2

Three weeks later

Steven Taylor's home, New York.

Steven Taylor took his seat at the dining room table, his gaze taking in the confused expressions of his children as they watched him silently. Especially his daughter Maggie; the child who could hold the future of not just her own family, but a new breed of life, in her small hands if she did as he silently predicted she would.

Zane, the oldest child, sat across from him, relaxed; though his cold dark blue eyes showed a hint of curiosity. This was the child Steven knew could cause the most harm. The one whose hands were already stained with the blood of death and corruption, though his son was unaware his father knew of it.

Caleb and Darien, with their identical hazel eyes, and thick brown hair were the lead journalists of the family, but only due to the fact that they had brazenly stolen his daughters last two stories. They would protest the loudest, and demand the story to come. A story Steven feared they would lose.

Jason, fourth son in line, was also a journalist, but his aspirations had nothing to do with making his mark with a byline. It was he who would step into his father's shoes as Editor and owner of the prestigious national magazine one day.

Then, there was Brandon and Brock. They were twins as well, but carried their mother's blue eyed, black haired coloring, as Zane did. Brandon was an electronics wizard, and yet another journalist. Brock was a detective with the New York Police Department, completely breaking away from the family business.

Then, there was Gray. Gray was an enigma, even to his father. Quiet and studious, with blue eyes and his father's brown hair; he viewed the world with an air of amusement, and quiet cynicism. As the youngest son, he had yet to make his mark in anything, and didn't seem in any hurry to disturb the many wakes his brothers made before him.

Then, there was Maggie. She was the only daughter; a small, fragile young woman with her father's coloring, and her mother's delicate features. She laughed often, and raged fiercely, and viewed the world as a never-ending source of amazement. Steven worried that soon the day would come when his daughter, his last link to his beloved wife Mary, would lose that innocent belief in right and wrong, and fall hard into the stone cold reality that life truly was. It was his greatest regret that he would be the one to give her that final push.

Taking a deep breath, Steven picked up a folded letter that lay among the pile of photo's, memos, and communiqués from decades past. Handing it to his daughter at the end of the table, he told her softly to read the information it contained aloud.

"My Dearest Steven." Her voice faltered slightly as her gaze rose to meet his. At his nod, she continued with the letter.

"If you are reading this, then it is likely that for some reason, I have departed life and am quickly heading to hell for my sins against not just life, but nature itself.

Ah Steven, if only my life had taken a different course, then I believe death would not hold such fears for me. Had I made choices in accordance to what I believed was right and wrong, then I would not have cause to fear God's wrath now.

But my choices led me to ignore the right and the wrong in the hope that eventually, right would persevere. Or perhaps I just wanted so desperately to know I had been part of something so vast, so unknown, that I ignored my conscience and went ahead with my work. And now, because of my selfishness, greed and ignorance, an innocent life is in more than danger than you can ever know.

I write you in the hope that you can ease for me the plight of a man who deserves, even more than others, the right to survive.

As editor and owner of a prestigious newspaper, I hope you could investigate this, and bring to light the truth of a vast injustice being committed. The injustice of the decision to kill in cold blood, a defenseless child; and then a man that has committed no crime save the one of being created.

Oh God Steven, what did we do?" It was Maggie voice, slowly filling with horror, but it was Maria that Steven heard. Her voice husky with tears as she left him, and now filled with rage and sorrow after death. "You will think that perhaps we created a monster, and this is not true. What we created was a child so vastly intelligent, and yet so instinctual and filled with life that it often amazes me that I had carried it myself, within my own body.

It was just supposed to be an experiment, how could I have known the far reaching implications of it, or the decisions it would necessitate?

I am a doctor, foremost. A scientist who pledged herself to the task of saving lives and of making lives easier.

The experiment began in just such a way. The lion, a crafty, intelligent, merciless hunter was the perfect counterpart in this breeding program. So the human cells were bio-technically engineered and fused with the cells of this beast.

It was I who volunteered to carry the child. I never imagined the events that would arise from that single, moment of weakness. I, who had no children, signed away the better part of my future to this group. A clandestine group so shrouded in secrecy as to take their scientists and secure them on an island far away from other human habitation.

Did I make a mistake in this decision? There are times I say yes. Had I made another decision, then when the time came to dispose of this project then I could have stood aside while the child was killed. Or could I have? I sit here, and I wonder if I could have truly done such a thing. The child was so innocent, so very intelligent, and so trusting of us, the adults who poked and prodded and tested him as though he were little more than the animal he had been bred from.

