Dagger Read online

  Evernight Teen ®

  www.evernightteen.com

  Copyright© 2015 Steven dos Santos

  ISBN: 978-1-77233-475-3

  Cover Artist: Jay Aheer

  Editor: Katelyn Uplinger

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  To all the LGBTQIA youth struggling with feelings of loneliness, rejection and depression. You are very special, loved, and perfect exactly how you are! Take the world by storm and fill it with your magic.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  Books don’t just happen in a vacuum, and Dagger is no exception. Dagger’s journey to publication has been a challenge, a rollercoaster of emotional ups and downs, with a host of super supporters along the way.

  First off, I’d like to thank my partner, Jeffrey Cadorette, for all his patience, insights, and coping with my late night, erratic hours spent visiting the other worlds of my mind.

  Next, you wouldn’t be reading this without the encouragement of my entire SCBWI Aventura Critique Group, whose constructive comments and meticulous BETA reading, guided me through publication during the darkest moments of the process. Special thanks to Critique Group leader, Dr. Stacy Davids, Norma Davids, Angela Padron, and a very extra special nod to Medeia Sharif, who pointed me in the right direction!

  I would also like to thank my wonderful agent, Ginger Knowlton, and the staff of Curtis Brown, Ltd. for their belief in Dagger and efforts to bring his adventures to readers. To my dear Stacie Ramey and Joyce Sweeney, I couldn’t have done it without your fabulous friendship and therapy sessions!

  Finally, much thanks to Evernight Teen for making the Dagger dream a reality at last and welcoming me to the family with open arms. And Jay Aheer, you outdid yourself with the gorgeous cover art! Dagger and I are very proud!

  DAGGER

  The D.U.S.T. Ops: Mission 1

  Steven dos Santos

  Copyright © 2015

  Chapter One

  I pulled the sheet down Reinaldo’s naked right hip, trying hard not to peek at what lay beyond. Why did he have to be so damn hot? Hey, I was a typical seventeen year-old guy, raging hormones and all that jazz. With one big difference.

  I had orders to terminate.

  Reinaldo lay sprawled beside me on the king-sized bed in our Parisian hotel suite, looking like the statue of David in a centerfold spread: jet-black curly hair, Roman nose, angular jaw, the chiseled body of a college gymnast. His biceps bulged, as did his pecs, which were lightly coated with hair that tapered into a trail leading down ridges of sculpted abs, past his pelvis, before disappearing into the tent under the sheets. As far as what was hidden, let’s just say all that rigorous exercise hadn’t stunted his growth.

  He was the first guy to tell me he loved me. And now he’d be the first guy I had to kill. The quintessential love-hate relationship. If there’s one thing I’d learned ever since my brother Phillipe’s supernatural disappearance, it was that love had no business in the world of occult espionage.

  Opening your heart was akin to opening your wrists.

  I shifted closer, my face inches from his pelvis. Moving in, I smelled the freshly laundered linen, mixed with Reinaldo’s own musky athletic scent. I blinked my eyes three times, activating the infrared contact lenses I’d slipped on earlier, while Reinaldo’d slipped out of his clothes, after drinking the potion I’d slipped in his wine. Talk about a slippery slope.

  He didn’t look quite as sexy bathed in a green glow, more like Michelangelo’s boy with a serious case of gangrene. But the only part of Reinaldo’s body that truly mattered was the part no longer hidden by the sheet. The part that throbbed underneath the gaze of my infrared lenses.

  It was there, on his inner right thigh. The birthmark. My intel had been correct.

  It was so tiny I might not have ever seen it, even if we’d done the deed.

  What was it? Right?—no, left to zoom in. I blinked my left eye a few times enlarging the image. It was a symbol. A dragon inside a pyramid, its base parallel to another pyramid base facing the opposite direction and encasing some type of demon. Both of these were housed within a larger triangle.

  I squinted, flexing my brows. Snap! Snap! Snap! The photographic evidence of the mark uploaded via the lenses’ transmitter. These shades rocked. I’d have to give props to Felanie—if I made it out of this.

