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biting him deeper than it should have.
    “I need those heating pads on him now. His DTs are starting. Do it now, ladies, before he rips his peroneus from his tibia.” It wasn’t just Niles Fury’s leg muscles they were going to have to worry about. His ribs made an audible crack as his obliques spasmed. Niles Fury screamed, helpless to stop the onslaught of muscular seizures. Ichor poured from partially healed wounds sutured together as his spine bowed, pulling him off the table. His left hip dislocated and a fresh new pain raced down his leg.
    He needed the touch of his own, not
Chetrah
science. The heating pads hit him like scorching sandpaper. A poor substitute for flesh on flesh and the warmth spread by the sharing of metaphysical energy. As pain wrenched his body he tried to think of Haley and how she’d felt under him. His weight pressed against her, the sensation of her hands buried in his flesh...
    Blood.
    Her blood caught fire in his veins.
    “Callahan, he’s slipping ... I need that propranolol
now
before we lose him...somebody open me a vein before I do it for you!”
    Niles Fury felt his anger crumble and could feel beyond.
    Brother, you were right. I have felt her blood in mine. She is our Augury.

Chapter 3
     
    Colonel Dobson picked up the satellite phone on the third ring.
    “Yes?” Formal hellos, how-are-yous and what-the-hell-do-you-wants were unnecessary. Only one man would be calling him from a number outside the Bureau military lines, and that was Richards, his head metaphysical biologist.
    “I’ve got bad news both ways,” Richards said.
    Dobson pulled the tattered cigar from his lips and smashed the smoldering end into the glass ash tray.
    Smoking on the plane was prohibited.
    He pulled out another two-hundred dollar Cuban and contemplated lighting it. He only had three left. Thank God he only smoked on the plane. It would be at least three days before his next shipment came in.
    And nothing was as good as a Cuban. He could almost taste the sweat of the caramel-skinned whore who rolled the thing.
    Even though the Gulfstream five-fifty gave a flawless ride, it was still flying. And every cell in Dobson’s body knew he was up in the air. No amount of fine furniture, luxury seating, or plush carpeting was going to change that. It bothered him, because wyrms were born with wings.
    Down to three cigars, with six hours in his flight left to go, and now Richards was burning up his satellite phone with more melodrama. Probably the goddamned monsters eating each other again.
    Dobson rolled the cigar with his tongue. “I told you, if you wait until they’re as crazy as a shit-house rat, one of them would wind up killing the other. You can’t starve these fuckers, Richards. It’s not like your dog. They’re eating machines. Keep em’ fed or kill em’. But quit calling me because you decided to go home early and thought half a day wouldn’t make a difference.”
    “We’ve got sample Zero.”
    Dobson grinned. “I thought you quit sampling the synthetics, Richards.”
    Richards was quiet. Dobson could just imagine him, standing there in his pristine white lab coat, sweating like a pig on a spit.
    “Sir, I’m clean.”
    “Then what’s with the horseshit about having Garrett’s pet?”
    “She’s here, sir. She’s here in the ADF.”
    Dobson leaned forward in his seat. He dropped his voice even though he knew he was alone. The stewardess knew to stay the hell out unless he yanked her leash.
    “Do not fuck with me, Richards. I am not in the mood to be fucked with.”
    “I’m ... I’m not, sir.”
    “Then tell me how you just happened to have the golden egg land in your lap when I’ve been trying to get my hands on her without causing a shit storm with the higher ups?” For how long? Months. And even now that he was head of the Military section, they told him “no”.
    This had better be good. Real good.
    Richards talked and Dobson listened. It was good, all right. She’d picked up