have succeeded, paved a road that few could follow. But effort is the true genius.

  Stepping out the back door of the garage, David stared around at the empty alleyway. Frost covered everything, but it would soon melt when the temperature rose. The news reported that warmer days were on the way, which would make the snowstorms even more bizarre. However, David didn’t think he could stop. The constant sorrow in his being made it so he had to use his new skill as often as possible. It made him feel like he wasn’t burning up with discontent.

  Raising his hand up to the sky, he lowered his chin, a tender grief written in his green eyes. A moment later snow whirled down from the sky, flecking his curly brown hair with white. David drew in a breath, feeling the cold pierce his hear
t as it always did when he made it snow. He was cursed to only feel the heat or the freezing cold. There was nothing in the middle for him, but he reminded himself that he was a werewolf. Therefore, it made sense that the half man, half wolf only felt extremes.

  Chapter Five

  “I guess I’m pretty much of a lone wolf. I don’t say I don’t like people at all, but to tell you the truth, I only like it then if I have a chance to look deep into their hearts and their minds.”

  - Bela Lugosi

  What was she thinking? Connor thought as he sluggishly pulled himself through the halls of the Institute. He was fucking lost. Even though he’d studied the map in the Dream Traveler Codex, he still got turned around when in the Lucidite Institute. The hallways all looked the same with endless stretches of stainless steel walls and shimmering blue carpet.

  He blew out a breath as he rounded a corner. Adelaide had been gone for only a few days, but that didn’t matter. How did she think sneaking into Parantaa Research was a good idea? Mika was powerful and corrupt, but more importantly he was intelligent. A man like that would sniff out the mole, especially one as eye-catching as Adelaide. Somehow this was his fault. If he could have just offered more to the pack, maybe Adelaide wouldn’t be resorting to such dangerous options. She wouldn’t be risking her life to find out more on Olento Research.

  Lost in thought, Connor passed Aiden’s lab, having to double back. Apparently the head scientist had a project for Connor. The lone wolf hadn’t even allowed Zephyr to tell him what it was about. He was just grateful to be doing something for the Lucidites, for his pack. Connor had charged out of the strategic department at once, feeling the restlessness trying to overwhelm his thoughts.

  “Zephyr said you needed me for something,” Connor said as soon as Aiden looked up when he entered.

  “I do,” Aiden said, dropping his eyes back to the iPad in his hand. “Hold up just a sec.” The scientist who Connor guessed was just a bit younger than him tapped the screen several times. It was unfathomable that Aiden had a PhD in quantum physics. He guessed that there had to be people at all places on the spectrum. On one end were losers like Connor who had never done anything. And then on the far end were people like Aiden whose sneezes were even filled with genius. The man’s words at Ferocity Carnival kept playing in Connor’s head. After Connor had given him a psychometry reading the man had offered him a job at his circus and then made a remark. “You could be great, my boy,” the man with the giant mustache had said. Could Connor really be great? Wasn’t that something one was born with? Hadn’t he already proven that he screwed up everything, like when Grant almost killed him? But maybe greatness was something he could obtain. Maybe it was something that one day he’d actually deserve.

  Aiden slid the iPad on the workstation before pushing his hands into his pockets. There was a hesitation in his eyes, which caused his gaze to dart away after looking at Connor. “So, I can understand any concerns you may have about doing this. Please know, nothing will be done to you without your consent,” Aiden said.

  “Concerns?” Connor said, tilting his head to the side.

  “Well, it’s untested. And the risks could be serious,” Aiden said.

  “What risks? Wait, what is this project?” Connor said, wishing he’d waited to get the full story from Zephyr.

  “You weren’t briefed?” Aiden said.

  “No, why does this sound like I’ve been elected for an undesirable mission?” he said. Was this because he was a drug addict? How did he expect to be an equal in the pack when he was so much weaker?

  “I agree that it might seem that way, but this project could have incredible benefits. It could be viewed as an honorable project that you’ve been signed up for. You’ve been picked to be the first werewolf to undergo werewolf reversal conversion. I’ve determined a process that might remove the wolf genes, or at least make them dormant so that you don’t change every week,” Aiden said.

  “But…?” Connor said, letting it hang in the air so Aiden could finish with the cons to this honorable project.

  “But the effects are assorted and this is new territory. It could backfire and enhance the wolf genetics. Your body might reject the procedure since it’s already been through so much. And also, it’s possible your Dream Traveler gift of psychometry will be diminished or you could lose the powers of our race altogether,” Aiden said, his head toggling back and forth as he went through the various scenarios.

