Act of Mercy Page 2

  He hated people who died.

  Hated them.

  The phone rang again and Duke’s already thin temper wore through. He snatched the receiver up and put it to his ear. “What!”

  “Please, I need to know if you’re them,” came the sexy-as-all-get-out voice.

  His nostrils flared. “Woman, this is a private line reserved for shit you can’t possibly wrap your mind around. Stop using it for your crazy.”

  “I’m not crazy.”

  “Oh, you just go around talking about test subjects all the time?” he asked. “Let me guess, you were taken by aliens who did naughty things to you.”

  “I’m sorry, what?” she responded, huffing.

  “Hey, if it’s an anal probing you’re after, I’d be happy to volunteer.”

  “You are a pig,” she shouted back.

  “No. I’m a wolf. So, is that a yes or no to the anal probing?” Damn, she had a hot voice and he’d love to have her bent over before him. His dick throbbed at the idea.

  “Jerk!” she yelled before hanging up on him.

  Whatever.

  He looked across the main office in division headquarters. Rows of black desks filled the large gray bullpen area. There was a raised walkway that circled the rounded room. Various doors dotted it. Some were offices. Others interrogation rooms. Some were briefing rooms. The hallway to the left led to the restrooms. On the walls of the hallway were various awards and other items of valor. Except the Asshole of the Week Award. That one wasn’t exactly legit but they had fun awarding it all the same.

  Boomer Walsh was the current winner of the award. He’d held the title two weeks running. He’d gotten piss-ass drunk and fallen asleep in shifted form. The rest of the team had carried him to the zoo, unlocked the panther habitat and added Boomer to it. He woke with a female panther trying very hard to convince him she was mating material. The entire event made a great picture that hung next to the award plaque.

  Duke had held the title of Asshole of the Week a few times in his career as well.

  The time he’d decided to provoke an entire den of vampires when all he had to defend himself with was a stick had earned him the title for two consecutive months. Took the cleanup crews about that long to get all the dead vampire cleaned out of the area. Took him twice as long to get the stench of extra dead vampire off him. Some smelled rotten no matter what and others held very little scent. He’d always wondered about it, but not enough to bother asking any of them.

  The hallway to the right led to the infirmary. Duke wasn’t a fan of hospitals or clinics, no matter how state of the art they were. He didn’t mind needles or anything like that, it was just that he’d seen a lot of death in his life. Too much to make him pleased to be around people near the end. Hospitals made him itch. Not as much as planes or anything that flew did.

  He fucking hated to fly.

  He’d had to fly more times than he’d cared to for the week prior when he’d been called in to help a fellow PSI-Op. Eadan Daly was someone he considered a friend. The guy was also the reason Duke was now forced to type out reports.

  Damn Fae.

  Eadan was young yet, barely thirty, but like Duke he’d stopped aging. Somehow, Eadan, even at his young age within the immortal world, had managed to find love and happiness. He and his mate were together. That was what was important. Not the how or whys of how they’d come to be that way. Too many people stuck their noses where they didn’t belong and mocked the idea of happiness that could last. Duke didn’t really find the matter to be a laughing one. He’d have given anything to have it, even if just for a few minutes. Instead, he was left scratching his manly itch with women who meant nothing to him. Quite honestly, he often didn’t bother to catch their names. They weren’t his mate or mate material so he didn’t bother with attachments.

  It was easier that way.

  Most of the women he allowed to warm his bed weren’t supernaturals so they weren’t permitted to know anything paranormal really existed. Never good to start anything serious with someone you can’t tell the truth to. He never told any of them he loved them. Hell, he didn’t even bother saying he liked them. That was implied if he fucked them. He was open with them all, telling them firmly he was only in it to get off, nothing more. They wanted a night with him so they accepted it. He held no guilt over that.

  Besides, they were mortal. It couldn’t last. They’d age and die. He wouldn’t—at least not for a long, long time.

  Unless he got himself killed. Which could possibly happen with the devil-may-care attitude he possessed on some things.

