Captive of the Beast

by Lisa Renee Jones

  Someone spoke, breaking the spell, pulling him back to reality. Blake. Blake had agreed to study for his test. Explained something about a tutor to Lucan. Laura jerked her attention away from Rinehart and smiled weakly at Blake as he said his farewells.

  “He’s a good kid,” Laura said, watching him leave.

  Good kid or not, the more Rinehart considered Blake’s ability, the more concerned he became. “Blake’s clothes disappeared when he did. How is that possible?”

  She hesitated before answering. “He cloaks himself and anything he is touching at the time.”

  The room fell silent with that bombshell, and somehow, Rinehart managed to keep his “oh, shit” to himself. Blake was a deadly weapon and Laura knew it. So did Walch. A Beast that inherited this ability could kill without ever being seen. That couldn’t happen, and he had no doubt Des and Lucan were in full agreement.

  “Like I said,” Laura added when no one spoke. “Blake’s a good kid. So are the twins. They’d never hurt a flea.”

  Rinehart noticed she didn’t mention Carol, who she clearly believed had taken a dark turn. What about Kresley? he wondered. Was there a reason she wasn’t here? And what about Walch’s claim that Laura herself was the source of the serum? Did she have an ability, as Walch claimed? Did she represent a threat that reached beyond scientific knowledge?

  “Their abilities could be deadly in the wrong hands,” Laura added, almost as if she responded to his silent questions. “Duplicating them and handing them out like candy could be catastrophic.” She pushed to her feet. “I guess deadly is what you’re counting on, seeing as how you’re out to use your great cloning discovery to create human weapons rather than cure diseases.” She opened her mouth to say more and quickly sealed her lips. Then, “I need to grab some supplies in the back office. If Kresley arrives, I suggest you send her back to me. She sets fires when she gets uncomfortable, and I can assure you, this group will make her uncomfortable. I know it does me.” She turned and walked away, with her verbal slap delivered, anger charging the air in her wake.

  Des leaned back and ran his hands down his legs. “I’d say that went about as well as paying a topless dancer with dog treats.”

  Rinehart sighed. “I’ll go talk to her,” he said, pushing to his feet.

  Des had a unique way of summing things up, but he was right. These were choppy waters they were treading on. He couldn’t urge Laura to trust them and press her for information on her research and expect to get it. He saw only one option: Bring her into their circle and do it now. She was only dangerous if she ended up in the Beasts’ hands, and he wasn’t going to let that happen.

  It was time to get up close and personal—to talk. He just wanted to talk. Right. Just talk. Maybe if he told himself that enough times, he’d make himself believe it.

  Walch sat behind a steel military desk deep beneath the ground, inside the hidden cavern that housed his operational center, a room he alone entered. It was here that he monitored the island, and here that he now waited for communication from his master, Adrian, the leader of the Darkland Beasts. Cameras lined the walls, as did an array of telecommunications equipment. He eyed the clock, realizing Rinehart and his men would be joining Laura right about now. He kicked his heels up on the wooden surface and reached for a remote, flipping to the latest feed from just outside the lab, not more than an hour ago. Instantly, images of Rinehart and his men appeared on one of the two dozen monitors.

  He listened as they discussed their situation, grinding his teeth as Rinehart demanded that his man, Max, strip Laura’s room of the surveillance equipment. Watched as Rinehart stared into the camera and spoke: “Walch can kiss my tight, white ass.”

  Rage rose in Walch as he heard those words. He dropped his feet to the floor and slammed the remote onto the desk. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered between his teeth. Rinehart didn’t know who he was dealing with or he wouldn’t dare cross him. Walch had become more than a man, more than a simple soldier in the United States Army trying to fight his way to a promotion. He was a leader of something bigger now, a ruler of the Demon foot soldiers that lived among the unknowing humans.

