by Cynthia Eden
There you are.
Did she feel the same intense need that he did? Probably not. In his dreams . . . fucking memories . . . she’d been one of the people wearing the white lab coats. She’d been there to experiment on him.
She hadn’t been part of the testing. Whatever had been done to make him need her so much, hell, maybe she’d even been a part of that manipulation.
He turned away from the window and its view of the darkness. His gaze centered on the stairs. Had she known? Had she deliberately manipulated him so that he’d need her?
That way, I’d never truly be free. Because the lust for her compelled him to seek her out.
It was what he was doing even as he stalked up the stairs. They creaked beneath his feet, the only sound to penetrate the stillness of the cabin. He climbed slowly, heading for her, the need to see her driving him.
In front of her closed door, his fingers curled around the doorknob. He twisted.
And found the damn thing locked.
What the hell?
“Did you really think I’d just leave my door unlocked for you?” her voice called out.
Not asleep. For a second time, she’d fooled him with that sleeping trick. So he just shoved open the door, splintering the lock.
She jerked up in bed, gasping.
“No, what I thought”—he headed for the bed, for her—“was that if I fucked you, this constant need I have for you would go away.” He tossed her own earlier words right back at her, but they were the truth. Maybe that was what he needed. Just one time with her. One long, hot time.
Cassie had a death grip on the covers as she clutched them to her chest. “You—you have a constant need for me?” She blinked. “Wait! That’s what I told you.” Her head shook, whipping her hair around her shoulders. “You’re making fun of me now? Asshole! Get out of here! Just get—”
He was on the bed. On her. Crushing her down onto the mattress. His body caged hers. Held hers. His fingers twined with hers as he pushed them back against the pillow near her head. “I’m not making fun of you.” Unbidden, the thought came . . . I’ll kick the ass of anyone who dared.
“You don’t even remember me,” she whispered the words to him. “So don’t act like—”
“I remember . . . flashes of you.”
Her body tensed beneath him.
“In my first dream, you drove a knife into my chest.”
Her lips trembled.
He bent his head and brushed his lips over hers. “But I realized soon enough that it wasn’t really a dream, was it? That was a memory.”
He knew she’d killed him, so why was he there, holding her so tightly?
Her scent surrounded him and made him nearly feel drunk.
“I had to do it,” she told him, her voice a husky tremble that seemed to stroke right along his skin. “It was the way you escaped. Th—the other doctors thought we were just running new blood work on you. They hadn’t planned for a containment with your fire. When I stabbed you and your fire broke free, you were able to get away.”
“I got away, but lost my memories.” His legs were on either side of hers, but he couldn’t feel the smooth silk of her thighs. The sheet was between them.
He wanted nothing between them.
“For a time, you did forget. But then we met up again in New Orleans, and your memories seemed to be coming back.”
He wished he had all of his memories.
“You wanted to forget.” Sadness darkened her words. “You told me that you never wanted to remember Genesis.”
Or me.
She didn’t say those words, but they seemed to hang between them.
“There are some things you can’t forget.” He brought his lips to hers once more. He didn’t trust her. The story about helping him escape could be pure bull, but the need for her overwhelmed everything else in that instant.
So why not take her?
They were alone. She was beneath him. His body was so hard for her that he ached.
Why not take her?
When he kissed her again, the kiss was harder. Deeper. His tongue swept inside, taking every bit of sweetness that he could. And she was sweet. Her taste made him heady, eager for more.
Her fingers curled around his, and she was shifting beneath the covers. Arching her hips against his.
He wanted those covers gone.
His mouth went to her neck. Her scent was stronger there, and he loved that light, sexy smell. He licked her skin, sucked the tender curve of her throat, then scored her with his teeth.
“Dante!”
The covers had to go.
He freed her hands. Yanked at the covers. When they got tangled up, he just ripped them away.
She was naked.
For some reason, he hadn’t expected that.
“I-I . . . only had the one pair of clothes and when I got into bed . . .”
His fingers caressed the tip of her breast. Her nipple was tight and tempting.
“I didn’t want to—” Cassie’s words choked off in a moan.
And when he bent his head and took that nipple in his mouth, her whole body trembled.
Yes. This was what he’d wanted. Her. All of her. Spread before him. Her body was perfect to him. Smooth and sexy, making his cock grow heavier and harder.
He wanted to drive into her as deeply as he could go. But he held himself back. His savage instincts screamed for him to—
Take.
But another part, a part somewhere deep inside whispered . . .
Savor.
So his fingers trailed over her skin. He licked her breasts. Kissed those nipples. Loved the sound of her gasps as her nails sank into his back.
I haven’t had her before? He must have been insane.
More covers ripped as he pushed down between her legs. His finger slid up her thighs. Up, up . . .
“Dante?” There was a note of fear in her voice.
He didn’t want her afraid.
His gaze held hers, even as his fingers slipped over her sex. “I won’t hurt you.” That was a vow.
Her lips parted on a sharp breath.
His fingers eased into her. Tight. So incredibly tight. Wet. Hot.
His fingers slid out.
Her eyes widened.
