Marie Harte - Hale

“It'll help, but I'm concerned at how little I actually know, medically, about the four of you.” Doc's expression was serious, concerned, and caring. A lot like Dr. Eckles used to be before that Pentagon prick had ordered him to go undercover in a situation way beyond his pay grade. Captain William Delancey…talk about a score to settle. At least Eckles now had a solid position with General Shields's Project Dawn cleanup team, not to mention an around-the-clock therapist. And if Shields was to be believed, Jules and his team had a place in the organization as well.

Jules studied his men, pleased that they felt clearer, more together. His beast noted the right color in the energy patterns pulsating around their bodies. Finally . Red, the color of health. Fallon, Tersch, and Hayashi had earned the right to leave this all behind and never look back. He himself had no current plans at the moment other than to relax. After seven years in the Navy and a year as a fucking guinea pig to further Delancey's mysterious agenda, he deserved a break.

“I really appreciate the invite to stay, Doc. I might just take you up on it, at least for a little while. I don't think they'll miss me at Pearson Labs.” The others smirked. The tremendous backlash and bad press Pearson Labs received was worth every damned day spent in that shit hole. Publicity dogged General Kohl's and Senator Kuntz's incarcerations. Neither man would ever work in politics, or outside a small jail cell, again. General Shields had made damn sure of that. He'd also expressed an interest in using Jules and what was left of his small team to do good, what Dawn Endeavor—the Navy's version of Project Dawn—had been intended to do.

If Doc's serum could permanently fix the problems with that damned mutated virus that caused most Circs to turn psychotic, Jules would seriously consider taking Shields up on his offer. But he wouldn't speak for his friends.

“So long as it's on a contracted basis, and not forever. We get to pick and choose assignments, then I'm in,” Fallon muttered in a low voice.

Damned telepath . “Fallon, please.”

Fallon flushed. “Sorry. It's working again, and it's hard to turn off. I think the serum jump-started my abilities,” he said low, so as not to be overheard by Doc.

Hayashi tried to contain a grin.

Tersch laughed out loud. “What he said. God, I feel good. I think we need some leave, guys.” The modern-day Viking stretched. “Too many attractive—”

“Mated,” Fallon interrupted.

“—females here. Besides, my sea legs are tingling. I'm voting Key West.”

“Hawaii,” Fallon suggested.

Just to be difficult, Hayashi chimed in. “I vote Jamaica.” Jules sighed. “See what I put up with, Doc? Talk about pulling your hair out.” Doc smiled. “You know, you four remind me an awful lot of Circe's Recruits. The only difference between you are mates, babies, and McKinley,” he teased.

Jules sensed his men freeze at the word “babies” and sincere panic when Doc mentioned McKinley.

“You know, there's a great beach right here,” Jules improvised. “Why don't we check out the bar scene? We'll road trip it after this serum takes effect. All in favor?”

“Aye,” four voices hurriedly agreed.

As they grumbled and exited Doc's lab, Jules's beast told him they had more work to do. But not today, and not now, when they finally had a reason to celebrate and relax.

No mates, no danger, just sun, sand, and some hot sex, if he could get it. Female sex, non-Circ sex.

“Amen,” Fallon murmured.

But as they left the compound together, Jules caught sight of Paige Masters and her devoted mates. The love flowing around the pair glowed a deep violet, and he felt a pang of envy he quickly suppressed, but not fast enough.

The air around his small team grew static, and they stopped in their tracks, unable to move until Hayashi had his say.

Hayashi's black stare crossed his. “Soon, brother. Very soon,” he whispered. He shook his head and cleared his throat, breaking the strange paralysis holding the group still. “I think Tersch is feeling lucky. Atlantic City, here we come.”

“Shotgun,” Fallon called.

Jules pretended a normalcy he didn't feel and forced himself to smile. Time to beat the odds, one day at a time. And maybe, just maybe, they'd get lucky.