“Stay fucking put,” Tobias growled, and shoved her.
She had no balance. No chance to gain any. Feet catching on each other, she sprawled, tripped hard on something, and dropped like a stone.
Her forehead bounced off the floor, and she saw stars.
The door slammed shut behind her.
“Jules.”
She shuddered, hot cheek pressed hard to the floor.
Caleb’s hands eased around her shoulders. “Juliet, it’s me,” he said. “Christ, talk to me.”
Oh, God, what had she done?
Silas was dead. Because of her?
Because she was a freak. Because she’d been mixed in an incubation rack, like some kind of genetic cocktail.
“I’m here,” Caleb whispered again, drawing her to his chest.
Shaking manically in his embrace, with her breath harsh in her ears, Juliet fisted her hands into his jacket, and sobbed.
Chapter Nineteen
He loved her.
The knowledge was like a fist to his gut, a sledgehammer to his skull. He loved her; he, Caleb Leigh, loved Juliet Carpenter. Just him.
And God damn if the memory of Cordelia in his head didn’t smile like a goddamned know-it-all at the admission.
Caleb clutched Juliet to his chest, rocked because he didn’t know what else to do as she cried. She pressed her face to his chest and he swore to God, to hell—swore to anything listening that he’d avenge everything they’d ever done to her.
GeneCorp. Experiments. He’d heard enough to get the idea.
Missionary DNA sequenced with the composition of known witches. To what end? Some kind of . . . witchy Church soldier? He didn’t know a lot about science, but he knew this much: Juliet was far from any kind of soldier.
As he stroked her hair, Caleb’s eyes remained fixed on the screen overhead. Narrowed as Tobias dragged Silas to the edge of the chamber, leaving behind a lurid red stain. He left the man—the body—sprawled awkwardly against the wall.
Rage bit deep enough to clench his fingers in her hair.
She sniffed hard, her slim back shaking.
Closing his eyes, Caleb forced himself to gentle his grip. Forced himself to breathe, to slow his heartbeat. His fury.
He had to be calm. He was always calm.
Liar.
Juliet straightened, and he looked down into her beautiful face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, swollen from crying, but they glittered with an intensity echoed in the set of her jaw. “Sorry.”
“No need.”
Her mouth curved down in a heart-wrenching line, and he hesitated. What should he do? Hug her? Don’t be ridiculous. Caleb had never been soft. That wasn’t his language.
Taking a deep breath, she smiled crookedly, disengaging from him as deliberately as if she’d pried him off with a crowbar. Even with her short black hair tangled over her forehead, with her face tear-streaked and set, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known.
Inside and out.
“Caleb, I—”
He laid his fingers over her lips, silencing her. They moved, brushing across his fingertips like a kiss. A caress. Despite everything, his crotch tightened. He winced.
She stepped away, turned her back.
It let him adjust his jeans, swearing silently. Not the time.
Was there ever a time?
No. Of course not.
“Okay,” she said briskly, her voice roughened by tears. Like velvet and smoke. “We’re stuck together. I get it.” She didn’t look at him. “I don’t like it, but this is what we have. So how do we get out?”
This he could focus on. “I didn’t get a chance to check everything,” he said, mimicking her professional tones. So much better than driving his hands into her hair again.
Under her shirt.
Between her— “God damn it,” he muttered.
She hated him, remember?
She doesn’t have to.
Yes, she fucking did.
Her hands shook as she pushed her hair back from her face, eyes settling on the screen. She bit her upper lip.
And realization dawned.
Juliet’s eyes flicked to him, still too damned wide. Her face closed, shuttered.
He closed the distance between them, seizing her arms. “Don’t you dare,” he said gruffly. “Yes, I heard everything.”
“Then you know I’m a— I’m . . .”
“A what?” he cut in. “A woman named Juliet? Raised by Cordelia Carpenter—no, you don’t look away from me.” Anger all but scorched the air between them. Her gaze collided with his.
Sparked.
“You were raised by Cordelia Carpenter. It doesn’t matter how you were born—” Created. “—or where you came from. You’re a woman, a witch, a pain in my ass,” he continued fiercely, “but you’re as human as I am.”
