The Tenth Legion (Book 6, Progeny of Evolution) Read online

  THE TENTH LEGION

  By

  Mike Arsuaga

  Paranormal Family Saga Romance

  I Heart Book Publishing, LLC

  http://www.IHeartBookPublishing.com

  First electronic edition distributed by Smashwords

  Copyright © 2015 by Mike Arsuaga

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2015 by I Heart Book Publishing

  Cover Design by Cynthia Arsuaga

  Photographs/Cover Art Courtesy of iStock.com

  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 and are not to be construed as real.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this literary work may be reproduced or transmitted in any form, in the entirety or a portion, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the Publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  To request permission and all other inquiries, please address:

  I Heart Book Publishing, LLC

  5936 Lake Melrose Drive, Orlando, FL 32829

  WARNING

  The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/)

  DEDICATION

  To every recovering alcoholic, and user out there.

  With God’s help, may you find your way home.

  PRAISE FOR

  Progeny of Evolution Series

  The Other Kind

  “…a story of love, loss, murder and survival across many variations I give The Other Kind an impressive 5 stars.”

  ~ R.N.Hadley Book Reviews

  The Tenth Legion

  “As good as if not better than the previous books and with the universe knocking on the door to be explored you know there just has to be more to come. I would not hesitate in recommending Tenth Legion to anyone aged 18 years and over. I give Tenth Legion 5 out of 5 stars.”

  ~ R.N.Hadley Book Reviews

  Lagrange Point

  “Good story, if a trifle sad in places; nice twist on the Damien Porter subplot; good ending. Next question: where do we go from here? Or is it like Buzz Lightyear’s catch phrase: To Infinity and Beyond (for The Others)?”

  ~ Tony-Paul deVissage (5 Stars)

  Reviewed by T. P. Vissage

  The Other Kind

  What a deliciously diverse and believable world Mike Arsuaga has created in THE OTHER KIND, and I love how he’s focused this introduction into his new world on this most unlikely pair…

  …I know this is the start of a series and I’m looking forward to the adventures this gifted author is going to take his THE OTHER KIND world...and of course us, his readers...on.

  Well Done.

  ~ Kat Holmes Reviewer (5 Stars)

  The Children

  I’m glad Sam, Jim and family refuse to go away, as their story is enthralling and addicting! I was hooked with book one and I am so glad that I was able to review books two and three as well. I haven’t been so engrossed in a series since I discovered ‘The Vampire Chronicles’ by Anne Rice or The Dragon Riders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey. I am definitely a fan!

  ~ Night Owl Reviews (4.5 Stars)

  Review by Victoria Cross

  The Tenth Legion

  Progeny of Evolution Series Book 6

  God’s design includes all creatures—especially lycans and vampires.

  Titles by Mike Arsuaga

  The Other Kind, Book One

  The Corporation, Book Two

  The Children, Book Three

  Life in the Time of Decline, Book Four

  The Daughter, Book Five

  Lagrange Point, Book Seven, SPRING 2016

  Top Dog (Shifter Tales 1)

  Love and Death in the Big Easy (Shifter Tales 2)

  Titles by M. J. Segar

  The First Servant

  Jenny-Leigh 8

  OVER EIGHTEEN ONLY: Contains graphic sexual content.

  CHAPTER ONE

  For werewolf Lorna Winters, the twenty-second century arrived early. Staying up to see in the new century carried a price, but it was worth it because the event didn’t come along every day. Her grogginess arose from lack of sleep rather than through imbibing alcoholic beverages. No more than a glass of wine at a sitting. In general, alcohol made her kind do irresponsible, things—like bite humans. Still, getting only two hours in the sack left her in a haze. A shower and a cup of coffee would hit the spot.

  The dark shape beside her flinched, responding to a quick jab.

  “What?” grumbled a sleep-besotted voice.

  “Time to get up, Jerry.” She addressed the immobile lump under the covers while bumping him with a hip, adding, “It’s Monday—my Monday, anyway.” Actually, the news crawler said Saturday, but for the Bottom Dwellers it still meant another work day. “The party’s over. Time to get your butt up.”

  As lowest in seniority among the lieutenants in the Orlando Police Department, she got last pick on shift and days off. For her, that meant mornings—four a.m. to one p.m.—with Tuesdays and every other Thursday off.

  A mumbled reply of grumpy monosyllables rose from the covers. “The party’s over for you, maybe.” A handsome head topped by thick, sandy hair pushed into the open. “I’m off today.” He started to roll over.

  Jerry Pease, Attorney-at-law, was Lorna’s current relationship, or friend with benefits. Little besides sex held them together. He didn’t measure up to the level of a mate. The lexicon of her kind reserved that term for permanent relationships, also known as pair bonds. Above all, they valued loyalty and faithfulness in a relationship—even ones no more complicated than casual sex. Of course, the first decade after emergence didn’t count. Any time he wanted out, he only needed to say so, but she wouldn’t abide dipping his wick behind her back with others. The arrangement worked both ways. Also, he possessed incredible sexual stamina for a human, leaving no room for temptation to stray.

