Page 8 of Mitchell’s Untamed Mate (More Than Human #2)

U nited States of North America Species Bureau of Special Investigation (USNASBSI) Containment Facility: Seattle, Washington

The world around her seemed to move in slow motion, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Tracy paced the small room where she was being held. She glared up at the camera on every turn, lifting her hand and showing her middle finger to whoever was watching her.

She tugged at the oversized sleeves of the light gray sweatshirt she was wearing. The only thing they had given her was the sweatshirt, a pair of jogging pants, and a pair of thick socks. She twisted, plopped down on the metal cot bolted to the wall, and pulled her legs up.

She had been locked in this room for the past three days. Her only contact with anyone was a guard who brought her food three times a day. Even then, they opened a sliding door at the bottom of the door and slid it in.

Her room was ten-by-ten and consisted of the cot with a sheet and blanket and a bathroom with a shower, sink, and toilet that was behind a clear wall that turned opaque when she pressed the button on the wall. She twisted and fell back on the cot, stretched out, and stared up at the ceiling. She had been here for three frigging days with no phone call!

Well, two of the days I was knocked out. That doesn’t matter, though! I wouldn’t have been knocked out if my government hadn’t darted me into unconsciousness!

She groaned and laid her arm over her eyes. Her head was still pounding from the after effects of the drugs and worry over what they had done with Mitchell. She dropped her arm and looked at the door when she heard voices on the other side.

Twisting around, she sat up when the electronic lock buzzed, and the door opened. Two uniformed shifters with rifles stood in the doorway. They looked at her before they stepped back. She pursed her lips when she saw Agent Southpaw standing in the doorway.

“I want my phone call,” she snapped.

Agent Southpaw lifted an eyebrow and tilted her head. “I see you are feeling better.”

Tracy stood up and folded her arms across her chest. “I would feel a lot better if you hadn’t darted me.”

“You can’t blame me for wanting to stay in one piece.”

Tracy tapped her chin and acted like she was thinking for a split second before she glared at the agent.

“Yeah, I think I can. Now, I’d like to make my phone call,” she snapped.

Agent Southpaw pursed her lips. “That won’t be necessary. If you’ll follow me.”

The exasperated tone of the other shifter caused Tracy’s eyes to narrow in response. With a suspicious glare, she studied the other shifter before cautiously taking a step forward. As she paused in the doorway, her eyes narrowed with caution as she observed the two uniformed guards standing on either side of it. She stepped out of her cell and followed on silent feet behind Southpaw.

“Where is Mitchell?” she asked.

Agent Southpaw paused and looked at her. “Is that his name? He’s refused to speak since he woke.”

“Where is he?”

The two guards leaned toward her, reacting to her aggressive tone and ready to spring into restraining her. Southpaw raised her hand and the guards eased back. Tracy’s eyes remained fixed Southpaw's face.

“What is the human to you?” Southpaw finally asked.

Tracy hesitated before she responded in a low voice. “He’s my mate.”

Silence greeted her admission. Tracy returned the other woman’s assessing gaze with a steady one of her own. Finally, the shifter bowed her head and smiled.

“Interesting.”

Leaning his head back, Mitchell felt the coolness of the wall against his scalp as he fixated on the round circle mounted in the corner. A strange unease had settled over him after he had awakened in the room, as though a hidden presence lurked nearby, observing his every move—until he cleverly covered the "eye" of the strange device with the food they had provided.

Hours blended into days, and he found himself unable to determine the length of his stay in this unfamiliar place. There were no windows to see when the sun rose or set. Every time he moved, the lights in his cell would toggle between on and off, creating an eerie atmosphere. At the moment, the lights were off. He found solace in the darkness, a respite from the harsh brightness that pained his eyes.

He stiffened when he heard footsteps approaching. There was more than one set. A shiver ran down his spine. They came in groups of three or more when they wanted to take him out of his cell.

He had fought the first time they came. The man in the white jacket had injected him with a sedative. It hadn’t been enough to knock him out, just incapacitate him. The medicine had made him sick to his stomach and he vomited all over one of his shifter guards. A small revenge. He had aimed.

The shifters in the white coats had tried to reassure him that he was only here temporarily to make sure he was alright, but then they had shone a light in his eyes, taken his blood, given him shots, and examined his head and neck for tenderness.

