His genetic code sourced from the best that humanity
offers, Galahad embodies the pinnacle of perfection. When Zara Itani, a
mercenary whose abrasive arrogance exceeds her beauty, frees him from his
laboratory prison, she offers him the chance to claim everything that had ever
been denied him, beginning with his humanity.
Perfection cannot be unleashed without repercussions, and
Galahad’s freedom shatters Danyael Sabre’s life.
An alpha empath, Danyael is rare and coveted, even among
the alpha mutants who dominate the Genetic Revolution. He wields the power to
heal or kill with a touch, but craves only privacy and solitude—both impossible
dreams for the man who was used as Galahad’s physical template.
Galahad and Danyael, two men, one face. One man seeks to
embrace destiny, and the other to escape it.
Two men, one face. One man seeks to embrace
destiny, the other to escape it.
Danyael Sabre spent sixteen years clawing out of
the ruins of his childhood and finally has everything he wanted--a career, a
home, and a trusted friend. To hold on to them, he keeps his head down and
plays by the rules. An alpha empath, he is powerful in a world transformed by
the Genetic Revolution, yet his experience has taught him to avoid attention.
When the perfect human being, Galahad, escapes
from Pioneer Laboratories, the illusory peace between humans and their
derivatives--the in vitros, clones, and mutants--collapses into social
upheaval. The abominations, deformed and distorted mirrors of humanity, created
unintentionally in Pioneer Lab's search for perfection, descend upon
Washington, D.C. The first era of the Genetic Revolution was peaceful. The
second is headed for open war.
Although the genetic future of the human race
pivots on Galahad, Danyael does not feel compelled to get involved and risk his
cover of anonymity, until he finds out that the perfect human being looks just
like him.
Danyael Sabre, an object of desire, would much
rather not be. An alpha empath by birth, a doctor by training, and an empathic
healer by calling, he is stalked by the military that covets his ability to
kill, not heal. He finds himself on the run under the protection of an
assassin, Zara Itani.
Bereft of two days of memories, the more he uncovers
of his lost hours, the more he doubts everything that once anchored him. He
knows only that he endangers those around him and that he is falling in love
with Zara, who hates him for reasons he no longer remembers.
As forces—both powerful and ruthless—threaten
those he cares for, Danyael has only two options. He can betray his values and
abandon the path of the healer, or he can wait to be betrayed, not by enemies,
but by his friends.
PERFECT BETRAYAL is the second novel in the
award-winning Double Helix series.
Don’t fear the army of genetically engineered
perfect killers. Fear the cripple who leads them.
An alpha empath, Danyael Sabre is powerful, rare,
and coveted, even among the alpha mutants who dominate the Genetic Revolution.
Betrayed by his friends and abandoned to a life sentence in a maximum-security
prison, Danyael receives freedom and sanctuary from an unlikely quarter—the
Mutant Assault Group, an elite mutant task force within the US military.
Physically crippled and emotionally vulnerable, Danyael succumbs to the warmth
of friendships and the promise of love he finds within their ranks.
Friendship and love, however, demand his loyalty,
and Danyael rises to the challenge of training and leading the assault group’s
genetically modified super soldier army. The super soldiers are faster and
stronger than the military's human soldiers; their animal instincts spur
ferocity and fearlessness in battle. But who is the perfect weapon—the super
soldiers or Danyael, the alpha empath, who can, with a touch, heal or kill?
Adversaries swarm, like vultures around carrion;
the pawn is once again in play. The threads of betrayal that sent Danyael to
prison spin into a web, ensnaring him. When a terrorist group strikes Washington,
D.C., how far will Danyael go to defend a government that sent him to prison to
die?
PERFECT WEAPON is the third novel in the
award-winning Double Helix series.
Jade Kerrion, author of the award-winning science-fiction/dystopian
series, DOUBLE HELIX, first developed a loyal reader base with her fan fiction
series based on the MMORPG Guild Wars. She was accused of keeping her readers
up at night, distracting them from work, housework, homework, and (far worse),
from actually playing Guild Wars. And then she wondered why just screw up the
time management skills of gamers? Why not aspire to screw everyone else up too?
