Blood Mate: The Project Rebellion, Book 2

by Mina Carter

  Palmer threw a glance sideways and curled his lip, opening his mouth to add another wise-crack. The big sergeant didn’t give him chance. Instead, he wrapped an arm around the smaller wolf’s throat and stopped his talking with a headlock.

  The grace and speed Richards moved with, combined with that body, was like eye-crack. Sanders couldn’t look away. One little clue—that’s all he wanted. Fuck no, not all he wanted. He wanted Richards to see him the same way he saw Richards. To have that big, heavily-muscled body at his mercy as he explored it with lips and tongue…

  As though sensing Sanders’s gaze on him, Richards looked up and Sanders was caught. There was a flicker of something in the intense blue, something that sent heat through Sanders’s body like a lightning bolt. Before he could work it out, Richards looked away, grinning and scrubbing Palmer’s short-cropped hair until the smaller man yelped and tried to wriggle free.

  “If you two are done with your male bonding,” Jack snapped. “Perhaps we can get back to this—”

  The sound of running footsteps brought the alpha up short, and all wolves went on alert. A low growl trickled from Nic’s throat. A second later, the last two members of the pack, Blake and Thom, crashed through the undergrowth, almost trampled over Nic and Sanders, then stood with their hands on their knees, panting. It was obvious they’d run long and hard to get back.

  Jack looked from Thom to Blake, and then back at Thom. Bent over with his hands on his thighs, he waved at the rest of them that he was fine but that didn’t stop the rest of the pack from staring at him. Firstly, it was strange to see the uber-fit wolf out of breath and secondly, he didn’t usually make squeaking sounds when he breathed.

  “Do I even want to know?” Jack asked Blake, Thom’s battle buddy.

  Blake grinned, unholy amusement showing on his face. “Long story short. Kid. Ball. Fido here couldn’t resist the chase. Got a little carried away. Hit a fence and swallowed the fucker. Now he squeaks. You’ll piss yourself when you hear him laugh.”

  Jack shook his head, a long suffering expression flitting across his features for a moment. Sanders didn’t blame him. If there was shit to get into, it was a safe bet Thom would find it and not just fall, but take a running jump into it and roll around like a horse in a mud-bath.

  “Right.” Jack said. “You and Squeaker get your asses over here. This is what we’re going to do…”

  What the hell had that look meant?

  An hour later, Sanders hunkered down in the sparse undergrowth next to Richards and tried to keep his mind on the job. A feat which was proving to be damn near impossible. He slid a sideways glance at the bigger man. With his hair tucked behind his ears, Richards looked intent and professional as he watched the road. Golden stubble covered his jaw. Sanders itched to touch, to crowd in and graze his teeth along the roughened skin, then kiss away the slight sting. This close, Leon’s scent wrapped around him, as wild as the forest but with deep smoky notes Sanders had noticed were unique to the bigger wolf.

  He had to look away, swallowing hard and trying to tamp down his body’s reaction, willing the semi-erection away by sheer force of will. It was no secret that Sanders liked men and although he’d never admitted his feelings for Leon in so many words, the pack had to have figured it out by now. But the last thing he needed was for Leon to scent his arousal. That could cause issues he didn’t want to deal with, the least of which the possibility that Leon might decide to beat the ever-loving crap out of him.

  Or would he? Sanders couldn’t resist another glance to the side and caught Leon looking at him again. His heart leaped. Had Nic being right? Should he say something before it was too late? You don’t ask, you don’t get, right?

  “T minus thirty seconds,” Leon murmured. Opposite them, Nic slid out of cover. “Ready to fur up?”

  Was he fucking ever! Sanders closed his eyes, using the heat racing through his veins to power the change. Instead of throwing the door inside himself wide to let his wolf free, though, he opened it a crack and channeled the power into his hands. They’d been practicing this, trying to master the part-change with varying degrees of success.

  Bones popped and cracked as flesh slid and reformed. Soft fleshy sounds filled the air around them, almost lost under the engine of the approaching jeep. Concentrating, Sanders latched onto the differences in his hands, struggling for a second to hold the form. Fur wanted to spread, race over his skin and consume his body. Shit, he was losing it. Gritting his teeth, he tried to keep the changed form in place but like catching the edge of the soap in the bath—the form kept slipping away from him.

