by Cynthia Eden
“And that’s how you die,” Eve whispered as she pushed back her hair. “Even if you are the best experiment out there.”
Cain grabbed her hand. “Time to go.” The mad scientist was dead, and they needed to get to safety.
But Eve shook her head. “It doesn’t end with him, don’t you see that? More scientists will just come along. They’ll use his research. Genesis will continue.”
He knew that. There were always monsters out there. Some of those monsters just happened to wear the bodies of men and white lab coats.
Eve pulled away from him. “I’m taking proof.” She snatched up what looked like syringes from the desk and grabbed a black briefcase. She shoved the syringes in the case and yanked files from Wyatt’s desk. “I am blowing this story wide open.” She grabbed for a flash drive—
The howl from the hallway froze them both. Eve’s shoulders stiffened. “Trace,” she whispered.
What was left of him.
“Stay here,” Cain told her. He actually thought Trace was trying to get to Eve. The beast had been fighting viciously to get down that hallway.
To Eve?
Not on his watch.
He ran back into the hallway. Trace was facing off against the other phoenix. His claws were up. He leaped forward.
Ryder grabbed his feet and sent the werewolf tumbling to the ground.
The phoenix let her fire out. Ryder jumped back and the flames circled Trace, closing in. He howled and swiped out, seeming to be confused. Lost.
“No,” Eve’s shout came from beside Cain. “You can’t do this to him!”
She tried to shove by Cain, but he grabbed her arm, holding her back. “It’s not my fire.”
Trace’s head jerked toward them. His face was human, but the eyes that locked on them were pure beast. He snarled and charged at the fire.
Leaped over the fire.
The werewolf was coming right at them.
Ryder screamed for the other female—the phoenix—to get out of the way. Trace kept charging, rushing with his claws up and his fangs bared.
Cain shoved Eve behind his back, then put up a wall of flames in front of them. He hadn’t wanted to do this, not with Eve watching, but there wasn’t a choice. . . .
The werewolf wasn’t stopping, so Cain had to stop him. He pushed out with his fire. The flames bit into Trace’s arm. Another howl. More cries and . . . the werewolf turned away. He ran toward the far end of the hallway and jumped through the window. Glass shattered.
Eve shoved Cain aside as she tried to race toward that window. But Cain was with her every step of the way. He knew they’d find the werewolf ’s broken body below, and he hated for her to witness that sight.
She beat him to the window. There was no shielding her.
There was also no werewolf below.
Just broken glass. Guards swarming. No, guards fighting for their lives. The supernaturals were definitely out. Someone had opened the cages and let the monsters out.
Cain glanced back over his shoulder and tensed. The female phoenix had been cut by the werewolf ’s claws. He could see the dark blood staining her shirt and the wounds that ripped into her stomach. Ryder had her in his arms, holding her tight.
But Cain could tell she wouldn’t survive those wounds. Death would come for her, then a rising. “Can you handle her?” he demanded.
He knew how dangerous a rising could be.
Ryder simply turned away and began carrying his phoenix toward the stairs. “Always.”
The vampire shouldn’t be so certain of that, but the guy had his own choices to make. Your funeral, vamp.
Cain had his priorities. Priority one—getting Eve to safety. The paranormals were wild, some could be on their side, some . . . could just be like the vampires they’d had to slaughter in the basement. Out of control. Rabid.
“Everyone’s out,” Eve said as if realizing how dangerous that situation was. “How?”
He glanced back down the hallway. Ryder was gone. Ryder. “I think they had a little vamp help.” The vampire had wanted his phoenix, and Cain was betting he’d freed everyone in order to get to her.
“Cain . . .” Eve’s gaze was on the madness below. “What happens to them now?”
Below them, a demon had just broken a guard’s neck. Another guard fired and shot the demon in the back. Eve flinched.
“They get the hell out of here,” Cain said. It was what most of the supernaturals were doing. Running into the forest. Fighting only when they were pursued. They wanted freedom. He understood that. It was what he wanted, too. “Come on.” He grabbed her right hand. She had the briefcase in her left. The files, her proof.
It looked as if they’d both gotten what they wanted. All they had to do was live long enough to get away from the remains of Genesis.
And back to the lives they’d known.
The subjects were gone. The rooms remained empty and hollow. The guards had scattered. They’d been running for their fucking lives.
Jeremiah Wyatt leaned heavily on his cane as he made his way down the long hallway that led to his son’s office. He knew Richard still had to be at the facility. His son hadn’t contacted him, so . . .
You have to be here.
But unlike the guards and some of the supernaturals that he’d found left behind, Jeremiah knew that his son would still be alive. He’d made sure of it.
His experiments had paid off. Sure, Richard had begged and pleaded, crying for him to stop the pain, but his son had been just a child then.
The boy hadn’t understood just what sort of gift he was being given.
I made him strong.
No, Richard hadn’t understood, not until Jeremiah had tossed him into the hole with the vampires. His son had been screaming, so sure that he was going to die.
He hadn’t died.
I made you stronger.
His son’s blood was poison to vampires. The fools had realized that soon enough. They’d stayed away from him. Poison blood. Fast-healing skin. Super strength. And his own God-given intelligence.
