'Roo and the Angel Read online

  ‘Roo and the Angel

  Furry United Coalition #7

  Eve Langlais

  Copyright © 2017, Eve Langlais

  Cover Art by Dreams2Media © 2017

  Produced in Canada

  Published by Eve Langlais

  http://www.EveLanglais.com

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  E-ISBN: 978 177 38 4035 2

  Print ISBN: 978 177 384 0468

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  ’Roo and the Angel is a work of fiction and the characters, events and dialogue found within the story are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, either living or deceased, is completely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced or shared in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including but not limited to digital copying, file sharing, audio recording, email and printing without permission in writing from the author.

  Introduction

  What idiot decided to make the Jones boys official agents with a license to FUC?

  Jeb did something bad. And no, he didn’t murder anyone—recently. Nor did he put itching powder in his brother’s jockstrap—again. He did, however, smuggle a test subject out of an experimental lab against FUC orders.

  In his defense, he saved an angel.

  At least that is how Jeb sees Nevaeh with her shadow wings. She’s a maiden in need of rescue and a sweet girl—until you get on her bad side. Then things get really interesting—and violent. Which might be kind of why FUC is so interested in getting their paws on her. And don’t get him started on ASS shaking its tail feathers, too.

  Everyone wants a piece of his angel. Know what he says? Too bad. So sad. Because this stubborn ’roo has decided he wants her as his mate.

  Prologue

  Close. Getting so close. The science still had a few hiccups—the evidence was in the cages on the second floor.

  Still, some failures were expected when embarking on a project of such magnitude.

  They were achieving greatness. So what if it broke a few laws? Ignore the fact that some of the subjects—make that all of them—were unwilling. The end game was what mattered.

  The money to be made.

  The fact that this science, the ability to change mankind, would render them a god.

  And someone had dared to attack a god in the making. Dared to question the work.

  They would pay. But not with their lives. There were better uses for those opposing him. Better tasks suited to the Jones boys such as empty cages that could use fresh specimens.

  Muahahahahaha.

  1

  “Are you an angel?” The question emerged from the man standing in front of Nevaeh’s cage. He didn’t just stand there, though. He stared at her. At least she assumed he stared. Hard to tell what his eyes were doing behind his shaded goggles. The fact he wore them inside gave her an insane urge to sing a certain song by Corey Hart.

  The stranger, dressed in mercenary black from head to toe, wasn’t someone she’d ever seen here before and, given he didn’t wear the usual company uniform, offered a slight beacon of hope.

  “Let me out.” The words emerged more like an order than a plea. He didn’t immediately react, and Nevaeh had to wonder if he heard her. Or if he even cared.

  Why should he? After all, it wasn’t as if the doctors and scientists and guards in this place ever paid her wishes, or her rights, any mind.

  Bastards. I hope you all catch something awful. A virulent disease that would have them pooping out their innards and dying a disgusting death. She’d seen it before. It wasn’t pretty.

  “Hello? Earth to stranger.” She snapped her fingers impatiently when he didn’t reply.

  He pushed the goggles up onto his forehead, shoving his hair up into spikes. He did indeed stare at her with bright, brown eyes set in a rock-hewn face, the kind that showed no expression, no emotion. No compassion.

  The one thing she was fairly certain of was he didn’t belong in this place. For one, he actually looked at her and not through her, but more importantly, he didn’t have the same smell as the others. No decontamination baths for him. Rather, he stank of smoke and gunpowder. Was he part of the group attacking this place? She’d woken to the welcome sound of weapons’ fire and explosions while the screams had her fervently wishing all the douchetards in this place came to a permanent end.

  And I hope it hurt.

  They deserved it for hurting her.

  As for the stranger, she’d yet to ascertain, rescuer or executioner? Since coming to this place, she could no longer tell people’s intentions. Even the kindest smile sometimes hid a devious agenda. The doctors pretended to be friendly even as they plotted—and experimented.

  And when those test subjects didn’t quite turn out as expected? The institute knew how to keep a secret and wasn’t afraid to eliminate mistakes. They had to, given what they did inside these locked walls was illegal and immoral. Those scientists, who pretended to not hear the pleas for mercy, had to hide their actions. Hide their sick agenda.

  Mixing people with animals. What the hell was that about? Why would anyone want to create hybrid monsters?

  One doctor claimed it was the future of mankind. Um, hello. Had that idiot never read a book or watched a movie?

  The world would never accept people who weren’t normal. Would never live alongside those who were different.

  Those were the ones the institute considered failures. The successful ones? Those were the ones who made it through the experiments with their changes hidden. Invisible, yet present if needed. Some of the test subjects could control the shifts in their DNA, looking human one second, full animal the next. She’d seen it with her own eyes. Those were considered a success.

  Others, like those kept on this level, in this section, inside the long row of cages, couldn’t hide their extra parts. Like Rory and his furry mane, which might not have been so bad if it weren’t for his whiskers, the tufted tail, and the fact he couldn’t talk, only roar. Which got tiresome after a while.