  I glanced back up at Reinaldo’s face. He looked so peaceful lying there, completely unaware he’d been duped. For a split second I almost felt sorry for him. Keywords split and almost. He’d more than duped me by pretending to be my boyfriend, until I’d found out he was a member of a sorcerist cell. Even so, the concept of terminating him sounded clinical and abstract when discussed in a cold, sterile briefing room, especially when I’d prepared months in advance, both physically and mentally, convincing myself it was for the greater good. With the target warm and curled up against me like a helpless pup, termination seemed more like murder. Orders be damned. Better to drug him and see if I could find it first before going down that road.

  I maneuvered my body across his sleeping form. When our skin touched, I broke out into goose flesh.

  Reinaldo stirred slightly.

  I held my breath, tensing every muscle.

  Then he stretched a sculpted bicep over his head, not a care in the world.

  My heart down-shifted.

  I reached over the side of the bed, past the ornately carved nightstand, and carefully rummaged through the pile of clothes Prince Charming had deposited on the lush, wine-colored rug. One black V-neck T-shirt with no pockets, the better to show off his massive chest. Skin-tight jeans that hugged his thick thighs and narrow waist contained nothing but empty pockets. A pair of size twelve flip-flops. Not much else.

  I’d already performed a sweep of the room. He had to have it on him.

  Wait a minute. The big silver belt buckle. Trendy. A good place for hiding a top-secret micro-chip embedded with an encryption key … stylish. I snatched it up, the metal feeling cold, even in my icy hands.

  I examined the buckle, a very butch affair, complete with some type of horned steer. At first I’d thought Reinaldo’d been going for a metrosexual country western look. But the horns reminded me of the ones on that birthmark nestled against his loins.

  My fingers explored the buckle’s surface, my thumbs pressing against every ridge. Nada. I’d have to improvise. Following my instincts, I pricked my thumb on the prong. A small trickle of blood bubbled forth. Kind of unconventional for espionage, I know, but it’s not like I worked for the CIA. As a matter of fact, I doubted even the CIA knew about us, that’s how high we were on the secret ladder. The Department of Unexplained Supernatural Terrorism. DUST. Saving the unsuspecting world from the criminal forces of the supernatural and the occult, one phenomenon at a time.

  I smeared the blood on the buckle’s surface, hoping the “offering” would activate the trigger point. Voila! The surface snapped open, revealing the microchip lying in the buckle’s womb. It amazed me the clout virgin blood carried in the occult world. Yes, technically, I was still a virgin, though hardly the poster boy for innocence at the moment.

  I sat up, carefully removed the dime sized-chip, and slipped it into the hidden slot in the waistband of my tighty-whities. Then I replaced the buckle’s face and dropped the pants back into the pile, just as the light came on. Two powerfu
l arms encircled me from behind.

  Had it not been for my rigorous training at the Farm, I would have panicked and tried to break free. But I waited a few seconds, despite the hammering in my chest. It was all about improvisation and adaptability in this business.

  The beginnings of a five o’clock shadow grazed my neck, making me shiver. Then the tingling of soft, wet lips, slowly kissed and sucked their way up my jugular.

  It wasn’t possible. The drug-in-the-wine-routine should have knocked any human out for hours. He’d awakened in only twenty-minutes, no worse for wear, judging by the level of excitement pressing against me.

  “Watcha doing, sexy?” Reinaldo purred into my ear, his big hands squeezing my chest.

  Great. I’d lost my advantage. I had to get the chip out of here and back to headquarters, like yesterday. Hopefully Reinaldo wasn’t already on to me, instead of into me.

  “Hey there, sleepy-head,” I whispered, stifling a groan. Nothing like pillow talk with a lethal assassin.

  His fingers traced the outline of my chest muscles, making their way down the ridges of my stomach, coming to rest on my waistband, just inches from the chip. A little too close for comfort, considering the lives at stake.