His face flushed with anger at the memories of them asking him personal questions. He had been angrier still when all they would say about Tracy was that she was recovering, she would be fine, and he might be allowed to see her in a couple of days. They would not say what she was recovering from. When he had been returned to his cell, they had given him fresh clothes and shown him how to use the shower. He had scrubbed his body and dressed.

After the first time, they had only taken him to a room down the corridor from his cell. The room had a table, two chairs, and a large reflective mirror. An old, gray-haired shifter had entered the room. This shifter had tried to reassure him as well, but it was clear that he was not allowed to leave and he was not allowed to see Tracy, and that was all that mattered. He had ignored the shifter’s repeated questions. They had taken him out of his cell twice more after that. Each time there had been a different shifter in a white coat asking him questions or putting things in front of him. He had ignored them all.

The bright lights came on, temporarily blinding him when the door opened. He shielded his eyes from the painful light. He stared dispassionately at the guard in the doorway. Surprise swept through him when a slender hand impatiently nudged the guard aside.

The woman was tall, lean, and impeccably dressed in a navy-blue power suit with a cream-colored blouse. Her dark hair was swept up at the sides, revealing a touch of silver at her temples. She exuded a sense of authority. What surprised him was the humor and compassion in her eyes as they swept over him.

“I don’t think they could’ve picked a more hideous outfit for you,” she stated, stepping into his cell and looking around with an expression of distaste.

“This division is either seriously over-funded if they think they need to treat humans this way or seriously under-funded for giving you this box. The director and I will be having a serious discussion about this,” the woman murmured.

A man standing outside the doorway cleared his throat. “Madame President, I assure you that humans were not intended to be housed here.”

“Since humans were thought to be extinct, I’m sure that is true, Alvin. Now be a good badger and shut the door. I would like to have a private conversation with…” She paused and looked at him with a raised eyebrow. When he didn’t respond, she shrugged and continued, “Our new guest.”

“Yes, Madame President,” Alvin responded.

“Oh, and Alvin?—”

“Yes, Madame President?”

The woman turned and gave Alvin a sweet smile. “Turn off the damn cameras,” she ordered.

“Yes, Madame President,” he replied with a sigh.

With a decisive step, the guard closed the door behind him, leaving Mitchell and the woman alone in the silence of the room. She stood out from the white-coated shifters who had interviewed him before, both in appearance and tone. She glanced around the room again, let out a sigh, and slowly approached his cot.

“Do you mind? It appears there is nowhere else to sit,” she requested.

With a furrowed brow, he lifted his hand and motioned to the end of the cot. She shot him a grateful smile, turned, and sat down before she bent forward and removed her shoes.

“Goddess, but that feels good. I swear heels were made to torture women,” she moaned, wiggling her toes.

“Then why do you wear them?”

The question popped out before he remembered that he had decided not to speak to the shifters who had captured him. He silently cursed, watching her as she rubbed her foot. She gave him a rueful smile.

“When you are the president of a country, some assholes expect you to look the part. The media had a field day when I went barefoot at the beach. Hell, they would have had a stroke if I had worn a bathing suit! It was bad enough that I was wearing a skirt that day. Do you have any idea how irritating sand is when it gets in your shoes?”

His lips twitched at her outraged tone and expression. “Yes.”

“You do? Thank the Goddess again!” she muttered.

She scooted back on his bed until her back was against the wall. She looked up at the camera in the corner. He followed her line of sight when she snorted out a laugh.

“Is that mashed potatoes?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Mm, I’ll have to remember that little trick,” she murmured before she leaned her head back against the wall and studied him. “I’m Michaela Bearclaw-Kodiak.”

Mitchell stiffened and frowned back at the woman holding out her hand. He slowly reached out and grasped it. Michaela gave him a firm handshake before she released his hand and closed her eyes.

“You… are related to Tracy?” he asked.

A smile curved her lips and she mumbled an agreement. Looking at Michaela with her closed eyes and her head tilted backwards, he could see the slight resemblance. She had the same markings as Tracy and her brother, Ty.

“My niece is a lovely young woman when she isn’t ripping doors off of USNASBSI vans or trying to kill government agents,” Michaela murmured.

“Tracy ripped a door off of a US—” he asked, stumbling on the rapid letters that Michaela had said.