  Lorna skimmed sinewy fingers across his naked abdomen, savoring the feel of smooth skin stretched across solid muscle, meandering toward the waistband. Now more awake, he snuggled closer. The scent of his building arousal filled her senses. He drew strong hands across the creamy tan of her face, from which two oversized chocolate-colored eyes viewed the world. A quick shake, and dark-brown hair fell into a pageboy cut, framing an oval face like an abbreviated curtain. Short bangs turned in on the ends, all in strict compliance with police department female grooming standards. Leaning across to see the time, she paused to feel Jerry’s gaze as he admired the display of slim, square shoulders tapering to narrow waist, flaring back to small round hips. Firm, white buttocks hid just out of sight under the covers.

  “Keep it in your pants, buster,” she said. “It’s already quarter-to-three.”

  “That still gives us fifteen minutes.” He sweetened the tentative proffer, with soft back-rubbing, igniting warmth in a different, lower part.

  Turning toward the sharp-featured man, she muttered, “Morning breath be damned,” pressing her face to his.

  Afterward, he sat around making stupid comments while she got ready.

  “What’s that?” The sight of a vacuum sealed aluminum pouch caught his attention.

  “My lunch.
Treated beef. It keeps me from hunting the neighborhood kids.” A pint carton of milk followed. “This is what I eat when you’re not taking me out somewhere.” She didn’t mention that while the compounds added to animal flesh or blood products, provided complete nutrition, the compulsion to hunt and kill lingered. Over the years, the corporation run by her community, Coven International, Inc. had spent millions on rehabilitation centers and Twelve-Step programs.

  * * * *

  The day continued with a relatively comfortable bus ride. For most of the predawn trip, she shared the vehicle with a driver and one other passenger. The unventilated seating area could be quite uncomfortable during busier parts of the day with the sun up and workday mobs piled on. Lorna folded her arms, retreating within herself while the bus motored by the queue gathered in front of the government food bank.

  At the train station stop, the other passenger got off. Being the only people on the bus, the driver struck up a conversation.

  “Did you get in some good celebrating?” The gaunt male asked.

  “Couldn’t do much. As you can see, I had work. What about you?” She left out the detail that lycans had a low tolerance for alcohol, in most respects a real mood killer for celebration of the occasion.

  The driver pulled around a moped. “Same problem, but I don’t see much to cheer about.”

  The dark little machine fell behind. “How so?”

  The driver shifted position in his seat. “No one I know regrets the passing of the twenty-first century. It began well enough. Then the Great Plague in 2026 and the financial panics of 2027 and 2045 messed things up. The United States, along with just about every other country fell apart during The Dissolution. We’re five regions and dozens of smaller territories. The economy is a mess. I think the woofers are behind all of it.”

  Woofers, the derogatory term applied to vampires and lycans, riled Lorna, but the days of shredding progenitors of offensive speech were long gone. She sloughed off the subject, saying, “At least Orlando became the capital of our region. That counts for something.”

  “Well, all I have to say is the world gave back in the twenty-first century all the gains it had made in the twentieth.” After answering, he shifted on the seat again. Lorna speculated about the hells unique to being planted in a bus seat all day. She hoped the obnoxious asshole developed hemorrhoids.

  The bus turned a corner. In the next block a building with lights burning full blast acted like a beacon within the rest of the darkened downtown. Lorna got to her feet. “That’s my stop.”

  Fading gold letters made a semi-circle over the entrance. Orlando Police Department, they read, OPD for short.

  Despite the unplanned dalliance with Jerry, she arrived at work with a good five minutes to spare. On Saturdays, the Utility Allowance for hot water—thirty seconds—accomplished little beyond warming the winter-chilled pipes, so she skipped the shower in favor of a quick sponge off. The scent of sex still covered her, but only another of her kind could smell it. No worry. She was the sole representative in OPD.

  A well-worn Happy New Year banner, left over from the impromptu party begun the day before at the end of first shift, arced across the entrance of the squad room. Stepping off the elevator, she passed the rows of worn, battered desks the subordinate detectives used, an area called the bull pen. A procession of tired and glum faces returned her wordless morning greetings. It might be New Year’s Day of a new century, but while the rest of the world continued the celebration, they were stuck, the tired along with the hung over, in a drab police squad room.

  Welcome to Major Case Squad.

  After pausing at the community refrigerator to drop off the pint carton of milk, Lorna proceeded to her desk. A sliver of yellowish light fell across the dingy carpet at the entrance to the captain’s office. The springs of his chair groaned when she walked by. Each morning, he made a point of checking her arrival time and issuing the same greeting. To wit. “Good morning Lieutenant Werewolf.” Several muffled sniggers from around the bull pen followed the shout from his office.

  “You should know by now, sir, the preferred term for my kind is lycan.” The layer of unctuous politeness in her tone conveyed the exact opposite sentiment. More sniggers suggested this episode of their running gun battle ended in a draw.

