37. Chapter 37
Riley
The bond pulsated against my sternum, a warm, steady current that helped settle the anxiety in my gut. Conall’s voice was still in my head as I scrolled through my old incoming calls. I love you. I’m coming home.
I hesitated over Adrian Marlowe’s phone number. He was still blocked from when I first got his call in Yellowstone. I shut the bedroom door and stood for a moment, my forehead pressed against the cool wood.
The implant sent a cold warning through my nervous system. High-risk scenario, low probability of positive outcome. Proceed with caution.
“Thanks for that,” I muttered. Taking a deep breath, I unblocked his number.
My damaged heart was beating too fast. Not quite arrhythmia, but close enough that my implant registered it and sent a corrective pulse out.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my finger hovering over Marlowe’s number.
There were a dozen reasons not to do this, but McKenna and the other victims deserved a chance.
Dozens, maybe hundreds, of supernaturals had been wired, chipped, and turned into weapons. People who’d been kidnapped, tortured, and had their minds wiped and reprogrammed. They were victims, not monsters.
And Marlowe knew how the tech worked. I took a breath, let it out slowly, then pressed send. He answered on the second ring.
“Hello, sweetheart.” His voice sounded exactly the way I remembered it in my nightmares. Deep and melodious, with that faint undercurrent of mocking superiority. Like poisoned honey.
“Marlowe.” I kept my voice flat.
“I was wondering if you’d call.” I could hear the smile in his voice, the quiet pleasure. “Though I didn’t expect it so soon. The interview was... bold.”
“It was either go big or let you and your corrupt friends take over the government.”
He chuckled. “General Wilson was never my friend. He was useful, but there’s a difference.”
I closed my eyes. My implant cataloged his vocal patterns, cadence of his speech, and the subtle shifts in his mood, filing it all away and building a profile. The device had gotten better at understanding and categorizing humans.
“I watched the interview,” he continued in a conversational tone. “You told the world you can Spool. You're an outlier Resonant and a Spooler. Do you have any idea how rare you are?”
I walked over to the window and stared out. “I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
“No,” he snapped, “I don’t believe you do.
Because if you did, you wouldn’t have disclosed to the whole world what you’re truly capable of.
” His words came out sharp and angry. But he sucked in a breath, and his smooth veneer slid back in place.
“You should’ve protected yourself and your secrets. But I’ll help watch over you.”
My stomach clenched. “I don’t need your protection. Citizens should know what Apex has done, and what they plan to do.”
“A coup was never my plan, pet. Wilson is reactionary and short-sighted. Why overthrow the government when we can easily control it without all the danger and upheaval? I should have figured out what you are,” he went on.
“At Roswell, after I saw what you did to Dr. Abrams and your chip. You were magnificent, and I should have known. A Spooler. Christ.” His breathing had picked up.
“I’ve spent countless hours going over every second with you.
Every camera feed, every witness statement.
I miss it. I miss you, and I know somewhere inside, you miss me too. ”
“You’re delusional if you think I miss you or Roswell.”
His voice softened again to that dangerous, intimate tone. “You belong to me, pet. We’re meant to be together.”
“No, we aren’t, Marlowe.”
He sighed ruefully. “Maybe not, but our fates are intertwined, Blackthorne.”
The implant sent another cold pulse through me, trying to regulate the fear and repulsion pumping through my system.
“I’m going to be honest with you.” My voice came out steadier than I expected.
“I think you’re a manipulative, soulless, narcissistic bastard who enjoys torturing and playing with innocent people.
The thought of being anywhere near you makes me want to peel my skin off, and I’d rather be dead than be under your control again. ”
I thought he’d hung up at first, then he let out a soft, almost inaudible chuckle. Not anger, but amusement. It was somehow worse.
“You’ve never been good at lying, even when you think you’re telling the truth.” His voice was almost fond. “You called me. Why?”
Right. It was time to get to the reason I put myself through this. “Your victims. I want to know how to break the conditioning and deprogram them. Or at least neutralize the effects.”
Another pause. Longer this time as he calculated the angles. “You want to save them.”
“Yes.”
“Why?” he asked again.
“Because they’re people who had lives and loved ones. They aren’t weapons or pets, and someone needs to help them.”
He made a dismissive sound. “I gave them purpose and structure. Most were broken or drifting, and we gifted them with enhanced abilities.”
“You turned them into mindless killing machines.”
