by Cynthia Eden
Only him.
“I told you,” Cain said as he tossed the paper. “You’re not quite understanding his power.”
“He’s not understanding me,” she snapped right back. Her gaze went to the Atlanta Daily building once more. She knew this routine. Knew it. So maybe Wyatt and his goons were inside, waiting for her to show.
Eve eased back, hiding in the shadows of the nearby restaurant. She didn’t have to go in that big, imposing building. She knew Gloria’s habits, and Gloria would be heading out of the Atlanta Daily on her usual chocolate run in five, four, three . . .
A woman with short blond hair and long, confident strides pushed through the Atlanta Daily’s glass doors. Ah, Gloria. She could never make it through a full day without getting her fix.
Georgio’s Chocolates was just one block over.
“Come on,” Eve told Cain as she gave chase. No way should Gloria have printed that piece. The woman knew her. Gloria had integrity, she had—
Gloria had stopped in front of Georgio’s. She appeared to be staring at her reflection in the glass.
Eve moved beside her and simply said, “What the hell?”
Gloria bent over as if inspecting the chocolate displayed in the window. “You need to get out of town. Get out and don’t ever come back.”
Cain hung back just a few steps.
“You need to print the truth,” Eve fired back.
Gloria laughed, but the sound was weak and sad. “The truth? The truth is that our government knows about Wyatt’s experiments . . . and they don’t want them to stop. They’re giving him more power, not less.” She tapped the glass. “You know he’s promised them an immortal soldier? One that can rise again and again, no matter how many times he dies? His heart can stop”—her hand slapped at the glass—“then boom, he’s right back.”
Hell. Wyatt was promising them Cain.
“The soldier won’t need blood like a vampire. He won’t be weak in sunlight. He’ll be strong all the time. He’ll be the perfect weapon of death.”
Was that truly what Cain was? Eve swallowed. “Richard Wyatt is feeding the government a line of bullshit. Nothing—no one—like that exists.”
Gloria straightened, but still didn’t glance her way. “Wyatt knows about me.”
Eve knew her secret, too.
Not human.
“If I don’t play ball with him, I could wind up in a lab.” Fear—an emotion Eve had never heard in Gloria’s voice—hummed beneath the words.
Eve could only stare at the other woman. Gloria had been in more wars that Eve could count. She’d faced terrorists. Murderers. Never flinched. Until now. “So you sold me out because you were afraid?” Fear could make anyone desperate. She got that.
Gloria gave a short, sad shake of her head. “I ran the article because I was scared to death. I came here to warn you because you’re my friend.”
Gloria had been her friend.
But Gloria turned away from her. “Don’t try to talk to me again. Just . . . get out of here and don’t look back.”
“I don’t run, Gloria.”
Gloria glanced back at her too briefly. “Then you’ll die, Eve.”
Her friend strode into the chocolate shop. The bell that hung over the door gave a happy little jingle.
In the next instant, the shop exploded.
The force of the blast threw Eve back and she screamed, then lost her breath as she slammed into the ground.
“Eve!” Cain was there, turning her over and staring down at her with a face gone white.
She was bleeding. Her hands and her legs were cut and bleeding and she hurt everywhere . . . and . . . Gloria was dead.
Eve’s eyes were on the burning building. Or what was left of it.
Cain lifted her into his arms. Sirens were screaming from someplace and a crowd was gathering on the street.
“I’m a doctor,” a Good Samaritan in a blue shirt and running shorts said. “Let me look at her, I can help—”
“Step the fuck back,” Cain snarled at him and held her carefully.
The Good Samaritan stepped the fuck back.
The pain began to slip away. Eve stared at the fire. Cain had tried to warn her.
He’d warned her.
Brakes squealed near them. She caught the stench of burning rubber.
Gloria died because of me. Eve realized she was crying.
There’d better be a special place in hell waiting for Wyatt.
“Get in!”
Wait. That voice was familiar. That snarl—it was Trace’s voice.