  Captain Gregg hadn’t welcomed Lorna’s promotion. A recent series of exposés by the news stream investigative reporters proved a lot of senior cops resented lycans and vampires, AKA The Others, in law enforcement. Either the police they interviewed were jealous of their abilities or unforgiving of once having preyed on humans. In Gregg’s case, Lorna suspected he added on resentment to women moving up.

  On the other hand, his boss, Watch Commander Bell, appreciated what Lorna brought to the department, saying the OPD was lucky to have her. Among the three thousand of The Others around the world, most were tied in some way to Coven International, Inc. or CI. Low-paying, mundane occupations such as police work held little appeal.

  Lorna proceeded to a glass-enclosed office cubicle. The space boasted a newer desk, with a computer for her use alone. Drawing the blinds to shut out the world, she paused for a moment to organize the day. A review of the previous shift activity showed nothing extraordinary—mainly an overflow of minor druggies from Vice. A note to call Marta in the morgue rested atop the pile.

  That would have something to do with the Gomez murders.

  The second she reached for a case file, a commotion erupted from the bull pen.

  “He’s free!” shouted a male voice over a din of shouts and scrambling feet mixed with chairs falling over or slamming into desks.

  Lorna opened a blind.

  Displaying astounding agility, a young man, handcuffs dangling from one wrist, jumped from desk top to desk top, evading the grasp of twenty detectives and a smattering of uniformed officers. Detainees in the holding cells along the far wall cheered him on, but those cuffed and awaiting their trip to booking did their best to stay out of the way. A couple of file clerks stood agape on the edge of the commotion.

  From the Shift Activity Reports, Lorna knew the fugitive to be a minor offender. The night before, Vice had caught him in a sweep of underground raves. After filling their holding cells, they sent the overflow to Major Case, which almost always had space. Lorna opened her office door. The pungent odor of gap surrounding the wide-eyed frenetic young man flooded her lycan senses. The popular designer drug made some users immune to pain, while others went berserk. In this situation, both had happened. The man’s free hand hung crushed at his side, the result of passage through the locked handcuff. Now he raced around the large open room in frantic, aimless desperation powered by drug induced paranoia.

  Captain Gregg stood frozen at the doorway of his office. A sheen of sweat gleamed on his bullet-shaped bald head. His lips moved, but no words came out.

  As the next senior officer, Lorna took charge. “No guns!”

  With thirty or forty officers, detainees, and secretaries running in all directions, the last thing anyone needed was some cowboy popping off a Glock in the crowded space.

  Lorna morphed into lycan form, evoking a collective gasp among those present. Earlier, everyone in Major Case heard Captain Gregg address her as “werewolf”, but only he and one other understood the truth behind what the rest of Major Case believed to be no more than a nickname. The heightened senses, speed, and strength came in handy, but she avoided advertising them. The Others had come out almost ninety years ago. Still, many humans hated or feared them.

  Exploding out of her clothes, which fell in rags on the floor, she didn’t waste time regretting not wearing an outfit with morph seams. An instant later, she stood a foot taller, covered in dark, coarse hair. A fearsome square face accompanied by a fanged snout even a gaphead must know brooked no foolishness topped the furry, broad-shouldered creature. In her present form, she couldn’t speak, but her body language would tell him all he needed to know.

  With fellow officers scrambling to get
out of the way, Lorna set her sights on the gaphead.

  He gathered his wits enough to break for the exit, but, even in his hyperactive condition, she covered ground faster than he did. Cutting him off at the exit, she grabbed his good arm in a yellow-nailed prehensile claw, slamming him to the floor. The smell of blood from his mangled hand awakened the ever present urge to feed on the raw, bloody flesh, but ever since the Coming Out, no vampire or lycan tasted human prey, except for backsliders or the occasional feral that surfaced in the most remote or primitive parts of the world.

  “What are you?” the gaphead demanded. In situations like this, Lorna heard that a lot. The Others lived quiet lives with minimal displays of their abilities. There were, of course, pictures and video streams of morphs popping up on television or the Internet from time to time, but seeing one in the flesh seldom occurred and was always shocking to anyone who witnessed it.

  Lycan Lorna answered by presenting a stare of lethal deliberation. Inside, she dueled against the urge to tear into the young man’s arm. In the limited cognitive abilities of her werewolf persona, she understood returning to human form was the best way to resist temptation, leading to a different problem.

  The morph would leave her naked in front of the whole squad room.

  Another collective gasp swept the crowd, not an unexpected reaction. The shock of seeing a human materialize from the brutish, hirsute apparition filling the room seconds before was enough. From the corner of her eye, she saw several of the men assume almost anatomically impossible postures to get a better view of the small, polished buttocks as she kneeled over the prostrate gaphead. In human form, Lorna possessed the strength of a world-class athlete. In lycan form, twice again as much. With fingers like steel, she grasped his throat.