Open World (2 page)

Den
returned to the meat on the grill. He couldn’t chance having anyone seeing his
face and the concern that might have slipped through on it. He loved puzzles
and solved them all no matter their difficulty, so he really disliked not being
able to figure out a solution to the day’s bizarreness.

I can’t let them see me sweat
.
If any of them catch wind that I’m not the laid back dude I’ve
presented myself as, then everything I’ve worked for will be over. I can’t have
that
.

Replaying
the events of the past few minutes in his head, he dissected them bit by bit in
an attempt to find anything. Just one smidgen of information could give him a
clue as to the abnormal sensations he’d been experiencing. A cool breeze
brushed his skin, sending goose bumps to dance with the hairs on his arm. He
closed his eyes and let his thoughts glide where they wanted. The task of
sorting the details sent him into a calm, meditative state. Through the process
he used to mull over difficult enigmas, he hoped the answer would reveal
itself.

As
if on automatic pilot, he breathed deep of the mesquite scent wafting from the
wood chips amongst the coals and slowed his heart of its frantic pace.
Concentrate, he told himself.

Emotions
and reactions in check, he willed a protective aura shield around himself.

Pick up on the man’s thoughts.
Sense his purpose
.

In
his opinion, information only needed to go one way…from the prince to him. He
couldn’t afford to have the fellow figure out who he was.

Not yet at least. It’s way too
soon
.

He
homed in on the guy, and repulsive vibes poured over him. Thoughts, full of ill
intent, infiltrated his mind.

The man’s here to claim. Conquer.
End game…power
.

T
he
prince had changed his name, but to what he didn’t know. He couldn’t fault the man
on that kind of switch. He and his buddy, Tavis, had assigned themselves new
names, too.

Alias
or no, though, the royal’s presence was a cause for high concern.

Does he know of mine and Tav’s
existence?
Our ultimate mission?

He
calmed his thoughts, fixated on the man again.
Answer—negative.
Good
.

The
prince didn’t know about the two of them, but the man did have the same
plan…make nice with the family to apprehend one of the two daughters, or the
cousin if need be.

He
snorted.
Same plan. Yeah, right
. In
the prince’s case, his eagerness to have one of the women stemmed from nefarious
reasons.

Den’s
eyes shot open. The black of the grill and the off-white concrete appeared less
vibrant than they had moments before. The light of day dimmed more. He blinked,
then
looked up. The sky had darkened with the
formation of thick gray clouds. The forecast had mentioned a thirty percent
chance of showers, but everyone believed if it were to rain it wouldn’t happen
until much later or the storm would fizzle after it spent itself in the upper
elevations.

Frustrated
over his uneasiness due to the perplexing vibes, his trying to rationalize the
afternoon and the changing weather, he ran his fingers through his hair.

And what the fuck were all those
thoughts about? Mirroring that of my C.O.V.E.N. character and the quests I’ve
been on? Nothing like this ever’s happened before. Did the programmers do
something to the game to affect us?

As
one of the level designers on the development team, he’d been a part of the
alpha-testing and minor playtests during the creation process. Mr. Gott, the
head honcho of the whole design department, thought implementing a lot of tests
along the way would cut down on major changes during the last phases. From what
he understood, the closed-beta test he, Mr. Gott and several others had
performed a handful of weeks ago to check a couple of clans, hadn’t turned out
as well as expected. Hence the LAN party, a crunch time playtest to see what
was going on before they implemented another beta run. All the designers and
programmers, along with any friends and family members who were interested in
giving C.O.V.E.N. a try, were present.

Except if there’s something in
the game that’s going to mind fuck everyone, shouldn’t we call it a day? I
didn’t sign on for crap like this. I’m sure no one else has either
.

He’d
been looking forward to utilizing his ‘good’ character—a Human-Lycan hybrid
warrior—to test several levels and stories during the evening and over the
weekend.
But now?
Since it’d been the HL character
he’d channeled, he wasn’t so sure he wanted to run it. He could assess certain
parts of C.O.V.E.N. with his Vampire, yet that wouldn’t fulfill the parameters
he needed to meet.

He
glanced over his shoulder. Cor still hung around the family, smiling that used
car salesman grin, being all smarmy. Den’s flesh twitched and shimmied as if a
thousand centipedes crawled and slithered upon him. He didn’t like the guy.
More than just Mr. Jenkins being an arrogant asshole, something about Cor
raised his bullshit meter, warned him not to trust the dude. He tapped the
tongs against the side of the barbecue and narrowed his gaze upon the happy
little scene.

I looked at the guy, then mulled
over the storyline and quest I’m doing and put him as the prince? Yeah, like
I’d really do that in the game.
Definitely something peculiar
going on here
.

Perhaps
he’d been under too much stress, had too much caffeine,
didn’t
have enough sleep or information about the guy.
More likely a
combination of it all.
A hodgepodge of shit and no shovel
.
He didn’t know how much
more of all this he could take.

Shaking
off the negativity, Alden rotated his head, listening to his spine crackle and
pop. Tension released. The quick adjustment perked him up. He plated the
burgers, closed the lid to the grill and exhaled a deep breath.
First food, then work, and amongst it all,
see if I can figure out Mr. Jenkins’s deal
. Making his way toward the small
group, the tray of hot meat balanced on one hand, he focused in on Cor, noting
his body language and how the people around him responded.

Why did I imagine
him
as the antagonist? The one in the game I need to destroy?

The
storyline he had to double check during the playtest dealt with finding the
main boss—the Prince of Clan Caesachapel—and defeating him before the cad could
cause harm. He’d intended to assist Hope and her family in creating ‘good’
characters, placing them in the clan he belonged to, and have them run the
quests, as well. But with the way he’d been feeling, he almost reconsidered that
idea.