But he was no animal. Even at five he showed the far-reaching intelligence and advanced abilities that we, as scientists, had been hoping for. It was astounding Steven, how quickly he learned, how easily he could catch onto even the most difficult assignments. He learned quickly, surpassing his age. In matters of science, mathematics, logics and strategies he has excelled, even into adult years.

Instinctually, he is a wonder. He is the wonder of science that we as the scientists, and those behind the project were hoping for. He is a hunter unlike any other. His special senses are so much more advanced than normal, that it amazes me. He can sense danger, not in the psychic sense, but in the sense of one who knows and understands the undercurrents of nature, even when it appears nature is not present. He has, many times, saved our lives by following these instincts.

Had the backers of the project waited, perhaps their decision in those early years would have been different. But they didn't, and those who had financed our project, and who retained the decision of life or death over the child, gave the order to terminate him."

Steven watched the horror, the complete amazement that filled the expressions of his family. But it was the sadness; the anger that filled Maggie's voice that left a heavy weight dragging at his heart.

"As far as they knew, the order had been carried out. It was decided between the five of us, scientists who had created such a miraculous project, that we could not destroy it. So we set about the elaborate charade that would fool the cruel organization set up to see to its end.

I know though, and have for years, that we did not obliterate all sense of suspicion. They have sought us out for years, hunting us like animals, cutting off all hope, and all sense of security that we would seek.

Of the five scientists involved in the project, two are now dead. There is only myself, Dr. Max Leopold and Dr. David Sergei, who went into seclusion after they left the island. I haven't heard from them, who knows if they are alive or dead.

I know though, that if I do not leave, the child and myself will die. I must hurry. So I write you this letter, on this 23rd day of July, nineteen hundred and eighty six, in the event that we are captured, that perhaps you could at least bring to light the truth of this action our government has sponsored, and likely will try again.

Enclosed are photocopies of the notes of the experiment, as well as memo's, letters and communiqués from the organization created to oversee the project. As you will see, it had far-reaching implications to destroy the lives of the men involved. Men whose wealth and power reach into areas you would never imagine.

Where he shall be when this letter finds you, I am not certain. I cannot tell you the location he had chosen to hide in, for fear of this letter reaching the wrong hands. I will tell you though; the clues are out there to find him should you decide to take up this task. I pray to God that you will decide to take up this task. There are more lives than you know at risk.

My death shall leave a mark upon him I fear, for we have spent these many years knowing our lives depend upon each other. Mother and child, both running, both fighting against men who are greater in power than are we.

And there, the first letter ended. The next page was dated for March nineteen ninety-two, and held a horrorific accounting of the young man's life.

I sit again, and write to you, even though I know you may never receive the letters, or the evidence. Perhaps in some ways, it eases me, to reach out to you even in this small way.

The past year has been hell. Running, hiding, fighting to find him. He disappeared one night, one day he was here, and hours later he was gone. He had a date he had told me. A pretty little girl he met outside the apartment we lived in. I urged him to be cautious, but he is a young man, like so many young men, and eager to be with a woman. That night he did not return though, and the young woman had disappeared as well.

They had him. I knew this. We had made plans for it, but I never imagined it would happen. I always thought we could stay one step ahead of the Council. I left, as we had planned, staying in seclusion while searching desperately for some news from him. A year later, he returned. He was not the same. So cold, so hard; there was nothing left of the young man he had been.

I had thought he was surely dead. The Council had decreed his death twenty-one years before, I had assumed they had carried out the order. But it wasn't death they had in store for him.

Dear God Steven not death, but a stable. They took my child, and they imprisoned him, bringing to him scared, frightened virgins to breed. Not one of the girls did he touch, and he killed three of his guards and was nearly killed himself in the escape after they murdered the first girl. He was changed after this, and for a while I feared for his sanity.

He is a natural born leader, and since his escape, those abilities within him have intensified. He leads, and excels in outwitting and outrunning our enemies. He finds pleasure in humiliating the soldiers sent out for us, in watching them follow false trails while he attacks from behind. He doesn't kill, he doesn't maim, but you can see the hard edge he has developed, and should the Council push him much further, than I fear he will be forced to kill once again. He told me once that the blood he shed in those labs during his escape forever taints his hands. His soul, he told me, was tainted with who, and what he was, and he fears it shall never be cleansed. The bitterness of his DNA eats at him, just as the cruelties of the Council continue to haunt him.