Michaela peeked an eye at him and smiled. “You can call it the SBSI. It isn’t as much of a mouthful and means the same thing. Yes, she did. I do apologize about this unfortunate situation. I stationed the SBSI around the Park for the protection of your people. However, the necessity of keeping your location secret meant there was not a protocol in place in the event of unavoidable contact with a human. One of my agents saw you unconscious beneath an unknown assailant and you were rushed to medical care while a team attempted to apprehend your attacker. He got away. And unfortunately, Tracy saw your condition and the urgency of their mission to bring you to a facility with medical professionals, and she misunderstood. Imagine my surprise when my brother called me in a panic about Tracy being detained. It took a few days for word to reach me of where exactly you and she were being held, which is why I’m here.”

Mitchell frowned. “Tracy is a captive. Where?”

Michaela opened her eyes and sat up. “Here. I debated whether to get her out first or you. My curiosity got the best of me, so I came to see you first.”

He scowled at her. “You should have protected Tracy first! She has done nothing wrong.”

Michaela released a dry laugh. “You haven’t seen the SBSI’s van. She was rather upset when they took you.”

“You… should go to her,” he said, looking away.

Michaela slid forward. “You’re right. I would hate for her bear to get the better of her. It is going to take some creative compromises to keep this quiet.”

He watched as Michaela slid her shoes back on and rose. She ran her hands down over her suit, smoothing the wrinkles before she turned and smiled. Confusion struck him when she held out her hand and wiggled her fingers.

“Come on, let’s go bust my niece out of here. I’m sure she’ll be delighted to see you are safe and sound,” Michaela said.

He slid off the bed and studied her. “You can release me?”

Michaela lifted a delicate eyebrow at him and gave him a sharp-toothed smile. “I am Madame President. There is very little I can’t do.”

Mitchell remained silent, torn between wanting to trust the woman and harboring doubts about the veracity of her claims. It wasn’t until she stepped forward, pounded on the door twice, and stepped to the side when it opened that hope began to build inside him. He followed her out of the cell, glancing at the two guards who stood at attention on either side.

“Ah, Alvin. Now, where is my niece?” Michaela requested.

Tracy scanned the long hallway as she followed Agent Southpaw. They turned several times before they came to an elevator. Tracy stepped inside, standing beside the silent agent with growing concern. She watched the numbers turn from negative to positive.

The facility went underground at least five floors if she had to guess from the numbers displayed. So far, she had no idea where Mitchell was being held. Her bear hadn’t smelled him on the floor where she had been kept.

The elevator pinged when they reached the fifth floor and the doors opened with a low swish. She stepped out into a marble foyer vastly different from the ultra-modern floor she had left just minutes before. This part of the building looked as if it had been built two centuries before.

A receptionist looked up from the computer screen she was studying, nodded, and resumed her task. Tracy looked back over her shoulder as they walked past. There were doors lining the hallway. Each was wooden with a frosted glass window. There were no identifying markings on any of them.

She refocused on the woman in front of her. Her socks were slick on the polished marble and she had to be careful that she didn’t slip. They passed several doors before Southpaw opened one on the left. The room was elegant with dark carpet and wood paneling. In the center of the foyer was a beautiful wood desk. A man was sitting at the desk. He rose from his seat and opened one of the double doors to the right of him.

“Thank you, Blitz,” Agent Southpaw said.

“My pleasure, Agent Southpaw,” Blitz responded.

Agent Southpaw stopped inside the door and turned when Tracy stepped past her. The room was surprisingly large and very elegant. It reminded her a lot of her father’s old office at the Observatory.

Except this one is neater.

Her father’s office had always been cluttered. Still, the rich wood furnishings, old paintings, and bookshelves filled with rich tomes spoke of someone who had a diverse taste in literature and art. She turned when Agent Southpaw cleared her throat.

“Someone will be with you in a minute,” Agent Southpaw said.

“Who will be here?”

Agent Southpaw gave her the same irritating sphinx smile that she had used back on the fire road and she closed the door.

Nothing like a lack of transparency!

Tracy walked around the room, reading the spines of several books on the shelf before she walked over to the large, curved windows and stared out. The front driveway wound around a center fountain of the war hero General Londis Southpaw in his lion form.

“So, that’s who she’s related to,” Tracy murmured, connecting the dots on why the agent’s name sounded familiar.

The click of the door opening behind her caused her to swivel. A tall, elegant man entered the room, closing the door behind him. He studied her for a few seconds before he smiled.

“Ms. Bearclaw. I apologize for the misunderstanding. My name is Talon… Talon Nightsky. Would you care for some refreshments?”