  Help, when it came, was from an unexpected quarter. A hard hand landed on his shoulder, complete with long talons and a punishing grip. He jumped and looked up into deep blue eyes filled with encouragement.

  “C’mon, Joe. You can do it.”

  A shiver slid through Sanders at his name on Leon’s lips in the rough, gravelly voice which haunted his dreams. With a nod, he tried again, using the burst of heat from Leon’s touch to focus the feral energy trying to take over. With an ease he’d never experienced before, he gained control and limited the change to his hands. His eyes widening, he looked down, then up at Leon, who grinned. Sexual energy, not anger. Who knew?

  “There you go, kid. Knew you could do it. Now, game face on. We’re up.”

  Leon let go of his shoulder and moved forward to the edge of cover as the truck rumbled around the corner. Awareness hung in the air. The pack waited for the human crew in the vehicle to see the woman lying across the road. At least, Sanders hoped like hell they noticed her. She could survive a hit from a truck—hell, the shit the virus had done to them, a Lycan could probably take a direct hit from a plane—but it would hurt like fuck.

  The truck slid to a stop, voices inside raised in query. The passenger door opened and two armed soldiers jumped out. Sanders shook his head when they made a beeline for Nic. Trust a semi-naked hot chick to railroad a guy’s attention and make him forget every scrap of operational awareness.

  “Hey…lady? You okay?” The first reached Nic and leaned over to shake her shoulder.

  “She’s out of it, man. Check her pulse.”

  The second guy stood back and looked around with wariness written in every line of his body. No way could he see the hidden wolves, but the awareness could be a problem. Nothing they couldn’t handle though. Moving as one, the wolves exploded from the undergrowth at the same moment Nic surged to her feet. She yanked the rifle out of the first soldier’s hands and slammed the butt up and into his jaw. He dropped like he’d been KO'd, and Nic spun to face the second soldier. Who had her in his sights.

  “Hasta la vista, bitc—”

  Sanders hit him from the side, wrapping him up in a lethal embrace as his claws punctured the guy’s ribcage. He felt the snick when the skin gave, the rush of hot blood flowing over his hands, and a muscular pulse as his claws tickled the bottom of the guy’s heart. Sanders ached with power. The wolf called to him, tempting him to shift fully but he held it and used the power to fill his muscles instead. With a bellow he twisted and wrenched. His claws came away tangled in half the human’s ribcage.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake,” he snarled and shoved the dying man away. The body hit the ground, convulsing in its death throes. Sanders looked at the mess on his fingers and grimaced. He flicked his hand and the ribs hit the dirt with a bloody splat.

  “Oh God. Barbeque ribs. I haven’t had them in forever,” Palmer said with longing, his voice rough with the wolf. He looked down the road, checking to make sure there wasn’t anything they hadn’t accounted for, like a second vehicle.

  A crackle of static brought their heads up. Sanders squinted and looked through the windshield of the truck. A young human looked back at him in shock, eyes wide with fear and panic.

  “Shit, there’s a third one.”

  Six wolves launched into motion, all heading for the same target but none of them made it. Another, smaller figure hit the side of the truc
k. Metal screamed, the door wrenched clean from the side before being thrown backward to tumble end over end. Lilly snarled, her hands in a perfect part-shift as she yanked the young soldier from his seat by the radio and dragged him out of the vehicle.

  Sanders made it first and slid into the gap. Wet heat penetrated his pants. Great, the kid had pissed himself. The radio sparked to life.

  “Oscar four, didn’t catch your previous. Say again. Over.”

  Shit, what had the human managed to get through? Sanders grabbed the radio and clicked the mic on. “Base, this is Oscar four. Sorry, we’re having a few problems with the radio here. Nothing doing here. Whole load of fuck-all and tumbleweeds. Over.”

