Shadow Game (GhostWalkers) Read online

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  “Just as I begin to think the romance genre has nowhere else to run, I get to read something that takes another giant leap down a totally unknown road. Romance, suspense, intrigue, and the paranormal…combined to make one of the most delicious journeys I have had the pleasure of taking in a long, long time…. Definitely something for everyone.”

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  —Romantic Times

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  —New-Age Bookshelf

  “The characters and twists in this book held me on the edge of my seat the whole time I read it. If you’ve enjoyed Ms. Feehan’s previous novels, you will surely be captivated by this step into the world of Gothic romance…. Once again, Ms. Feehan does not disappoint.”

  —Under the Covers Book Reviews

  Don’t miss

  DARK SYMPHONY

  the latest Carpathian novel

  from Christine Feehan and Jove Books.

  Titles by Christine Feehan

  DARK SYMPHONY

  SHADOW GAME

  SHADOW GAME

  CHRISTINE FEEHAN

  JOVE BOOKS, NEW YORK

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  SHADOW GAME

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  Copyright © 2003 by Christine Feehan

  All rights reserved.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated. For information address: The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  ISBN: 1-4295-0183-9

  A JOVE BOOK®

  Jove Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Group (USA) Inc., 375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Group (USA) Inc.

  For my brother, Matthew King, many thanks for all the help with the research necessary for this book. And for McKenzie King, for her dynamite smile and her help in turning those book covers in the proper direction!

  Special thanks to Cheryl Wilson. I have no idea what I’d do without you.

  Be sure to write to Christine at [email protected] to get a FREE exclusive Christine Feehan animated screensaver and sign up for her PRIVATE book announcement list. She would love to hear from you!

  CONTENTS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  ONE

  CAPTAIN Ryland Miller leaned his head against the wall and closed his eyes in utter weariness. He could ignore the pain in his head, the knives shredding his skull. He could ignore the cage he was in. He could even ignore the fact that sooner or later, he was going to slip up and his enemies would kill him. But he could not ignore the guilt and anger and frustration rising like a tidal wave in him as his men suffered the consequences of his decisions.

  Kaden, I can’t reach Russell Cowlings. Can you?

  He had talked his men into the experiment that had landed them all in the laboratory cages in which they now resided. Good men. Loyal men. Men who had wanted to serve their country and people.

  We all made the decision. Kaden responded to his emotions, the words buzzing inside Ryland’s mind. No one has managed to raise Russell.

  Ryland swore softly aloud as he swept a hand over his face, trying to wipe away the pain speaking telepathically with his men cost him. The telepathic link between them had grown stronger as they all worked to build it, but only a few of them could sustain it for any length of time. Ryland had to supply the bridge, and his brain, over time, balked at the enormity of such a burden.

  Don’t touch the sleeping pills they gave you. Suspect any medication. He glanced at the small white pill lying in plain sight on his end table. He’d like a lab analysis of the contents. Why hadn’t Cowlings listened to him? Had Cowlings accepted the sleeping pill in the hopes of a brief respite? He had to get the men out. We have no choice, we must treat this situation as if we were behind enemy lines. Ryland took a deep breath, let it out slowly. He no longer felt he had a choice. He had already lost too many men. His decision would brand them as traitors, deserters, but it was the only way to save their lives. He had to find a way for his men to break out of the laboratory.

  The colonel has betrayed us. We have no other choice but to escape. Gather information and support one another as best you can. Wait for my word.

  He became aware of the disturbance around him, the dark waves of intense dislike bordering on hatred preceding the group nearing the cage where he was kept.

  Someone is approaching…. Ryland abruptly cut off telepathic communication to those of his men he could reach. He remained motionless in the center of his cell, his every sense flaring out to identify the approaching individuals.

  It was a small group this time: Dr. Peter Whitney, Colonel Higgens, and a security guard. It amused Ryland that Whitney and Higgens insisted on an armed guard accompanying them despite the fact that he was locked behind both bars and a thick glass barrier. He was careful to keep his features expressionless as they neared his cage.

  Ryland lifted his head, his steel gray eyes as cold as ice. Menacing. He didn’t try to hide the danger he represented. They had created him, they had betrayed him, and he wanted them to be afraid. There was tremendous satisfaction in knowing they were…and that they had reason to be.

  Dr. Peter Whitney led the small group. Whitney, liar, deceiver, monster maker. He was the creator of the GhostWalkers. Creator of what Captain Ryland Miller and his men had become. Ryland stood up slowly, a deliberate ripple of muscle—a lethal jungle cat stretching lazily, unsheathing claws as he waited inside his cage.