  Reinaldo nuzzled my cheeks, his lips searching for my own. “You seem a little tense, Daguerre. I can take care of that.”

  His mouth found mine, warm lips pressed against my own, gently prying them open, his tongue searching and finding mine.

  Nice. Making out with an agent of darkness, who, from what his dossier revealed, would probably skin me alive, literally, if he knew what I’d done.

  Eager to get Reinaldo’s hands away from my underwear’s smaller prize, I maneuvered my body around to face him. My hands clasped behind his neck, just in case an old-fashioned strangulation was required. My thigh muscles wrapped around his waist, the better to crack his ribs with. Mmm. I had to admit, despite being a minion of evil, Reinaldo was a helluva kisser.

  Our breathing became heavy. Reinaldo’s arms gripped my back (searching for pressure points perhaps?). He pulled me tight, our chests rubbing frantically against each other, his with a light coat of hair, mine hairless, our bodies slick with sweat. Before I knew what was happening, he’d rolled on top of me.

  Not good.

  His mouth left mine, his tongue snaking its way down my throat, covering my chest with kisses, sucking on each nipple. I tensed up and brought my hand down toward his head, in case I needed to pull him closer—and snap his neck.

  “What do we have here?” he asked, his voice deep, throaty, and breathless. He held up my finger, turning those big brown eyes up to mine. I didn’t need the special lenses to see the blood.

  I was in deep shit now.

  “I must have cut it on the headboard,” I managed as casually as I could, hoping that the heat of the moment would overshadow the utter ridiculousness of that statement.

  He looked at me deep and hard. For a moment I thought the jig was up. I tensed my muscles, ready for the offensive. Then he cracked a smile, his eyelids drooping like a mischievous imp.

  “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll just kiss the boo boo and make it all better.” Before I could protest, he kissed my finger, his tongue delicately lapping the trickle of blood. He started sucking, his eyes never leaving mine.

  Definitely high up there on the kinko meter. I’d seen him in the sunlight, so that ruled out vampirism. Besides, after being placed in the spotlight by the string of lame ass books, movies, and shows flooding pop culture some years back, real vamps had slinked back into the closet out of sheer embarrassment. But I’d learned in my brief, yet colorful, stint as an agent in the supernatural spy biz, our fanged brethren weren’t the only creatures who appreciated plasma treats. Whatever he was, it didn’t matter. I had the chip.

  “Reinaldo,” I whispered, slipping my finger from his slurping mouth, “let me put something on that.” Before I get an infection from whatever vile germs you’re carrying in your putrid insides. I caressed his cheek lovingly, contemplating the joys of quarantine.

  He ran his fingers through my hair. “I don’t care, Daguerre. I want you so bad,” he crooned, holding on to my hand as I moved off the bed. “I’ve waited such a long time.”

  “Me, too.” Which wasn’t entirely a lie. I’d been waiting a long time to nail his ass, albeit not in the way he was thinking. “I’ll be right back, handsome.” I gave him my most sultry wink and strolled into the sitting room, gently shutting the door behind me.

  I hurried past the fireplace, my bare feet cold against the marble floor. Reaching the desk, I hit a button underneath it. A panel slid open on its surface and a glowing sphere, the size of a softball, rose into the air about a foot above the opening. A telepathic communicator. DUST’s version of wireless, untraceable communication. They’d planted it in the room before we’d checked in. I held my palm over the sphere to establish a link. I felt the familiar vibration as my DNA was scanned and the neural pathways in my brain were connected to the system via a psychic server. Can you hear me now, indeed.

  Greek Avenger reporting in. I’ve acquired the package. Repeat. I’ve acquired the package. The mark is still active. Preparing to neutralize. Requesting back—

  The globe went dark and fell into its slot.

  Shit. Psychic communicators didn’t drop calls. Unless—

  I ripped open the desk drawer to pull out my weapon.

  Click.

  Too late.