  “And death, right? That’s a possibility, isn’t it?” Connor said, having read the distant look in the scientist’s eyes. Aiden was the outgoing type, but right then he appeared like a doctor who had to give horrible news.

  “Yes, that’s the biggest concern. That’s why I need your full consent,” Aiden said.

  “So Zephyr signed me up for this, did he? I guess I’m the expendable one,” Connor said, crossing his arms in front of his chest, his eyes on the salamander tattoo on his forearm that was surrounded by grass and flowers and various other objects.

  “That’s definitely not the case. I think that you were just chosen because you might be more willing,” Aiden said.

  “Because I’ve tried to kill myself multiple times and so if I die, no one will really care?” Connor said, his voice hollow.

  “Honestly, I don’t know why you were chosen, but you should know that Zephyr had nothing to do with this decision,” Aiden said.

  “What? He didn’t? Who picked me to go through conversion and possibly die?” Connor said, and then realized at once that he didn’t need that question answered. He already knew.

  “It was Adelaide. She picked you to be the first werewolf converted,” Aiden said.

  Chapter Six

  “The shepherd drives the wolf from the sheep for which the sheep thanks the shepherd as his liberator, while the wolf denounces him for the same act as the destroyer of liberty. Plainly, the sheep and the wolf are not agreed upon a definition of liberty.”

  - Abraham Lincoln

  The fog had just slipped in, covering the street up ahead, when the change took over Hunter. He welcomed it like one would an old friend, embracing the wolf who longed to escape its cage. Dark orange claws shot out of his fingertips, making a splitting sound as they did. The fangs always hurt when they tore through the roof of his mouth, but it was a pleasurable pain, one Hunter looked forward to all week. The fur was the one part of the werewolf that he didn’t appreciate. The man knew that this was how the authorities were able to string his murders together. Soon this might lead them to him. He may even need to get out of Los Angeles soon, but not until his last job was done. That’s how he thought of the women he killed. They were jobs and it was his responsibility to take them out, ridding the world of their repulsive existence.

  Pulling his boxy chin down, Hunter peered through the alleyway. He’d already taken the liberty of destroying the street lamps that usually bathed the cramped alley in light at this late hour. Also, thinking that the security camera on the corner might catch a bit of the alley, he went ahead and destroyed that too. Tonight he was going to have fun. He was going to make her run. That would be the best part, when she tried to escape, believed that she did, only to be tackled.

  Beside Hunter’s feet sat a box. It didn’t have enough holes in it, but what did he care. He unfolded the top and pulled a small gray kitten from it. “Be still,” the werewolf growled against the kitten, holding the tabby by the scruff of its neck. That afternoon he’d given his best act, convincing the animal shelter staff that this kitten would make the perfect gift for his little boy. Hunter didn’t have a little boy. He was never having children. If his years in prison taught him anything, it was that everyone was inherently bad and breeding should be outlawed.

  The creaking of the back door of the library pulled his attention away from the feline in his grasp.

  “Bye, Billy. I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh dear,” a woman said with surprise. She ducked back into the door. “Hey, tell maintenance that the street lights have bu
rned out.”

  “Okay, can do,” another voice said, more distant.

  “Thanks, honey. You’re the best,” the woman said.

  Hunter narrowed his dark eyes at the woman. She always made a show of being nice, but no one was more fake. Helen Goodman might have pretended to be the sweet old librarian, but he knew she rolled her eyes at the kids she belittled.

  “Reading is important for your education,” she’d told him, knowing he was dyslexic. What a patronizing thing to say to a child who couldn’t read. She was in essence saying that he was going to be a failure. It was so heavily implied. And still she piled up books and shoved them at him every time he visited the library as a kid. He wasn’t there to read, but rather to avoid his crazy stepfather who often was looking to bully Hunter. And then there had been the one time she caught Hunter with his hands in his pants and banned him from the library. She’d all but cursed him to be beaten every afternoon. Helen wasn’t a nice old librarian, but rather a witch who wanted him to fail. She was all but responsible for his failure.

  When Helen’s rubber-soled shoes stepped onto the pavement of the alleyway, Hunter twisted the kitten’s body. Not enough to kill it, but enough to produce a screeching meow. The kitten’s tiny claws pierced into Hunter’s palm. He kneeled over it and flashed his fangs at the animal.

  The old woman’s steps halted. She turned to the corner where the meow had come from.