More so.
Her eyes filled with tears.
He couldn’t stand it. Not knowing what else to do, he jerked her toward him, captured her chin in one hand, and kissed her.
Her surprised sound flattened. Her braced hand at his chest turned into a sudden fist as she seized his jacket and held on.
Groaning, fingers tightening, Caleb dragged her closer. Kissed her harder, refusing to allow her the chance to give up. To give in.
He loved her, damn it. Fucking hell.
His tongue eased over her lower lip. Teased at the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught. Her eyes fluttered closed.
Her lips opened under his and he was lost.
Tentatively, so seductive he thought he’d lose his mind, her tongue slid over his. Velvet and honey; hell, she even tasted like something good, something real and achingly vulnerable.
Her body melted into his, hips settling over the bulge throbbing in his jeans. Sucking in a breath, he raised his head, jaw clenched as she wriggled closer. Her lips gleamed in the dim light, damp from his kiss and half parted.
Struggling to keep his breathing even, to ignore the pointed ache of an erection desperate for her, Caleb smoothed his thumb along her lower lip.
Her eyes opened slowly. Hazily. Brilliant green.
“Now,” he said quietly.
“Now?”
“We get you the hell out of here.”
Her lashes swept over her cheeks, and he let her go as she leaned back. Edged away. Logic would set in just as soon as the shock wore off, he knew.
She’d remember that she hated him. That she needed to.
He had to keep that going. There was no other choice. It was too late for them.
For him, he corrected himself flatly. There had never been a them.
“Okay, is there anything we can use to— Oh, my God!” She froze, staring at the screen, her hand at her mouth. “Caleb!”
Her exclamation jerked his attention back to the feed.
All thoughts of logic fled.
“Son of a bitch.”
A tall, lean man strode into the chamber, angled features settled into a scowl. Blood soaked through the side of his button-up shirt; one hand clenched over it tightly.
The other curved over a lifeless body slung over his shoulder. He knelt, leaned down, and Caleb swore bloody and blue as Jessie rolled to the floor.
Juliet grabbed his arm as he took a step toward the television, fists clenched. “She won’t be dead!” she said quickly. “Caleb, she’s not dead.”
“How the fuck—”
The speakers compressed the man’s voice into something tight and canned. “I didn’t get the research material,” he said to someone out of the camera’s view. His eyes were shadowed.
“God damn it, Wells!” Tobias exploded from somewhere off screen. “What the hell were you doing all this time?”
Wells said nothing. He crouched by Jessie, feeling for a pulse.
“She’s not dead,” Juliet repeated. “They want us alive. God only knows why.”
“Fuck,” Tobias snarled. “Worthless—”
Another voice slid between them, gravel
ed and worn. “Children, that’s enough.”
Juliet’s fingers clenched on Caleb’s arm. He glanced at her, saw the blood drain from her face, and narrowed his eyes at the screen. “Who is it?” he asked. “Jules, what’s wrong?”
She shook her head, her teeth suddenly flashing in a grimace. “I feel . . . I feel crowded,” she managed.
Crowded?
“Mr. Nelson, go retrieve our guests,” the voice said calmly. “We’ll meet you in the processing chamber. Mr. Wells?”
“He’s coming,” Caleb said, turning from the screen.
Juliet stared up at it, eyes huge.
“Juliet? Honey, we’ve got to—”
“They’re angry,” she whispered.
“Who?” What was she seeing behind her haunted gaze? Not the screen she watched. Caleb glanced at it again, saw the man named Wells step over Jessie’s inert body.
Wells’s finger jabbed toward the door he came out of. “What was I supposed to do?” he demanded. “She was dead when I got there!”
“Without that research, Mr. Wells, your life will be very, very short.”
“I get it,” he snarled, the sound creaky through the speakers. His expression screwed into lines so angry that it practically sizzled. “We’re all doomed to die young, trust me, I’m well aware. But the fucking research wasn’t there, and she was a corpse. There is no talking with a corpse.”