  He had to be so careful with humans. They were fragile things.

  The supernatural females he’d taken to his bed were fine to help pass the time, but they weren’t what he wanted to spend forever with. Hell, Duke wasn’t sure if he even was forever material. Despite how much he knew he wanted it. Longing still lingered deep within Duke. He wanted what Eadan had. What so many of the Immortal Ops (I-Ops) had—a mate.

  Wouldn’t happen.

  Not at his age. It wasn’t as if she’d just suddenly show up out of the blue after all this time. He didn’t have that type of luck.

  If his woman had been out there, he’d have found her by now.

  The Immortal Ops only just found their mates, he thought to himself.

  Could be hope.

  The damn phone rang again. He lifted it, already expecting it to be the nut case who made his dick hard. “Woman, what now? You rethink the anal probing?”

  The woman made an annoyed noise. “I did not call in any alien abduction and I do not want to be anally probed by you. Can I please speak to someone not you? They do have someone who isn’t an asshole there, don’t they?”

  He thought about it. “Nope. We’re all pretty much assholes.”

  She sighed. “If they find out I’m calling you at all, they’ll kill me.”

  He stopped being annoyed and started paying attention—not that his dick had ever stopped being attentive to the voice, but the conversation was getting serious now. “Okay, slow down. Who will kill you?”

  “The Corporation,” she said, pausing for what felt like forever. “I have to go.”

  She hung up.

  Duke tried to figure out how to return the call but he couldn’t even get a line out of the building without assistance, he was that phone-challenged. Worry for the woman coursed through his veins and he held the phone in his hand until it began to beep, signaling the line was dead.

  He waited, hoping she’d call back.

  She didn’t.

  His gaze drifted downward to his groin. It was still very interested in the woman’s voice. More than it should have been considering it was just a phone call—okay, several phone calls.

  Still.

  Your luck, it was your mate, calling you out of the blue, dumbass.

  He growled, hating how sentimental and emotional he was letting himself be. He’d have to track down Jinx, a madam who headed up underground paranormal brothels out in Seattle, and see what kinds of girls she had available. It had been too long since he’d last had sex and soon enough the wolf in him would demand it as well.

  It liked sex as much as he did.

  Maybe more.

  Horny animal.

  “It is what it is,” he grumbled, pecking at the keyboard once more, his mindset slightly on work. A lot of crap had been going on. More than normal.

  Until a few months ago, PSI and I-Op division stayed very separate. He didn’t know why, only that they’d been tight-lipped on both sides about the matter. All that had changed. They now had to work together.

  And that meant even more paperwork.

  Damn I-Ops.

  He focused on his reports. While they may be done, they still needed to be emailed. Damn, he hated computers. Everyone around him loved them but he liked putting pen to paper, not fingertips to keyboard. He took a lot of grief at the office about his aversion to certain technologies. He wasn’t a luddite, but the others i
n PSI enjoyed calling him one.

  He wasn’t fond of technology and he wasn’t a fan of being lifted thousands of feet above sea level by a hunk of metal. People should protest it more. He came from a time when you worked with your hands and steam-powered locomotives were impressive. People used to actually talk face to face. Not like it was now, where everyone had their noses pressed to their phones.

  He missed the old days.

  While he would forever look to be in his mid-thirties, he was considerably older. With that age came the reluctance to accept change with ease. Plus, he was stubborn by nature. And truth of the matter was, most of what he was given technology-wise ended up breaking. In his opinion it was shit. The quality of it all kept going down but the prices seemed to jump.

  Rip off.

  He’d seen a lot during his lifespan. Some good. Some not so good. And some downright horrifying.

  An auburn-haired, bearded giant poked his head into the room. Striker McCracken was there, grinning a grin that said he was ready to be up to no good. The man was larger than Duke muscle-wise and in height. That was damn impressive, considering just how big Duke was.

