First Species Read online

  Silence fills the room like a cup to overflowing. Neither of us mentions the fact that Grace had to be cross-bred. She'd bonded with three males, including a turned vampire.

  Females are higher in an evolutionary sense than males. Fewer females so, therefore, more valuable. After all, they are life-bringers.

  I press my fingers on the tabletop a second time and push off, my gorillan form presenting large, dexterous-knuckled hands with opposable thumbs. My entire body is lightly covered in a dusting of thick, golden hair. I straighten, folding muscled arms across my chest.

  Drest is built near-identical to me. As a point of fact, we are the purest males of the clan.

  I shoot a brow up. “Murphy?” Confirming the “source.”

  He nods. “He pulsed me immediately. It's been just over two years with Grace, and only six other females were identified as unknown since her discovery.”

  One of those precious females had been lost to Mutables though every roadblock to danger had been inserted between her and the dredges of the shifter world. Grace's mother, Talbot, had literally been bred to death. Canceling out our blood and that of the less rare, but unique, prehistoric.

  Though Talbot was mother to Grace and Toby—albeit a terrible one—Grace had been shattered to learn of her tragic end. No one wants a precious female with the blood of the First squandered. Her wasted and abused body had been discovered by Final Enforcement. The end-of-the-line law of the humansʼ land.

  The offspring from her forced breed, if any, had never been recovered.

  Though Grace assures me that her mother was barren through human interference in removal of her female reproductive organs, I understand a female with sufficient First Species blood can spontaneously regenerate such things. Talbot would have been none the wiser for her body's healing.

  Murphy broke the news to Grace with a finesse both Doric and I would not have thought he was capable of. We had even conceded the need for a rare meeting between Grace and Sondra, the friend from her human existence, to have the assistance of another female to ease her suffering.

  However, when the dust settled, the question was posed: what offspring would a female who was part-First Species become when mixed with the Mutable population?

  No one is sure. What if said offspring had our blood running through its veins? A female First in the hands of Mutables? To be bred to death when her transition was through. No, the First Species would infiltrate the Mutable colonies as a next step toward endeavoring to gain females in the grip of an insane shifter population.

  As the humans say—all the bets are off. Especially in light of the revelation that our mutual existence is known.

  I cup my chin briefly then let my hand drop. “Did he say more?”

  Drest gives a hard shake of his head.

  Fuck. Straightening, I impart the only thing I can, “Go. Scent the female. If she scents true, take her.”

  “What of Murphy?” His brows draw together.

  That could prove to be very sticky. “I think he's batting for our team,” my lips twist, “as the humans would say.”

  The corners of Drest's lips quirk. “You do love their sayings.”

  In an oftentimes humorless existence, finding humor where one can is sometimes all that remains.

  Paige

  With each step, I literally feel eyeballs crawling over me. Each and every one.

  Chuck, Dave, and Scott are uncharacteristically silent as I make the lone trek to the back of the restaurant, entering the employees’ section. A bank of ten lockers lines one side of the wall with pulse docs affixed beneath each latch, the employee's name illuminated on the front.

  I walk to mine and depress my thumb into the dark, small rectangle beneath the latching mechanism. Phosphorescent green bleeds from beneath my touch, causing my thumb to eerily glow.

  The lock pops, and I swivel my thumb from the dock to the latch and press down. The lever disengages and releases the door to the locker.

  A powder blue hoodie hangs suspended from a multi-hooked metal knot at the center ceiling of the locker. My purse is tucked against the left side where another hook is stationed inside the metal cavity.

  Grabbing the lightweight cotton, zippered jacket and my purse, I haul them out. I untie my apron I'd just put on an hour before and stand there for a second, hand trembling. Finally, I hang the neck loop of my apron over the hook where my sweatshirt had been.

  Shrugging into the hoodie, I toss my purse strap over my shoulder and slam the locker door.

  Enforcer Murphy is standing there. Adrienne stands at his elbow like a hard shadow.

  Squeaking, I jump backward, hand to my chest.

  “I was just getting my things,” I mumble, heart racing. They had silently followed me the entire length of the restaurant then stood there while I fumbled my shit on without me being aware.

  Not creepy at all.

  Adrienne smiles at what I'm sure is my expression of fright. “Sorry, we're made to be silent, being predators and all.”

  Oh, Jesus, that makes me feel so much better.

  Murphy's lips pretzel into a sardonic twist. “Nicely done with the rabbiting on, love. Inspires confidence.”

  Adrienne cocks her head, gifting Murphy with a narrow-eyed glare. “Fuck the bedside manner. The acquisition knows what we are and what the deal is. The new protocols have been spread far and wide. A female would have to be freeze-dried or doing hard time to not have a clue.”

  Murphy sighs, sliding an apologetic glance my way. “Have a care, darling. Maybe the lass is a might intimidated by our protocols.” Murphy knots his hands behind his back, rocking forward on his toes then back on his heels.

  They stare at me.

  “I thought you were British?” I finally say.

  One of his dark brows slowly rises. “I am.”

  “You sound a little Irish.”

  Murphy flashes a broad grin with a lot of fang.

  I swallow hard, eyes transfixed by the dull ivory gleam.

