I’VE gone too far to stop now, Radek thought. Not that he wanted to, not when the dreams of the previous night had been filled with images of inglorious failure and servitude, of Weres overrunning the human world and subjugating mankind.
Time was nearly out. He didn’t know how he knew it, but he did. It felt as though some internal clock had suddenly sped up, making his pulse race and intensifying the urge to look over his shoulder.
He was hyperaware of Gregor’s eyes boring into his back. Watching, taking note. Not to carry information back to Viktor or the Ivanov patriarch, but to increase his leverage so Radek would forever be footing the bill for his sexual perversions.
Ultimately he’d have to do something about Gregor, but not now. Not now.
Radek stirred the super-virus into the bucket of feed. With no evidence of dead elk, wolves, or hyenas, he’d split the encampment’s herd of meat goats, taken those he intended to use as a weapon against the Weres, and had them placed in a separate, enclosed building.
Gregor had become necessary, at least for the moment. Someone needed to take care of the goats. They were rank creatures and he certainly couldn’t be expected to muck out their paddock area or see to their water and all their feeding requirements. Someone needed to guard them so they didn’t end up in the human food supply.
A shudder went through Radek as he slipped the empty liquor flask he’d smuggled the virus into the building with into his pants pocket. Sudden sweat made his shirt cling to his sides. According to the documentation he’d found with the canisters, of the three super-viruses, this one was the most volatile, the most likely to mutate. It was a trade-off the scientists accepted, greater risk offset with the benefit of being able to kill a wide range of Weres having a cat form.
Cats were survivors. They were consummate predators. According to the data chip accompanying the canister, of all the Were groups, the scientists considered jaguar, leopard, and cougar shapeshifters the most likely to be able to survive prolonged human warfare on this continent and rise to power.
Radek picked up the bucket of feed. He’d already made a show of taking measurements of the goats when he arrived earlier, then of pouring in some of the fictional growth formula kept in a bottle near the feed.
The make-believe recipe supposedly came from the safe uncovered by the workers. His stated desire to test it served well enough as an excuse for taking charge of the goats and having Gregor assigned to them.
Radek turned around and took the several steps required to reach the paddock fence. The goats crowded forward, already anticipating the feast his presence had come to represent. He lifted the bucket and poured its contents into troughs made from metal barrels.
Three more days, he thought, holding his breath to keep from inhaling the acrid stink of goat piss as the herd consumed his offerings. In three more days they’d all be ripe, virulent, and ready to be struck down like piñatas at a party.
Releasing them wouldn’t be a problem. He’d make up some excuse, perhaps something along the lines of them needing to graze naturally as part of their accelerated growth regime. And while the herd was out of sight of the encampment, they’d escape.
The last of the feed disappeared, leaving the metal barrels licked clean. Radek looked up and saw Gregor, eyes narrowed and hard, his hand rubbing the bulge at the front of his pants in a not-so-subtle reminder he hadn’t yet been paid for disposing of the whore.
Radek suppressed a smile. Yes, he could easily see how the animals would manage to escape, how the story would be spun—of noble Gregor growing concerned and leaving them unattended while he searched for the prostitute who’d gotten lost after accompanying him in his capacity as goat herder.
She’d stay lost of course. Gregor would make sure her corpse wasn’t found.
It was a simple plan. Effective and efficient. More important, it felt right.
He’d give it more thought before setting it into motion, but there was no reason not to whet Gregor’s appetite, to prime the pump, so to speak.
“Three more days of waiting should do it,” Radek said. “Considering the long hours you’ve been putting in and the degrading nature of the work for an Ivanov militiaman, I don’t think anyone would question your need of a whore and a break from the confines of the encampment. As a caveat, I do reserve the right to veto your choice of female companion. Their contracts vary in terms of their worth.”
Gregor’s hand curled around his cloth-covered cock. He wet his lips in anticipation. “Three days sounds good. It’s been too long since I had the kind of fun I like.”