So here she is, writing books that aspire to keep you from doing anything else
useful with your time. She lives in Fort Lauderdale, Florida with her
wonderfully supportive husband and her two young sons, Saint and Angel, (no,
those aren't their real names, but they are like saints and angels, except when
they're not.)
Here is the first chapter of Perfection Unleashed for you to read! This was the chapter that I read an excerpt of and then realised I had to read this series. And then I realised I was supposed to review it. One of the more interesting excerpts for me.
On another Friday night, she might have been out at a Georgetown bar,
accepting drinks from attractive men and allowing them to delude themselves
into imagining that they might be the lucky one to take her home.
Tonight, she had work to do.
The hem of the white lab coat brushed about her legs as she strode toward
the double doors that barred entry to the western wing. No one paid her any
attention. Scientists and lab technicians scurried past her, nodding at her
with absent-minded politeness. On Friday evening, with the weekend beckoning,
no one thought about security.
Where men faltered, technology kept going.
The corridor seemed endlessly long, and the security cameras that pivoted
on their ceiling-mounted frames bore into her back. She knew that her image
likely featured on one or more of the many monitors at the security desk, but a
combination of training and nerves of steel steadied her. She resisted the urge
to twitch or to hurry her pace.
Each step brought her closer to an ominously glowing red eye on the
security panel beside the door. Undeterred, she waved her badge over the panel.
Moments later, the security panel flashed to green and a heavy lock slid back.
Another small triumph. It usually took a series of them to make a victory.
She lowered her head, ostensibly to look down at the tablet in her hand.
Her long, dark hair fell forward, concealing the lower half of her face from
the security camera as she walked through the open door. “Entering the western
wing,” she murmured, trusting the concealed microphone to pick up on her
whisper.
“Good luck,” Carlos’s voice responded through the tiny earpiece inserted
in her right ear. “All’s clear out here.”
“I’m really glad the security pass I programmed for you actually worked,”
Xin added, a whimsical tone in her voice.
Zara was glad, too. She had a solid plan. Two of her finest associates
backed her up—Carlos Sanchez waiting in the car concealed off road outside
Pioneer Labs, and Mu Xin poised in front of a computer in her Alexandria
home—but she could come up with a list of a half-dozen things that could still
go wrong.
“I’ve finished checking the employee log against the National Mutant
Registry,” Xin continued. “You’ve lucked out, Zara. Apparently Pioneer Labs
isn’t big into hiring mutants. You won’t have to contend with any telepaths or
telekinetics tonight.”
Good. That was one thing she could strike off her list.
Another long hallway stretched in front of her, but the glass-enclosed
research station on the left drew her attention. Two lab technicians huddled
around a network of computers, their attention focused on the output pouring
from the whirling terminals. Her gaze drifted over the lab technicians and
focused on Roland Rakehell and Michael Cochran, the famous co-creators of
“Galahad”, the perfect human. The two scientists stood in contemplative
discussion in front of a liquid-filled fiberglass chamber.
The man floating within the sensory deprivation tank, his head encased in
a metallic hood and his face covered by breathing apparatus, writhed in agony.
Wires monitoring heart rate and brain waves trailed from his naked body. Jagged
edges leaped hysterically off the computer readouts as mind and body convulsed,
shuddering with madness and pain.
One of the lab technicians spoke up, “Professor, his brain waves indicate
that he is waking.”
Roland Rakehell glanced at his watch. “Right on time,” he noted, his
voice tinged with disappointment. “I guess the miracles can’t come thick and
fast every single day.”
“We made him human, not superhuman,” Michael Cochran said. “Besides, we
don’t really have time to record a miracle today.” He glanced at the two
technicians. “Roland and I are meeting investors for dinner, and we have to
leave now. Take Galahad back to his room. Make sure he gets something to eat.”
Silently she pushed away from the viewing area and continued down the corridor.
Her violet eyes betrayed the faintest flicker of confusion and consternation.
Galahad.
She would never have imagined it, but apparently the scientists had no
qualms treating their prized creation like a common lab animal.
“Xin?” she murmured quietly.
“Right here,” was the immediate response.
“Approaching the suite.”
“I’m one step ahead of you,” Xin said. “I’ve gotten through the security
system and rerouted all the cameras in the suite to a static video feed. You’re
clear to enter.”
