Zophiel refused to react to the information but something inside her began to seethe. She had good reason to despise Therians. How did these people justify their abhorrent behavior? “After they’re weaned, the offspring are taken below and the female is allowed to release her shift?”
Tias nodded. “Remaining in animal form for that long is extremely hard on the female. She requires several months of rest and recuperation before she can—”
Unable to suppress her rage, Zophiel squeezed the human’s throat hard enough to silence her. Tias spoke of it all with such indifference one would think the captives were a commodity incapable of thought or emotion. Zophiel was suddenly glad her sister hadn’t lived to see this atrocity. Nehema had learned the basic facts before she died, but neither of them had realized the true scope of the backers’ operation.
And now Nehema was dead, a loss Zophiel had yet to avenge.
There would be time for revenge once she determined how to deal with the backers. She pushed the past aside and returned her focus to the present. At the moment she couldn’t decide if the backers needed to be controlled or destroyed. First she had to fill in the missing pieces.
She eased the pressure of her fingers without moving her hand away from the human’s throat. “What’s on sublevel two?”
Tias swallowed with obvious difficulty then whispered, “Training facility.”
Of course. They would need the highest level of security if they were going to release maturing Therians from their cages.
“How old are the offspring when they begin training?” After another long pause, Zophiel twisted her hand in Tias’ hair and pulled her head back. The unmistakable scent of fear filled Zophiel’s nose, helping her calm down. “If we’re going to be partners—and I assure you we are—I need to understand everything.”
Tias blinked several times before she explained, “Each offspring spends three weeks as an animal and one week as a human. During their human week they’re trained. This continues for about five years or until they’re ready for full-time training.”
“How many have completed the training regimen?”
“Only three to our satisfaction, but we have a class of sixteen perhaps six weeks away.”
Zophiel eased her hold on Tias’ hair then slid both hands back to Tias’ shoulders. “Now was that so hard?”
“What is your interest in Therians? Are you always invisible?”
Ignoring the questions, Zophiel rotated Tias’ chair until she could see the other woman’s face. “Did you know General Milliner is in contact with Nate Fitzroy?”
“Heather’s father?” Her confusion seemed genuine.
“Yes. Milliner offered to trade Dhane for Heather.”
Tias scoffed. “That would be a little hard to accomplish.”
What did that mean? It was only a matter of time before Nate found his rebellious daughter. Unable to let the curiosity slide, she asked, “And why is that?”
“The cats rescued Dhane, so how is Milliner going to make the exchange?”
Roberto’s mind had been hopelessly compromised by the time she implanted the compulsion that made him take his own life. It wasn’t surprising that she’d been unable to learn anything useful when she summoned him the last time. “Then what game is Milliner playing?”
“I don’t know but I can find out.” Determination made Tias look hard and older than she had moments before.
“No. Let it play out. Let’s see when or if Milliner tells you about the negotiation.”
“All right.” Tias searched the space in front of her, eyes wide and curious. Zophiel poured energy into her shields. “What should I call you?”
Zophiel smiled. “No need. I’ll call you.”
* * * * *
Heather paced the small treatment room, feeling restless and uncomfortable. She hated doctors, always had, and all Jake’s soothing touches and calming words wouldn’t change that basic fact.
“Paul Garran is one of the good guys,” Jake insisted from his chair near the door. He looked ridiculously comfortable, sprawled as he was with his long legs crossed at the ankle and his brawny arms crossed over his chest. “Why are you so tense?”
“Can’t help it. I hate doctors.” She leaned against the wall directly across from the door, refusing to sit on the treatment table.
“Why? Were you poked and prodded as a kid or—”
“I was nine when my best friend found out she had leukemia. Now just the smell of antiseptic brings back all those memories.”
He uncrossed his legs and sat up, brows drawn together. “But Therians are immune to cancer.”