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humanity.
    But that had been before they’d begun to breed new generations, before it had become obvious they weren’t going to die off like normal humans did—before mainstream humanity had realized that Morphates couldn’t be killed, not even by time or the aging process
    The only thing that could control a Morphate was another Morphate. The Alphas, to be exact. The Alpha hierarchy was an absolute one. If you lived in their City, you obeyed and respected your Alpha . . . unless you felt yourself capable of challenging that Alpha and taking over his or her position. In the thirty-five years since the Phoenix Project, that had only happened once . . . in Dark Houston. All the other Dark Cities were still run by their original Alphas.
    The Alphas themselves were controlled by an Alpha Council. Each Alpha answered to the political and legal power of the Alpha Council. Ideally. But recently two Dark Cities had broken away from the Council’s control, had decided to start living by their own rules, and Morphates had started bleeding out of the Dark Cities. Some had gathered into new enclaves that occasionally liked to intimidate and bully the humans they considered inferior to themselves in so many ways. Luckily, for the most part, they paid humans about as much mind as they might a stray animal. They were more interested in fighting amongst themselves for power, feuding for control.
    Just the same, there were hostilities between the two species. Morphates didn’t respect humans, and why should they? Humans were inferior creatures compared to Morphates, with the abilities and power that they wielded. Humans feared and despised the unstoppable prowess of a species that could potentially wipe humanity from the face of the earth.
    To further complicate things, Morphates could easily pass as normal humans if they wanted to. Some people thought that they were still technically human, but many humans and most Morphates disagreed with that, each finding it to be a little bit insulting. Still, the Constitution protected American Morphates just as it did anyone else, and all laws applied. Then there was that little thing called immortality. You could put a bullet in a Morphate’s brain and it would still survive, healing from the wound completely intact.
    Oh, and there was one more little thing . . . that little thing about drinking blood . . .
    So she wasn’t surprised by Liam’s reaction in the least. It was to be expected.
    â€œI chose you because you have experience in this kind of altercation. Your people have the equipment needed to hurt them, to slow them down, as well as the training specific to fighting Morphates. I’m not asking you to burn them to the ground, although in a perfect world that might be nice, but I do need you to make enough of an impact that you get the message across: to leave me alone.”
    â€œLast I checked, assault on that scale is still illegal,” Nash reminded her stiffly. “My people are bodyguards, not mercenaries. Oh”—he smiled sarcastically as he folded brawny arms over his chest and settled in a firm stance—“and it’s common knowledge, you can’t kill a Morphate.”
    â€œYou’ve killed a Morphate, Mr. Nash.” She took satisfaction in the way his breathing froze into silence, the superiority on his face falling away in a rush of shock. “And the only reason the incident is even on record is because you reported it to your C.O. in the Secret Service as a matter of protocol. It wasn’t as though there was a body left behind.” She threw up her hands and made a poofing sound to indicate the vaporous cloud that occurred when a Morphate was finally, truly dead, its body dissolving into its basic gaseous components.
    Liam stared at her as if she’d grown an extra head.
    â€œHow do you know that?” he demanded. “How did you find out about that?” His eyes narrowed to amber slits when