  His icy gaze touched on their faces, lingered, made them uncomfortable. Graveyard eyes. Eyes of death. He projected the image deliberately, wanting, even needing them to fear for their lives. Colonel Higgens looked away, studied the cameras, the security, watched with evident apprehension as the thick barrier of glass slid away. Although Ryland remained caged behind heavy bars, Higgens was obviously uneasy without the barrier, uncertain just how powerful Ryland had becom
e.

  Ryland steeled himself for the assault on his hearing, his emotions. The flood of unwanted information he couldn’t control. The bombardment of thoughts and emotions. The disgusting depravity and avarice that lay behind the masks of those facing him. He kept his features carefully blank, giving nothing away, not wanting them to know what it cost him to shield his wide-open mind.

  “Good morning, Captain Miller,” Peter Whitney said pleasantly. “How are things this morning with you? Did you sleep at all?”

  Ryland watched him without blinking, tempted to try to push through Whitney’s barriers to discover the true character guarded behind the wall Whitney had in his mind. What secrets were hidden there? The one person Ryland needed to understand, to read, was protected by some natural or man-made barrier. None of the other men, not even Kaden, had managed to penetrate the scientist’s mind. They couldn’t get any pertinent data, shielded as Whitney was, but the heavy swamping waves of guilt were always broadcast loudly.

  “No, I didn’t sleep but I suspect you already know that.”

  Dr. Whitney nodded. “None of your men are taking their sleeping meds. I noticed you didn’t either. Is there a reason for that, Captain Miller?”

  The chaotic emotions of the group hit Ryland hard, as it always did. In the beginning, it used to drive him to his knees, the noise in his head so loud and aggravating his brain would rebel, punishing him for his unnatural abilities. Now he was much more disciplined. Oh, the pain was still there, like a thousand knives driving into his head at the first breach of his brain, but he hid the agony behind the façade of icy, menacing calm. And he was, after all, well trained. His people never revealed weakness to the enemy.

  “Self-preservation is always a good reason,” he answered, fighting down the waves of weakness and pain from the battering of emotions. He kept his features totally expressionless, refusing to allow them to see the cost.

  “What the hell does that mean?” Higgens demanded. “What are you accusing us of now, Miller?”

  The door to the laboratory had been left standing open, unusual for the security-conscious company, and a woman hurried through. “I’m sorry I’m late; the meeting went longer than expected!”

  At once the painful assault of thoughts and emotions lessened, muted, leaving Ryland able to breathe normally. To think without pain. The relief was instant and unexpected. Ryland focused on her immediately, realizing she was somehow trapping the more acute emotions and holding them at bay, almost as if she were a magnet for them. And she wasn’t just any woman. She was so beautiful, she took his breath away. Ryland could have sworn, when he looked at her, the ground shifted and moved under his feet. He glanced at Peter Whitney, caught the man observing his reactions to the woman’s presence very closely.

  At first Ryland was embarrassed that he had been caught staring at her. Then he realized Whitney knew the woman had some kind of psychic ability. She enhanced Ryland’s abilities and cleared out the garbage of stray thoughts and emotions. Did Whitney know exactly what she did? The doctor was waiting for a reaction so Ryland refused to give him the satisfaction, keeping his expression totally blank.

  “Captain Miller, I’d like to present my daughter, Lily Whitney. Dr. Lily Whitney.” Peter’s gaze never left Ryland’s face. “I’ve asked her to join us; I hope you don’t mind.”

  The shock couldn’t have been more complete. Peter Whitney’s daughter? Ryland let out his breath slowly, shrugged his broad shoulders casually, another ripple of menace. He didn’t feel casual. Everything inside of him stilled. Calmed. Reached. He studied the woman. Her eyes were incredible, but wary. Intelligent. Knowledgeable. As if she recognized him, too, in some elemental way. Her eyes were a deep startling blue, like the middle of a clear, fresh pool. A man could lose his mind, his freedom in eyes like hers. She was average height—not tall, but not exceedingly short. She had a woman’s figure encased in a gray-green suit of some kind that managed to draw attention to every lush curve. She had walked with a decided limp, but when he looked her over for damage, he could see nothing to indicate injury. More than all of that, the moment he saw her face, the moment she entered the room, his soul seemed to reach for hers. To recognize hers. His breath stilled in his body and he could only stare at her.

  She was looking back at him and he knew the sight wasn’t very reassuring. At his best, he looked a warrior—at his worst, he looked a savage fighter. There was no way to soften his expression or lessen the scars on his face or shave off the dark stubble marring his stubborn jawline. He was stocky with a fighter’s compact build, carrying most of his weight in his upper body, his chest and arms, his broad shoulders. His hair was thick and black, and it curled when it wasn’t kept tight against his skull.