  Walch flexed his fingers, feeling the supernatural grip of his hand. He longed to shift to his Beast form, to feel the surge of adrenaline it delivered, the added rush of strength that the change accommodated. Yes. He wanted more power. Much more. And he would have it. Adrian had said so. More power, more rewards. All he had to do was deliver Super Soldiers for conversion into Adrian’s new Dark Knights—an Army that would defeat the Knights of White. Then humanity would fall to the Beasts.

  Resolve filled him and he grabbed the remote, bringing up the lab on one of the screens. Laura’s patients had arrived and she was tensely interacting with Rinehart’s men.

  He considered his options. He could control her with a simple threat to her patients. Rinehart was another story. He’d have to send him a stronger message.

  He hit a button on the desk where he sat and spoke into a mike. “Bring Lucan to me,” he said. Walch leaned back in his chair again, lacing his fingers behind his neck. A smile touched his lips. Lucan was the most valued member of their research team, which made him a perfect choice. He wanted no facade that any of them were untouchable. He was going to enjoy watching Lucan’s pain. Because that pain would ensure Rinehart’s submission.

  Chapter 4

  Shaking. Laura was shaking inside. How she had managed to hide that fact, she didn’t know. Perhaps years of hiding a secret had steeled her to face the challenge before her.

  Laura walked down the hallway, away from Rinehart and his men—men who planned to strip away the new life she’d desperately tried to create for herself and her patients. And one of those men did more than threaten her work—he threatened her sensibilities. Rinehart. The impact of that man on her senses was downright intense. Everything about the man set her on fire—her emotions, her body, her anger over his research. And she was angry, but it did nothing to dispel the onslaught of awareness the man created in her.

  It had been so long since a man, any man, had gotten to her. So long, she didn’t remember the last one. Hiding her abilities had made every relationship a chore, a lie she couldn’t bear. At some point, she’d decided dating wasn’t worth the effort or the fear of trusting the wrong person.

  So why now? Why Rinehart? Her body was betraying her. How could she want a man who was serving Walch’s agendas?

  Laura entered the office and reached for a lab jacket from the coatrack, feeling suddenly cold. She leaned against the wall a moment, taking a brief bit of solitude and drawing in a calming breath. But there was no calming her hormones, now raging in overload, and that upheaval meant she couldn’t manage a good read on Rinehart. Not that she needed anything but the obvious to tell his story, she reminded herself. He was with Walch, hired by Walch, a proponent for Walch’s Super Soldiers. Rinehart was nothing but trouble wrapped in a brawny male body that just happened to be hard in all the right places. Like those strong legs that had been pressed close to hers in the Jeep. Her core ached with that memory, and she quickly reprimanded herself. She had much more important things than that man’s body to think about!

  She had to be strong for her patients, to figure out a way to get them all out of here. She could do this. If there was one thing she’d learned from having a father in special forces, it was the “never give up” mentality. Where there was a will, there was a way. She was a fighter, just as her father had been.

  Determination renewed, Laura pushed off the wall and started toward her supply cabinet. She made it all of two steps when the air crackled with a visitor. She didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. Her skin tingled with Rinehart’s presence. No one had ever affected her this way, and it was more than a little unnerving. If ever there was a time she needed to feel in control of her gifts, now was that time. But she didn’t feel in control at all. Were her powers expanding, exposing a new, deeper perception? Or was there something about Rinehart that
created this in her? But what would that be?

  Laura reached inside the cabinet and pulled out a package of cotton swabs, and steeled herself for the impact of facing him, before she turned. She found him lingering inside the doorway. Big. Tall. Consuming the small entrance. He leaned against the frame, his head almost touching the archway above. The air crackled some more—with electricity, attraction, awareness; those too-blue eyes of his latched on to hers and refused to let go.

  She could barely breathe as his gaze seeped through every pore of her body and drew a shiver. Unnerved by her over-the-top reaction, Laura crossed her arms in front of her chest and hugged herself, put on the defensive by the way he made her feel so…touched. But still, she didn’t look away, couldn’t look away.

  “Can we talk?” he asked.

  Why did talking seem so dangerous? Why did everything to do with this man feel dangerous? “We have nothing to talk about.”

