It started as a tingling, a feeling that Shalimar couldn't quite describe. Her finger prickled, the finger that had touched the slime that Captain Caruthers had warned her against, and then the sensation skipped around until it settled uncomfortably in her nether regions. From there it set up its own mini base camp: it shot out tendrils of sensation that made Shalimar uncomfortably hot, and it wasn't the sun she was feeling. She became acutely aware of her body, of the muscles moving in tandem in her thighs, skin brushing against skin. A random image of Brennan, bare-chested, flashed across her mind, and the tingling intensified.
What was going on? Shalimar felt like throwing herself at her injured teammate, wrapping her legs around his waist and delving into a lip-lock that would break the Guinness Book of World Records for passion. What was wrong with her? And why now? The man was hurt, and they were platonic teammates, and—oh, damn, but she felt hot! A branch brushed by her, and she rubbed against it before she could get herself under control.
Another flash of Brennan: surge in her loins! Replaced by Adam: more tingling, almost unbearable! Jesse: dammit, he was her 'little brother'! This had to be from her mutation. Her feral nature was exerting itself, causing her to go into heat like a cat. Dammit, this couldn't be happening at a worse time!
Really bad time! Captain Caruthers came into view, and Shalimar clutched onto a tree to prevent herself from leaping at the man and ravishing him on the spot. Overweight, sweaty, smug—and Shalimar still fought an overwhelming desire to rip the captain's clothes off right here on the wooded trail. She moaned in frustration, the blood in her thighs pounding and the rhythm echoing in her head.
"Little lady? What's wrong?"
Not him! No! There was only one thing that she could do to save herself from what was going on inside.
Shalimar ran.
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"Shalimar? Shalimar!" Jesse twisted frantically at his comm. link. "Shalimar, talk to me! Dammit," he finished, wishing for Sanctuary's bank of computers. With those, he could have located the feral within moments anywhere on this island and gone to fetch her. For it was clear that Shalimar was in trouble. A terrified cry across the comm. link, and a moan of anguish, and then nothing more.
Jesse looked at Brennan, still sleeping on the stretcher. The man's color was slowly improving but there was still that sniper to think about. The shot could have been random, Brennan an unwitting target, but Jesse had been through too many scrapes to count on that.
Dammit, this was a military base! Those soldiers outside guarding the door ought to be good for something! And Shalimar needed help now!
The pair of soldiers looked up as he banged through the screen door.
"Something's happening up in the hills," he told them tersely, keeping it brief. "Keep an eye on him. Don't let him get up out of bed."
One of the soldiers nodded solemnly. "You need back up?" he offered. "I got a shark stick." He slapped the rod dangling at his hip.
Right. Shalimar vs. a shark mutant. On dry land, Jesse would bet on Shalimar any day. Whatever was going on, it didn't involve shark mutants although Jesse didn't have a clue as to what it could be. "No thanks. Keep it. Keep Brennan safe. Don't let anyone near him except Adam or Dr. Morrison. Watch for snipers."
"You got it, buddy."
Jesse took off at a run toward the wooded area that Shalimar and Captain Caruthers had gone to, hoping that the feral hadn't strayed too far from the trail. He hadn't a clue what was going on but anything that could rock Shalimar's boat this much had to be pretty heavy duty. He keyed on his comm. link. "Adam?"
"Jesse? What is it? Is Brennan worse?"
"No, it's Shalimar." Jesse swiftly filled him in.
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"Find her!" Adam ordered. "Don't take any chances, but find her!" He clicked off his comm. link, and stifled his own groan. This whole excursion was going to hell in a hand basket. First Brennan down, now Shalimar in trouble. He was running out of team members and he hadn't even begun to solve any of the problems he'd encountered here. This was supposed to have been a pleasant excursion, a vacation for the team and an easy genetics problems or two to laze over. When had things gone so wrong?
Vanderworthy eyed him with concern. "What is it?"
Adam made a swift decision. The shark mutants had chosen to trust him; Adam had to do the same. "It's Shalimar. She sent out a distress call, and then nothing. Jesse's going after her. She could be anywhere on this island by now."
Vanderworthy considered. "She's a feral, right?"
"Right. Which means that anything or anyone who could cut her off from communication has to be plenty dangerous. I'm going to have to go. We haven't finished, though—"
"Sit down," Vanderworthy ordered. "You're on a military base, Dr. Kane. A military base with a couple dozen Special Ops, emphasis on the 'special'. Take advantage of it. Hey, Blue," he called out to the beach. "Yo, Blue. Grab a dozen of us and search the island. Ms. Fox is in trouble. Go bail her out. Oh, and watch out for the other one. He's looking for her, too. Now, you were saying, Dr. Kane?" and he turned back to Adam as if he hadn't just ordered his troops into action.
The herd scampered by, feet unshod, surprisingly quiet for such large men. Not one carried a gun; not one needed it. They all looked very large, and very capable, and very dangerous. Adam was grateful to have them on his side. Shalimar couldn't be in better hands.
But—"are you sure that I shouldn't—?"
"Delegation, Dr. Kane," Vanderworthy tsked. "Don't try to tell me that you're better able to locate someone on this rock than my men. We know every rock, every nook and cranny, and we have more than twice the speed and stamina that you do. We can do this, but we can't solve our own problems. We need you for that." He leaned back, settling in for a serious discussion. "I was about to tell you about slutting."