  Then there was Lump—one big blob of a man—and Snake with his yellow-slitted stare and forked tongue. They didn’t look human and even now warbled and hissed at the man standing sentinel with a gun slung over his shoulder.

  A man who wouldn’t stop staring at her.

  Staring at her wings.

  “Take a picture. It will last longer,” she snapped, annoyed by his rudeness. Then again, what did she expect?

  Unlike Lump and the rest, Nevaeh looked human. She had all her toes and fingers, the face in mirrors still her own. But she could never walk down a city street again, not with what they’d done to her.

  She’d never be free.

  His hands went to his ears, and he popped out a plug before saying in a low voice. “Hi.”

  Hi? He ogled a woman in a cage and that was all he could say?

  Someone was a little fascinated and tongue-tied, which was why she approached the bars and gave him her best damsel-in-distress expression. “Help me. Please.” She even added a trembling lower lip—rather than an upraised middle finger.

  He visibly started and asked again, “Are you an angel?”

  Not quite. Although she could understand his confusion, what with those things sticking out of her back. Wings, great big ones. Thankfully, she didn’t have a halo to go with them. Not even close, although, in a twist of irony, her actual name was Nevaeh, which was heaven spelled backwards. But her parents couldn’t have known when she was born what would eventually happen to her.

  “Do I look like a do-gooder angel?” she asked.

  “You have wings.”

  “Really? I hadn’t noticed,” she replied with a sarcastic lilt.

  “I guess that
was rude of me to point out.”

  “You think?” She arched a brow. “How would you like it if I pointed out the fact you have a scar by your lip?”

  “You’d just be proving what my dad says, that chicks dig scars.”

  Her lips pressed flat. “I am not a chick, nor am I digging anything. You, obviously, get off on seeing a woman in a cage.”

  “Actually, you’re my first.”

  “Bet you haven’t said that in a while,” she grumbled.

  “You would be right.” The corner of his lip lifted, and she was stunned by the realization he flirted with her. The distant sound of gunfire snapped her back to her reality.

  “Can you get me out of here?”

  He approached the bars and, before she could give him warning, placed his hands on them.

  Sizzle. As the current coursed through his flesh, he did a little jiggle, his eyes widened, and his hair lifted. He flung himself back and shook his hands. “Holy lizard on a hot plate. They electrified the bars.”

  A lesson all the prisoners quickly learned. “I was about to warn you.”

  “Warning me would have been shouting, ‘Don’t touch.’”

  “Don’t touch.”

  He glared.

  She shrugged. “Don’t be a baby about it. You’re still alive.”

  “My hands are burning.”

  “I know. It will go away after awhile.” She knew from experience. “Can you deactivate it and let me out?”

  “Who are you?” he asked instead.

  She might have said something rude—along the lines of your worse fucking nightmare if you don’t release me—except Rory the freakin’ lion chose that moment to let out a pitiful roar. More like a cat that got its tail stepped on, but enough to draw the guy’s attention. He turned away, giving her a view of an ass that looked remarkably fine in those cargo pants. However now was not the time to admire his butt. He was the first person since her capture to actually see her. Talk to her without using the words, “Hold still while we take some blood.” He represented the only chance she’d seen thus far to escape.

  “Ignore him. He’s always meowing.”

  The stranger’s gaze swung back to her. “Is he stuck like that?”

  “You think we want to look like freaks?”

  “You’re not freaks.”

  The emphasis narrowed her gaze and roused some doubt. “Are you with them?” Them as in the dicks who ran this place.

  “If you’re implying I had a part in this, then no. Not even close.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  “I’m looking for my brother and his girlfriend.”

  “Do they work here?”

  He shook his head. “They were taken prisoner recently.”

  “New test subjects.”

  “Have you seen them?”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, my view is rather limited. If they’re not in this room, then no.”

  “Bugger. Give me a sec would you.” He shoved his earpiece back in and tapped it. “Second level, west section, no sign of Jax and his chick.”

  Definitely not one of the guards then. “Let me out and I’ll help you look.” She’d keep an eye out as she fled for the nearest exit.

  “You’ll be free soon enough, Angel. Rescue is coming.”

  “Don’t you mean more cages and more doctors?” Her lip curled. “I’m not stupid. You and I both know me and my buddies in this here room won’t be set free. Heck, the chances of me living another week are pretty slim.” Because the world could never know what happened here.

  He didn’t even deny it. “Those that can be rehabilitated will be set free.”

  “You mean those that look human.”

  He stepped closer. “Can you hide your wings?”

  She fluttered them. “Exactly how would you suggest I do that? If I could hide them, I wouldn’t be on this level with the freaks.” At the hiss from her more feline jail companion, she tossed a casual, “Sorry, Rory, but it’s true. They only keep what they call the failures here.”

  The remark made the newcomer’s lips flatten. “I take it you weren’t always like this.”

  What a stupid remark. “What do you think?” Despite the fact he was her only hope of escape, she couldn’t help the sarcasm.