  He studied her with far too much intensity for her comfort, before asking, “Why are you so hell-bent on hating me?”

  “I’m not,” she declared, denying the truth behind his statement. God, how she wanted to hate this man, how she wanted to feel something other than this crazy attraction to him. “Nor do I have time for schoolroom games of who likes who.” Desperate to avoid his scrutinizing stare, she decided she’d try to dismiss him—not an easy task, she suspected. Laura gave him her back and opened a cabinet door to remove a syringe before glancing over her shoulder. “I’m expecting Kresley any minute.” In other words, no time for this conversation.

  He was quick to counter. “Which is all the more reason we need to talk. Before she arrives and sees you’re upset. I don’t want her to see me and my team as the enemy.”

  That set her off. Laura whirled back around to face him again, going on the attack. “Aren’t you?” she demanded, the heat of her attraction to this man shifting toward the safer emotion of anger. Unfortunately, as she turned, the syringe she held fell to the floor and rolled to a stop halfway between them. Embarrassment deflated her anger and made her feel clumsy and silly. Good grief, she had to pull herself together.

  Laura stared at the syringe for several seconds before moving to pick it up, apparently at the same moment Rinehart decided to do the same. Suddenly they were both bent down, reaching for the syringe, hands colliding. Sparks darted up her arm, and she tried to yank her hand back. He gently but forcefully held it. “I’m not what you think I am.”

  What was she supposed to say to that? She didn’t know. For the first time in her life, she was speechless—she, who had dared to challenge professors to prove theories that didn’t quite hold water, who had stood up to Walch when he demanded she twist her morals for his gain. Yet she could not find the words to respond to a virtual stranger. Rinehart considered her a moment, as if he expected her to speak, then added, “I’m here to help.”

  She shook her head in disbelief and pulled her hand from his grip. “To help Walch, not me.”

  “I have no interest in helping Walch.”

  That made no sense. Frustrated at whatever game he was playing, Laura pushed herself to her feet, and he followed. But he was still close, too close, toe-to-toe with her. “You work for Walch,” she said, tilting her chin upward to glare at him with accusation.

  “So do you,” he pointed out.

  Somehow her attention caught on the firm, sensual lift of his mouth, which now hinted at a smile. She squeezed her eyes shut. Good Lord. Why was she even looking at his mouth? Why was she aware of the heat of his body so near?

  Her lashes rose and she searched his face, probing, desperately trying to understand the hidden meanings that seemed to dance between the lines of this conversation. “What is it you want from me?”

  His eyes heated, and his reply came slowly, as if he considered it with care. “Have dinner with me tonight.” The words came out low, husky, full of an erotic promise she had no business welcoming, even if the ache between her thighs said otherwise.

  Somehow, Laura managed a chastising laugh, directed as much at herself for wanting to say yes as at his gall for asking in the first place. She had patients counting on her. This thing going on between them—whatever it was—had to stop. It had to stop now.

  “I don’t eat with the enemy,” she said, being clear about where they stood—where he stood with her.

  A flash of surprise at her directness slid across his face before amusement danced in his eyes. “Haven’t you ever heard that saying ‘Keep your friends close and your enemies closer’?” he asked. “Friend or enemy, keeping me at a distance can’t be a smart move.”

  Laura tilted her head to the side, studied him again, and considered her next move. Her father would agree with him. Perhaps, she would, too, if being alone with him didn’t scare the hell out of her. If he was leaving this island, he could take her and her patients with him. But would he? She doubted that. Besides, this was Friday night—pizza and movie night with Kresley—and she desperately wanted to keep Kresley feeling grounded and safe.

  “Laura!”

  “That would be Kresley,” Laura said, saved from any further response.

  “This discussion isn’t over,” he said, as if reading her mind.

  “We’ll see about that,” Laura countered, irritated by his bossy, arrogant assumption that he decided when their talk ended. But despite that irritation, excitement fluttered in her stomach. Part of her enjoyed his pursuit. Which was ridiculous. Shared attraction or not, he had an agenda, a reason to push—he was after her research.