Caleb spun as the doorknob jiggled. “Jules, get in the corner.”
She balked. “But—”
“For God’s sake, girl, just do as I tell you!”
The door swung open. Caleb spun, lashed at the panel with a neat back kick, and leaped forward as it swung back on its hinges. Something heavy slammed into the far wall. He dove through the narrow gap, fist hauled back, and came up short as cold, relentless metal pressed into his forehead.
Tobias didn’t smile. He only pulled the hammer back on the pistol. Unnecessary for the model, but point loudly made.
Die here or stay alive long enough to figure something else out.
Juliet made it an easy choice.
Caleb backed up slowly. “No sudden movements,” he warned quietly.
Juliet froze, a length of cable strung between her hands. Her eyes pinned to the gun jammed against Caleb’s head. She licked her lips.
His twitched. “What were you planning to do, Jules? Garrote him with plastic?” Her chin lifted, and a warmth, a wave of radiance slid into his heart and filled it.
That’s my girl.
His gaze met Tobias’s. “You’re not going to shoot me.” The man’s eyes narrowed over the matte black barrel, and Caleb shrugged ever so faintly. “I won’t let you lay a finger on her, and your boss wants us alive, so—”
The cable hit the ground. “We’ll come quietly!”
He sighed. “God damn it, Juliet, shut up.” He loved her. Stubborn, naïve woman that she was.
“Just don’t hurt him,” she added. “Or else I swear I’ll find some way to make this difficult.”
“Move,” Tobias ordered. The gun shifted, ever so slightly.
Those light eyes turned to him. Narrowed. “Caleb,” she whispered. “Please.”
God damn it, Caleb.
He sidled toward the door.
Chapter Twenty
The tall man spun as Tobias led them into a different room. His cheek blazed cherry red, jaw ticking.
His eyes met Caleb’s across the room. Narrowed, and flicked back to the petite woman standing in front of him. Her hand lowered, fingers flexing.
“Your failure put everything at risk,” she said tightly.
Behind him, Juliet gasped.
He couldn’t blame her. The lab—he couldn’t call it anything else—wasn’t any better lit than the other rooms, with sheets of dust inches thick on every surface. Every three feet, empty holding tanks squatted amid a tangled sea of tubes and wires. Computers mounted to the north wall showed nothing but black screens and grime.
A wide, blank panel of glass segmented this chamber from whatever lay beyond the black interior.
“What was I supposed to do?” the man called Wells was saying, hands tight at his sides. “I don’t know if you realize, but ghosts aren’t my forte.”
“It remains to be seen what is,” the woman said thinly, and turned.
Juliet froze, so sudden that Tobias slammed a hand into the small of her back. “Move—”
Patience, what little he had left, snapped. “Hands off,” Caleb snarled, rounding on him with murder pounding in his head. His heels dug into the floor, muscles flexed, ready to jump; screw the gun. The pain, the blood.
“Caleb.” Juliet’s voice was too breathy. Too calm.
He froze. Slowly, hands very cautiously raised, he turned away from Tobias’s smirk and met Wells’s flat stare over Juliet’s head.
It dropped to the knife in his bloodstained hand. To the edge pressed tightly to her throat.
“Now, then,” said the woman, stepping out from behind the man’s rangy back. Juliet stared at Caleb, her mouth pinched.
Her gaze intent.
“Welcome back, Miss Carpenter,” the woman said. She smoothed back her gleaming brown hair, her gnarled hands steady. As if conscious of his scrutiny, she adjusted her frameless spectacles and shot him a narrow, considering stare.
He met it. Matched it. Right up until Tobias stepped around him, his shoulder clipping Caleb’s brutally hard.
Caleb staggered, cursing.
“Mr. Nelson, please,” the woman said primly. “A little professional courtesy, if you will. Now, allow me to get to the point.”
“Who are you?” Juliet blurted, one hand locked around Wells’s wrist at her throat. “Why do I recognize you? Where is this place?”
Caleb righted himself, holding his shoulder. “What,” he amended, “is this place?”