  Striker was Dougal only to his momma, who had been buried over a century. Duke knew his real name because he’d actually met the man’s mother way back when. She’d been a sweet woman half her son’s size, yet still managed to keep him in line nicely. Her death still hit Striker hard. No one ever brought her up because of it.

  “You almost done?” asked Striker, traces of the Scottish accent showing through. Striker’s accent had been so bad at one point that barely anyone could understand him. He might as well have been speaking Gaelic for all the good it had done him. “I’m positive the bar at the corner has beers with our names on ’em. What do you say we go and fill ourselves full of cheap alcohol?”

  With a groan, Duke emailed off his reports. “I fucking hate this thing,” he said, as he tried to get the computer to go to sleep, but it kept instantly waking up. The thing was cursed. That or it had it in for him. One or the other.

  “Name one thing you do like,” Striker mused.

  Duke flashed a wide smile. “Women. I like women.”

  “That you do.” Striker eased up next to Duke and held out his cell phone.

  Duke looked at the small screen and tipped his head. “What the fuck is that?”

  Striker beamed. “Picture of me in my kilt.”

  “Where are the rest of your clothes and why are you standing in front of a mirror? What are you holding?”

  Sighing, Striker shook his head as if he was going to need to speak to a child. “I’m holdin’ my phone to take the picture and the ladies like it when I post pictures of myself shirtless on my profile page.”

  Duke stiffened. “You took a picture of yourself and put it on the internet?”

  “Aye.”

  Duke seriously considered getting a new best friend. His current one was a jackass.

  Striker leaned in and held his phone out, snapping a picture of them both. Duke grabbed his phone and squeezed, crushing it with one hand. It fell to pieces on the floor.

  “Och, was that called for?” asked Striker, looking far too attached to his phone for Duke’s liking.

  “Think about what you’re doing. How are you going to explain all that away later when you have to reinvent yourself?”

  Striker licked his lips. “I’m gonna tell ’em I’m a vampire or a time traveler. Humans seem to be into wantin’ one of those to be true. I say fuck it. We give ’em what they want. They’re simple minded. They’ll believe what we tell ’em.”

  Duke sat perfectly still, knowing his friend was on a roll. “Vampires are real. I took out an entire den of them just last month.”

  Striker waved a hand dismissively. “Not the rotting kind. The sexy kind. Like in the movies.”

  “Jackass.”

  “Thanks. You owe me a phone.”

  “Corbin keeps extras in his desk drawer for when I lose my temper. Grab one of those.” Duke pointed in the direction of Corbin’s desk and then went back to trying to get his computer to shut off. His computer won the battle four more times in a row. “Piece of shit!”

  Laughing, Striker came to his rescue with a new phone in hand. He took the wireless mouse from Duke’s grasp. “It’s nae gonna shut down with you bumpin’ the mouse. Here. Let me.”

  Duke slid back in the chair and then stood. He’d rather be in the den again with the vamps and a stick than dealing with the piece of crap computer. “Keep the fucker.”

  Striker continued to laugh. “You know, if you tried a little harder you might actually learn to like the thing.”

  Sliding his long-time friend a hard look, Duke stood silent. No words needed to be spoken. He’d never bond with his damn computer. It simply wasn’t in his nature.

  Striker glanced at the screen. “Hold up, are these the reports on the Seattle incident?”

  “Yep.”

  “Anything interesting you want to share? We ever find the person who relayed the faulty meeting coordinates to you?” asked Striker.

  Duke understood what Striker was actually asking—did they find the traitor who sent Duke on a wild goose chase while one of their operatives needed assistance and backup. Shaking his head, Duke stood, allowing Striker to take his seat. “No. I knew the voice was off but, Striker, the guy had the passcodes. I didn’t recognize the voice but you know interference can be on some of the comms and relay equipment.”

  Striker sighed. “Aye, I’d believe the orders too if I were given the right passcodes.”

  “That was what they were counting on,” Duke agreed. “I fell right into their trap. Eadan was lucky to have the Immortal Ops Team there to back him. I nearly didn’t make it in time.”