  “Find a bandaid, sexy?” came Reinaldo’s familiar voice from behind me.

  I thought about going for the gun anyway. But he’d blow a hole in me first.

  “Hands up, and turn around slowly,” said Reinaldo. The smooth talking, lustful rasp was gone. He meant business now.

  I followed his instructions and turned to face him. There he stood, barely clad in underwear. Except the only thing pointing at me now was his Glock.

  “Let’s get this over with,” I said. It’s not like I had a death wish or anything. But I’d learned to look the Reaper in the eye to see who’d blink first.

  Besides, I knew Reinaldo would kill me no matter what I said. And I wasn’t about to give the asshole the satisfaction of begging for my life, not after the crimes he’d committed. And the way he’d screwed with my heart.

  Reinaldo smirked. “First things first. Who do you work for?”

  I allowed myself to chuckle. “You really think I’m going to give that up? After all, Reinaldo, you of all people should know by now that I don’t give things up very easily.”

  Now it was his turn to laugh. “If you’re referring to your virtue, that’s about as worthless a commodity as one can possess.”

  Oh no, he didn’t. I guess we were entering the vicious bitch banter portion of the fight. “Go to hell,” I muttered.

  “All the time.” He chuckled, moving closer. “I’m curious, Dagger. Or do you prefer Agent Beaumont?” He grinned. “Just when did you begin to suspect me? After you fell in love with me, or was it after I killed your partner? Connor, was it?”

  My whole body trembled. Connor and I had been recruited at the same time. And this bastard had murdered him. No, not murdered. Butchered. I’d been naïve enough to show Reinaldo mercy. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.

  He cocked the gun. “You work for DUST, don’t you?” he hissed.

  I held my ground. I’d take my secrets to the grave. My right foot brushed against the marble pedestal next to the desk, supporting a sculpted bust of Napolean at eye level. Ever so slightly, I gripped the edge of the base between my big toe and my second one.

  “Very well, Dagger. Hand over the chip. Now.” He took a few steps closer, still pointing the weapon at me.

  Good. Come closer, bitch.

  He pressed the gun to my temple. “Have it your way, lover. Now you die.”

  “Wait, I’ll give it to you,” I stalled. If he killed me now, he’d get the chip anyway. I reached for the waistband of my briefs.

  “Hold it. I’ll d
o that.” He gripped the elastic band, his thick fingers slipping in way past the waistline, brushing against me. “After I divest you of the chip, I may just have to rip these off and teach you a lesson, before I kill you, of course,” he sneered.

  Enough of this shit. I shoved the pedestal with my foot. Napolean came crashing down on Reinaldo, going all Waterloo on his face. I dove behind the divan, the sound of bullets screaming through the room, one grazing my left ear.

  Reinaldo sailed over the sofa to finish me off, but I was ready for him, hoisting an armchair and shoving its legs into his groin. Another stray shot rang out. He’d dropped the gun. Before he could recover, I charged him. The Eiffel Tower was a sparkling blur as we crashed through the balcony doors and onto the terrace.

  My head throbbed. The City of Lights dimmed fast. Reinaldo sat on the floor, covered in glass shards and streaks of blood, probably mirroring what I looked like. But he was smiling. Smiling at the small object in his hand, glistening in the moonlight.

  I looked down. My underwear was in tatters. The chip had been ripped from the waistband. Reinaldo rose to his feet, wobbly, but steady. And he was changing.

  His muscular lats flared like a cobra’s head, his skin assuming a reptilian texture. He was a Morpher, the one piece of data missing from his file. No wonder he was so good at going undercover. He could assume an array of identities, including that of a hot college frat boy. And to think we’d almost—fuggeda ‘bout it.

  Direct exposure to the moonlight powered a Morpher’s change. If he completed the transformation, I would be powerless to stop him.

  And he had the chip.

  He faced me, drool oozing from contorted lips, parted to reveal a forked tongue. Two pointy protrusions burst from his skull. “Now you had to go and get me all horny, you teasssse.”