“I improved them.” His voice had that edge again. “The newest implants are remarkable and far more integrated. Your Spooling abilities would be even more powerful. No more blowback, blackouts, or nosebleeds. You’ll be able to access your full potential without burning out.”
How did he know about my exact symptoms? The bedroom suddenly felt too small, like the walls were closing in. “Tell me how to help them, or I’m hanging up.”
His voice dropped to an intimate whisper. “You aren’t a victim, Riley. With your abilities and my vision, we’d be unstoppable.”
I disconnected and let the silence rush in, thick and heavy. My phone buzzed, and Marlowe’s name flashed on the screen. I stared at it, my thumb hovering over the decline button as my implant ran a rapid calculation.
Probability of useful information: moderate. Risk of psychological harm: high. Recommend terminating all contact.
I answered.
“That was childish.”
“You know what my terms are. I want information about the operatives. If you’re not going to give me anything, we’re done.”
He let out a sigh like he was indulging a child. “You’re remarkably stubborn. Fine. Here’s a tidbit for you. The conditioning is not always irreversible. The chip creates a feedback loop, but it’s not perfect… yet.”
“How can we break through?” I held my breath, hoping he’d keep talking.
“You probably can’t. But if the operatives experience sustained positive emotional states, the chip’s hold can weaken.”
“So love and positive human interaction can break the programming.” It was similar to what Dr. Wharton had prescribed.
“Maybe. In some cases, the human brain appears to be more resilient than conditioning and technology. For now.” The qualifier didn’t escape me.
“Thank you,” I murmured, because he’d likely given me useful information.
“You’re welcome.” The smile was back in his voice. “I’ll see you soon, sweetheart.” I shuddered at the nickname. If we ever talked again, I would demand he never call me that again.
Early the next morning, a hard, familiar body slid into bed. Conall’s masculine scent mixed with desert rain wrapped around me, and I hummed when he softly kissed my neck.
“Good morning, a stór. God, I missed you.” My leg curled around his hip, and I pulled him into me.
“You’re back,” I whispered.
“So are you,” he teased, rolling me onto my back and fitting himself between my thighs.
Then he smoothed my wild hair back from my face and kissed me as I slowly dragged my fingernails up his back, then across his lats, appreciating his hard muscles and smooth skin.
Groaning, he nipped my bottom lip, then deepened the kiss.
When we broke apart for air, he pulled my tank top and sleep shorts off, then slowly sucked and licked his way down my neck, to my chest, and then to my center. I arched into his delicious, talented mouth.
His soft touches and our quiet laughter healed something inside me that had been scraped raw by my conversation with Marlowe. I came on his tongue as I cried out his name.
Rolling him onto his back, I kissed and licked my way down his chest, and eventually took him into my mouth, repeating what he’d done to me.
A few hours later, Sahara knocked loudly on the bedroom door. “I have food. You need to eat something besides each other,” she called out. I lay sprawled across Conall’s chest, boneless and half-asleep, but I blushed immediately.
“Leave it outside the door,” Conall called back as he stroked my back.
“I made scrambled eggs and toast. Drew’s fielded fourteen calls from different reporters, and Parker wants you to call him when you come up for air. ‘Kay, I’m leaving now. Bye!”
Propping myself up on his chest, I put my chin in my hand. “Life is intruding.”
He brushed my hair back and fingered my white streak. “You called Adrian Marlowe last night, didn’t you?” I wasn’t surprised he knew. After the news conference, Drew and his people were probably monitoring my phone as a safety precaution.
“Yes. Then I took a long, hot shower to scrub off a layer of skin and fell into bed hugging your pillow. I want to figure out how to help Apex’s victims,” I admitted. “I talked to him in return for information.”
“You aren’t responsible for saving everyone, love. Let my Betas and me have this one.”
I nodded, relief sliding through me. “Okay. I’m not too proud to admit he scares me.” He leaned in to kiss along my jaw as I told him about the conversation.
“We discussed this in our Pack Council meetings, and it was one of the few things we all agreed on. Parker blew up the facility yesterday, didn’t he?”
I blushed again, but this time for a different reason.
“He may or may not have called his Combat Engineer buddy and taken a trip to Yellowstone to tie up that loose end.” Conall opened his mouth, but I put a finger over his mouth.
“I know. But before you yell at me, I didn’t tell you because I wanted you to have plausible deniability. And it needed to be destroyed.”