  Striker shut off the devil computer and stood as well. He touched Duke’s shoulder. “You couldnae help how it went down and in the end you did make it in time. Eadan was thankful for yer help.”

  There was nothing Duke could say so he decided to change the subject. “Beers, huh?”

  “Cheap ones.” Striker laughed.

  “You do realize we have more money than we could ever hope to spend, right?” questioned Duke. And they did. They’d all done well in their own rights and PSI paid ridiculously well. They had to.

  “The cheaper the beer, the more I feel like home,” Striker added.

  “Missin’ the good ole days?” Duke smiled as he walked towards the lobby. “When you ran around in a kilt, singing songs of William Wallace while you got shitfaced off crappy beer.”

  Striker paused. “Old days? Och. I call that William Wallace Wednesdays. He’s a legend amongst lycans who fell too early. We should get a day off work each year in honor of him. I’ll petition for it. Right after I finish drinking tonight.”

  Having seen the man drunk too many times to count in their long history of being friends, Duke knew it was closer to the truth than not. “Hey, after beers, I need to run. You in?”

  Striker was a lycan as well and often ran in shifted form with Duke in the woods outside PSI Headquarters. The woods were stocked with deer and other woodland creatures on purpose, there for the operatives who were shifters to hunt and kill. Before they’d ensured something was there for the men to hunt, the men did it on their own, elsewhere.

  What a mess.

  This, while certainly not winning them any favor with animal rights activists, was the safest thing for everyone. Better a deer than an unsuspecting human. Sadly, it was part of the total package when it came to being a natural-born shifter, unlike humans who were bitten and infected with the virus that left them shifting forms and lived to tell the tale. Those lucky bastards weren’t slaves to so many things as naturals were. Seemed like it should have been opposite, but nature had a funny way of saying fuck you—even if I created you.

  A human getting eaten near headquarters by an operative had happened more than once in the past. Still kind of happened. They were just better at hiding it.

  He put
his palm to the scanner at the lobby door. “Weird that they check us in and out when we’re salaried.”

  Striker wrinkled his face. “Big brother’s way of keepin’ track of how much we show our faces in here.”

  “I hate big brother,” Duke said, knowing he’d get a laugh out of his friend.

  “Aye, me too. Now, there are beers with our names on them.” Striker rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and Duke wondered if the man had started the party without him.

  “Had a few already?”

  Striker lifted his thumb and forefinger. “Wee bit.”

  As Duke stood closer he picked up on the smell of whiskey on Striker’s breath. A wee bit would have worn off already. Their metabolism was that fast. Striker had had more than a few drinks. He’d probably put away a bottle or two.

  “Mankind feels safer already,” Duke jested. He was all for blowing off steam. They’d put in a lot of hours in the last month and been dealing with a rash of bullshit in the way of bad guys. They needed to relax and unwind every once in a while to prevent them from losing their temper when a situation didn’t call for it. “With us in charge of their safety, why wouldn’t they?”

  “Hey, they don’t know we exist. To them we’re the stuff of fairytales.”

  Duke slid his friend a hard look. “I’m no faerie.”

  “You’re too ugly. They wouldnae take you,” Striker said with a snort. “They’d nae take either of us. We’re not pretty enough.”

  “True. Let’s go get you drunker.”

  Striker pressed the button for the elevator. “In my defense, I’ve been off the clock for nearly four hours, waiting for you to finish yer damn paperwork. A damn monkey types faster than you do.”

  The elevator doors opened and Duke entered. Striker followed close behind. Duke was happy whoever built this division office had the brains to make an elevator big enough and strong enough to hold multiple paranormal males. A few of the division headquarters were so tightly fitted that it was hard to move down the halls of them walking normally. One he had to actually turn sideways to pass through.

  “So,” he continued. “Do we have any monkey shifters on staff? We should. That would be kickass. Speaking of ass, do you think they’d pick theirs like a monkey would?”