Page 19

Chief Aiken Oakley

Oakley had that weird sensation of being half-awake but half-asleep. He’d been having the same vision every time he closed his eyes. A sight that made his blood freeze.

A huge bird of prey with its wings outstretched so wide it blocked the light from the moon, drenching him in cold darkness.

This creature wasn’t just a bird. It was a hunter. It glided easily and with the wind. It loomed over his head, scaring and comforting him simultaneously. Oakley was fearful because it was the biggest raptor he’d ever seen, but he also felt a sense of protection emanating from its core.

Rich brown eyes with a green outer ring as vibrant as peat moss gazed down on him, paralyzing his movements and stealing his breath.

The bird started to descend, its massive wings cutting through the stormy clouds. Oakley’s instinct was to holler and take cover, but his body defied his logic. The shadow of the bird grew larger as it got closer.

And with ground-shaking force, it landed on top of him and dug its large talons into his chest.

Oakley gasped and shot upright in bed, yanking at his restraints, his throat burning with a growl that rumbled up from the pit of his stomach.

Dammit .

He’d been having the same dream for weeks.

He stared down at where the claws had dug into his flesh. Oakley struggled to catch his breath, still reeling from the rush of the bird’s power and violence. Somehow, this creature’s energy was having a controlling effect on him, as he all of a sudden had the urge to hunt, fight, and kill.

He felt part man, part beast, and he could sense the raptor’s influence in his mind.

Black birds symbolized danger. They were mediators between the world of the living and the dead and often appeared in dreams to relay messages.

How the hell do I know that? Oakley scowled, shaking his head as if it would dislodge the lost parts of himself. I gotta get out of this fuckin’ place.

At least he no longer experienced the intense pain when the doctors, scientists, whatever they were, came to administer the intravenous medications. Dare he say he almost looked forward to it.

Each new dose gave him a clearer mind, sharper sight, and exceptional hearing. But unfortunately, it wasn’t bringing back his memory. It wasn’t lessening his sense of loss or telling him who he’d lost.

Maybe it was his family.

Do I have family? Fuck. What if I’m married?

He lay there in the dark, staring at nothing and everything. He closed his eyes because sometimes it freaked him out how much he could see when the lights were off versus when they were on.

He didn’t know how many hours had passed or if it was day or night—his room didn’t have windows or clocks—and since he rarely got tired or needed to rest, he couldn’t be certain.

Oakley cocked his head to the side. He could hear people approaching—four distinct pairs of footsteps coming down the hall. Three of them were cautious and the other walked with purpose…authority.

Without much force, he made his body go slack and slowed his breathing almost to a halt as he feigned being under sedation.

His senses were sharper than a blade, but he’d learned that playing the part of a compliant subject kept him from receiving extra doses of whatever was being flooded into his system, followed by additional hours of testing.

The door eased open and the air shifted when the people stepped inside. He could hear the soft rustling of papers, stuttered breaths, the light tapping on a keyboard, machines whirring…and a beetle crawling up the wall in the corner.

The first to speak was a woman, her voice hesitant and laced with fear. “Director Ross, I’m afraid to report that the consensus among the staff is we need more time. Both candidates’ neurological patterns are far from stable.”

A male voice Oakley had become familiar with, a gene mutation expert, chimed in, “The genetic splicing between human and animal DNA is far more complex than I’ve anticipated. As I’ve mentioned multiple times, these experiments have gone far beyond the scope of my research. The psychological impact—”

“I don’t give a fuck about the psychological impact,” the powerful man snapped, his tone cold and finite. “I want them elevated to phase two and introduced to each other. They are ready for that, yes?”

It was more a command than a question.

Oakley focused on the word they. If he didn’t have such control, he would’ve tensed. This director was talking about him and someone else. A ghost of familiarity flickered at the edges of his mind but faded before he could lock on to it.

Another man cleared his throat. “Zorion has been responding very well. His reflexes are beyond what we projected, but to put him within Valor’s territory could—”

Who are Zorion and Valor?

“Just fuckin’ do it!”

The woman had more assuredness this time, sounding angry and frustrated. “The cat and bird are natural enemies. Introducing them before they’re fully integrated with their animal spirit can and will be problematic.” She sighed loudly. “Now, if you can, please be patient and—”

“There is no time, and I sure as hell don’t have any patience,” the man said flatly. “Start phase two now. If they can’t follow commands, they’re useless to me. I already have a set of Ravens who act of their own volition.”

“But, sir…”

“I just need two goddamn Ravens I can trust! Is that so much to ask?”

A loud crash of glass and metal made Oakley’s ears ring, yet he remained still.

A gun cocked.

Oakley heard the woman gasp and the others yell in panic.

“Please don’t. We’ll make it work, I swear it. Don’t kill her. I beg you, none of us will stop until you have the Ravens you want.”

“I swear we can do it, but we need Dr. O’Reilley. She’s the behavioral specialist.”

