Callan
“Can I ask you something?”
They were in the back of a heavily-armored vehicle as its diesel engine snorted and roared with effort, getting them slowly up to speed as they came around a corner. Callan wasn’t sure exactly where it was they were by this point, but he knew it was somewhere between Fort Banner’s location in the mountains to the west and Barton City, their end destination.
The only reason he knew that was because he’d been made aware ahead of time their destination. Which is also when he’d freaked out on Colonel Mara and called her an idiot over the idea. As it turns out, it wasn’t her idea, but they were doing it anyway.
“About what?” Vanek didn’t turn to look at him, his attention fixed entirely on the third occupant sharing the back of the armored transport with them.
“Mates,” he said, his eyes wandering over the matte-black chitinous armor of the Outsider he’d taken down, the first prisoner of the “war” that the humans had captured.
“You’ve found yours?” Vanek sounded surprised, looking at him before quickly turning his attention back to the prisoner. “I thought you told me your mate died long ago.”
“She did. I’d thought.”
Callan’s eyes narrowed as he stared at the Outsider, trying to figure out what it was doing. Until recently it had been still, secured against the frame with the strongest restraints mankind could forge. Kallore had tried them out and he’d been unable to win his way free, despite his prodigious strength. If he couldn’t do so, then it was assumed an Outsider couldn’t break them either.
“Is it moving?” he asked.
The smoothness of its armor didn’t give away any features, so it was impossible to tell if the Outsider was looking at them or not. Yet he’d had an eerie feeling all trip long that its attention had been focused on him, almost to the full exclusion of Vanek. He was beginning to regret having agreed to Colonel Mara’s request to escort it during transport.
And why the hell were they taking it into Barton City? Shouldn’t it be going to some remote facility way the hell away from anyone? Who cares that the lab that was their destination was the only one even remotely close that could conduct the tests necessary to find out just what the hell the armor was made of—and maybe figure out a way to defeat it. They should be taking it away from the population, not keeping it closer.
“I don’t think so,” Vanek replied. “I’m so thankful they only sent the one of these through. Can you imagine if they’d tried more?”
Callan could, and he didn’t want to. “It would have been bad. I thought for sure they would have.”
“I guess when this one didn’t get back through, they aborted the effort, assuming the radiation too high still.”
“Maybe. But it certainly shortens their timespan considerably. Another year and that thing will come flying through and ready to do some serious damage.”
“Colonel Mara will have a response by then,” Vanek said with confidence.
“Hopefully.” He glared at the creature again.
“What was your question?”
Callan blinked. Right, he’d never actually asked his question.
“Is it possible for a shifter to have two mates?”
Vanek took his eyes off the Outsider for an extended moment this time, giving Callan a long, measured look.
“Not that I’m aware of,” he replied at last, sounding unhappy about delivering the news. “You’re positive this woman is your mate?”
He thought about lying, but there seemed no point to it. “Yes. My dragon knows without hesitation.”
“And you? What do you feel?”
“I feel…I feel that I already had my love. She died, and I’m betraying her if I allow myself to be mated again.”
“You’re wrong.”
Callan glared at the other dragon shifter. “How do you think?”
“You just said how you’re just too blind to your own heart to hear it. Callan, you loved the woman you lost. I can hear that in your voice, the pain is evidence of that. But loving someone is not the same as being mated to them. It’s entirely possible that your human half fell for a woman that wasn’t your mate.”
He digested that information for a minute. “So you’re saying that I can love multiple women, but only one will ever be my mate.”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Vanek told him, both of them focused on the Outsider.
It was doing…something, except it wasn’t moving. But it was definitely not still. Callan’s eyes were trying to reconcile with his brain what was going on. The movements were happening on the surface of the armor, as if it were rearranging itself somehow.
“We should stop the convoy,” he suggested. “Something is happening.”
“I agree.” Vanek slammed the emergency halt button, and the engine died out without warning and the truck slowed to a halt.
“So this could actually be my mate?” he asked as they undid their seatbelts.
“It sounds like it. Your dragon will only ever have one. But you have two halves, Callan. Humans can love multiple times, and they hurt painfully after losing that love. Just like you hurt.”
Callan let those words sink in deep, considering just what they meant when applied to his emotions. Was it possible that Kathryn was—
Without more than a split second warning, the Outsider reshaped itself. Callan had seen it grow new limbs, and alter its arm-like appendages until they grew swords from the end. But this was something different.
Shaped similar to a human with two limbs for moving and two for doing tasks, it suddenly seemed to deflate three of those limbs, pumping all the mass into the fourth. When they’d designed the cage for transport, they’d put restraints every two inches along the way, alternating between steel clamps and reinforced cables strong enough to hold up a small bridge.
Both Callan and Vanek watched in mute shock as the steel stretched and expanded as the Outsider’s right arm grew larger and larger.
Behind them the back door to the transport hissed open. Two of the newest, most advanced battlesuits had accompanied them as well, and they were deploying now, along with three squadrons of men armed with new weapons that would hopefully penetrate the Outsider’s armor—if enough of them could be applied.
It was a formidable show of force, but the real centerpiece was the two dragon shifters, each of whom summoned their weapons now. Fire rose in gentle circles from Vanek’s palms, ready to be shaped as needed, while black liquid flowed down Callan’s arms and covered his palms, forging itself into two long blades that curved over the back of his hands.
“What do we do now?” he asked.
Vanek shook his head, but before he could respond the first metal clamp gave way. The multiple-inch thick piece of metal flew outward and clipped Vanek in the head. Even his unparalleled dragon reflexes were no match for something moving that fast.