He deserves peace Steven. He deserves life and love. It was not by his choice, the DNA he was given. It was not by his choice that he was an experiment created to kill. It was not by his choice, and yet he lives with the decision daily, second by excruciating second, fighting just to live.

Should this letter find itself in your hands my dearest friend, then I pray that you will do what you can to bring to this child the justice he deserves. But I caution you. Those who were behind this project still yet hold an amazing depth of power and will do anything, everything to stop this knowledge from coming to light. Be extremely careful of whom you talk to, and how you go about the investigation process.

Dr. Maria Morales"

As Maggie finished the letter, Steven watched the single tear that spilled down her pale cheek. She raised her gaze to his, and he saw the fury, and the pain for both Maria, and her unknown son, in her eyes. The same fury and pain that Steven himself had felt when he first read the letter and saw the contents of the box that came with it.

There were indeed notes, memos, and letters from various men of political and financial power. A Senator's personal memo that the new "Breeds" were disposable units only, soldiers to be raised, tested and trained with the ultimate care in regards to shedding blood. They wanted suicide units built and prepared to die for the assignment.

A billionaire once known for his philanthropy and charitable works had a hand written memo that the "Units" could be used to clear the streets of the 'ill-gotten maggots of society' known as the homeless.

Those were but a few of the notes arranged around the table. There were memos from a President, not just from the United States, but several as well from differing countries. The list of names was wide and varied between countries, and was similar in content. They were spread out before the nine people, a collage of life, death, and horrendous miscarriages against nature.

There were stacks of photos, taken at various stages of cell fusion, as well as fetal development within the mother's womb during pregnancy. The pictures then ranged from birth to twenty-one years of age.

The child, unnamed within the letter, was strikingly handsome with dark skin, slightly tilted golden brown eyes, and a thick mane of tawny colored hair. The last pictures showed a muscular, somber young man as he stared into the camera. He wore jeans and a white t-shirt, and well-worn boots. He looked like a normal young man, a bit exotic, and incredibly handsome, but there was nothing in his physical appearance to indicate that he was somehow different from anyone else.

There were other pictures as well. Horrendous, ghastly displays of those experiments that did not work, or were so deformed as to cause miscarriages well before they became full term. They were gruesome in their graphic displays of abnormal growth patterns, and the evidence of a being neither human, nor animal but a mix of both.

Several women had been used to carry those crimes against nature, and then promptly killed by the soldiers of the compound on orders from the organization. Those women were then incinerated, and their ashes disposed of in the ocean waters that surrounded the island.

The last attempt had held much more promise though. That was when the scientists decided that instead of co-signing another innocent young mother to die, that one of the two female scientists would bear the child instead. It seemed that Maria had drawn the lucky number, and had given birth to the child they named Leo. A name Maria stated in another brief note, had been changed to protect him.

There were pictures of the child; from the sonograms to twenty-one years of age, but there were none taken after that. The last picture displayed on the table, was one Steven Taylor told his family he remembered well. That picture was of a small, forested clearing in a little known Eastern Kentucky county where Maria had inherited land from her Mother's family. It was there that Maria and Steven had spent several weekends camping before she had been called back to California by her father's family, and he slowly lost touch with her.

The setting was within a forest, a clearing that led to a deep stream, across from it a sheer rock cliff from where a waterfall fell almost lazily from the top of the cliff. Caney Creek, he thought he remembered her calling it. The location had been a favorite of her childhood summers, where she and her cousins would often camp. Maria knew there would be no clues needed, other than this picture, for Steven to know where to go.

Of course, one of his best journalists, one of the four children seated around the table now, would be the one to go. Steven knew now that he faced one of the hardest decisions of his life.

Seated around the table, their eyes all focused on the notes, papers, and experimental formulas and years worth of disastrous experiments, were his children.

There were seven boys, and a single daughter, and it was that daughter whose reaction worried Steven the greatest. That and the promise he had given her several months before. A promise he feared he would have to keep now.

"This one's mine." She spoke up just as he knew she would, her voice firm, and determined. Stubbornness reflected in her clear brown eyes, her pert little chin rose, daring anyone to deny her the right.

Her hair, which would have fallen below her shoulders in rich burnt chestnut waves, was pulled haphazardly into a ponytail that fell below her neck. Her slender body was nearly shaking in excitement. And of course her brothers were quick to take her up on the challenge. Ranging from age twenty-five to thirty-five, their voices raised in protest.

