The blaze cracked and popped. The plastic melted away, the core of the fire white hot as it greedily consumed the corrupt corpse. The wind changed and the flames leaped, carrying the fetid, hot smell to the back of the truck. With no way to escape its rancid reach, Darce slammed his shoulders against the metal behind him, every instinct he had recoiling from the sheer wrongness.
He shoved his nose hard against his own arm to block out the smell and tried to breathe through his ears while he watched over his arm. Even though her sense of smell had to be equal to his, she stood motionless. Watched the fire burn brightly. A lone sentinel paying last respects for the dead.
Melancholy washed over him. Would anyone care enough to stand over his body? Would she?
Fire. The great cleanser. Like water, it was unmatched in its ability to destroy and wipe the slate clean. Heat beat at Toni’s face. She watched the flames devour Garry’s body until it was reduced to nothing but glowing embers. It didn’t take long. RA bodies burned quickly, like lighting a fuse, until there was nothing left—not even bone. The whole body was consumed by the flame like nature herself sought to correct the mistake wrought by man.
The fire had all but died, but she still saw it in her mind’s eye, where the flames blazed brightly. Stripped the plastic from the body within to eat at the altered flesh. The inferno still burned brightly in her thoughts, as though it had transferred from the embers in front of her to blaze within her soul, fuelled by her rage.
Burning white hot and without mercy.
The Project had killed Garry. They’d lied to him. Killed him as surely as if they’d pulled the trigger instead of her. But, ultimately, she’d killed him. She’d actually fired the bullets that ended his life and killed an RA who was supposed to be dead already. Killed him because they’d turned him into his worst nightmare. Her jaw worked, her teeth grinding so hard they ached.
Oh, she knew Garry hadn’t been a saint. He worked for the Project after all, so there had to be some skeletons in his closet, but the punishment should fit the crime. He’d been a med-tech, not one of the scientists. To her knowledge, he’d never personally infected anyone, just been part of the team that dealt with the aftereffects. He hadn’t deserved to be killed and turned into his worst nightmare.
No one deserved that.
But there was no way to complain. No superior officer or chain of command to report the bastards who’d strapped him to that trolley to. A complaint to Fitzgerald would be counterproductive. More than. Any hint of dissent on base was dealt with swiftly, usually by the application of a bullet to the back of the head. She wasn’t going to complain though, just make the Project pay. Make that a**hole Fitzgerald pay. After she’d gotten the cure from him, of course. When she had it, she’d tear him apart with her bare hands.
Vengeance.
An ember spat and rolled from the remains of the impromptu pyre and came to rest at the side of her boot. She watched it for a long moment, unblinking, then took a deep breath and turned. Left the glowing embers behind without a backward glance, and strode toward the transporter with the Lycan inside.
“We’re done here. Pack it up and let’s move out,” she ordered, her voice pitched to carry to her men. As one, they scuttled to do her bidding. Mugs were emptied onto the ground. Cigarettes dropped and stamped out. She shook her head and stalked toward the truck. Thankfully, they weren’t trying to conceal their tracks—wouldn’t take much intelligence for anyone to work out they’d been here. Just the remains of a fire, which—thanks to the fact that RA bodies burnt cleanly—no one could identify as a pyre.
Wilson appeared as she clambered into the back of the truck. He moved before she could ask, helping her to close the tailgate and barking orders to the milling soldiers. She nodded to herself in approval. Despite the idiot moment around the Lycan earlier that could have ended up with him having his throat torn out, he wasn’t a bad soldier. He had the kind of smarts she’d normally look for in someone to recommend for promotion. Pity he wouldn’t survive long with the Project.
“Straight through to the base.” She latched the last loop into place. “No more stops. Fitz’ll be fit to bursting anyway, no reason to give him more of an excuse to have a damn hissy fit. When we get in, offload the Lycan and I’ll deal with the debrief. You get the lads clear of the square and in their racks, okay?”
Wilson grinned, the prospect of not having to go through a debrief with the General an obvious relief. “Yes, ma’am. With some luck we might just get in before the breakfast rush.”
A small smile curved her lips as he tapped the top of the tailgate and disappeared to the front of the truck. Soldiers, always thinking of their stomachs. Typical.
The front door slammed shut and she bit back a moan. The scent of blood, rich and decadent wrapped around her, chasing the stench of burning RA flesh from her nostrils in an instant. Relief surged through her. She’d smelled RAs burning before but knowing the flesh burning had once belonged to a friend, a person she knew, was somehow worse. It was easy to forget the RAs had all been someone—albeit a someone who had been condemned to death usually—but a person all the same.
Taking a deep breath, she focused on the blood. Rolled the delicious scent along her tongue to taste it, holding the breath deep in her lungs until she’d chased away unsavory thoughts of barbecue and regained her control. Only just.
