The Lycaning by Lori R. Lopez

Author:Lori R. Lopez [Lopez, Lori R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B00857522Q
Publisher: Fairy Fly Entertainment
Published: 2012-05-21T07:00:00+00:00

Ignacius Brink gloats in triumph and vainly congratulates himself for a brilliant scheme. The fools have blundered into the ambush without a clue. Raising an arm, he signals by tightening a fist. Gun-toting soldiers emerge from concealment. An offensive maneuver to snare the targets.

The man and woman dart out, flushed by the assault to sprint past a hedge and make a beeline for the entrance of the brick fortress. The door is unlocked, maybe ajar. Probably left unsecured by the werewolves. Brink smacks his brow, then mentally berates himself for not checking so obvious a detail. His men could have been waiting inside and none the wiser! Face purple with vehement embarrassment at the oversight, he demands by radio why nobody surveilling the place knew about the door in advance.

He sucks calming breaths to balance his blood pressure.

The portal slams. Bolts are thrown. His men reach the entrance seconds tardy. Enraged, Ignacius shouts “No!”

A battering log is rushed forth. The door resists, heavily fortified after prior abuse. Then the wood yields along the jamb, and the threshold is accessed.

Treading on the sill with a jaunty air, the leader trails his goons into the manse. He arrogantly struts to a library, humming, and spins a fancy globe. Riffling pages of a jumbo dictionary on a lectern, he feels justified to be there having financed the abode.

His double quarry fled to the interior. This should be fun. He always did enjoy a hunt. Though he usually shot at things from a helicopter. Infinitely more thrilling to chase prey on foot, he revels. Striding corridors clad in riot gear, Brink radios his henchmen to bottle them till he arrives. He wants to be there.

Commandos crowd the stairs down to a vault. A reinforced door is prepped with wire, plastic explosives. The squad retreats. The detonator is pressed. A shockwave concusses, and the thick portal is sundered.

Nice, approves Ignacius, uncovering his ears. All according to the masterplan. He saunters inside a lab funded by his money. The man and woman glare, pinned at the rear of the chamber by guerrillas brandishing automatic rifles. Brink savors the look of recognition and surprise on the face of the male.

“You’re the owner of the company my mother worked for,” Charles Craddock scorns. “She sued you after the accident!”

“Oh, I assure you that was no accident. Your pregnant mummy was the perfect subject for an experiment on genetic mutation. She graciously assisted with the preliminary research and had no idea that she would be the guinea pig! It’s really quite ironic.” Ignacius shakes his head in amusement.

A range of emotions mold the younger man’s aspect. Horror twists to anger. Sadness, regret, agony. Then horror again. “It was you. Behind everything.” His voice is strangled. He chokes on the words. “The Mutosis I was born with. The bone cancer that was slowly killing Miriam.” He confesses to the female at his side, “She didn’t tell me, didn’t want to alarm me. I intercepted a phone call about a cancelled appointment.

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