  He slid a sideways glance. The rest of the pack had taken the soldier from Lilly, more than one of them eying the new Lycan with respect and maybe a little fear. He’d never seen a new wolf control their change so soon after conversion. Damn scary stuff. Sanders was glad she was on their side.

  “No problem, Oscar four. Carry on your patrol. Base out.”

  “Roger that, base. See you on the flip side. Oscar four. Out.”

  The stairs went down and around, until Toni wondered if she would emerge on the other side of the world. Her boots were near silent as she ran lightly down the stairs. Whatever this place was, the owners’ sure had a hard-on for being below ground.

  She hooked her uninjured hand into the balustrade to swing herself around the next turn. No cameras. Surprising. The Project was anal about surveillance. Perhaps she just couldn’t see them?

  She shook her head and put the thought aside. No sense in worrying about it now. If the guards were there, she’d be walking into an armed reception committee whether she went up or down.

  Lined with concrete, the stairs looked newer than the sections of the base above ground but it had to have been done before she arrived a couple of years ago. She’d have noticed construction on the scale required for the stairs alone, never mind whatever else was down here.

  Her steps slowed when she turned the last corner and approached the double doors at the end. Plain double doors, nothing fancy. Plastering herself to the wall, she listened for company. The rasp of her breathing filled her ears, loud enough for anyone the other side of the door—perhaps even the base above—to hear. She paused before she reached the door, her back flat against the wall, and extended her senses, human and non-human. Tried to feel what was on the other side, to pick up the slightest scuff of a boot, the jiggle of equipment…even the faint smell of gun oil.

  Nothing.

  Body coiled for action, she spread her hand flat against the surface of the door and pushed. No shouts, no gunshots. In a rush, she shoved the door the rest of the way open and slipped through. The doors to the elevator were next to her and a corridor stretched out in front. It was concrete like the stairs, lined either side with doors. Offices? Storage? She trotted along, trying to keep her steps light and skirted to one side in case someone came around the corner ahead. Quite what she planned to do if that happened, she didn’t know, but it felt better to hug the wall as she scooted along, trying the handles on the doors.

  The first door was locked, but the second opened to reveal an empty office, the desk and shelves covered in a thick layer of dust. Same with the third and fourth. The fifth looked to be some kind of staff room. Her frown deepened. Neglect lay thick the dust. What had this place been used for? The depth and construction would indicate a bomb fallout shelter. Perhaps an operational center back from the Cold War, to be used in case of a world nuclear war?

  Heavy footsteps and a deep male chuckle warned her a couple of seconds before a group of soldiers turned the corner up ahead. Heart speeding up, she slid into one of the empty offices.

  Flat against the wall behind the door, she listened while the group headed toward the stairs and lift. Another deep chuckle reached her ears as ribald comments were thrown back and forth. Nothing interesting, just the usual male crap.

  She held position for a few seconds after she heard the doors slide shut. When the mechanism whirred, she opened the door a crack. Once that elevator was in motion, it was a one way trip to the hangar. She hadn’t seen any other levels on the way down and in her experience, elevators and stairs operated in tandem. With this being the Project though, a level accessible by elevator alone wouldn’t surprise her.

  No, she reassured herself and slipped out into the main corridor. Foster’s scent was strong here. They’d wheeled him this way. She followed her nose, noting the Lycan’s scent got stronger and more feral the farther she went.

  A mark on the floor caught her attention so she knelt, rubbed her fingertip over it and lifted her hand to sniff. She recoiled with a grimace. Sweat with a hint of silver nitrate. The sweat wasn’t so bad, but the silver made everything in her want to turn inside out. Project doctors used the stuff, knowing it burned but not caring. She’d never seen anyone push the stuff out through their skin like Foster though. Is this what they’d done in the hospital?

  Turning yet another corner, she found a second set of double doors in front of her. Shit, this place was a damn rabbit hole, and her name sure as hell wasn’t Alice. She approached the doors with the same caution she’d approach a downed soldier in the field. One never knew if those on the ground had a grenade or mine hidden underneath. There were two small windows around head height. She slid along the wall, eyes level with the nearest before twisting to take a look.