The second door opened into a large suite pressed up against the western
wall of the laboratory complex. No gentle ambient lighting there, just harsh
pools of unforgiving white light blazing over the bed and table, leaving the
rest of the large suite in muted shadows.
Was it through deliberate design or neglectful oversight that no attempt
had been made to humanize Galahad’s living quarters? Empty shelves lined the
wall. The small metal table and matching chair were severe, the narrow bed
unwelcoming. She had seen third-world hospital wards offer far more comfort to
its occupants.
Footsteps echoed, drawing closer, and then paused outside the door. There
was no time to waste. She strode across the room, slipping into the shadows
that obscured the far side of the suite moments before the door slid open
again.
The two technicians she had seen earlier half-dragged, half-carried
Galahad into the room. It staggered with exhaustion, trying to stand on its
own. The technicians hauled Galahad up and dumped it unceremoniously in a wet,
shivering heap on the bed.
One of the technicians cast a backward glance at the unmoving figure on
the bed. “Pete, are you sure he’s going to be okay?” he asked the other.
“Eventually. It usually takes him a while to recover,” Pete assured the
younger man. He pulled out two sealed nutrient bars from his pocket and tossed
them onto the table. “Let’s go.”
“I think we should at least get him a towel or put him under the sheets.”
Pete snapped. “How many times do I have to say it? Let him be, Jack. He
doesn’t want to be helped, though God knows I’ve tried often enough. He wants
to be able to do things for himself, at least here, in this room. It’s the only
dignity he has left; let’s leave that to him.”
“It was bad today.”
The older man inhaled deeply, sparing a quick glance back. Galahad
trembled so hard it seemed as if it would shatter. It curled into a fetal ball,
perhaps to protect itself from further violation. “I know. And the best thing
we can do for him right now is leave him alone,” Pete said as he stepped out of
the room and allowed the door to seal shut behind them.
The impact was thunderous—not audibly—but she felt it nonetheless. It was
the sealing of a prison cell.
Zara had wondered what kind of luxuries and privileges the incomparable
Galahad—the pinnacle of genetic perfection—enjoyed. Now she knew the answer.
She watched in silence as Galahad stirred, slowly standing and leaning on
the wall for support as it staggered toward the bathroom. She had yet to get a
good look at its face, but the blazing light did not leave much of its body to
imagination. It was slender but well muscled, powerful and graceful, in spite
of its obvious exhaustion—the promise of perfection come into fruition.
She waited through the sound of running water. Patience had never been
easy for her, but she possessed the instincts of a hunter closing in on its
quarry. Her patience was rewarded when it finally returned to the room, dressed
simply in loose-fitting white cotton drawstring pants and a tunic of the same
material. As it stepped into the blazing circle of light, her eyes narrowed
briefly, and then a faint smile of easy appreciation curved her lips.
She had studied the surveillance video feed Xin had hacked from the
central computers of Pioneer Labs the day before, but the wide-angle lenses had
not captured anything approximating the full impact of Galahad’s beauty. Its
rare and lovely color—pale blond hair paired with dark eyes—stood out and
attracted immediate attention, but the longer she looked, the more beauty she saw
in its exquisitely chiseled features, as flawless as a Michelangelo
masterpiece. Galahad was stunningly beautiful—would be stunningly beautiful,
whatever the color of its hair or eyes. The scientists had certainly done well;
more than well.
Galahad made its way over to a rattan chair, moving with greater ease. It
was regaining its strength, though she did not think that it was anywhere near
optimal form, not when it had almost collapsed with exhaustion on the way to
the bathroom ten minutes earlier. It curled up in the chair and closed its
eyes, looking oddly content, despite the fact that it did not fit very well
into the chair. Within a minute, she realized from the even rise and fall of
its chest with every breath, that it had fallen asleep.
It was time to get to work.
Galahad did not stir as she silently crossed the room. A*STAR had
demanded fresh DNA samples obtained as directly from the source as possible.
Hair or skin samples would be acceptable, and both were typically abundant in a
bathroom. She pulled test tube and tweezers from the pocket of her lab coat and
knelt to examine the bathroom counter.
Something flickered in the corner of her vision.
Instinct and trained reflexes took over. In a flash, her dagger was in
her hand. She spun, the black serrated blade slicing outward.
