Playing With Fire (28 page)

T
he first time Eve Bradley saw Subject Thirteen, he was in chains.

She froze in front of the glass wall that separated her from him—a wall that, to Subject Thirteen, would look just like a mirror. The two-way mirror let the doctors and observers watch his every move. Not that the guy could do much moving when he was chained to the wall.

“I-I thought . . .” Eve tried to fight the tremble in her voice. She was supposed to look like she belonged here. Like she fit in with all the other researchers who were so eager to experiment on the test subjects. “I thought everyone was here voluntarily.”

Dr. Richard Wyatt turned to face her, his white lab coat brushing against her. “The chains are for his safety.” His tone implied she should have realized that obvious fact.

Yeah, right.

Was she really supposed to buy that line? Being chained up—that equaled safety in what mixed-up world?

“Dr. Bradley . . .” Wyatt's dark eyebrows lifted as he studied her with an assessing gaze. “You do realize that all the subjects here are far, far from human, correct?”

She knew the spiel. “Yes, of course I do. They're supernaturals. Here to take part in experiments that will help the U.S. military.” So all the fancy guys in suits had told the media when the Genesis group started their recruitment program last fall.

Not that she believed their story. It had taken her months,
months,
to set up this cover and get inside the research facility.

If she'd been on her own, she never would have passed clearance. But, luckily, Eve had managed to make a few powerful friends over the years.

Friends who wanted to know the truth about this place as much as she did. They all had an interest in Genesis.

Some reporters really could smell a story. Right now, Eve's nose was twitching.

She glanced back at Subject Thirteen. Everyone knew paranormals were out there, living in the midst of humans. About ten years ago, the first supernaturals had made themselves known. They'd come out of their paranormal closets. And why not? Why should they have been forced to keep hiding? Always hiding in the shadows had to suck. Maybe they'd just gotten tired of living a lie and decided to force the humans to see what was right in front of them—or what was living right beside them.

Since the big revelation, things had changed for the paranormals. Some were hunted. Some turned into instant celebrities. The reaction from the humans, well, that was mixed, too.

Some humans hated the supernaturals. Some feared them. Some really enjoyed fucking them.

Eve didn't necessarily fall into any of those categories.

Subject Thirteen was staring right at her. A small shiver slid over Eve's body.

His eyes were dark. They looked almost black—as black as the thick hair that hung a little too long as it brushed over his broad shoulders. Thirteen was a handsome man, strong, muscled—
definitely muscled—
and with the sculpted bone structure that had probably caught plenty of attention from the ladies.

High cheeks. Square jaw. Lips that were hard, a little thin, but still sexy . . . though she could have sworn that mouth held a cruel curve.

Her heartbeat began to pound faster. Thirteen's eyes were sweeping over her body. A slow, deliberate glance. “Can he—can he see through the mirror?” His gaze felt like a hot touch on her skin.

“Of course not” was Dr. Wyatt's instant response. The doc sounded annoyed with her.

Her shoulders relaxed.

Subject Thirteen smiled.

Damn. Her shoulders tensed right back up again.

Wyatt checked his notes and then told her, “Go check his vitals before we begin the procedure for today.”

Right. Vitals check. Her job. Eve nodded. She'd done two years of med school before realizing the gig wasn't for her, so she could pass muster with these guys, no problem. Only part of her résumé was fake.

The good part.

Eve walked slowly toward the metal door that was the only entrance and exit to Thirteen's holding room. A guard opened the door for her. An
armed
guard—which brought up the next question.
Why did volunteers have to be guarded?

Oh, jeez, but this place was creeping her out.
Volunteers, my ass.

Sure, she'd seen a couple other subjects during her time at the Genesis facility. Not many, though. Her clearance wasn't high enough to get her past level one. Or it hadn't been . . . until today.

Until she'd been told that Dr. Wyatt needed her services for his latest experiment. Dr. Richard Wyatt
was
Genesis. A former kid genius, the guy had a couple fists full of degrees, and currently was the leading expert in the field of paranormal genetics.

He was also a hard-ass who gave her the creeps when his cold green eyes locked on her. Maybe he was a fairly attractive guy, but something about him made her blood ice.

The guard waved his hand, indicating that it was clear for Eve to proceed. When she walked into Thirteen's holding room, Eve saw the slight flare of the man's nostrils. Then his head turned toward her slowly, the move almost like a snake's as he sized her up.

He didn't speak, but his powerful hands clenched.

Eve opened her small black bag. “Hello.” Her voice came out too high-pitched. She drew in a steadying breath. The guy was chained. It wasn't like anything could happen to her. She needed to get a grip and do her job. “I'm just here to run a few quick checks on you.” No machines were hooked up to him. No monitors. Wyatt wanted these checks done the old-fashioned way—hell if she knew why. Eve pulled out her stethoscope and stopped a foot away from Thirteen. “I-I'll need to listen to your heartbeat.”

Still nothing. Okay. Eve swallowed and offered a weak smile. Obviously, she wasn't dealing with a chatty fellow.

Eve slid closer to him. Her gaze darted to the chains. They held his arms trapped at his sides. Even if he'd wanted to grab her—
don't grab me, don't!—
he couldn't move.

What if Wyatt was setting her up? The guy was chained and that had to mean he was dangerous, right? Those were some seriously thick chains. They looked like something right out of a medieval torture chamber.

“I won't hurt you.”

She jumped at the sound of his voice; and what a dark, rumbling voice it was. When the big, bad wolf from that old fairy tale talked, Eve bet the beast had sounded just like Subject Thirteen.