He pushed into her again, then slid out, letting his fingers trail over the center of her need.
Cassie’s breath came faster and harder with her rising arousal. He could make her come, just like that, caressing her so slowly, he knew he could.
But he wanted more.
Savor.
Take.
He wanted to taste all of her. To put his mouth on her and mark her as his.
He’d been looking for something ever since he woke in that alley. Now he’d found her.
Once won’t be enough. So much for the brilliant plan. Already, he was sure once wouldn’t even begin to take the edge off his hunger.
He began to kiss a path down her stomach.
Then he heard the faint rumble of a car.
They’d taken a long, twisting drive to get to the cabin. There were no other homes near.
Just them.
He kissed her skin once more. He was so close to what he wanted most.
So damn close.
But that rumbling engine was getting louder. And it wasn’t just one car.
He heard a whoop-whoop-whoop. His jaw locked and he glanced up at Cassie. In the dark, her eyes gleamed. Her breath panted out.
“Company.” Fucking company. “Someone’s coming, Cassie.” Coming in fast, and, from the sound of things, by land and by air.
Hating it—hating it—he pulled away from her body. That someone was going to pay for denying him what he’d wanted most. Someone would burn.
Cassie blinked and shook her head. “What?”
Whoop. Whoop. Whoop.
Louder. Closer.
“A helicopter,” she whispered as her eyes widened. “How? How did they find us?”
The how did
n’t matter. Getting away mattered.
Dante jumped from the bed, and Cassie rushed to dress in her jeans and T-shirt. A damn shame, that. He much preferred her naked. I didn’t get to taste all of her.
But he would. Every single inch of her.
“Dante?” She stilled, staring at him. Probably because he looked like he was about to leap on her again.
He jerked a hand over his face. “The cabin’s isolated,” he said as he paced to the window. The isolation would work against them now that they’d been found.
One road in.
One road out.
They wouldn’t be able to use the Jeep to escape. And with a helicopter watching from above, it would be even harder to ditch their pursuers.
He turned toward Cassie. “They’re closing us in.”
She hurried toward him. “There’s supposed to be a motorcycle hidden in the shed behind the cabin. We can get it, then cut across the mountain.” She hesitated, then muttered, “Or we can try to. I don’t actually know how to drive a motorcycle.”
Didn’t matter. They’d figure out the how—hell, maybe it would be one of those things that he “knew” how to do. The bike was an escape option. He caught her hand, and they flew down the stairs to the back door.
The beat of the helicopter’s blades grew louder. The flash of lights lit up the cabin.
Dante yanked open the door and saw the helicopter touching down. Air rushed against him, blowing hard as the blades whipped around. It looked like half a dozen SUVs were driving into the area, too.
He ducked, held tight to Cassie, and ran as fast as he could. They hadn’t been spotted. Not yet. Not—
Dante lifted his leg and kicked open the shed door. They hurried inside. Cassie grabbed a tarp and tossed it to the ground. He saw the long, hard lines of the motorcycle then, and climbed on. Cassie jumped on behind him.
They were pinned in the lights before he could even start the cycle. Lights that were too bright as they focused right on him and Cassie, nearly blinding him for a moment.
“Get off the motorcycle!” a voice shouted.
Dante felt Cassie tense behind him.
“Get off the bike and get away from the woman!” the same voice ordered.
Screw that. “Get out of my way.” Dante had the motorcycle growling and lunging forward.
Huh, so he did know how to drive a motorcycle.
There were more shouts then a hail of bullets slammed into the motorcycle. It looked like those guys weren’t in the mood to play nice.
Fine. He wasn’t exactly in a nice mood, either.
As the motorcycle flew out of the shed, Dante let his rage build. The fire crackled through his veins and burst from his fingertips. It was a round swirling ball that grew and grew. He lifted his hand, ready to toss the flames at their attackers.
He got his first look at the line of men who’d come out to surround the shed. They were all wearing heavy, white uniforms and masks—they almost looked like they were astronauts as they lifted their weapons and took aim.
I’ll take aim, too.
But he heard Cassie whisper, “Fireproof,” right before his flames flew toward the men.
They didn’t burn.
Hell.
He revved the engine. If his flames wouldn’t push them back, he’d drive right over the jerks.
“If you don’t stop, we’ll shoot you both!” It was that same voice, calling out from the line of men in white. “You’ll come back, but will the woman be so lucky?”
He counted a dozen guns aimed at him.
Cassie’s hold tightened on him. “Go, Dante. Don’t worry about me, just . . . go.”
Because she could heal? She had healed before, but what if a bullet hit her in the head? The heart? Would she—could she—heal from an injury like that?
“Go!” Cassie yelled. “They’re not going to shoot me!”
But she was wrong. They were firing at them. He bent low and chose the weakest link he could find in that sea of white then drove forward fast and hard.
The man screamed as Dante bore down on him. Screamed and shot. A bullet drove into Dante’s chest. One ricocheted off the motorcycle. Another sank into his shoulder.
Dirt flew up around the motorcycle. People were yelling. The helicopter’s blades were spinning and sending the air rushing against him.