Vanderworthy was right; there was nothing Adam could do for Shalimar that the shark mutants couldn't do better. He grimaced. "Hang on a moment." He held the comm. link to his mouth. "Jesse? Anything?"
"Not yet."
"Keep looking. Reinforcements are on the way. Lots of them." Adam deliberately relaxed on the log, the better to listen to Vanderworthy. He compartmentalized his worry; Jesse would notify him when there was a new development. Trust in your people, Adam. Like the shark mutant said: delegate. He turned back to Vanderworthy. "Tell me about this slutting. And call me Adam."
"Adam." Vanderworthy nodded. "Vince. Even though most people call me Lieutenant. I sometimes think that's my first name."
Brief smile. "Now who's stalling?" Adam asked gently. "This is not an easy topic for you."
"It's hard to admit that my people are being abused every day and in this hellish way," Vanderworthy admitted, "but there's no better way to describe it. Have you heard of shark fin soup?"
Adam blinked at the sudden apparent change in subject matter. "Shark fin soup? Asian dish; a delicacy. It's the subject of environmental concerns today, that Asian waters are being over-fished for sharks. Their fins are cut off, and the carcasses dumped back into the ocean for a lingering death. Shark fins themselves are supposed to be an aphrodisiac, although I'm not aware of any research that proves that claim beyond a shadow of a doubt. What does that have to do with you? None of you have any fins."
"It's not fins that they get from us." Vanderworthy worried at his lip, and Adam winced. Those teeth looked sharp. "All they have to do is flip up onto our back, put on a glove to protect their hands from being cut up by our skin, and shove their hands down our pants. We're helpless to stop them. You saw Blue, there in Morrison's clinic. Once he was flat on his back, there was nothing he could do. We're lucky to stay breathing in that position. Fighting back is out of the question."
"And the results?" Adam found it helped to stay clinically detached. He had to work at it; nausea was rising fast as the story unfolded. He could only imagine how much worse it was for the shark mutants going through the real thing.
"An aphrodisiac potion, selling for hundreds of dollars on the black market," Vanderworthy told him grimly. "A real one, and you can take that to the bank. One swig of that potion creates a raving lunatic trying to jump your bones. You can imagine what a big seller that is. There's one of us—we call him Angel, a guy with angel shark DNA, who gets off on getting slutted. He regularly goes up to a spot high on the island to meet the blackies and produce. They work him over, pay him a token amount, then sell the results and get rich. I hear a couple of 'em have a pretty hefty Swiss bank account."
"The other mutants? How do they feel about this?"
Another grim smile. "Let's just say that I work hard at making sure that none of my guys goes anywhere on this rock without an escort."
"But…?"
"I'm not the only one giving the orders," Vanderworthy admitted. "My men get base chores just like everybody else. Sometimes those chores take us into lonely places. We stay alert, we defend ourselves—so far without drawing any blood, although that's been sheer luck—and sometimes they still catch us. They gang up on us and wear black ski masks so we can't tell who it is."
"Have you tried a formal complaint to Colonel Bayliss? He doesn't seem like the type to let something like this go. He's a pompous ass who can't see past his own nose, but I don't think he'd deliberately dishonor the uniform."
"No proof," Vanderworthy replied gloomily. "There are a few that we think are in on it, but the one time I went to Bayliss, all our suspects were carefully seen drinking in the canteen." He set his chin. "It's their word against ours. And who do you think Bayliss is going to believe? To him, we're just useful weapons. Dangerous, but useful." He straightened up. "Solve this problem, Dr. Kane, and you'll have solved the biggest problem on this rock. Stop the black marketers from abusing us."
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"Shalimar!" Jesse called out, as he'd done so many times in the last hour alone. A branch whipped back to strike him across the cheek when he plunged into the undergrowth, trying to follow the twisted trail that she'd left. The feral had been running flat out, and Jesse didn't even try to match her speed. That would have been futile.
He'd met up with the shark mutants, didn't bother to question the luck that had given him the help. He sent them in a wide search pattern, certain that Shalimar wouldn't know which way to run to safety, only taken a little aback when they insisted on conducting the search in pairs. Did they know of some danger that he didn't? Didn't matter; Shalimar was exposed to that very danger, and Jesse wasn't about to let anything get in his way of finding her. Not large animals, not soldiers, not mutants—
—and not the vine that tried to lock itself around his neck as he passed. He phased through, refusing to bother with untwisting the greenery as a normal mortal might. "Shalimar!"
Wait…over there. Did he hear something? It could have been a wild boar; there was grunting, but it was too high-pitched… "Shalimar!"
A small blonde body came flying out of the undergrowth at him, leaping on him and bowling him over. Inhumanly strong arms wrapped around his chest, crushing him to her. Lips locked onto his.
"Shalimar?" Of all the things he expected, this was not one of them.
"Help me, Jesse!" she pleaded, almost trying to crawl inside his skin. "Help me! Please!"
"Shalimar? What's wrong?" Jesse couldn't believe it. She was bedraggled, sweaty, flushed—and altogether hot.
She clutched onto him, pulling him closer. "Jesse, I can't help it! I need it so bad it hurts!"
"Need what—?" It clicked. Feral. Heat. Yowling like a banshee. "Shit!" he all but yelled. "Shalimar, do you know what you're doing? Are you crazy?"
"Now!" Shalimar insisted frantically. "Now?" she pleaded.