Richard was perfect. His best creation, by far.
He had to find him. . . .
His cane thudded lightly over the floor. Blood stained the tiles. Ash. Lights swayed drunkenly from overhead. It had taken him almost a full day to reach the facility. He’d been in Washington when he’d gotten the call from one of the fleeing guards, and he’d come to Beaumont as quickly as he could.
When you were already supposed to be dead, it was hard to move fast.
His men crowded in behind him, and when he reached Richard’s office, one of them actually tried to go in first.
Fool. Jeremiah shoved his cane into the guy’s gut. He could handle this scene on his own. If Richard wasn’t there, trying to salvage their research, then his son would have left some sign showing where he’d—
Richard was there.
Jeremiah frowned and his cane hit against the floor.
Thud.
Thud.
Richard’s eyes were closed and his arms were spread wide, looking almost like an angel’s wings.
There was a giant bullet hole in his son’s forehead.
And a wooden stake had been shoved into his heart.
Thud.
Thud.
Jeremiah’s eyes burned. No, no, not his experiment. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.
He bent, his knees creaking, and his hand closed around that stake. His fingers were slippery with sweat and twisted with arthritis, but he grabbed that stake and yanked it from his son’s chest.
Maybe he’ll come back. The boy could heal so well, maybe. . .
He wasn’t healing. Richard wasn’t breathing. His body was icy to the touch.
Please, Daddy, don’t!
The boy had cried so much when the experiments started. So damn much. But the pain had been necessary. He’d transformed the boy. Made sure that he could survive anything that came his way.
Please, Daddy . . .
; He hadn’t survived. “Someone knew his weakness.” A weakness that only Richard himself could have revealed. Jeremiah’s hand tightened around the cane as he levered himself up. He hated to see his son like this. Such a pitiful waste. All of that time. All of that research.
Now I have nothing.
Jeremiah’s gaze swept the room, rising to the tall bookcase on the right. The office had once been his, so he knew exactly where all the video surveillance equipment was hidden. “Get the feed,” he said, pointing one finger at the camera he knew was there. “I want to know who killed my boy.”
He’d make that person pay. His legacy had just been destroyed. His best experiment.
His son.
The cane slammed into the floor as he turned away.
He’d find his son’s killer, and make him pay.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When she slept, Eve looked so peaceful. Always beautiful, but sleep made her appear . . . innocent, too.
Cain leaned over her and brushed the back of his knuckles over her smooth cheek. He’d gotten them away from the nightmare in the mountains. Taken her to Charlotte. Booked a room in the fanciest hotel he could find.
Then they’d both crashed.
The silk sheets were soft beneath him. But they weren’t even close to being as soft as her skin.
His lips pressed over the curve of her shoulder.
Eve stirred beneath his touch, and her eyes opened. “Cain.”
He smiled. He liked the way she said his name when she woke. The husky whisper. The purr of sound. The hint of sex.
Her arms rose and wrapped around his shoulders. “Is it really over?”
He didn’t let his expression change. “Almost.”
She licked her lips. “They’ll be here soon, won’t they?”
He nodded, though he knew the words weren’t a question.
She glanced over at the bedside table, at the glowing face of the small clock. “How much time do we have?”
“Just enough,” he told her, but the words were a lie. They wouldn’t have enough time. Soon, he’d have to leave her.
Their lives were waiting for them. Time to get back to the way things had been.
So why did his chest feel so hollow when he thought of being without her?
“I called the reporters,” he told her, “ just like you asked.” An anonymous call. To the press . . . and to the cops. “We probably have about ten minutes before our company arrives.”
Her lashes lowered. “I want longer with you.”
He pushed back the covers. Slid his body over hers. “And I want you.” Cain kissed her, putting his mouth against hers and letting his tongue drive deep. Every instinct within him screamed for him to take, take, take . . .
But for this time, this last time, he forced himself to be gentle. He could be gentle, for her.
Her legs parted, and he slid between them. His cock pushed at the entrance to her sex, but he didn’t thrust inside her. He kept kissing her. He stroked her with his hands.
Her moan teased his ears. Her hips arched against him.
His fingers slid over her breasts. Caressed the sweet flesh. He had to taste her there. A long lick, a kiss on her tight nipple.
“Cain . . .” A demand. He knew she wanted more than the soft caresses. He’d learned that Eve liked the sex hard, demanding. Normally, so did he.
But he wouldn’t go harder. Wouldn’t be rough with the passion that wanted to rage inside him. When she remembered him, Cain wanted her to remember more than just fire and fury.
He wanted her to remember the man he could be, too.
His fingers slid over her sex. His thumb pressed against her clit. Her gasp told him how much she liked that touch, and when one finger slid into her, her sex was warm and tight around him. Ready.
But . . . not yet.
His head lifted. Cain stared down at her. There was so much he wanted to say to her, but all that came out was, “I won’t forget you.”
Her eyelids flickered. Her chin lifted just a bit. “No, you won’t.” Her nails scraped down his back. “You never will.”
