“Any problems?” The smooth, deep voice glided over him like silk.
“No. Two of them didn't cooperate. They're down and likely to stay down without some help.” He heard moaning behind him and couldn't stop his beast's satisfied grin.
Tersch gave him a thumbs-up as he dragged the remaining men over to Fallon, who helped him tie them up to a telephone pole.
“I'm surprised at you, Kisho.” Mrs. Sharpe chided him over the phone. “From Gunnar, I'd expect such brutality. Not from you.”
He'd learned not to question how she knew so much about things she couldn't possibly know.
“I like to think I'm open to change,” he deadpanned.
She sighed. He could imagine her stroking those antique pearls she always wore at her ears and around her throat. Against her dark skin, the pearls gleamed, but not as brightly as the intelligence in the older woman's discerning gaze. Mrs. Alicia Sharpe had been aptly named. She never missed a trick.
“I'll see you three back here tomorrow. The authorities will meet you there in half an hour.” Authorities meaning Mrs. Sharpe's classified Naval Intelligence contacts. “Make sure your prisoners are all still alive, will you? Geoffrey likes to think if we play nice, the other team might as well.”
“Yes, ma'am.” Kisho snapped his cell phone closed and pocketed it.
Admiral Geoffrey London and Mrs. Sharpe shared some personal history Kisho really didn't want to know about. Once Dawn Endeavor's commander, Admiral London now headed a top secret experimental group working to develop psychic warfare. The Circs the U.S. Navy had once planned as a new wave for the future hadn't panned out. Of the hundred sailors who'd volunteered and undergone genetic experimentation, only Kisho and three fellow SEALs had survived with their sanity and their bodies intact.
He glanced at Tersch and questioned the word “sanity” as it pertained to the big berserker.
“Hey, let Fallon know to change back. You know how the suits respond to claws and fangs.”
“Like they've never seen monsters before,” Tersch muttered, then left Kisho's side to find Fallon.
Kisho studied the arrogant giant he considered his best friend. When normal, Tersch stood six feet six and had blue eyes that could frost over in anger or glow like sapphires when he was aroused. Women who weren't put off by Tersch's massive size threw themselves at him. But it was Fallon who'd been the real stud—until he'd met and married Olivia.
Not as bad as Tersch, Fallon had at least taken to serial monogamy and tried to put some thought into whom he bedded instead of just sating his needs. The dark-haired, dark-eyed lothario could charm the pants off a saint, and his sense of humor gave the team a lightness it would have lacked otherwise. And speaking of team…
When Tersch returned, Kisho asked, “When's Jules getting here?”
Their illustrious squad leader remained a no-show. With an aura that screamed commanding, Julian Hawkins naturally assumed the role of leader wherever he went. Intense, thoughtful, and resourceful, the silver-eyed Circ never put his needs ahead of those of his men.
That he hadn't shown made Kisho nervous.
Being Circ didn't entitle them to automatic protection against their enemies. Until a few months ago, Kisho never would have believed himself capable of being strong-armed, not when he could turn into a hybrid warrior with magnified senses and abilities. Yet he'd been tossed from a three-story building like a sack of potatoes, then tortured and left for dead, all to leave a message to his team.
“Jules? No idea. What are you waiting for? We changed. Get to it, Mr. Slow,” Tersch prodded.
Kisho sighed. Like sliding through water, his thoughts bubbled until the man beneath the beast floated to the top. He focused his will and felt all of him begin to transition into another form. Bones and sinews rapidly shrunk. The incredible brawn once apparent in his darkened frame thinned to abundant muscle under his now almond-colored skin. The long hair that reached his waist when Circ now lay cropped over his ears and brushed the top of his neck, thick and soft, as opposed to the more coarse fibers when changed.
Thankful for the elastic-waist jeans that allowed for some cover when he transformed from man to beast, he caught the bag Fallon threw him and reached in for the rest of his clothes. In his human form once more, Kisho shivered in the bitter chill of February despite his thicker blood.
He'd never liked the cold. Once he'd donned a cable-knit sweater, socks, and boots, he joined his companions inside their SUV.
Modified to accommodate men of their size, the extended cab had plenty of room between the backseat and the way backseat, which faced the rear of the car. The odd seating allowed them space to change on the move, if need be, and to face each other while they conferred over mission plans and the like.
As they waited, Kisho thought about the upcoming free weekend Mrs. Sharpe had been promising.
“Alicia had better be on the up and up,” Tersch muttered, as if reading his mind. “My luck, she'll decide she wants to run more bullshit tests on me while the three of you and Olivia,” he added with a sneer when Fallon raised a brow, “fuck around in town.”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Fallon joked.
Tersch flipped him the finger, but Kisho saw the bitterness in his gaze, knew the pain Tersch suffered, a past his friend wanted to bury as badly as Kisho sought to avoid his own history.
Kisho punched him in the arm. “Admit, it, Tersch. Alicia Sharpe has a thing for you. I think Mrs. S. wants you, man. The sexual chemistry practically sizzles when you two are together.”
Fallon laughed out loud.
The pain in Tersch's gaze disappeared, as Kisho had meant it to. “You're such an asshole.
Now if Ava would get off her high horse and share some love, I wouldn't say no. But Sharpe's mouthy assistant is too busy bristling at every damned thing I do and say.” Fallon blinked. “You pat her on the ass and call her 'sweet cakes.' You try to get her to do your laundry. You order her around like a servant. How do you think an independent woman like that is going to respond?”
“Servant, hmm. I'd rather she was my slave.”
Kisho and Fallon exchanged a glance.
“Um, Tersch, you do realize telling Ava you want her as a slave will big-time piss her off, right? She'll not only cut off your balls, she'll feed them to you for breakfast. And you can probably blame less of that on her skin color than that the woman was born aggressive,” Fallon said. “I married aggressive; I know what I'm talking about.” Tersch flushed. “I meant sexual slave, you idiot. Anyone tries seriously fucking with Ava in any way answers to me,” he growled and seemed to grow as Kisho watched.
Pleased his friend wasn't the insensitive lout he at times appeared, Kisho changed the subject. “Speaking of fucking with, why do you think Delancey chose Montaña to work with?
An ex-navy captain and a South American drug lord running a company of Brazilian mercs? And just what the hell does Delancey have to do with all this?”
Fallon shrugged. “Who knows? I always thought he was a bit off, even when he was our captain. Good thing for us we had Jules to run interference.” Jules had been their lieutenant back when they were active SEALs. Comrades in arms and the best of friends, the four of them were tighter than family. They had to be; their lives depended on each other to keep them sane and to provide surcease when the mating heats struck.
Kisho forced himself not to squirm and firmly shielded his thoughts from Fallon. Being a Circ certainly had its upside. He was stronger, faster, and more deadly than any normal man.