She turned her head and saw that he’d been the one squealing to a stop. He was in a black SUV, his hands tightly gripping the wheel.
“Get. In!”
Cain put her in the back of the vehicle. Climbed in beside her. Her blood was on his hands.
Only fair. Gloria’s was on hers.
The SUV roared away, racing right past a line of fire trucks heading for the burning remains of the chocolate shop.
Those fire trucks sure had gotten to the scene fast. Too fast.
I wasn’t the only one who knew Gloria’s routine. The bomb had been planted, the authorities tipped off.
And Gloria had died.
“You were right,” Eve spoke through numb lips. “I should have stayed away.” Cain had warned her, but she hadn’t listened. She’d been so sure that she could approach Gloria quietly, that she could get her story out there.
Cain turned over her hands. Eve’s palms were shredded. She’d thrown up her hands to cover her face when she went flying into the street, and when she’d hit, her palms had slammed into the asphalt.
“The paper said . . . the story said I torched that warehouse, the club with the people inside . . .” She licked her lips. Tasted the fire. “People will say I did the same here. That I killed her.”
You did. A dark voice whispered in her mind. It was the voice of her own guilt. Gloria shouldn’t have died for her.
Trace cursed from the front seat and sent the SUV careening around a curve.
“Slow down,” Cain snapped, but his fingers softly stroked Eve’s hands. “You want to blend in now, not stick out.”
But Eve shook her head, knowing blending in wasn’t an option. Eyes had been watching them. Cameras had probably been stationed on that shop, recording their every move. “They’ll have seen the SUV. Gotten the plates . . .”
“On it,” Trace muttered and pulled them into the winding entrance of a parking garage. “We’re ditching this ride and getting the hell out of here.”
“He’s setting me up,” she whispered, her heart like lead in her chest. “Wyatt is making me look like a criminal so no one will believe anything I say.”
Cain just stared at her. A muscle jerked in his jaw. His hand lifted and brushed over her cheek. More blood smeared his fingers. She hadn’t even realized that her cheek was bleeding.
“Attack first,” Trace said from the front. The SUV braked to a jarring stop. “Give your enemy no time to run or rest. Fucking smart strategy.”
No one had ever said Doctor Richard Wyatt wasn’t smart.
Cain shoved open the back door, but after he jumped out, he turned back to gently help her out of the SUV.
“There.” Trace was already heading toward another vehicle—a pickup truck. One with an extended cab and lots of room in the rear. “You two get back there and stay down.”
He had the truck hot-wired in ten seconds flat. She’d taught him that particular skill, one long ago day. Eve slid down in the back, and Cain came down on top of her. Their bodies were pressed together. So close.
She turned her head away. She didn’t want him this close. This close, he’d be able to see it when she cried.
I’m sorry, Gloria.
“I’ll stop him,” Cain promised her.
The lump in her throat was choking her. Eve tried to swallow. Once. Twice.
Then she felt Cain’s lips on her cheek. He was . . . kissing away her tears.
&
nbsp; “I’ll kill him.” So soft. Such a deadly vow.
She knew that Cain would keep his word.
If they didn’t stop Wyatt, he’d keep coming. More innocent people would die. Wyatt didn’t care. The blood on the streets didn’t make a damn difference to him.
He’d keep coming.
Until they burned his ass and sent him to hell.
Wyatt surveyed the smoking remains before him. A good warning. Now Eve would understand just who she was facing.
Had she truly thought he’d fear being exposed in the media?
That would never happen. It couldn’t. His experiments were too important.
Firemen were rushing onto the scene. No survivors would be inside. How could they possibly be? Those in that shop weren’t like Cain . . . or Eve.
Such a surprise. He never would have known about her special skills if she hadn’t come right to him.
Her mistake.
He’d had the chance to conduct two experiments in the field. Two very rewarding experiments.
Cain hadn’t killed Eve once he’d risen. He’d been able to maintain his control with her. Interesting. If the chains hadn’t bound him at Genesis, Cain would have destroyed everyone around him after some of his risings. He’d been too out of control. Too wild.