Galahad reacted with uncanny speed. It dove to the side, dropping into a
roll and coming up in a battle crouch. Her dagger slashed through the air where
Galahad had been standing a moment before. Galahad’s dark eyes narrowed as it
assessed her. Its body shifted into motion, preparing to defend itself.
She too reassessed, readjusted. Her attack should not have missed.
Galahad’s battle instincts had been trained and polished to perfection.
Apparently it was more than a common lab animal.
Her dagger lashed out once again in a graceful, snake-like motion, and
Galahad evaded by dodging to one side. The blade sliced harmlessly through the
air so close to Galahad that it must have felt the chill breath of the dagger’s
passing against its skin.
Galahad’s silent and sinuously graceful movements were driven by so much
speed and agility that strength—although abundant—was superfluous. It matched
her, step for step, dodging each attack with a grace that made their deadly
waltz seem choreographed. There was no doubt that Galahad was good, far better
than anyone she had ever contended with. In spite of its obvious fatigue after
a long and difficult day, Galahad possessed flawless timing and impeccable
spatial precision, allowing it to escape injury by fractions of a second and a
hairsbreadth. It had nerves of steel. It taunted her with its proximity and
tempted the kiss of her blade, never straying too far as it sought an opening.
She saw the dark eyes glitter dangerously and knew that something in it
had shifted, had changed. She thrust her blade at its face.
In less than a heartbeat, it was over.
With a swiftness that left her stunned, Galahad twisted its hand to catch
her wrist in an iron grip. It sidestepped, yanked her forward, and drove its
knee into her thigh. Her leg weakened and collapsed. Its superior weight drove
her to the ground and kept her there without any visible effort.
A perfectly sequenced attack, executed with flawless precision and
stunning speed.
Gritting her teeth against the pain, she recognized the inevitable
outcome as it eased the dagger from between her nerveless fingers. She cursed
soundlessly. She had underestimated its skill, perhaps to her folly. It
suddenly released her, pulled her to her feet, and then stepped away from her.
Some emotion she could not decipher rippled over its flawless features, and to
her amazement, it flipped the dagger over in its hand and held it out, hilt
first, to her. “I don’t know why I’m fighting you. You came to kill me; I
should thank you for your kindness.”
She reached out and accepted the dagger from Galahad as her mind raced to
understand the incomprehensible. Galahad held her gaze only for a moment before
it lowered its eyes and looked away. She saw its throat work as it fought an
internal battle to suppress its survival instincts, and then it turned its back
on her deliberately and walked out of the bathroom.
She could have struck the fatal blow. Galahad was offering her the
chance. She could pull Galahad’s head back and apply the faintest pressure to
the dagger’s blade across its jugular. She could extract the tissue sample she
had been sent to collect, and then leave, her mission completed.
She could not bring herself to do it. Oddly enough, something in her
wanted it—wanted him—to live.
“Zara?” she heard Xin’s voice softly inquiring in her ear, her tone
concerned.
“I’m all right,” she murmured. “Give me a minute.” She paused by the
bathroom door and watched him make his way toward the wide windows. He kept his
back to her as he stared out at the manicured lawns around Pioneer Labs. Was he
waiting for her to strike?
Well, she could play the waiting game too. She followed him and then
turned, casually leaning against the window as she looked up at him, her gaze
coolly challenging.
Several moments passed.
Finally he broke the silence. “Who sent you?” he asked quietly without
looking at her.
She had expected the question, but not the calm, neutral tone in which it
was asked. No anger. No hatred. No fear. Just a simple question, driven more by
politeness than by any real need to know. “Does it matter?”
He inhaled deeply and released his breath in a soft sigh as she neatly
evaded his inquiry. He tried another question. “Are you from around here?”
“Washington, D.C.”
“I’ve seen media clips of that city. It’s beautiful.”
She offered a nonchalant shrug as a response to his statement. “It’s
pretty enough, I suppose. I take it you’ve never been there.”
“I don’t get out much, and the last time was a good while ago.” He
shrugged, a graceful motion that belied the bitterness in his voice. “I’ve seen
media clips endorsed by Purest Humanity and other pro-humanist groups. There is
no place for me in your world.”
