“Looks like we missed quite a party.” Fallon grinned at the torn clothing by his side.
Morgan slowly stood and stretched. “Yeah, Olivia's a real devil in bed.” Between one blink and the next, he dodged Fallon's fist. “Or so I've heard. How the hell would I know? I just thought I'd enjoy your gymnasium to the fullest.”
Kisho was going to love knowing his buddies had caught Morgan naked, with his scent all over him. Now how to use that to my advantage…
Tersch loomed over him, his gaze considering. “Smells like someone fucked you over good.”
Morgan wasn't fast enough to avoid Tersch, who suddenly gripped him by the throat and dangled him off the ground. Choking for real, Morgan clutched Tersch's thick arm.
“You screw with my boy, I'll tear your fucking head off.” He dropped Morgan to the ground.
“Right. Got it.” Morgan rubbed his throat, thinking it might be prudent to leave.
“Nicely done, Frederik.” Fallon bent down to touch his toes, then stretched his hamstrings.
He glanced at Tersch. “I'm going to lift some weights before we train.”
“Good idea. We'll wait for Jules.” Ice blue eyes turned back to Morgan. “Well, go ahead and find some clothes you can work out in. I'll see for myself whether you're as pathetic as you look.”
Morgan had to concede that Tersch had a flare for insults. Then again, so did he. With a smile, he retorted, “Ava doesn't seem to mind me. And you don't look nearly as discerning as she is. Oh, discerning means 'choosy.'”
Fallon coughed to unsuccessfully smother a laugh when Tersch growled and took a step closer to Morgan.
“Prick.”
“And I thought we were friends.” Morgan walked to the door, unashamedly naked. He chalked up a lack of modesty to an unconventional upbringing and his comfort in this place, with these people, he was starting to think of as home. “I'll be right back. Try not to fantasize about my cock while I'm gone.”
“Talk about annoying,” he heard Tersch grumble before he left in search of clothing. He didn't encounter anyone on the way to his room. Once inside, he re-dressed in shorts and a T-shirt, minus the shoes, since the Circs didn't seem to wear them around the place. Before he left, he stroked the small figurine on his bed stand. A small jade fox, his own kitsu. A talisman foretelling his future, or so he hoped.
Kisho shook with need, fury, and panic that he couldn't contain his emotions. Tamping down the firestorm inside him took effort, but he had himself back under control while he sought the one person with all the answers. He found Mrs. Sharpe in her study, looking at her computer screen.
She glanced up with a hopeful smile when he entered. “How was your training this morning?”
Forcing himself not to blush took effort, but he mastered his embarrassment with an iron resolve. “Why is Morgan Reynolds really here?” he asked without preamble.
“Why do you think he's here?”
“Please, Mrs. Sharpe. Just answer the question.”
The shrewd look in her eyes told him he wouldn't find the answers he wanted.
“You know why he's here, Kisho. You just won't accept it.” The damned woman couldn't possibly know the future he'd seen.
She sighed. “Kisho, as you like to tell us all, our future is not set in stone. You see glimpses of possible tomorrows. They don't always mean what you think they mean.”
“Right.” So the visions of him and Morgan getting it on, of his fellow Circs shunning him, of Kisho and then Jules dying, none of them were true? Then why did he see the same damned things every time he tried to look anymore?
“I know it's scary. You have an ability no one would truly want if they understood the repercussions of knowing. Is what you see set in stone, or a result of what you do to change things? The question is always there, but you can't live in fear of making a wrong step. Because Kisho, inaction is just as harmful as the wrong action.” She paused. “When was the last time you had a vision?”
He shrugged. “Last week.”
“We talked about this. You need to harness your ability. Seeing into the future will not only help us protect the admiral's new project, but it will alleviate your own problems. You have to open up and accept it.”
“With all due respect, no, I don't.” Kisho stared down at the smaller woman. Mrs. Sharpe could insist upon a lot of things, but forcing him to foresee events wasn't one of them.
“Stubborn. But I'd anticipated that. Very well, Kisho. Do as you see fit. When you're ready to accept yourself, come see me.” She pushed her intercom and spoke into the microphone.
“Ava? Please bring Olivia in here. Mr. Anderson is due for a call-in, and I need her for a moment.”
Ava answered, “Sure thing, your mightiness. I'll track her down in a jiffy.” She broke the connection.
“You're not going to tell me anything about Morgan, are you?” he asked, conscious he now used Morgan's first name without thinking about it. “Call me Morgan.”
“No. You want to know about him, concentrate and look into yourself for the answers.
Better yet, ask him.”
Pissed but not willing to blame Mrs. Sharpe for his own failings, Kisho nodded to her and left. He passed Jules on his way outside, not bothering to answer when his team leader called to him a second time. He needed to change, to run.
Venturing outside, Kisho removed his shirt and brought on the physical transformation his beast demanded. Sex with Morgan had sated some of his desires, but the animal inside needed more. Not wanting to dwell on anything but the here and now, Kisho grew into the powerful form of a predator at its most primal.
He licked his fangs and flexed his long fingers ending in claws. Then he took off into the woods behind the house and lost himself in the animal wanting to play.
On board a ten-million-dollar luxury yacht off the coast of Miami, William Delancey smiled up at the creatures dancing in front of him. Both redheads had fake tits, lips enhanced by collagen, and the tightest asses he'd ever seen. They shimmied their well-toned frames with limber grace. Manufactured beauty, yet another miracle science could provide. Such extraordinary specimens of sexuality at its prettiest. Too bad once he finished with them they'd go to sexuality at its basest, and that wasn't taking Montaña's sick desires into account.
The rogue Circs he kept for security purposes took a lot of maintenance. But with them in hand, he didn't worry about Hawkins and his fucking team every other second of the day. Being in the States bothered him. He wanted to remain at home, in his newly renovated mansion in Rio.
But orders were orders, and his boss wanted him to be hands-on with this new delivery.
Unfortunately, manufacturing and moving their new wonder drug took longer than expected, despite the plan to make it on U.S. soil. “You'll see,” Montaña had promised. “Making it here will expedite cost and time.”
“Expedite, my ass,” Delancy muttered and injected himself with another dose of Montaña's special stuff. Since they'd improved the formula, it no longer put those who took it in a coma, nor did it kill. The shit worked better than Viagra and gave him the ability to jack off 24-7, which came in handy at his age. Hell, his business partner was better than a pharmacy. Montaña had something for every ailment under the sun. And this one would nullify the psychics Admiral London promised would be the new best thing in warfare.
Personally, Delancey didn't know what to think about Admiral London's knew psychic guinea pigs. Project Dawn had bombed, big-time. Maybe two percent of the Circs they'd created remained stable. Doc Dennis's men and his own team— ex-team. The rest turned psychotic in less than a year, even under their new controls. Sex and violence seemed to keep the rogues calm, at least for a time, but it always ended the same way. A frenzied rampage of murder and rape, followed by a bullet to the brain. Such a waste of a lucrative resource.