Thing
was he had a job to do. One he aimed to make good on and see through to the
end. He’d never been the kind of guy to shirk a duty, and he wasn’t about to
start now.

Mr.
James Collins, a middle-aged man with
graying,
strawberry blond hair and ice blue eyes,
glanced
Den’s way as he approached. James acknowledged him with slight nod,
then
returned his attention to Cor.

The
fact James was only a programmer and not his direct boss—or above him in any
authoritative capacity in the organization—pleased Den. The man sure ran hot
one moment and cold the next when it came to him. Hope had explained that was
one of her father’s personality quirks and not to take it personal.

Some
future father-in-law he would turn out to be.

Plastering
a smile on his face, he placed the dish of meat on the aluminum table. James
and the ladies’ attentions stayed fixed on the gentleman in their midst. Good.
No one paid him any mind. More time to assess the situation.

Cor’s
intense brown-eyed gaze bored into Hope’s,
infiltrating her defenses and working whatever magic the man seemed to possess.
Their connection resembled flirting but in a stronger sense. His chest
tightened and burned. Mine, his inner voice asserted in a low, rolling growl,
reminding him of his in game character’s speech. Alden stepped back before he
could choose to put his fist in Cor’s face. His foot crunched on a chip bag
that had fallen to the ground.

Hope
didn’t flinch, didn’t look away.

Mesmerized.
Shit
.
And not just her
.
Enthralled by
the bean counter, the whole family overlooked him like he didn’t exist.

What the hell is
going on?

Chapter
Two

“Hope!”

Startled out of the staring contest, her gaze flew to her father.
A frown plastered his face. Hot blood rushed to and seared his cheeks.
Embarrassed her blatant appraisal of her dad’s co-worker had been so
obvious,
she ducked her head and resumed eating.

“Hope, darling,” her mother murmured, “I really wish you wouldn’t
stuff yourself so. You’ll never drop that padding of yours and be the Vegas
showgirl you want to be if you continue to eat as you do.”

Hope put her fork down and gave the beautiful older woman, who had
salt and pepper
hair
and hazel eyes that mirrored her
own, her attention. “I have dance rehearsals all week, mother, in preparation
for the play next weekend. I’ll burn off what I’m eating today, and I’ll make
sure to watch my diet the rest of the week.” Sure, she was on the heavy side of
dancer thin. In fact, her extra padding made her quite curvy and landed her
several sensuous and seductive parts, but her mom didn’t have to point out her
size in front of everyone. God, sometimes she hated how nitpicky her mother
could be. “I’m a senior in college. I’d think by now you’d trust me to know
what I’m doing.”

Grace swung her attention to her other daughter, seeming to ignore
Hope’s statements. “And, Faith, dear, I wish you’d eat a bit more than just
salad. You’re
too
thin.”

Faith shoved a huge wad of the leaves piled on her plate into her
mouth. Some edges stuck out between her lips, and she chewed on them as a cow
would a mouthful of grass.

She rolled her eyes. Maybe her and her sister’s problem was that
they kept sitting next to each other which highlighted their body differences.

“Girls!”
James clapped his
hands. Everyone at the table focused on him. “Show your mother some respect.”

“Well, well, well,” a melodic voice chimed in behind her and
Faith. “Looks like the troops are being reprimanded. Perhaps I should come back
another time.”

“You are not going anywhere young lady,” James barked, his face growing
crimson in a split second. “Cassandra, sit down next to your cousins.”

“Yes, sir,” Cass retorted sarcastically with a mock salute and
took a seat next to Hope. “Who’s the dude?”

The
girls’ father growled and opened his mouth as if to say something.

Grace
put a hand on his arm. “James,” she warned and, with a slight shake of her head,
made him stop.

Hope
leaned toward her cousin and whispered, “His name is
Corbet
Jen
kins.”

Cassandra
peered up at the man. “Oh, so it is. Sorry, Cor.
Didn’t
recognize you with my uncle’s lips puckered on your a—”

She
jabbed her cousin in the ribs before Cassandra could say something else that
would infuriate her father further.

Cor shook his head. “James? May I ask you something?” The
questions slid out in an easy, smooth southern drawl.

Hope melted with his words. It wasn’t like she hadn’t ever heard a
southern accent before, but his inflection was different. His enunciation had a
charm to it, a burr. She craved more.

“Sure. Shoot, Jenkins.”

“You said they were twins. They look nothing alike.”

“They’re fraternal.” Irritation laced the statement. He pointed in
Cassandra’s direction. “The auburn haired imp on the right is a cousin. As you
know from work, her name is Cassandra. The grazing gazelle in the middle is the
youngest of my twins. Her name is Faith. Then on the end, there’s Hope, our
cute little pumpkin.”

For some reason she couldn’t put her finger on, Hope was unfazed
by her father’s derogatory introduction and his attempt at a loving smile.
Instead, she sat rooted by Jenkins’s steady regard and half-mouth,
roguish
smile.
Uneasiness settled in her core. The hairs on her arms pricked. She had the
strangest, consuming urge to unzip his pants, caress the muscles hidden
underneath and have him press his body up against hers. Hope closed her eyes as
a chilling shiver ran through her, and when she opened them, her gaze landed on
Alden. He stood behind her father and the unsettling man.

Hope, luv, keep your
wits about you
.

The soft spoken words in her mind sounded like Den had said them
aloud. But of course that wasn’t possible. Nonetheless, her heart warmed,
knowing her man was near. She smiled at her boyfriend, becoming caught in his
peaceful gaze.