  “Do the wings work? I mean, can you actually fly?”

  She shrugged. “No idea. It’s not as if the doctors ever let me out to try.” Probably afraid she’d never come back. Probably right on that score. It didn’t help that the last time she’d gotten out of her cage there’d been an incident. The kind that involved a body bag.

  A siren sounded, kind of late in the grand scheme of things. She might not have paid it much mind except she noted the far end of the hall where the stranger had entered was filling with a green gas.

  “Um, buddy, I think we might have a problem.”

  Turning, he cursed. “Shit. Someone must have managed to hit a panic button. Jay was supposed to disable those.”

  “Any idea what it is?” she asked, eyeing the green haze as it hit the first row of cells.

  “Probably not good.”

  “Duh, Sherlock,” she muttered as he walked partway up the hall lined with cages, stopping well out of reach of the gas.

  Whatever he saw had him jogging back. He stood in front of the panel for the locks on the cages. A panel flashing red.

  “What’s happening?” she asked, creeping as close as she dared to the bars.

  “Looks like they’re getting rid of the evidence.”

  A polite way of saying someone wanted to kill the liabilities. She glanced toward the other end of the room, and her jaw dropped as she noted bodies slumping in their cages. Not a single cry emerged from them. Not a single squeak as they hit the floor, and then…

  “They’re turning into puddles!” she yelled.

  “Aw, hell. This is not good. Hold on, Angel. I’m gonna try and bust you out of here.” He rammed the butt of his gun into the panel, smashing the red lights, which caused lots of pretty sparks but did nothing to open the cages.

  The mist crept closer.

  “Do something!” she screeched.

  “What would you like me to do?” he hollered back. “I don’t have a code or a key.”

  “Use your gun.”

  He looked down at his weapon and shook his head. “Bad idea. The bullets could ricochet. I think I might have something better.” He reached into a pocket and pulled out a small chunk of something dark. He shoved it against the cage, and she caught on to his plan. “Stand back.”

  No need to tell her twice. She dove into the corner, ducked her face in to it, her wings covering her like a shield.

  Boom.

  The explosion vibrated her entire body, including her teeth. When she turned around, the door to her cage hung drunkenly, and he beckoned. “Hurry. We haven’t much time.

  The green mist had reached the cell before hers. Empty of subjects, but no less ominous. She sprinted for the opening, the mangled metal not moving, her wings getting caught in the cramped crevice.

  “I’m stuck,” she gasped.

  LH—her nickname for the guy she thought of as Last Hope—shoved at the twisted door, grunting with the effort while she stared at the creeping deadly fog.

  With a scream of tortured metal, it moved, and she slid through, just in time. The mist licked at her cell as they headed for the door. A door that wouldn’t open at his shove. He cursed.

  “It’s locked,” she observed.

  “I see that. And I don’t have any explosives left.” He tapped at his ear. “Hey. If you’re listening, I need your help now. Get the door for my section unlocked.”

  He frowned and replied to a voice she couldn’t hear. “No this can’t wait, unless you want to explain to Da why you let his favorite son turn into a meat puddle.”

  LH pressed himself against the wall and drew Nevaeh beside him, both of them staring at the creeping fog. He kept up his one-sided conversation. “You can have wh
atever you like from my collection. Just get this door fucking open.”

  “No. I won’t say it.” His lips pressed tight. She pressed against him, looking to escape the mist curling close to their toes.

  The guy sighed and said, “Fine. You win. You are the handsomest of the Joneses and the best brother ever in the whole wide fucking world. Now open the godsdamned door!”

  Click. The door gave suddenly, the electronic lock releasing. They wasted no time spilling into the next hall, slamming the door shut behind them.

  “I am going to put itching powder in his boots,” LH grumbled.

  “I hope you don’t mean the guy who saved our lives.”

  “Don’t be fooled. My brother is a dick,” he grumbled as he took stock of their new location.

  Brother? Was this some kind of family operation? Did it matter? He’d gotten her out of the cage.

  They found themselves in a huge lab. An empty lab. The scientists who usually worked here either gone or hiding.

  Come out, come out, wherever you are. She wouldn’t mind having a word with them, without the bars in the way.

  Her rescuer didn’t seem interested in searching for the staff. He dragged her past the counters with their beakers and vials. Past the bed with the straps where she’d spent quite a bit of time; before the wings. After the wings, she couldn’t exactly lie down easily.

  Her rescuer tapped his ear and began talking again. “Tell the boys to stay away from Section 3B. No idea how long it will take for the gas to clear.”

  Who was he? And whom did he report to?

  She didn’t dare ask but listened, trying to gather as much information as she could.

  “The subjects?” His voice held a questioning note as he eyed her. Someone must have asked him if he’d found any. Nevaeh did her best to look afraid—which she wasn’t—harmless—which she also wasn’t—and shook her head. A silent plea.

  “The gas killed them all. And you can forget bodies. Whatever they used turned them into puddles of goo.”