The woman’s thin lips curved into a humorless smile. “You recognize me? Interesting. As I recall, you were little more than an infant.”
Juliet blanched.
“My name is Nadia Parrish,” the woman continued. “Mrs. Parrish, if you please. Let her go, Mr. Wells.”
“Are you sure?”
Mrs. Parrish leveled the kind of glare that made ice look like hot sand on a summer day. “Do as I say.”
For a long moment, Wells stared at her. Then, abruptly, he let Juliet go, shoving her hard enough that Caleb lunged to catch her as she cried out.
He pulled her hard against his chest. “Be still,” he murmured. Don’t do anything stupid.
Her shoulders straightened. Deliberately, she pushed out of his arms. “You didn’t clear up anything,” she said. “Why am I here?”
Mrs. Parrish watched it all with avid interest. At the question, her eyes narrowed. “Because you belong to me.” Juliet’s head snapped back as if she’d been slapped, and he braced himself in anticipation before she did something stupid. “Mr. Nelson, retrieve the girl. Mr. Wells, if you will.”
The tall, rangy man hesitated. Then, expression grim, he strode toward Caleb, unhooking a pair of cuffs from his belt.
Mrs. Parrish folded her arms.
Caleb’s fists clenched.
“I suggest you remember that you are only alive by my word,” Mrs. Parrish added.
Wells stared at him.
“Caleb,” Juliet murmured.
Hell and fuck. Caleb offered his hands, wrists together.
The man’s lips twitched. “Nice try,” he said, and spun a finger. Gritting his teeth, Caleb turned, biting back a curse as Wells wrenched his hands behind his back.
The cuffs locked around his wrists, cold and solid.
“Now, as to your questions,” Mrs. Parrish said. She crossed to a small bank of storage units, cracking open a panel. “This was, many years ago, my place of employment. GeneCorp, the foundation of the future.”
Juliet watched her, her jaw tight.
Caleb bared his teeth at Wells. “Pray to God one of you kills me,” he growled under his brea
th.
The man smiled, turned, and walked back toward the door. He leaned by the frame, shoulder braced, one hand splayed over the bloodstain at his side.
It had to hurt. He didn’t betray even a hint of it.
“I am surprised you remember me,” the woman added thoughtfully, withdrawing a small tray from the confines of the small closet, “but the brain is such a fascinating thing, isn’t it? Impressions, translated into hundreds of thousands of signals and chemicals.”
Caleb’s teeth clenched as Tobias shouldered into the room, cradling Jessie’s body in both massive arms. “Don’t you dare—”
Mrs. Parrish flicked him a dismissive smile. “Relax, Mr. Leigh. We are attempting to save her life.” Deftly, she fit a wickedly long syringe into a vial of clear liquid.
Caleb took one step, froze as Tobias met his eyes over Jessie’s inert body.
His grip tightened.
Fists clenching and unclenching behind him, Caleb backed down. Give him time. Give him enough time and he’d have something to get them out of here.
Jessie couldn’t die here. Not now.
The two most important women in the world. Holy Christ, why hadn’t he seen this?
Because you didn’t want to.
He bit his tongue so hard, blood pooled in his mouth.
“I was Dr. Lauderdale’s lab assistant,” Mrs. Parrish said. “Together, we developed the Salem Project, and together, we changed the face of science forever.” Not a shred of humility colored her statement as she flicked the syringe, then beckoned Tobias over. “Take her into the lab and strap her down. Then Mr. Leigh, if you please.”
With a grunt, the large man threaded his way through the empty tube-covered boxes. Jessie’s face was a pale, sallow blur in the shadows.
Caleb’s gaze flicked to Juliet.
She watched him steadily. Calmly.
But her arms wrapped tightly around her stomach. Fingers clenched. Her light eyes shimmered, so much hurt.
And—son of a bitch—apology.
She was sorry? Sorry for what? He thrust out his jaw.
A hand curled around his arm. “Let’s go.”
“I’m not leaving without—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Wells said, pushing him hard enough that he had to walk or fall over. “She’s right behind you.”
All Things Wicked Page 23