Playing With Fire (11 page)

“You want out?” Jon asked as he lifted his hands. “Let's see what you can do.”

He stopped fighting the beast and let it take him. The flames leaped from him as he surrendered. The buildings caught fire, an inferno that lit up the sky. Booms burst in the air, screams echoed.

Those who'd run and left him to his fate . . . had their own fiery fate waiting for them. But they wouldn't rise.

He'd make sure of it.

C
assie held onto Dante as tightly as she could. Her memory of escaping from Jon was hazy. In order to block the pain, she'd had to go far into her mind, into the shadows that she'd first found when she'd been a child.

When her father had strapped her to the table in his lab.

He hadn't experimented on just the paranormals. He'd wanted to create stronger, better humans.

He'd planned for her and her brother to be the first “better” humans.

That hadn't worked out. But their father hadn't given up easily. He'd just ignored their screams and tears.

The motorcycle braked. She couldn't see anything in front of her. Just the darkness.

As they'd driven, she'd smelled smoke, a heavy, thick blast of smoke that had followed them on the wind. It was gone now. It was just them. And darkness.

“No one's here,” Dante said. “You can go inside and rest.” He turned off the bike.

Right. She was supposed to stop holding so tightly to him.

Her body still ached, but not as badly as it had. She climbed off the motorcycle slowly, then stood for a moment, making sure that she wasn't about to fall on her face.

Dante reached out and steadied her. At his touch, her breath caught. She looked up and found his gaze just inches from hers. The gold in the depths of his eyes was burning once more.

“The place isn't as nice as the one your
friend
Trace had for you, but it's got a bed inside, four walls and a roof, so I figure it will do for now.”

Had she just imagined the emphasis he'd placed on
friend
? She wasn't sure. She was so tired she just wanted to crash in bed—crash and not worry about someone coming at her with a needle or a scalpel.

But I did that. I was the monster with the needle, too. For so long.

Some would say she'd gotten her fitting punishment that night.

At least . . . at least the doctors had stopped before getting the bone marrow and the spinal tap.
She rubbed her forehead.
Or had they?
Cassie wasn't sure just how long she'd been in that lab.

“Come on.” Dante's hand curled around her shoulder.

She flinched. That area was still sore.

He immediately dropped his hand before she could explain about the samples they'd taken.

Cassie knew she was healing, but she still ached.

His breath eased out on a sigh. “Let's go in.”

She noticed that the front lock looked as if it had been melted. Interesting lock picking technique. She would have questioned him on that, but just didn't have the energy.

A few moments later, Cassie realized that he'd told her the truth. A bed waited inside. An old table. Some chairs. Not much, but it sure looked like paradise to her.

She crawled in the bed, then she drew her legs up as she turned on her side, wrapping her arms around herself.

“Cassie?” He was behind her. She should look at him, but she felt . . . frozen.

She'd killed Jon.

“Cassie, I have to leave for a few minutes.”

What? They'd just gotten there.

“You'll be safe here, and I'll be back soon.”

The floor creaked. He was actually going to leave her. Her shoulders hunched. “Don't.”

Tension seemed to fill the air.

“Please don't leave me right now.” She couldn't look at him. She had her eyes squeezed shut so she wouldn't have to look at anything, but in her mind, she could see Jon. The dark shadow that had been blood as it spread over his chest. He'd looked so surprised.

Cassie, will you marry me?

He'd asked her that . . . what seemed like a lifetime ago, but it had been just two years ago.

And yes, once, she'd thought about walking down the aisle with him. Maybe having a child.

Tonight, she'd killed him.

Dante wasn't speaking.

She knew what he wanted to do. Go back. Make sure that he destroyed that facility. He wanted to burn the place to the ground. If he did that, if he hurt the humans inside, wouldn't he be a monster, too?

Weren't they already monsters?

“I can't stop seeing him,” she whispered.

Then it wasn't the floor that creaked. It was the bed. The mattress dipped, and she realized that Dante had crawled into the bed with her.

Her breath stilled in her lungs.

His hand came up and lightly trailed over her arm. The warmth of his touch seemed to banish some of her chill.

“What did he do to you?”

The usual. Strapped her to a table. Took her blood. Her DNA. Samples from her bones and—“What they always do to the people that Genesis wants to experiment on.”

“You aren't an experiment.”

Yes, she was. There was a reason her blood was poison to vampires. “I've been an experiment since I was eight years old.” Her father had never seen her as a child.

He'd seen her as a weapon.

“I had a brother once,” she whispered. He was dead, too . . . though she'd discovered his death only recently. Before he'd died, she'd learned that he'd become . . . twisted . . . just like their father.

Would she become that way, too? Was she already?

“My father gave him the . . . same injections that he'd given to me.” At first, anyway. Later, she'd been given separate treatments.

Because she'd died during one of those experiments, they'd had to change up her dosage levels.

“I remember . . .” Her voice came out quiet and husky.

“We were tossed into a pit with vampires once. My father wanted to see if they'd come after us, or if our poison blood would keep them away.”

Dante's arm curled around her, and he pulled her back against the cradle of his body. His warmth surrounded her. Made her feel safe.... when she knew safety was a lie.

“Did they bite you?”

“One did, but when he died, no one else touched me. They didn't bite my brother. The vampires . . . were different,
enhanced.
” How she hated that word. They'd been soldiers. Volunteers who'd been given a trip to hell.

Dante's hold tightened around her.

“That was the first time I ever killed anyone.” The first time, not the last, despite her efforts to be careful. She'd always tried to stay away from the vampires. One sip of her poisoned blood would kill most of them. “I didn't want to kill Jon.”

“You should have let me burn him. I
wanted
to kill him.”