The sickening hunger dissipated, leaving an altogether different type of hunger racing through her veins. She ignored it, opening her eyes to look at the prisoner. He sat still, arms above his head and skin bathed in blood—the source of the smell. Her stomach rolled again as her gaze latched onto the scarlet stains, the need for blood and more assaulting her.
Grimly she fought the need back and looked at him levelly. She was just low on blood—that was all. Once she got back to base and had her fill from the chemically-controlled, chilled baggies of o-positive they kept especially for her, this strange need to wrap herself around him and sink her fangs into his throat would disappear. It had to—there was no way she was getting fang-happy with a mutt.
Still, she shot a concerned glance at his wrists. The last thing she needed was a bleed out. Full-bird Fitz would use any excuse not to give her the cure, if he had it at all. She needed the Lycan alive, if not exactly fighting fit. Leaning forward, she lifted his arm. The cuts were deep but already healing.
“You’re an idiot,” she told him, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of the engine. “Those cuffs have held bigger and meaner than you with no problems.”
He shrugged, watching her through human-dark eyes. At least he was calm now, his movements sluggish as he lifted his arms and rattled the chains against the side of the cabin. Sweat beaded over his skin, and every movement seemed an effort. Good. He was still under the control of the drugs. She wouldn’t have to shoot him up again.
“Who was he? Your lover?” he demanded, amber leeching into his eyes again and betraying the wolf hidden beneath the surface.
The growl was unexpected, the possessive gleam when his gaze swept over her even more so. Reaching out, she braced herself against the side of the truck as it lurched over a series of potholes, and thought before answering. Despite herself, she liked it. The flash of anger in his eyes and the growl. She’d never considered possessiveness an attractive feature before, or even considered herself the sort of woman to elicit a response like that. But she liked it. She shouldn’t, but she did.
“Maybe.”
“What do you mean, maybe?” He growled, straining at his bonds, all the tightly corded muscles in his frame standing out in high relief. She had to give it to him. He was determined. “Maybe he was your lover? How does ‘maybe’ even work in that sentence? You either know if a guy’s got his c*ck in you or not. Because, believe me baby, when I’m balls deep in you, you’ll know about it.”
She laughed. He was loud and obnoxious, so why did she find him so amusing?
“Oh, really?” She let her gaze linger over his broad chest, trying to make the look derisive. “And just how are you going to manage that handcuffed and locked down with silver like that?”
He smiled, the expression far different from the cocky grin she was used to. This was more of a Mona Lisa type smile, as though Da Vinci had managed to reach through the fabric of space and time itself to recreate his masterpiece on a living and utterly masculine face. Enigmatic, it hinted at dark secrets within and sent heat and wariness slithering along her spine.
Chapter Four
“Oh, that’s simple.”
She froze in the utter stillness which gave a Blood away each and every time. But this time he didn’t focus on her inhumanity, the fact she was a Blood and he was a Lycan. Instead, all he saw were the large dark eyes, the sensuous curve of her lips and the soft sheen of her alabaster skin. Compared to him, she was small and delicate. So beautiful he hardly dared glance her way, but his gaze was drawn to her anyway. Like a compass needle to true north. Everything male within him demanded it. Need and desire raced through his body, aided by his wolf. The creature inside yipped and yammered, testing the edges of his control like a caged dog worrying at a fence, desperate to be freed.
He held the smile. For once, he and the animal were in perfect accord. She’d locked him down with silver, but it didn’t mean he was going to stay that way. Not with the moon still in the sky and his mate within reach. While they’d talked, he’d worked the silver from his system. The metal beneath him was wet with tainted sweat. A little puddle under his ass like he’d pissed the stuff. Opening the connection to his wolf piece by piece, he let the creature free, using the strength and rage to galvanize his human frame.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s simple’?”
He finished the grin. The movement bared his teeth, revealing the lengthened canines behind his human lips. “Easy. I’m not locked down.”
His words fell into stunned silence. Her eyes widened, her slight intake of breath a soft rasp in the air. Their gazes locked and tension spiraled as each waited for the other to move.
He saw it the moment she made her decision. A red sheen tainted the darkness of her eyes, flowing over the surface like oil over water. Man, that was some freaky shit.
A bellow escaped his lips. He yanked on the cuffs. The silver-laced steel bit deep, slicing through his skin like an acid-dipped razor but he ignored the pain. Couldn’t afford to let it slow him down.
Using momentum to snap the chain, he threw himself across the space between them and reached for her. His arms opened wide to wrap her up in a solid tackle but, like him, she was already moving. With a grunt of surprise and anger, she twisted to the side, then rebounded off the metal interior to come right at him.
They met in the middle in a clash of bodies and tumbled, rolling across the truck-bed in a tangle of limbs. She fought like a wildcat. His vision filled with flying strands of dark hair and the flash of her teeth as she snarled. He winced, blocking like a demon while heavy blows rained down on his head and shoulders. Pain flared all over his body but he ignored it and fought through. Forced to protect his sides, his abdomen and his face, he ducked and turned, weaving before he went on the offensive, trying to trap her arms and pin her down.