The mighty dragon flipped backward out of the transport and slammed into the concrete, a huge gash across his face and forehead gushing blood that swiftly pooled on the road next to him.
Callan snarled and called upon his dragonbone armor, the thick pieces of defensive protection literally rising from under his skin, the yellowy-bone material making him into a fearsome visage of his dragon.
More clamps burst, but Callan wasn’t going to give it time. He charged in close, intending to decapitate the Outsider before it could win the rest of its limbs free. A wicked-looking shield of black armor sprouted from the Outsider’s upper chest, the blocky shape filled with sharp-looking thorns and blades. If he attacked it with his knives, it would rip his hands to shreds.
So Callan leaned back and slammed his booted foot into what would be the lower stomach on a human, hitting it with a mighty roar. Armor cracked and he grinned, but not for long. The shield collapsed back into the Outsider and its freed limb came around, catching him off guard.
The bones in his left arm snapped as he too was tossed from the interior of the transport, knocking one of the battlesuits to the ground as they collided with one another. From inside he heard the sound of more clamps breaking, and at least one soldier screamed as they didn’t move fast enough.
Callan got to his feet woozily, the battlesuited soldier doing the same thing. It hadn’t even gotten free yet and already it had drawn blood multiple times. Callan decided it was time they struck back.
“Everyone is clear of the transport, right?” he asked, stepping forward, lifting both arms.
A nearby soldier who appeared to be in charge nodded. “Yes sir, first protocol upon emergency engine-kill is to GTFO of the cab.”
“Excellent,” he muttered, wondering what geeteeeffoh meant. It was a word he wasn’t familiar with yet. “’Cause this might hurt. Get everyone back,” he commanded.
Without waiting to ensure his orders were followed, he pushed energy down his arms. Thick black liquid shot from his arms in a stream that merged until it was as big around as his waist. Callan directed it right through the opening, filling the inside with it.
The shriek of pain from the Outsider as it bathed in his acid sent several of the soldiers to their knees, and Callan felt something rupture in his eardrums before blood started to drip from them. Between that and his already broken arm, which was screaming at him as he held it straight to fill the inside of the transport with black acid, he was feeling rather rough.
Metal squealed and the left side of the transport exploded outward as the crazed monster fought its way free, rolling across the road, off the shoulder, and down into the ditch. Callan shouted at Vanek, hoping the other dragon shifter was alive, and then took off after the creature as it lunged for the forest. He lobbed another blast of acid at it, then twisted his good arm around his head and tossed a bola at its feet, hoping to slow it up.
The weapon, formed from two balls of acid joined by a long line in between, sailed forth and wrapped itself around the Outsider’s legs, taking it to the ground. Acid hissed and grass melted and withered as the thing rolled around, trying to clear itself off.
Callan employed the more typical weapon of his kind, casting his acid-net far and wide across the prone form of the Outsider, trapping it under the caustic web. He ran up from the side and delivered a brutal kick to where its ribcage would be, then another before darting out of the way.
The Outsider’s armor sprouted spikes and blades across its entire surface, and as it thrashed the sharp edges cut through his net, freeing it.
“Not today!” Callan said, darting in and hammering a meaty fist from his unbroken arm into the thing’s head. The Outsider, obviously still weakened from its initial incursion to earth, and without having fed on anyone’s life force, was still weakened. The blow cracked the armor and purple goop began to seep forth.
Spinning around, Callan dipped low and used his fist to club one of the legs out from under it, dropping it back to the ground. Then he stepped back, uprooting a small tree by the simple expedient of grabbing the trunk and snapping it off. Before the Outsider could react, he whipped it over and down, slamming it hard into the chitinous armor, cracking it some more.
The Outsider went still, purple goo seeping through cracks in its armor in multiple places now. Battlesuits and soldiers swarmed forward, and in moments had it ensconced in the back of the backup transport.
“I told Colonel Mara this was a bad idea,” he said, helping Vanek to his feet. “Why didn’t she just keep it frozen?”
“Can’t experiment on it that way,” Vanek said woozily, the cut on his head just now starting to close. It had been a bad one.
“Right.”
Callan stumbled back to the unwrecked transport, but before he could haul himself in, he looked down at his shirt.
“Sonofabitch,” he muttered, just now realizing that when the Outsider had first struck him, it had ripped most of the chest of his shirt away, leaving him bare. “That sucks.”
Wearily he dug his phone out of his pocket, surprised that it was still working. He punched in the number for Kathryn, pain filling him as adrenaline wore off and the shock of his broken arm, head impact, and general “ouch” filled him. He had a large welt forming from where he’d hit the battlesuit. It would all heal, but he’d be a mass of soreness for several hours.
“Hello?”
“Hi, Kathryn. It’s Callan.” He spoke plainly and quickly. “Will you do something for me?”
“Uh, I guess? Why, what’s up? I thought you were doing that job thing today.”
“I am. I was. Whatever. Listen, will you come visit me? At my place?”
“At your place?”
Despite his current condition, the pain couldn’t prevent his system from becoming a tangled mass of suspense as he realized what he’d just asked her.
“Yes. I’m in rough shape, and I could really use the company.”
That’s an understatement.
“I…I can do that,” she said with a brief stutter, indicating she was feeling trepid about the idea as well.
“Okay. Thank you.” He gave her the address information and estimated time of when he’d be back, then climbed back into the back of the transport. A pile of purple goo was forming under the inert Outsider.
Vanek joined him a moment later, taking in the mess that was their “prisoner.” Then he looked at Callan.
“We’re still getting paid, right?”