It was pointless to deny the obvious, but before she could open her mouth
to toss out the retort on the edge of her tongue, an animal-like cry resonated
through the complex. It was a ghastly sound, starting at a low pitch akin to
the sound a lost puppy might make and then rising until it was a banshee’s
scream. “What was that?”
“It’s an experiment in another part of the building.”
“It doesn’t sound like anything I recognize. What is it?”
He tossed her question back at her: “Does it matter?”
“Not if you don’t care.”
“It’s been going on for as long as I can remember.”
His matter-of-fact statement was like fuel to fire. Her eyes flashed.
“And you feel nothing? No anger? No pity? You’re inhuman.”
“I thought you’d already decided that,” was his mild rejoinder. “Isn’t
that why the pro-humanist groups want me killed?”
She hesitated. Somewhere along the way—she was not even sure when—she had
stopped thinking of Galahad as an “it” and had started relating to it as a
“he”. She had attributed to him all the responsibilities of being human, but
none of its rights or privileges, in effect placing him in the worst possible
no-win situation. She recalled his anguished convulsions in the sensory
deprivation chamber. How much pity did she expect him to dredge up for another
creature in a position no different from his own? Very little. In fact, none at
all.
She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The anger subsided. “Do they
conduct experiments on you too?” she asked softly.
He stiffened. Without meeting her gaze, he answered the question,
choosing his words with care. “I…yes, they do, sometimes.”
“What did they do to you today?”
He averted his gaze and bit down hard on his lower lip. He shook his
head, said nothing.
“You looked like hell when they brought you back. I want to know,
please.”
He was silent for so long she thought he was never going to answer the
question, but then he spoke in a measured, neutral tone. “They gave me a highly
concentrated sleeping pill and then injected a hallucinogen, to induce
nightmares. They wanted to see if I could overcome the effects of the sleeping
pill to wake up.”
“Did you?’
Another long pause. His reply was a softly anguished whisper. “No.”
“How long did the experiment last?”
“About eight hours, perhaps nine.” He laughed, low and melodic, but it
was a humorless sound. “I slept all day, and I’m exhausted.”
“Why do they do that?”
“It’s simple; because they can. Humans and their derivatives, the clones
and in vitros, have rights. I’m considered non-human, in large part because of
the successful lobbying of pro-humanist groups, and I don’t have rights.”
Galahad released his breath in a soft sigh. Long eyelashes closed over dark,
pain-filled orbs as he inhaled deeply. He opened his eyes and met her gaze
directly, holding it for a long, silent moment. The corner of his lips tugged
up again in a bittersweet half smile. “I’m tired. I need to lie down. You can
do what you need to do whenever you want.”
“Wait!” She grabbed his arm as he turned away from her. “You want me to
kill you?”
“Isn’t that what you came to do?”
“Do you actually want to die?”
He waved his hand to encompass the breadth and width of the impersonal
and deliberately dehumanizing room. “I’m not sure this should count as living.”
“But you’re not human.”
“No,” he agreed, his voice even. “No, but I am alive…just like any other
human. This isolation drives me crazy. I know this is not the way others live.
This isn’t living.”
He looked away. His pain was real, his anger compelling. In spite of it,
she had seen him smile a few times and wondered whether his twisted half-smile
could ever be coaxed into becoming something more. In silence, she watched as
he turned his back on her and walked to his rattan chair. He seemed tired,
emotional weariness draining his physical strength. Slowly he settled into the
chair, drawing his legs up and curling into a vaguely comfortable position. Apparently
he had chosen to deliberately ignore her. He was tuning her out and was once
again trying to find solace in the few things he had left, such as a worn chair
and his own company, trying to get through each cheerless day and lonely night.
Outside, a rabbit, safe from predators in the falling dusk, emerged from
its burrow and hopped across the small patch of grass in front of the large
windows of the suite. Zara watched as a faint smile touched his face, briefly
transforming it. His personality seemed wrapped around a core that was equal
parts weary indifference and tightly controlled bitterness, but there was still
enough left in him to savor the small crumbs that life saw fit to throw his
way. If his quiet strength had amazed her, his enduring courage humbled her. As
she watched him, she knew he had won the battle he had wanted, so badly, to
lose. He had proved his right to live, even though there was no purpose in
living in a place like this. He knew that fact intimately, and so did she.
Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
“Zara, we’ve got trouble.” Carlos’s voice cut through the silence of her
thoughts, his habitual calmness edged with tension. “Lots of vehicles incoming.
Purest Humanity logos. Could be a protest forming; they look seriously pissed.”
She took a few steps away from Galahad. Annoyance disguised flickers of
anxiety in her voice. “They’re about two days too early. They’ve been gathering
on Christmas Eve each year.”
“Well, looks like someone had a change of plans. I’m estimating about
forty…fifty cars, at least twice as many people.”
“They won’t get through the gate,” Xin said. “It was designed to keep out
APCs.”
“Uh…The gate just opened…Por dios…They’re driving in!”
“What?”
“No kidding, I swear to God.” The tension in Carlos’s voice escalated.
“Someone must be screwing around with the security system.”
Zara suppressed a hiss of irritation. “Find that person, Xin, and disable
his access. I don’t want to have to fight my way out of here.”
“I’m on it, but I can’t guarantee they won’t get to you. If they’re
already through the gate, they’ll be pounding on the front door in seconds. You
don’t have time; get moving. And Zara, if you don’t take Galahad with you, he’s
as good as dead.”
Zara’s mind raced through the options available to her, the possibilities.
She shrugged, dismissing the many logical reasons why she should not do what
she was about to do, and took her first step down her path with a terse and
coolly decisive order. “He’s coming with me. I’ll get us out of the building.
Carlos, stand by for an extraction.”
“Copy that.”
She stepped toward Galahad. “You need to change into something else.” The
thin cotton tunic and pants he wore would not provide sufficient protection
from the chilly night air. Besides, his clothes looked like something issued to
long-term residents of mental hospitals. Something with fewer negative
institutional implications would work better at keeping him as inconspicuous as
possible.
He blinked in surprise, her voice jerking him back to reality, and he
looked up at her. “There is nothing else to wear,” he said. He released his
breath in a soft sigh, his gaze drifting away from her to the rabbit outside
the window.
Nothing else? A quick search of the suite confirmed his words. The only
pieces of clothing in the suite’s large and mostly empty walk-in closet were
several pieces of identical white cotton tunics and pants, a subtle but highly
effective dehumanizing strategy. “We’re leaving anyway,” she told him as she
returned into the living area of the suite. “Get up. We’re going.”
He stared at her in bewilderment. “Going?”
Zara exercised exquisite politeness and reminded herself to be patient
with him. “I’m getting you out of here.”
A glimmer of understanding tinged with wary hope swirled through the
confusion in his sin-black eyes, but he still did not move from the chair. “I
thought you came to kill me.”
Not precisely, but perhaps it wasn’t a bad thing if he kept believing it,
especially if it would make him more tractable. Things were complicated enough;
an uncooperative captive would heighten the stakes and the danger of their
situation. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Changed your mind?”
“It’s a woman’s prerogative,” she told him, a wicked smile curving her
lips. Her tone softened slightly. As huge as this step seemed for her, it must
seem even larger for him. “I want to help you. Will you come with me?”
He met her gaze, held it for a long moment, and then finally smiled.
“Yes.”
The simplicity of his answer staggered her, to say nothing of the
heart-stopping power of his smile. It was a smile that could melt iron. “You
trust me,” she said, “but you don’t even know my name.”
“It would be ungracious not to trust someone who has already passed up on
several opportunities to kill me.” He uncurled from his chair and stood. His
manners were at least as exquisite as his looks. He made no mention of the fact
that he had beaten her in a fair fight and then refused to follow up on his
advantage.
Maybe he considered it irrelevant. The important point was that she did
not. The fight she had lost had, after all, been the critical turning point.
She smiled up at him, suddenly realizing that his dark, fathomless eyes did not
seem nearly as distant and empty as they had several minutes earlier. “I’m Zara
Itani.”
He smiled faintly, the warmth from his smile briefly lighting up his
eyes. “Zara, I’m Galahad.”
~*~*~
Now, I'm gonna write a short review of all 3 books, or rather, the series as a whole. Over the next few days, I will be posting a review of each book. Do look out for it! :)
Enter the giveaway here! Just a little side note, When the Silence Ends is a spin-off of the Double Helix series. I read it and absolutely loved it. Just about as much as I loved the entire series. It was really good. Watch out for that review too! :)
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