  “I am—my mammy is Irish though we lived in England when I was growing up.”

  Adrienne twirls her hand around in the universal gesture of let's get a move on. “This is all so interesting.” She clearly refrains from rolling her eyes with an effort. “Let’s get Miss LaRue to the holding tank.”

  Murphy shoots her a long-suffering frown, dark brows jacked down low.

  “What about my job?” I stall.

  Adrienne scans the meager surroundings, clearly making an internal snap judgment if I'm even halfway together enough to pick up on subtleties.

  Enforcer Adrienne is not subtle.

  Her snort is softly dismissive. “It's a dump. You'll be happier transitioned.” Turning, she strides away, assuming Murphy will bring me.

  “After you, Miss LaRue.” His palm sweeps before me.

  They're kinda asshats.

  “She's not very professional,” I note, almost to myself.

  Murphy seems to take in my rationale. “Too true. However, that she-devil gets the most acquisitions of anyone I have ever met while pumping her breasts every six hours.”

  That stops me dead in my tracks, and I slowly turn. “What?”

  Murphy gives me a crooked grin. “My sire has twins. They are still nurslings.”

  “But she's a vampire.”

  Murphy lifts a shoulder, letting it dump back in place a moment later. “She is a hybrid and, as such, can breed true. A novel thing.” His eyes narrow. “A pregnant female, human or otherwise.”

  Yes. Many women are turning up infertile, thanks to the crazy Zondorae brothers’ interference a few years back.

  Whoa. I release the breath that had been lodged in my throat and note dryly, “She can still work.”

  Murphy scans the silent restaurant. Silverware chimes while ice clinks in glasses, but the conversations have muted again with my return.

  “We can discuss this somewhere else. At present, we must keep our wits about us.”

  Now I see why
Adrienne went first and Murphy is slightly behind me. Holding up the rear, I guess. “Oh, right, I almost forgot.” Mutables, I give myself a mental facepalm. If Murphy and Adrienne know my blood work results, then everyone could. It's not like Mutables are ethical or unskilled.

  The government has attempted to keep a lid on blood work since Talbot Cline's brutal story came to light just this past year, and worldwide fertility has taken a simultaneous nosedive.

  But there is no absolute failsafe.

  Mutables are many, and the smaller groups of legit supes are not. Mutables need the hybrid females so they can change into whatever shifter form they like. Breed with said females to make more of their kind.

  Except, the femalesʼ lifespan in a Mutable colony is short. In the case of Murphy's female mate's mother—only two years, they estimate.

  I'd read the pulse story that Talbot Cline had a hysterectomy when they had kidnapped her. So why do it?

  But the Mutables had found a workaround, impregnated her then, essentially, fucked her to death, gaining as many within the colony who could absorb that rare innate ability that females of First Species or Prehistoric blood offered them: permanent malleability into whatever form they wished to take. The media had touted the tragedy as a large blow to humanity and science. Now the Mutables were stronger.

  I wonder how Talbot Cline felt about being a headline grabber for a tragedy instead of a human being. I shudder.

  Think of the clever disguises Mutables could present themselves as. Pretend to be a Lycan or maybe even a vampire? Was that even possible?

  The Hunters and Turners had come to terms, (Especially since that Lycan prick, Killian, had been done in). Now they're working with Final Enforcement instead of going behind the scenes to acquire women who, like Narah Adrienne, had vampire genetics—or Talyn Phisher, who'd had both Lycan and prehistoric. Hunters had been the Lycan group who would sterilize the hybrid woman before they were turned/changed so there wouldn't be offspring who weren't pure Lycan. The Turners had been the vampire scouts who found the hybrid vampire females to ease them into their transition—only to be handed over to a pre-ordained vampire mate.

  The entire process was stupid. What about the hybrid female's choice? Taking away her option to have babies because she had supe blood or forcing her into a vamp marriage “mating” that had been decided for her didn't sound like good results to me.

  The collective men thought this was great because, at least, she was alive. Forget just existing. My job might be menial to some, but it gave me independence and purpose.

  Now, what do I have?

  But while those groups had joined a cooperative with the American government and now shared information to make the acquisitions and transitions safer for women—the Mutables circumvented all protocols in favor of kidnapping. Breeding—torture through gang rape.

  Eventual death.

  My life really isn't my own now. The job doesn't matter. My life as I've known it—over.

  Sadness seeps into my numb brain.

  Because I'd kind of liked my life. It was boring and predictable. But there was something so comforting about that.

  Now, it's not even mine anymore but an asset of some group.

  Essentially, being whatever I was born as eventually stole that option like my life was merely borrowed instead of owned.

  I trudge through the door of the job I'll never come back to.

  Chapter 4

  Drest

  I t's difficult not to flaunt what I am. The humans have come to terms with Doric's recent announcement.

  They understand what we are now: the first of them all.

  The humansʼ scientists have vetted through the newest Brain Impulse Technology the cerebral function of the First Species are the origin of all Homo sapiens, humans, and supes alike.

  There is no more hiding for my race. With my sense of profound relief comes caution as well.

  However, Conrick believes that walking around in gorillan form makes the humans uncomfortable.