She knew that. It was part of their problem. “There's so much darkness in you.” Her words were hushed. “It scares me sometimes.” Maybe she shouldn't have said those words, but she was long past the point of a filter. Too tired. Too broken. Too everything.

In the morning, she could pretend to be strong again.

“If you're so afraid”—his words rumbled behind her—“then why are you in my arms now?”

“Because you're the only one who's ever made me feel whole.”

Her eyes were still closed. Hiding in the dark, that was her way.

Silence filled the small cabin.

She became aware of his steady breathing behind her. In. Out. In . . .

Her own faster breaths slowed to match his.

Dante didn't speak again.

“Thank you,” she finally told him.

“You shouldn't thank me.” The words seemed to be a warning.

She shook her head slightly against the pillow. “You saved me.”

“No, I just didn't let you get away.”

Her heartbeat wasn't racing any longer. He was behind her, around her, and nothing could hurt her while her phoenix was close.

Cassie stopped fighting the lethargy that wanted to pull her down into a deep sleep. She stopped fighting and just let go.

She wondered if she'd see Dante in her dreams . . . or if she'd see Jon's ghost haunting her.

 

Cassie was asleep. He could leave her, slip away, and be back before she awoke.

She'd curled into herself, like a frightened child. Her voice had trembled with fear and pain, and she'd
thanked
him.

The woman should have been running from him.

He glanced toward the door. He could go back to that ranch. Burn the place with a thought.

There's so much darkness in you. It scares me sometimes.

She had asked him to spare the humans at that ranch. He leaned closer to her, and his lips pressed lightly against her cool cheek.

She whimpered in her sleep, and the fear in that small sound tore at him.

Cassie still needed him. Someone had to keep her nightmares at bay.

Carefully, he turned her so that she faced him. He pulled her closer, lowering her head over his heart and threading his fingers through her hair.

The humans at that ranch were lucky. The battered angel in his arms had given them a reprieve. If they were smart, they'd run fast and hard, and they would never cross his path again.

As for Cassie . . . her body was a slight weight against his. His beast was quiet, as close to calm as it ever was, and he realized that he could just hold her like that, all night long.

So he did.

 

“How long have you been here?” Cassie's voice was quiet as she stood behind the two-way mirror.

He knew that she'd realized—months ago—that he could see past the reinforced glass.

She stood less than a foot behind the mirror, her eyes up and clear—and on his.

“Too many years,” he said softly as he headed toward the glass and to her.

“I remember you,” she told him. “When I was a kid . . .”

She was little more than a kid. Nineteen, twenty?

“When you do get out, please don't ever come back. Just run and run.”

His lips tightened. “What makes you think they'll ever let me out?” He was their prized specimen. They tortured him, they killed him, but they weren't letting him go.

She smiled, and the sight stopped his breath for a moment. “I know you'll get out . . . because I'll help you.”

Her hand lifted. Touched the glass.

His hand lifted too, as if pulled by her.

But then the guards came in . . .

And Cassie left him.

 

Dante climbed from the bed as the moonlight streamed through the old blinds. So many memories were in his head, fighting to get to the surface and break free.

He hated some of the memories.

Treasured others.

Her hand, rising against the glass.

He never would have thought to find a glimpse of gold in that hell, but he had.

His gaze fell back on the bed. On Cassie. He'd known just what she was the first minute he'd seen her. When she'd only been eight, the promise had been there.

He could have broken out of Genesis sooner, but he'd needed to wait. He'd had to see for sure if she would become—

“Dante!”
She screamed his name as she jerked up in bed. He crossed to her instantly. “I'm here.”

A shudder shook her slender frame and then her hands were around him, holding tight. “I was afraid it was a dream . . . that I was back there. They were going to keep hurting me.”

I should have gone back and finished them.

“It wasn't a dream,” he said as he shoved down his fury.

“You're safe.”

Her mouth pressed over his shoulder. Her lips were soft and silken. Her breath blew lightly over his skin.

Then she pulled away. Looked up at him. Her gaze searched his and her green eyes widened. “Dante.”

She seemed to finally be seeing him.

No, she wasn't
seeing
him, but rather seeing
in
to him.

“You remember, don't you? You remember me?”

“I wouldn't have been able to track you if I hadn't.” His voice had roughened because . . . she wasn't hurt any longer. No scratches or bruises on her skin. Completely healed.

She was in bed. Alone with him.

He'd wanted her for so long.

He'd been close to having what he wanted.

He
would
have what he wanted.

“What all do you remember?” Her voice was husky. Hopeful?

His fingers lifted and brushed back her hair. “Every damn thing.”

I was going to marry her.

Dante's jaw locked.

Once, she'd been a virgin. She'd come to him, sneaking past the security, offering him heaven.

He'd been a fool to refuse.

I knew what she was. I should have held on tight.

Her lips lifted into a smile. “You know me?”

He didn't return her smile. “I'm going to devour you.”
Fair warning.

Her smile dimmed. “Dante?”

He pushed her back onto the bed. The control he'd held so effortlessly while she slept—cradled in his arms—was shredding with each passing second. She wasn't hurt. She wasn't trapped in a nightmare.

Cassie was in his arms, and he meant to have her. “Are you afraid?” Dante asked her.

“The fire . . . what if . . . ?”

He knew what the idiots at Genesis had said—in moments of extreme passion, his fire would rage out of control. That he would hurt—kill—a lover.

That wouldn't happen with her.

Couldn't.

Because the phoenix wasn't allowed to hurt her.

I knew what she was . . .

“I'll keep you safe,” he promised her.

His lips pressed to hers. He
had
to kiss her. He wanted her to forget the man she'd shot and any other bastard out there. The others would no longer have a place in her mind or heart.

There would only be room for him.

Her mouth opened beneath his . . . eager and sweet. He thrust his tongue past her lips and savored her.