Of the seven boys, three were journalists, but only two were squawking louder than the others. Their rights, their positions, Steven reflected that they were forgetting that the past two stories that had raised them so quickly to the top, had been stolen from beneath Maggie's nose as they used the unfair advantage of being her brothers against her.

Steven let the debate rage, all the while watching his oldest son who stared down at the picture with distaste.

"Father, inform this brat of yours that Caleb or myself should have this story." Darien's voice rose in indignation when his sister called him a 'thieving lout'.

"Maggie, stop calling your brother names. And Darien, your sister is not a brat. She's independent, there's a difference." Steven made no reference to where the article would go.

He didn't have the chance, considering the shouting match going on around him.

"Look you moron, I'm sick of the society column, and I wouldn't be stuck there if you and knucklehead there hadn't stolen my last two stories. Why do you think I moved out of here to begin with?" Maggie yelled at her brother when he informed her that until she once again lived with the family, then she should have no say in who was given the story.

Steven sighed, sometimes he wondered at the wisdom of his wife to have so many offspring. The least she could have done was lived long enough to help him keep them in line.

He remembered his wife, laughing, scolding or rewarding the children; eight little hoodlums gathered around her skirts and the light of love in her eyes each time she looked at them.

Mary had been dead five years now. Killed by a drunk driver, and though none of them had yet to heal from that death, they were slowly carrying on. Even if they did do so louder now, than they did when she was alive.

Steven noticed in pride that not once did Maggie ask him for the story. She was demanding it, standing to her feet, her palms placed flat on the table, on each side of the eight by ten photo of the twenty-one year old 'Leo'.

Around her, her brothers, their faces flushed in anger, argued virulently with her. They loved her though, and if she didn't see it, Steven did see the need to protect her in their eyes.

"Enough." He raised his voice just loud enough to be heard.

Steven sighed in relief when they shut up, looking to him expectantly.

"You promised me, Dad," Maggie reminded him softly, still standing, still assuming an almost protective stance over that damned picture.

"Dad, it's too dangerous. Who knows what this creature is really like, or who could be looking for him. She could be hurt." Zane spoke now that the din had died down, his voice was cold, unemotional, but the implied warning could not be denied.

Steven glanced at his son, noticing the cold hard _expression and the even colder depths of his blue eyes. Like dark ice, those orbs stared at him, demanding he retract the promise he had given.

Steven sighed, lifted his glasses and massaged his eyes wearily. When he looked up, his daughter was still standing there, her big brown eyes hopeful and yet determined. Dammit, he had promised her. But she was his daughter, and he had no idea how to protect her. She was also the best protection he could think of for the man who would soon have the most deadly assassin in the states on his trail.

"If you go back on your word to me, Dad, I'll leave the paper." Maggie finally sat down, seeing the reluctance in his eyes. "I'd rather not write at all than to write one more damned feature story. I'll write a hot sex novel first."

That did it, the boys erupted again as they missed the flash of satisfaction in her eyes. Maggie knew the buttons to push, and she knew her brother's opinions of the novels she was talking about.

"I heard enough, out of all of you." He gave Maggie what he hoped was a stern look, but at the slight quirk of her lips he feared she saw the amusement her tactic had brought.

The boys, men really Steven thought, were quiet once again and watching him now.

"There's no way he will approach a man. Too many have been sent after him, posing as journalists. Remember, according to this, he's been captured once already, he won't let it happen again," Maggie spoke up as silence wrapped around the room.

"He was betrayed by a woman." Caleb reminded her sarcastically. "What makes you think he'll trust you?"

"That hasn't been proven. And everyone trusts me, Caleb." She rolled her eyes, and Steven knew how it often nagged at her, that she was given confidences she neither wanted, nor asked for, because of that trait she seemed to have. "I'll have a much better chance at getting close to him, than any of you will. Remember, he's male, therefore he'll be more likely to trust a woman, than a man, because there's no danger of a threat to those baser instincts you men seem to have."

Sitting back in his chair, Steven hid his pleasure in hearing the cool, determined voice his daughter used to bring attention to the fact that she would be the best journalist for the job. Unlike her brothers, she wasn't depending solely on his promise, but was using instead the logic of the situation against her brothers.

"What makes you think you can make him approach you, Maggie?" Steven asked her quietly, desperately trying to treat her as he would any other journalist in the paper.