But he hadn’t needed chains to stop him from hurting the lovely Eve.
And even a very powerful blast—one that had taken place just inches away from Eve’s own face—hadn’t been able to kill her.
Wyatt had been watching her when that building exploded. He’d seen exactly what she’d done.
Eve had thrown up her hands, and, for an instant, the flames had washed right over her skin. The force of those flames—and the blast—had tossed her through the air. She’d been bruised and bloody when she rose again, but the injuries had come from her slamming into the pavement.
The fire had never hurt her. The flames had burned right over her flesh, but the fire hadn’t so much as blistered her skin.
Eve held great power over the fire.
He had been watching her every move through his binoculars. He’d seen the blood dripping from her wounds. Seen the way Cain cradled her. While the fire might not be able to hurt Eve, she was still very, very vulnerable. Eve could be hurt. Just not with fire.
The drugs he’d used at Genesis—and again last night—had a definite effect on her. And her skin cut open all too easily.
But she was immune to the flames.
Interesting.
A puzzle . . . and he did love a good puzzle. Once he got Eve in his lab, strapped to his table, he’d learn every one of her secrets.
She’d beg to tell them to him.
“Was that place rigged?” Trace asked quietly as he faced Cain, “or did you start the fire?”
They’d gotten out of Atlanta. Driven a few hours, crossed the South Carolina border, and kept going. They’d finally stopped at a small motel on the outskirts of Charlotte. Water from the shower pounded steadily, muffled slightly by the closed bathroom door.
Cain had been left alone with the shifter while Eve washed the blood away.
Trace raised a brow as he studied Cain. “She’s not here—and she doesn’t have shifter hearing, so just talk straight with me. Drop the bullshit, man.”
Cain didn’t like the wolf.
“I know what you are, and I know exactly what you can do,” Trace told him.
I doubt that. In Cain’s experience, few people actually knew what he was—and even fewer understood just how powerful he was. He stared steadily back at Trace. He’d washed Eve’s blood off his hands, but he could almost still feel that blood coating his fingertips. “And you think I would hurt her?”
“I think you’ve got a monster inside, one that you can’t control.” Flat, hard words.
Cain held that cold stare. “I guess you’d know all about having a beast inside.” He didn’t like this bastard. Just what was his relationship with Eve? They were far too close.
Too close.
Jealousy burned in Cain’s gut.
Trace bared his growing fangs. “Yeah, I fucking would know.” He dropped his arms and stalked toward Cain. “She helped you, so now do her a favor . . .”
If Trace really knew what he was, then the wolf should be backing away, not coming closer. Unless he just wanted an ass-kicking.
The knot of jealousy spread within Cain.
“Get the hell away from Eve,” Trace told him bluntly. “Before she’s hurt again.”
The guy had him confused with someone who gave a shit about what he had to say. “She wants me close,” Cain murmured, not about to back down. Time to clear the air here. “So I’m not going anyplace.”
“Even if you put her at risk?”
Were the shifter’s claws starting to come out? They were. Fool. Fire trumped claws any day of the week. “I’m the one who can keep her safe.” The only one.
“Because you’re the big, tough, nightmare-myth, right?”
Myth. The word almost surprised him. It appeared that Trace did have a clue about just what Cain was. “Myths aren’t real.” Monsters were.
“Before my house—the house I damn well loved—got torched, I hacked into Wyatt’s computer.” Trace’s eyes showed only his cold rage as he studied Cain. “I read the files on you. I know what he did.”
“Good for you.” Cain tried not to let any emotion show on his face. He didn’t want to think about those days at Genesis.
“He killed you at least a dozen times.”
More. But Cain had stopped counting after a while. What had been the point?
“And each time you died, you rose back up. You burned and you rose.”
The shower had stopped. He could barely hear the faint drip, drip of the water.
“Silver bullets. Dismemberment.” Trace was rattling off a brutal list, and with every word he spoke, the memories flashed through Cain’s mind.