  “Shit…”

  Like the hangar above, the room contained row upon row of cages. But this time the occupants weren’t sleeping. Most dripped with blood, and the guy in the cage opposite stared right at her, the white column of his spine visible through the ruined mass of his throat. She shivered at the expression on the corpse’s face. Easy to see he’d died in agony.

  No guards in sight.

  Toni pushed the door open and slipped into the room. The smell of blood, terror and fouler things washed over her. Low level moaning covered her movements as she shut the door and sidled behind the nearest cage. The occupant, a Lycan, was curled into a small ball in the corner. He was shivering and naked, blood ran from vicious claw marks across his back and shoulders to pool under his body. Even her presence didn’t rouse him.

  She scooted behind the rows, making sure to stay out of the main walkways, her disgust and sympathy mounting with each step. Working her way along, she checked the cages for Foster, but each revealed a fresh horror.

  More Lycans with horrific wounds, but these weren’t like the ones above ground—the ones who watched her with suspicion and threw themselves against the bars to get at her. Instead, sensing someone outside the cage, some tried to scoot away and hide under whatever they could. Others were too far gone to care, staring at things she couldn’t see.

  She scooted around the edge of the last cage, noting another corpse. Sprawled on his back, his ice blond hair stained scarlet, his black eyes staring up at the ceiling. The air left her lungs in a rush, recognition rushing through her.

  “No…” She dropped to her knees next to the cage.

  Gavin Hurst. Lieutenant. Damn good soldier. But he hadn’t been Lycan, he’d been a Blood. One of hers.

  “Fuckers!” she snarled and slammed her hands into the bars, denting them. She’d been told Hurst had bought the farm on mission. They’d lied to her. Taken one of her men and…what? What had they done to him? She looked down, concentrating on the state of the body rather than its identity.

  Vicious slashes had opened him from sternum to pelvis, his guts exposed to the air like pale, pink sausages. The blood on the floor was still warm. His heart could only have stopped beating a few seconds before she found him. The residual energy—the fanciful might call it his life force—wrapped around her before it faded from his body. She watched the black of his eyes fade.

  “Holy shit.”

  She sat back on her heels, dumbfounded. He’d been a Blood the first time she’d met him so she’d never known what color Hurst’s eyes were. Blue. A be
autiful clear, light blue. They turned back to human after death. She’d never seen another Blood die. Oh, she knew that they could die, had even seen them fall, but she’d never seen the bodies. They were always reclaimed by the labs for tests. That is unless they’d taken the one way trip into the desert, then no one saw them again.

  A door opened on the other side of the room, blasting a brief burst of male laughter and a howl from beyond it. Toni’s head snapped up and she moved in that direction, ignoring the caged prisoners for now. She couldn’t help them until she knew what was going on. And whatever it was, answers, and Foster, were through those doors.

  Chapter Ten

  Darce hit sand and knew he was in trouble. Trying to force the fog of sedatives from his brain, he rolled to his feet with a roar. Talons exploded through the skin of his fingertips as he dropped into a defensive crouch, swiping at the air around him with part-shifted hands. Anything to keep the bastards away from him.

  The sand was a bad thing. Sand meant he was on a one-way trip into the desert and a slug in the back of the skull. If he could keep them away, make them take anything but a headshot, then he had a fighting chance.

  Lights shone in his face, blinding him whatever direction he turned. Not the sun, something else. Spotlights. Fuck, they had trucks around him. His heart pounded, pouring more adrenaline through his system while his wolf raged and snarled. Ready to fight. Ready to kill.

  Survive. He had to survive. Had to find her—his mate.

  He backed up and collided with something hard. A metal post. He made a grab for it, hoping for something he could break off and use as a weapon and found his fingers caught in mesh instead. He recoiled with a hiss, pain lancing through his palm, like acid eating his skin. Lips curled back, he looked down. Criss-cross burns covered his hand. A snarl escaped as he squinted to try and see around the lights blazing in his face. The fuzz receded from his brain. Tall fences of chain-link surrounded him. The Project special stuff—links bonded with silver alloy or sprayed with something similar to keep in him and his kind.