"Dammit Father, surely your aren't considering letting her go?" Zane surprised them all as he came to his feet now, fury lining his face. "That's a monster!" His finger struck one of the pictures in front of him. "She has no business working on this."

"He isn't a monster, he's a man whose been abused in the worse sense of the word." Maggie came back at him, anger sparkling in her eyes. "Those reports prove he isn't violent or psychotic…"

"You want to trust your life to the same whore who agreed to give birth to that creature?" Zane yelled back at her. "Are you crazy Maggie?"

"I don't agree with you…" And they were off, Steven thought, as once again the differing opinions turned into a wild debate.

Mary, where are you when I need you, he thought in frustration, remembering his wife's ability to keep such debates quiet and polite.

"Enough dammit." Steven injected just enough of his own rising anger to get their attention.

He looked to each man, a frown tightening his face as he saw both their love, and in Darien and Caleb's eyes, the greed for the story.

"Dad, don't do this," It was Zane though, his blue eyes staring at him coldly that made his decision. He knew Zane, and he knew there was more to this protest than met the eye.

Steven knew who, and what his son was, even if his son was unaware of that knowledge. It placed Steven in position of protecting not only his daughter, but also the life of the man his dearest friend Maria, had given birth to. It was the toughest decision of his life. The only way to save the man was to send the daughter where his son would likely be headed as well. His son, the hunter, a mercenary known for his merciless intent on completing each assignment given him, would soon be sent to kill the new breed that five scientists had created three decades before. He had found the message, requesting the "master touch on a breed apart" hidden among other papers in Zane's room the night before. Steven prayed that the love Zane held for his sister was deeper than the hatred he obviously felt for the prey.

"Maggie has the story," Steven announced, holding his hand up when they would have raised their voices in protest. "It's hers to handle however she sees fit." He gave her a hard look, the one he knew made his other journalists tremble in fear. Maggie just smiled.

"What conditions could possibly make this acceptable?" Caleb bit out furiously as he nearly cracked the back of his chair as he flung himself backwards against it. "This is insane. She's never covered a real story in her life."

"Because of you and that moron twin of yours," Maggie snapped back. "I would have had two great stories if the two of you hadn't decided to steal them and divvy them up between you."

"Dammit Maggie, you're like a damned kitten. Those stories would have broke you," Caleb argued in his own defense. "You're not hard enough."

As Maggie opened her mouth to hotly debate the subject, Steven caught her gaze and gave her a quick frown. As she settled back in her seat, he continued.

"I trust you, Maggie," he reminded her. "I trust you to know what will happen to us, if anything happens to you. So I trust you to be careful, use caution, and call me if there's even a whiff of trouble. The story will be yours, but it wouldn't hurt to take one of your brothers with you."

Satisfaction bloomed across Maggie' face. Her brown eyes sparkled with it, her face flushing in excitement.

"I'll go with her." Caleb rose back up in his seat, seeing his opportunity to once again assert his own control, Steven knew.

"No brothers." Maggie ignored Caleb's offer as she stood to her feet and began collecting the papers that had arrived the week before in a small box addressed to her father. "I'll take Moocher, he doesn't bitch my ear off."

"The hell you will." Caleb's face flushed in anger as he turned to her father. "This is too dangerous for her Dad, and all she's going to take for protection is that damned psycho mutt?"

"It's her story." Steven didn't like it, and had grave misgivings over it, but he knew no other alternative. Maggie was sick of the society and features pages, and Steven knew she would go out on her own soon. The pros were adding up against the cons in sending her, but still his heart beat sluggishly with fear for her.

If she was going to head out on her own, he at least wanted the option of knowing the story, and where she was headed.

"I'll up your cell phone power." Her brother Brandon, the electronics wizard accepted his father's decision with a shrug, but he would make sure the area's difficult reception could be enhanced.

"Better get out here tomorrow for a refresher with the guns." Brandon's twin, Brock spoke up. He was the firearms specialist in the family. Steven reflected with pride that his family had a broad expanse of resources within it.

"Okay, if she's gonna go, let's at least get her prepared." Darien, he had stolen her last story, sighed in resignation. "We may as well get started with camping basics. She never did seem to pay much attention when she went with us."

Steven hid his amusement at his daughter's flash of sudden frustration. She hated camping, cook fires, bugs or wildlife. She had her story, but he bet she would be less than pleased with the means of getting it.