I was alive when they started dismembering me.
The bathroom’s wooden door opened. Eve stood there, dressed in the jeans and T-shirt that they’d picked up from a thrift store down the road. Her hair was wet, and her eyes were on Cain.
Trace locked his jaw and stopped talking. Finally.
Eve shook her head. “I want to hear this.” She was still pale, but she didn’t look as shell-shocked. Had she cried in the shower? Dammit, he hated that she hurt.
Wyatt would think nothing about the bombing at that shop. The people who’d died would just be collateral damage. Necessary sacrifices to achieve the big picture. Wyatt was all about the big picture.
Trace glanced at Eve. “You think you already know about him, don’t you?”
Her gaze lingered on Cain. “I know he didn’t set that shop on fire.”
“How do you know?” Trace demanded instantly. “Fire is his bitch to control, it’s—”
“His fire feels different.” She walked past the two men. Peeked out of the faded curtains, then turned back to face them. “That was a planned explosion. A bomb.” Her lips twisted. “Humans at work.”
Trace headed toward her and caught her wrist. Cain tensed. He didn’t like the handsy shifter. Not a fucking bit.
“He’s trouble, okay?” Trace said, leaning too close to Eve. Cain’s hands clenched as the werewolf continued, “Any being that can’t die—you don’t want to be around him.”
Eve’s gaze darted to Trace’s hand, then back to his face. “When you’ve got an army of trigger-happy jerks and a mad scientist after you, an unstoppable immortal is exactly who you need at your side.”
Her words slid over Cain like a warm caress, and he straightened his shoulders. The words weren’t the exact truth, though. He wasn’t immortal. He could be killed. Not by much, granted, but with the right weapon—
Her.
—he could taste his last death.
“Phoenix.” Trace tossed the word out like a curse. Maybe because that was what it was. “They’re not supposed to actually exist. But he”—Trac
e inclined his head toward Cain—“is real. And he’s one of the most dangerous monsters that I’ve ever met.”
Not one of the most. The most. The wolf needed to get his facts straight. And he needed to get his hands off Eve.
“He burns and he rises,” Eve said softly, her eyes on Cain.
“And ashes are left in his fucking wake,” Trace cut in. “Eve, shit, this is too dangerous for you. He’s too dangerous. Let’s get out of here and get you someplace safe.”
The wolf was pissing off Cain. Maybe it was time to singe some of that asshole’s fur—
“No.” Eve’s voice. Sharp. Demanding. “Don’t even think about hurting him, Cain.”
“What?” Trace snarled and he swung around, claws out. “Oh, come on, pyro, you just—”
“Stop!” Eve held up her hands. The hands that were still scratched and red. “In case you two jerks missed it, we’re all being hunted. We don’t have time for this alpha crap.”
It wouldn’t take much time. Cain was sure he’d have the wolf fleeing in about, oh, five seconds.
Maybe even three.
“We have to stop Wyatt,” Eve said, rubbing her forehead, “before he hurts anyone else.”
Cain would lay odds that the guy was undoubtedly out hurting someone else right then.
“His prey got away. Genesis was destroyed.” She swallowed. “So he’s probably looking for new test subjects.”
“Yeah,” Trace drawled, “and you’re one of them, sweetheart.”
Cain’s eyes narrowed as he took a step forward. The wolf was far too damn familiar with Eve. Touching. Using endearments. Sweetheart—my ass. Trace needed to back the hell off.
Cain had cut the shifter some slack since he’d been there with that getaway vehicle in the city, but that slack—yeah, it was ending.
“I can’t be the only one,” Eve argued. “He’s not going to stop his experiments. Wyatt will be out looking for more paranormals.”
And Jimmy Vance wouldn’t be supplying that “more” any longer.
“I’m not just going to wait for him to come and find me again. He wants a hunt?” Eve demanded. “Then I’ll give him a hunt. I’ll hunt that bastard.”
The exact plan that Cain wanted to follow. Only he wasn’t just planning a hunt.