Tracy folded her arms and stared back at the man. “No, thanks. What I would like is to know where Mitchell is.”

“Ah, yes, your human companion,” Talon said, walking across the room to stand in front of her. “He will be here shortly. I hoped we might have a moment to talk before he arrives.”

“Why? Who are you?” she demanded.

Talon smiled at her and crossed to a table where an elegant tea service was set out. He lifted the pot and raised an eyebrow in inquiry. She glared back at him and shook her head.

“I work in a field not unlike your own.” He poured a cup of tea and turned to face her. “You have dual degrees in both Human Anthropology and Archeology, I believe.”

She watched as he sipped his tea and tried to figure out what he was talking about. None of this was making sense to her tired brain. All she wanted was to find Mitchell, make sure he was alright, and get the hell out of wherever in the hell this place was.

“Obviously you know more about me than I know about you. Can we cut through the bullshit and get to the point? Who are you and where is Mitchell? And not in that order!” she snapped in an irritated voice that said she was fast losing her patience.

Talon must have recognized her fragile control on her bear. He peered at her over the rim of his cup with a wary eye before he lowered the cup and placed it back on the tray. She frowned when he pulled his sleeve aside far enough to glance at the expensive watch on his wrist.

“I work for an organization that is committed to ensuring the safety and well-being of humans. I would like to know if there are more—and if so, where they are located,” he stated.

Tracy gave him an incredulous look. “You and probably every other shifter on the planet. What makes you think I should believe you? It’s not like I have any reason to,” she retorted, waving her hand at her clothing.

Talon grimaced and pursed his lips. “Yes, well, things could definitely have been handled better. I’m afraid I must take my leave, but if you should ever need assistance, please let me know.”

Tracy lifted her hand to accept the business card Talon held out to her without thinking. She looked at the black and gold embossed card, turning it with a frown. All that adorned it was a single phone number, written in bold, gold digits. No name, website, address—just a phone number in elegant lettering.

She was startled to see he was already opening the door to the office. Despite his size, he moved with a surprisingly light and graceful step. She frowned even more when she realized that she had neglected to ask him about his shifter type. The absence of any distinctive markings made it difficult to determine what he was.

“How do I know if I can trust you?” she called out when he stepped through the door.

He turned and gave her a slight, crooked smile. “You don’t, nor should you trust anyone,” he said before closing the door behind him.

Tracy stood rooted to the spot, alternating between staring at the door and the card in her hand. Trying to gauge what her bear was feeling, she gently placed a hand on her stomach. The shifter had an indecipherable aura, leaving her puzzled.

With her eyes closed, she focused on a detail that popped into her mind. When Talon had sipped his tea, his sleeve had pulled back to reveal the inside of his wrist. There had been a mark on it—an intricate design of some type. The urge to capture the image was so strong that her fingers twitched involuntarily.

Opening her eyes, she walked over to the desk and sat down. The desk stood empty, its surface clean and bare. She opened the top drawer. There were some paperclips, a letter opener, pen, and ruler. She grabbed the pen and laid it on the desk. Closing the drawer, she opened a side drawer. There was a standard yellow-lined notepad that you could purchase at any office supply store.

She retrieved the notepad, feeling the smooth texture of the paper beneath her fingertips, and placed it next to the pen. Closing her eyes again, she pulled up the mental image of the marking. It wasn’t a natural marking, but an intricate tattoo. With her eyes closed, she lifted the pen and tried to capture it.

“Circle, with a triangle… no a pyramid. Wings, there were wings and something below it, some type of animal.”

Frustration gripped her when the image in her mind faded. She opened her eyes and stared at what she had drawn. There had been something inside the pyramid, but she hadn’t caught a good view of it.

The door opening caused her to surge back to her feet. She ripped the paper free and shoved it into the pocket of her jogging pants. Her eyes widened with surprise and relief when she saw her Aunt Michaela enter the room with her usual grand style. But it was the man who entered after her aunt that held her attention. With a cry of relief, Tracy rounded the desk, flew across the room, and into Mitchell’s opened arms.

She buried her face against his throat, holding onto him like she would never let him go. Her heart hammered in her chest as emotion swept through her. His strong arms and steady hold reassured her that he was really there. She tilted her head back, stared at him for a split second, then pulled his head down and kissed him.

“Well, I know that I’m no longer your favorite,” Michaela teased. “Is that tea? Mm, yes, well, I think I’ll just step away and prepare me a cup while you two catch up.”