  He leaned closer and she told herself to back away. Instead, she stood there, enticed by the spicy, male scent of him, jolted by the touch of his hands as they came down on her shoulders. His warm breath trickled along her neck, her earlobe. “I’ve always enjoyed a good challenge,” he whispered.

  Laura didn’t know what impacted her the most, his touch or the absence of his touch. Her gaze followed Rinehart as he distanced himself, taking a casual stance against the wall, one booted foot over the other. Goose bumps slid along her skin, and she barely contained a shiver. He’d awakened the woman in her, the dormant desires that now demanded satisfaction. Her skin tingled; her nipples ached. She wanted this man in a bad way, an unexplainable way that refused to be dismissed despite the dire circumstances and despite every ounce of smarts she possessed telling her he was trouble.

  “Laura.” Kresley appeared in the doorway, offering a welcome distraction from her interaction with Rinehart.

  She looked pale, sick. Guilt twisted in Laura’s gut. Once Walch had informed her about Rinehart’s team, she’d had no option but to take precautionary measures. She’d injected her patients with a flu bug. She’d create concern that the illness was a reaction to the treatments she’d been giving the patients, a side effect that had to be addressed before any further testing could be done. Certainly the patients’ conditions would delay the testing Rinehart’s team planned. A tactic to buy some time while she figured out how to get off the island.

  Kresley frowned. “Who are those men out there? They—” She stopped midsentence as her gaze traveled to the left, and she noted Rinehart’s presence. “Oh. Sorry. Am I interrupting?”

  “Not at all,” Laura assured her. “This is Rinehart.” Laura bent to pick up the abandoned syringe and then straightened. “He’s one of the men I told you about, the researchers who’ll be involved with our work here.”

  “Rinehart,” Kresley said. Her frown deepened as she crossed her arms in front of her body protectively. “Sounds like a last name, not a first. You’re one of them.” Her voice held contempt.

  “Them?” Rinehart asked.

  “Kresley,” Laura said, her voice etched with warning.

  Kresley ignored the warning. “One of Walch’s soldiers,” she said, replying to Rinehart as if Laura hadn’t spoken. “The last name as a first name is a dead giveaway.”

  “I’m not one of Walch’s soldiers,” he told her, his voice glinting with steely certainty. “I�
�m not Walch’s anything.”

  Kresley cast him a disbelieving look. “Then why are you—”

  “Enough,” Laura said sternly, cutting off her question. She pointed at the chair next to the medicine cabinet. “Sit.”

  Kresley hesitated, looking as if she might argue, but she reconsidered and quickly claimed the chair Laura had indicated.

  Laura pressed her hands to her hips and regarded Kresley. “You look pale,” she observed. “Did you sleep last night?”

  Kresley cut her gaze from Laura’s. “I tossed and turned a bit,” she replied evasively, apparently not intending to admit she was sick.

  Laura bit back a reprimand. Kresley knew she had to report any illness immediately, to prevent potential complications with her injections. She pressed her palm to Kresley’s forehead. “You’re burning up.” Now she was really frustrated. This wasn’t a “maybe I’m sick, I’ll wait until I’m sure before I say something” situation. Kresley just plain wasn’t going to tell Laura she was sick. “You were going to let me inject you without saying a word. You know I have to draw blood and make sure I know what’s going on first.”

  “But I need the injection, Laura,” Kresley pleaded. “I can’t wait. What if—”

  “A few hours’ delay won’t affect your control,” Laura replied, cutting off her objections. “There’s a buildup of the serum in your system. You know this. We’ve discussed it many times. We have some leeway now.” Laura reached inside the cabinet and withdrew supplies. “It’s critical we ensure you’re not having a reaction to the shots before I give you another one.” Which was what she wanted Rinehart’s men to believe. She would milk this flu bug for all it was worth. Walch wouldn’t want to clone her patients’ abilities if the soldiers who received those abilities couldn’t control them. She needed Walch to fear complications with the serum.