“Then show me. Wake him up,” the asshole ordered.

Next came the sound of rapid typing and shaky breathing. Several seconds passed before a new voice murmured.

“Sir, according to the monitors…he’s already awake.”

The quietness stretched out, a tense, suffocating silence.

Oakley opened his eyes, his vision immediately adjusting to the harsh lighting. He blinked a couple of times before he narrowed his eyes at the figures around him.

His head throbbed as he filtered through every sharpened detail of the four people standing near the hard surface he was strapped to.

Then, Oakley locked eyes on the one he believed had all dominion.

In his peripheral, he saw the scientists retreating. He could hear the director’s increased heart rate and smell the scent of fear. The sensation of his target caught in his trap made something satisfying stir inside him.

He curled his lip slightly. Not quite a snarl, just enough to make the director tighten his stance.

Trepidation rolled off the scientists, the stench of fear clinging to their skin like sweat.

“Umm, I guess it’s… It’s… His metabolism is far higher than we calculated,” the woman stuttered. “The sedation amounts aren’t high enough.”

The director masked his alarm better than the scientists, smothering his reluctance beneath an iron tone and steely posture.

“Valor,” the director said with smooth control, “can you understand me?”

Oakley didn’t answer, watching and fucking with him before he answered, “I understand you.”

Something like satisfaction flickered in the man’s gaze, as if the response was what he’d been hoping for.

“Excellent.” He smiled before he began to circle him like a stalker. “You understand that Valor is your name?”

“No, it’s not, but I’ll answer to it…for now.”

The director smirked. “Very well. And how do you feel?”

Oakley exhaled and allowed a rumble to escape his lips.

“I feel stronger.” He swept his gaze over the scientists, watching them stiffen. “I feel ready …for what phase did you mention? Phase two.” Oakley tested his restraints. “Are you going to let me out of these or—”

The director scowled. “We’ll let you out when it’s time for you to be—”

Oakley flexed and yanked at the cuffs. The metal table groaned and the leather straps snapped like tattered yarn.

The woman released a cry of alarm, but Oakley held one hand up in a display of civility. “No need to be alarmed. I simply felt that time was now, John.”

The director stilled before his lips curled into something resembling a smirk and a sneer.

“You know my name, I see. You’ve been observant.”

“I know more than you think.”

Mr. Director cut his eyes to the scientists, who appeared even more perplexed, before he turned his attention back to him.

“And what else do you think you know?”

“I know enough to suggest you should be worried about your own problems rather than threatening the lives of your staff.” Oakley’s face was emotionless as stone. “You’ve eliminated one scientist. You can’t afford to lose more.”

He saw the precise moment the director’s amusement morphed into something else.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Your phone conference didn’t go as smoothly as you’d hoped last night, did it, John?”

Oakley could hear the imperceptible cracking of knuckles from where the director was clenching his fingers behind his back.

“What conference?” He chuckled, nervousness edging his laugh.

“You know exactly which one. Your office is two levels above me. You have a vent on the floor.”

The director blinked, his smile slowly falling away along with his boldness.

“The phone conference with your donors who are getting rather impatient.” Oakley glanced toward the scientists, who looked stunned and a whole lot confused. “They don’t think I’m worth the investment.”

No one moved.

Oakley smiled, slow and cunning. “They’re considering eliminating your funding, which, in turn, means…eliminating you.”

He let that sink in, watching the director’s shoulders rise toward his ears.

“I could hear the fear in your breaths, in the way you paced your office for an hour after the call ended.”

The environment shifted, crackling.

Oakley slid off the table, stood on two strong legs, and arched his back, giving it a good, long stretch.

“You’re losing control over the Blacks.”

Oakley didn’t know exactly who “the Blacks” were, but they were two people who’d been giving the director’s organization considerable concern.

“Your funders think you’re wasting their time and millions on more engineered men you can’t control.” Oakley pinned the director with a cold glare. “And you’re starting to believe that too.”

It took several tense seconds before the director released a villainous laugh. The sound crawled down Oakley’s spine, but he controlled his reaction with ease.

“Oh, you are going to be worth every dollar.”

“You gave me the name ‘Valor,’ Mr. Director. That word means ‘of great worthiness,’ and I fully intend to live up to that definition…for you.”

“We will we see, won’t we?” The director said then turned to the scientist. “Move him to his suite and see that he has everything he needs and wants.”

On his way out, he threw over his shoulder. “And I want weekly reports on the progress of phase two.”

“Valor,” the woman said in a cautious voice, still standing at what she assumed was a safe distance, “is there anything you require?”

Oakley grinned. “Get a pen and paper. I have a sizable list.”

He would allow the organization to believe they were getting what they’d paid handsomely for.

He was going to learn their ways and be compliant. And when the opportunity arose, when they’d sharpened him to the finest possible point, he would cut his way out of this place straight through the director’s flesh.