“Aim for the motorcycle!” It was that same shouting voice. The man who had to be in charge. The man that Dante wanted to rip apart.
Instead . . . he sent a ball of flames flying back at their attackers as the motorcycle raced toward the trees. They were close. Once they made it inside that sweeping band of trees, their pursuers would have a hard time catching up to them.
He tightened his hold on the handlebars, fighting to keep the bike steady.
A bullet sank into the front tire.
Then another hit the back.
The motorcycle spun out of control. Cassie’s arms weren’t around him anymore. He tried to grab for her, but was thrown from the bike, too. His body flew through the air even as Cassie’s scream seemed to echo in his ears.
Then he hit a tree, slamming headfirst into the thick wood, and he didn’t hear her scream anymore.
CHAPTER FIVE
“Dante?” Cassie ran toward him. Her ankle throbbed—she’d heard it crack—and the skin had been ripped from the side of her right arm when she’d slammed into the ground.
But Dante . . . he’d hit so much harder than she had.
Footsteps thundered toward them. Lights cut through the darkness.
She sank to her knees beside his still body. The moonlight spilled down onto him, and she could see the twisted angle of his neck. That very unnatural angle.
Her breath whispered out as her fingers lifted to his throat. No pulse.
The thud of approaching footsteps came closer. Ever closer.
She could run. There was time. She could leap to her feet and disappear into the forest. She might even get away.
She didn’t run. She just eased closer to Dante. Her bruised fingers brushed back his hair. Blood was trickling down his forehead. When the motorcycle had started to spin, she’d tried to hold onto him, but she hadn’t been strong enough.
The lights fell on her. Too bright and hot.
“Is he dead?” The voice came from behind the light. It was a voice she’d grown to hate over the years. Once she realized just what the man truly was.
“For the moment,” Cassie said quietly. The words were the truth. She glanced down at Dante’s still face, lit so well by the shine of flashlights. “While you can, you and your men need to get the hell out of here.” Because when Dante rose, there would be no controlling him. In an environment like that, where there were so many trees and miles and miles of wilderness, a phoenix would be capable of doing an immense amount of damage.
“We’ll be leaving,” she was told. Then the leader of the group stepped forward, and Cassie glanced up to see the hard features of Lieutenant Colonel Jon Abrams. He stared down at her. “But you’ll be coming with us.”
Jon hadn’t changed much since she’d last seen him. Same hard, handsome face. Same military short, blond hair. Those deceptive blue eyes. He could look so harmless with those eyes.
But when he wanted, those eyes could be lethal.
Dante’s skin began to heat beneath her touch. Already, he was coming back to her. Sometimes, the risings were fast. Brutal.
So destructive.
What would this rising be like? Would he come back, full of fury and sending flames at everyone and everything in his path?
Would he know her? Please, know me. Come back with the memories. It could happen. She’d seen him come back with his memories . . . maybe . . . two times before. Bring them back now.
But she knew that, all too often, he came back only as a beast.
“I’d suggest that you step away from him, Cassie.” Jon was actually trying to sound like he cared.
She had to give him credit. He’d always
been a good actor. He’d convinced her once that he actually wanted to marry her.
“We’ve gone to a lot of trouble to find you,” Jon continued, “and we’re not eager to watch you burn.”
Her lips twisted. She called the lie. “Aren’t you?”
He lunged forward and caught her wrist. Yanked her up and away from Dante, his strength far more powerful than a human’s should have been. She fought him, punching and kicking, but Jon wasn’t letting her go. “You aren’t”—he growled out the words as he twisted her hands behind her—“dying for him.”
He would throw that up at her. Just because she’d almost died once before, while trying to save Dante, didn’t mean she had some kind of death wish.
Jon bent over her, and his mouth brushed near her ear. “I want you to stand back and watch him rise. Watch the monster that you risked so much for.”
Wait. He wanted Dante to rise? But Dante would just kill them all if—
Her gaze flew toward the men who’d swept onto the scene. Men in those heavy, fireproof suits.
“The guys in the government labs have been making some modifications,” Jon told her softly. “When your phoenix burns, he’s at his weakest, right? Well . . . we’re about to have a little test.”
No, it wasn’t a test. It was an execution. If those fireproof suits were strong enough, the men could get close enough to kill Dante.
Then there would be no rising. Not if they destroyed him as he was regenerating. Not if they destroyed him in that one weak moment.
“No!” Desperate, she stopped fighting, knowing that if she was going to help Dante, she would have to catch Jon off guard. “Don’t do this!”
“He’s a monster that can’t be controlled. The orders came from above.”
She heard the smug pleasure in Jon’s voice. He’d hated Dante since the moment he realized . . .
I love him.
“What can’t be controlled must be killed,” Jon told her. He jerked his head to the left, and, at that signal, two men in white began to advance toward Dante’s prone body.
“Don’t do this! He hasn’t even started to burn yet!” Cassie cried out.
“He will soon enough.”
She still wasn’t fighting him. If she didn’t fight, he might lower his guard and loosen his hold. The instant that hold loosened, she’d escape.