Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

And all it would take would be one whispered word.

But before Wells used S to heal Gloria, the threat against his own life needed to be neutralized. Perhaps it was time to begin shifting power from the Shadow Branch puppeteers and into his own hands. His and Alexander’s—a new order, a new reign.

In the living room, moonlight filtered through the skylights in the high-peaked ceiling, filling the room with pale light. He looked out the window and into the woods.

Alexander, dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie, walked across the pine-tree shadowed yard toward the main house, a leather satchel slung over his shoulder, a shotgun in one hand. Moonlight gilded his hair silver, and an inner light seemed to radiate from him as if he truly were the embodiment of the Macedonian conqueror-god he was named for.

In that moment, his son was unutterably beautiful, Apollo’s true heir.

Wells heard the front door open, then heard it click shut again. Reaching into the front pocket of his trousers, he clicked on the psi-block emitter that would shield his thoughts from his son’s telepathic mind.

“I brought extra shells for the shotgun,” Alexander said as he sauntered into the living room. “Did you pick up a Taser?”

Wells nodded. “It’s in the kitchen. I’ve made other preparations, as well.”

“I’ve double-checked the security system. All green.”

Ah, so have I. And, my ambitious son, I changed the codes, Wells thought, but said instead, “Good.”

“I’ll finish securing the cottage tonight,” Alexander said. “I’ll make sure Athena’s safe and occupied before I head out for Seattle tomorrow.”

“I think we’re as ready as we’re going to be.”

Alexander perched on the edge of the leather easy chair beside the sofa and shrugged the satchel off his shoulder. He cracked open the shotgun barrel. “If it weren’t for Mother, you could go underground until things were settled.” He looked up at Wells through thick blond lashes. “A lethal dose spiked into her IV. You’d be doing her a favor.”

“A few minutes ago, I would’ve agreed with you.”

Alexander reached into the satchel and withdrew a handful of shells. “What’s changed?”

“I’ve just learned that S can heal.”

“ Any vampire can heal if they offer up enough blood.” Alexander slotted shells into the shotgun, then snapped the barrel shut. “Of course, that usually means the person healed turns into a bloodsucker.” He lifted his gaze to Wells’s. “So how’s this different?”

“S healed a mortally wounded agent without using his blood. Since my source happens to be the agent’s father, I have no reason to doubt his veracity.”

Alexander frowned, his brows angling down. “Mortally wounded…do you mean Heather Wallace? The agent in the med-unit footage?”

“The very same. And where is the disk, by the way?”

“Thena’s watching it again. She enjoys it.”

Wells couldn’t blame Athena for that; the footage was fascinating. Revelatory. A dark thought curled through his mind. And inspiring ? “Make sure she keeps it safe.”

“Of course,” Alexander murmured.

“I plan to get ahold of Wallace’s medical records,” Wells said, crossing the room to the dark mahogany bar at its other end. “Ideally, I’d really like to get hold of her, run a few tests. See what S has done.” He selected the bottle of Courvoisier, lifted it for his son to see. Alexander shook his head, so Wells poured one snifter of cognac.

“Maybe that’s possible,” Alexander said carefully. “I’d bet good money she’ll be at Prejean’s gigs in Seattle, especially if he saved her life. I could alter our plan to include her—”

“No, Wallace would be a distraction. You’ll need to remain focused. S will kill you if you make a mistake. He’s fast and unpredictable. Dangerous.”

“Singing to the choir, Father,” Alexander sighed. “We watched the footage too.”

Wells took a swallow of the amber liquor. The Courvoisier burned down his throat, tasting of oak and vanilla. “Give S the encoded MP3 player or, better, leave it for him; keep at a safe distance. Once he’s finished with his task, sedate him and bring him home.”

Alexander propped the shotgun against the easy chair and rose to his feet. “Bring him home to heal Athena,” he said, his gaze steady.

“And Mother,” Wells said. “Listen to me carefully and keep this thought forefront: Only I have a map to the labyrinth within S’s head, a labyrinth I created.”

“Do I hear an amen?” Alexander said, a cynical smile twisting across his lips. “I understand, Father. But I need you to understand this —Athena first.”

“Athena first, agreed,” Wells said, lying with a sincerity learned from decades of work within the Bureau. A pang of regret bit deep into him. Athena was Alexander’s twin. He feared his son might never be the same without her, and that was the reason he hadn’t already ended her life.

But as Athena descended deeper into madness, he feared that her insanity would seep into Alexander through their indefinable bond, the womb link of twins. Feared it was seeping into him even now, threading delusion through his veins.

“Agreed then.” The cynical smile vanished from Alexander’s lips. He crossed the carpet to where Wells stood in front of the mahogany bar and bowed his head.

Wells stepped forward and kissed the top of Alexander’s golden head, bestowing paternal blessing with a touch of his lips.

“Bring S home,” Wells murmured. “And I’ll teach you how to wield him.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

“As you should.”

Wells stepped back and Alexander lifted his head. He looked at Wells for a long moment, the Aegean depths of his eyes unfathomable. “I’ve always wondered why you hide your thoughts from me when you’re the one who made me telepathic.”

Wells chuckled. “To build character. To give you grief. To keep you guessing. Take your pick.”

The cynical smile returned to Alexander’s lips. With a flipped half-salute, he turned and walked from the room.

“Alexander,” Wells called. His son’s tread stopped. “Keep in mind that the MP3 player is designed to play the message only once. Preview it, and you’ll be giving S nothing but static to listen to.”

The front door creaked open, then shut again.

Wells drained the snifter in a second long swallow. Sweat popped up along his hairline. Heat flushed his face. He poured a second drink. Sliding his fingers around the snifter’s stem and cupping the bowl in his palm, he carried the glass, along with the bottle of cognac, down the hall to his office.

Mortal Wells might be, but the fires of creation burned within his mind. Genetics was his hammer. Human flesh his metal. His son was the proof of that—his daughter his only shame.

“Do what needs to be done, Bobby.” Gloria rubs her hands over her still-flat belly. “Maybe that’s why I’m carrying twins. Maybe that’s why we have one of each gender.” A small, knowing smile curves her lips. “And maybe that’s why I chose you.”

With those words, Wells had finally seen beyond the self-sacrificing madonna to the calculating mother-goddess. Through her, the path to divinity unfurled beneath his feet. Father to a new age. Creator of gods.

But Athena…He still didn’t know what had gone wrong, how he’d made a mistake. The twins had been designed with the utmost care, their genetics altered and enhanced as they curled together within Gloria’s womb, all flaws deleted.