  “Captain Miller.” Her voice was soothing, gentle, pleasant. Sexy. A blend of smoke and heat that seared him right through his belly. “How nice to meet you. My father thought I might be of some use in the research. I haven’t had much time to go over the data, but I’ll be happy to try to help.”

  He had never reacted so forcefully to a voice before. The sound seemed to wrap him up in satin sheets, rubbing and caressing his skin until he felt himself break out in a sweat. The image was so vivid that for a moment he could only stare at her, imagining her naked body writhing with pleasure beneath his. In the midst of his struggle to survive, his physical reaction to her was shocking.

  Color crept up her neck, delicately tinged her cheeks. Her long lashes fluttered, drifted down, and she looked away from him to her father. “This room is very exposed. Who came up with the design? I would think it would be a difficult way to live, even for a short period.”

  “You mean like a lab rat?” Ryland asked softly, deliberately, not wanting any of them to think they were fooling him by bringing in the woman. “Because that’s what I am. Dr. Whitney has his own human rats to play with.”

  Lily’s dark gaze jumped to his face. One eyebrow shot up. “I’m sorry, Captain Miller, was I misinformed, or did you agree to volunteer for this assignment?” There was a small challenge in her voice.

  “Captain Miller volunteered, Lily,” Peter Whitney said. “He was unprepared for the brutal results, as was I. I’ve been searching for a way to reverse the process but so far, everything I’ve tried has failed.”

  “I don’t believe that’s the proper way to handle this,” Colonel Higgens snapped. He glared at Peter Whitney, his bushy brows drawing together in a frown of disapproval. “Captain Miller is a soldier. He volunteered for this mission and I must insist he carry it out to its conclusion. We don’t need the process reversed, we need it perfected.”

  Ryland had no trouble reading the colonel’s emotions. The man didn’t want Lily Whitney anywhere near Ryland or his men. He wanted Ryland taken out behind the laboratories and shot. Better yet, dissected so they could all see what was going on in his brain. Colonel Higgens was afraid of Ryland Miller and the other men in the paranormal unit. Anything he feared, Higgens destroyed.

  “Colonel Higgens, I don’t think you fully understand what these men are going through, what is happening to their brains.” Dr. Whitney was pursuing what was obviously a long-standing argument between them. “We’ve already lost several men….”

  “They knew the risks,” Higgens retorted, glowering at Miller. “This is an important experiment. We need these men to perform. The loss of a few men, while tragic, is an acceptable loss considering the importance of what these men can do.”

  Ryland didn’t look at Higgens. He kept his glittering gaze fixed on Lily Whitney. But his entire mind reached out. Took hold. Closed like a vise.

  Lily’s head snapped up. She gasped out a soft protest. Her gaze dropped to Ryland’s hands. She watched his fingers slowly begin to curl as if around a thick throat. She shook her head, a slight protest.

  Higgens coughed. A barking grunt. His mouth hung open as he gasped for air. Peter Whitney and the young guard both reached for the colonel, trying to open his stiff shirt collar, trying to help hi
m breathe. The colonel staggered, was caught and lowered to the floor by the scientist.

  Stop it. The voice in Ryland’s mind was soft.

  Ryland’s dark brow shot up and his gleaming gaze met Lily’s. The doctor’s daughter was definitely telepathic. She was calm about it, her gaze steady on his, not in the least intimidated by the danger emanating from him. She appeared as cool as ice.

  He’s willing to sacrifice every one of my men. They aren’t expendable. He was just as calm, not for a moment relenting.

  He’s a moron. No one is willing to sacrifice the men; no one considers them expendable; and he isn’t worth branding yourself a murderer.

  Ryland allowed his breath to escape in a soft, controlled stream, clearing his lungs, clearing his mind. Deliberately he turned his back on the writhing man and paced across the cell, his fingers slowly uncurling.

  Higgens went into a fit of coughing, tears swimming in his eyes. He pointed a shaky finger toward Ryland. “He tried to kill me, you all saw it.”

  Peter Whitney sighed and walked with heavy footsteps across the room to stare at the computer. “I’m tired of the melodrama, Colonel. There is always a jump on the sensors in the computers when there is a surge of power. There’s nothing here at all. Miller is safely locked in a cage; he didn’t do anything at all. Either you’re trying to sabotage my project or you have a personal vendetta against Captain Miller. In any case, I’m going to write to the general and insist they send another liaison.”