Cain thrust inside her. Her sex was paradise. Clasping him tightly, squeezing all along his length. He wanted to thrust and thrust, to drive in as deeply as he could go, but Cain kept a stranglehold on his control.
Hold back. For her.
He didn’t want Eve to forget him, either. He wanted her to remember the pleasure he’d given her.
He kept the rhythm slow. Steady.
He heard footsteps coming in the hallway.
But he kept thrusting. Her eyes were on him. Only him.
Another thrust. Withdrawal. His thumb pressed over her clit even as he pushed into her creamy sex.
He saw the pleasure flash in her eyes when she came. Felt the ripple of her inner muscles around his length. Only then, then, did he thrust harder. Deeper.
He took. Her hips arched, and he went inside her as far as he could go. Mine.
The pleasure lashed through him. Strong enough to make him go blind. Strong enough to make him wish that he was someone else.
Someone who didn’t have to leave.
Someone who could love.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
No, that wasn’t just his heartbeat. That was a hard knock at the door.
“Mr. Smith?” a thin voice called out. Probably the hotel manager. “Mr. Smith . . . there are . . . people here to see you.”
Cain stared down at Eve for a moment longer. “Don’t mention my name.”
It was what he’d told her before.
Her lashes lowered.
He wanted to stay. But staying—that would mean more danger for Eve. She had a chance now. A chance to do what she’d wanted all along.
She didn’t need him.
I need her.
He pulled away from her. Yanked on his clothes and headed for the adjoining room. One jerk, and he broke the lock. There wasn’t anyone else in that room, he’d already checked and—
“I’ve never seen someone so good at walking away.”
He glanced back at her words. Eve stood beside the bed, pulling on her clothes. Had that been an echo of pain in her voice?
He didn’t want Eve to hurt. Not ever. Not her.
And that’s why I’m leaving.
Eve didn’t understand, but he still had to hunt. There was something—someone—who would be coming for her.
The werewolf hadn’t died. But he’d sure been hell-bent on his target.
Eve.
I’ll find him. I’ll stop him. Before the wolf could go after her. Cain couldn’t afford to be caught in the bright light of the press. Not when he needed to stay in the shadows in order to hunt.
And to keep surviving.
“I’m not going far,” he told her, wondering if she realized the words were a promise. Maybe she couldn’t tell. He knew they sounded like a threat.
Her lips parted. “Cain?”
“Not far,” he repeated. The beast inside him wouldn’t allow him to leave her, not for long.
“Mr. Smith?” That nasal voice called again. “I-I . . . they want me to let them inside.”
“See you soon, baby,” Cain told Eve and watched as she turned away.
He shut the door and strolled through the connecting room. He unlocked the room’s main door and headed into the hallway, appearing right behind the pack of reporters and cops who’d closed in on Eve when she opened her own hotel room door.
For a moment, he hesitated, but then he heard her say, voice clear and commanding, “My name is Eve Bradley, and I have proof that not only did Richard Wyatt set me up for a series of crimes, but Wyatt and Genesis Corporation have been abducting and experimenting on supernaturals . . .”
The reporters were filming. The story would be hitting televisions all across the state within minutes. The networks wouldn’t miss out on a juicy story like this one—they’d want in on the action.
Eve’s tale wouldn’t be hushed up. The cops w
ouldn’t be able to block the reporters.
The truth would get out.
Cain began to whistle as he walked toward the elevator. She’d get her headlines.
Eventually, he’d be back to get her.
“All charges are being dropped, Ms. Bradley,” Detective Jason Roberts told Eve as he leaned across the table and pinned his baby blues on her. “By this afternoon, you’ll be a free woman.”
Her lawyer, an attorney sent by the local Channel Seven news team, leaned forward with an intent look on her face. “I want my client free within the hour.”
Detective Roberts glanced her way. Those blue eyes—Eve was sure the guy used them to lull suspects into a false sense of security every single day—hardened a bit. “Then you need to go out and take that up with the judge, Ms. Hancock.”
With a sniff, the lawyer rose. Janice Hancock stared down at him from her five-foot-three height and gave a smile that could have frozen Hawaii. “I will.” She leveled her stare at Eve. “Don’t say anything else to these cops, understand?”
Eve nodded. But talking wasn’t a problem. Her whole bit was that she was talking. Sharing everything she’d learned about Genesis and Richard Wyatt.
It turned out that Uncle Sam wasn’t exactly thrilled to be caught in the PR nightmare. Humans were outraged that supernaturals had been held captive and killed for genetic experiments.
When the public got outraged, the government took note—and started playing very, very nicely.
Eve waited until the door shut behind her lawyer. She liked Janice well enough—the woman was a shark, and sharks were always great creatures to behold—but she was planning to ask the detective a few questions of her own while she had the chance. “Did they recover Wyatt’s body?” She knew the detective had gone back to Genesis in order to see for himself what waited in Beaumont.
She also knew . . . Roberts wasn’t human. She’d caught the flash of fang when he’d been reviewing some of her evidence. The pictures of the mutilated shifters she’d taken from Wyatt’s desk—those had really pissed off the cop.
“We found him,” Roberts said with a shake of his head. “He was just where you said, lying with the stake next to his body and—”