  A smirk splits my face. I say let them become accustomed to it. Like Conrick, my human form, though more “comfortable” for humans, is a constant energy-drain to maintain.

  We came to terms, finally. Conrick conceded almost all my points. One of the things I like best about our Alpha: he is reasonable. It was determined that I'd maintain my human form during daylight hours and gorillan at night. Maybe the reverse would have had less impact. After all, I'd argued with Conrick, won't the humans be more alarmed by my gorillan when they can't sight me with their weak vision?

  Conrick agreed, but after conferring with Doric, the Alpha of the prehistorics, and Murphy, who had acquired the female and alerted them, they all thought this would be best.

  Human form.

  Adding insult to injury, I'd folded my large body into the only car the clan has access to. As one can imagine, it's not in the best of shape. The plates are expired.

  There are no pulse features, so everything is lock and key.

  My mood is foul.

  Keeping my mind affixed on the female who may share my genetics is almost insufficient to neutralize the high dudgeon mood I find myself in.

  I'd almost had a female during Grace's acquisition. Mollie, the bounty enforcer-turned-vamp. But she'd gone back to her dangerous job among the humans.

  Regardless, her decision ultimately wouldn't have mattered. Her blood had been void of any First Species—actually devoid of all supe genetics. It was unfortunate circumstances that led her to a new life as vampire.

  Though Murphy had saved her from what vamps label as “true death,” I'm not sure that Mollie feels as though her life being saved was a benefit. Though we haven't communicated since I was her blood donor, I've heard through Murphy—co-mate of Grace, that she's disgruntled.

  Alive but unhappy with her lot as Murphy had enumerated.

  Paige LaRue is not someone I can get excited about. Too many times, our clan has fanned out to acquire a female of potential, only to find her blood insufficient, not the right ratio, or mateable but not able to throw pure.

  Grace went to our Alpha as is his right. What are the chances I could be so lucky? That Paige LaRue would have what I so desperately seek? Being much younger than Conrick, I have more time, though that fact does not ease me.

  Thank the earth the speed limit for vehicles is one hundred twenty kph on this desolate stretch of I-29. I smirk. Not for long. The highways will be put away in favor of air traffic of a sort. Even as I think it, the groundwork is being laid on the existing highways for magnetized lanes above the archaic road system. I'm fuzzy on the tech, but invisible magnetic rails will be installed that will repel vehicles from as many as five meters above the old traffic routes.

  Of course, those who still wish to travel the fossil-fuel highway can do so if they want to pay the applicable fines as that old mode of transport is phased out. If someone were to ask me, I'd reply that the new tech is a slippery slope. After the mass inoculation of the human teenage population some fifteen years past, hadn't the leaders learned that when they tamper with genetics, it can come back and bite them in their collective asses?

  Obviously no.

  Now the human population had declined, the birthrates so low the humans are paying women to get pregnant. Those who can actually become so.

  The reality is they inadvertently sterilized their species by tampering with what they shouldn't have. Playing the Christian God.

  Here are the repercussions. Certainly, the humansʼ dire circumstance had paved the way for the collaboration of shifters and vampire procurement of female hybrids.

  Though it has not yet happened, I fear that they will have to fight to take the women who are theirs by blood rights. The humans will eventually tire of not having enough of their own and start taking the hybrid women.

  What the humans don't understand is the supernaturals have a higher rate of breeding true. A lowly human man with a hybrid female is simply a waste of a female.

&n
bsp; Even if they were not strictly human. There'd been a messy public outcry of the supes “perverting” the gene pool—as though humans were so superior and wonderful. Cue internal eye roll.

  As if. Another mental smirk slides through my head like smoke.

  Conrick's announcement that swiftly went pulse-viral took the world by storm.

  No. Humans weren't the do-all, end-all as it happens. Hybrid females need to be transitioned regardless so they might live. For them to become pregnant by an ordinary human male will not save their lives.

  That doesn't stop the dumb bastards from wanting them.

  Gritting my teeth, I suffer through someone pushing their elbow into their horn as they swerve around me, the sound grating against my sensitive hearing as they blast by, passing me on the left.

  At one hundred twenty kph.

  Imbecile.

  Setting my teeth, I remember Conrick's clear warning I was not to draw attention. I keep my speed at an even one hundred. Law enforcement can do nothing. All First Species are now exempt from crime.

  Because we don't commit them.

  If we were to take care of a Mutable... or ten—the humans were none the wiser.

  We do not take pleasure in harming those who cannot defend themselves. Humans fall under that purview.

  That is why it's such a grave transgression that we find females who've been taken by Mutables.

  Now we kill any Mutable from a colony for sport. A more deserving target would never show themselves than a supe who means harm to females.

  Slowing to the decreased speed of eighty as the Sioux Falls downtown exit finally appears, I tick the blinker on, indicating my direction.

  The sun seizes the last of the day, bathing the hood of the old car I use blood red, and a horrible portent grips me, hogtying my instincts as surely as water in a freezer.

  Can Murphy and his vampire partner keep Paige LaRue safe until I can determine, by scent, if she has that magic spark to throw true?

  Paige