She exhaled and hoped she didn't look rattled. “I didn't think you would.”

His lips twisted in the faintest of smiles—one that called her a liar.

Eve put the stethoscope over his heart. She adjusted the equipment, listened, and glanced up at him in surprise. “Is your heartbeat always this fast?” Grabbing his chart, she scanned through the notes. Fast, but not
this
fast. His heart was galloping like a racehorse.

Eve put her hand against his forehead and hissed out a breath. The guy was hot. Not warm, not feverish,
hot.

And she was so close to him that her breasts brushed his arm.

Subject Thirteen's heartbeat grew even faster.

Oh . . . just . . .
oh
. Hell. She hurried backward a bit.

“I need to draw a sample of your blood.” She also wanted to take his temperature because the guy had to be scorching. Just what was he? Not a vampire, those guys could never heat up this much. A shifter? Maybe. She'd seen one of those subjects on her first day. But the shifter had been in a cozy dorm-type room.

He hadn't been shackled.

Eve put up the stethoscope and reached for a needle. She eased closer to Thirteen once more and rose onto her toes. The guy was big, at least six three, maybe six four, so she couldn't quite reach his ear as she whispered, “Are you here willingly?”

Eve began to draw his blood. Thirteen didn't even flinch as the needle slid into his arm.

But he did give a small, negative shake of his head.

Shit
. She eased back down and tried to figure out just how she could help him.

“I'm Eve.” She licked her lips. His gaze followed the movement. The darkness in his stare seemed to heat. Everything about the guy was hot. “I-I can help you.”

He laughed then, and the sound chilled her. “No,” he said in that deep rumble of a voice, “you can't.”

Eve realized she was standing between his legs. His unsecured legs. His thighs brushed against hers, and she flinched.

The smile on his face was as cold as his laughter. She'd been correct when she thought she saw a cruel edge to his lips. She could see that hardness right then. “You should be afraid,” he told her.

Yes, she was definitely getting that clue.

Eve pulled out the needle. Swabbed some alcohol over a wound she couldn't even see. Then she stepped back, as quickly as she could.

“Don't come back in here,” he told her, eyes narrowing. A warning.

Or a threat?

Eve turned away.

“You smell like fucking candy . . .”

She stilled. Now her heartbeat was the one racing too fast.

“You make me . . .” His voice dropped, but she caught the ragged growl of “hungry.”

H
is mouth was desert dry. His fangs fully extended and aching. He could already taste her.

I just want her.

His tongue swept over her neck. Sampled, then he sank his teeth into her throat.

The woman—Sabine—gasped against him. Her body arched into his as the first tender drops of her blood spilled onto his tongue.

“Make sure the recording is operational.” Wyatt's voice seemed to come from far away. “I want to get every bit of this.”

But Wyatt and what he wanted didn't matter. Sabine's blood was on Ryder's tongue, and her blood was like nothing he'd ever tasted in all of his years of existence. Not just warm—the blood was hot. Spicy. Rich with flavor. He wanted to lap it up, to savor it.

To gorge on it.

His hands hardened on her. He'd meant to take just a few drops.

He wanted to lift his head away. Wanted to so badly, but
her blood was too good.

He drank more, greedy now. Desperate. Her blood flowed through him, heating his body from the inside out and sending tendrils of power pulsing through him. Some humans tasted of wine. Some of the euphoria that came from drugs.

No one had ever tasted like her. Life. Sex. Pleasure. Everything he wanted was right there, in her blood.

He drank deeper.

“S-stop.” Her voice was weaker than before.

He didn't want to stop. He'd looked for this—he'd always wanted this taste. Craved it, when he hadn't even known what he was missing. His body seemed to be growing stronger, the muscles tensing, with every drop of her blood that he took.

She sagged against him, and Ryder scooped her into his arms, holding her even when her head fell to the side and her breath rattled in her chest.

More.

More.

At first, he thought the urging was just inside of himself, but then he realized that bastard Wyatt was the one urging him on.

And the woman . . . Sabine wasn't fighting him any longer. She barely seemed to be breathing.

He jerked his head away. Stared down at her in disbelief. He hadn't taken that much, had he?

But he couldn't remember how long he'd been drinking. He only knew—

I still want more.

He lifted her higher against his chest. Held her cradled in his arms. There was no more weakness for him. Only strength. But she . . .

Her lashes were closed.

A fear unlike any he'd known before had his whole body tensing. He'd just found her. Ryder knew he couldn't lose her this soon.
Not. Now
.

And sure as hell not by his own hand. Or teeth.

He brought his wrist to his mouth. Slashed open the flesh. He knew what she needed. “Drink for me.” She'd be all right once she drank his blood.

“No!”
Wyatt's voice thundered out. “Stop! Put Sabine down and back away.”

“Fuck off.” He lowered them both to the floor so he could better tend to her. But he kept her close as he put his wrist to her mouth. “Drink.” She'd just need a little of his blood, and she'd heal.

If she'd just drink . . .

An alarm began to sound. Voices shouted over the intercom. Then footsteps rushed outside of his door. The guards were finally coming in to face him.

Now was the perfect time to kill them. But if he moved away from Sabine, she'd die. She needed more of his blood. She needed him to survive.

His eyes narrowed on her face.
What are you?
She'd been afraid, but she'd still fought him. She'd stared at a monster and asked to go home.

Now she was almost at death's broken door.

“Get away from her!” Wyatt was shrieking now.

She wasn't drinking. He pried open her mouth. Forced drops of blood onto her tongue and then massaged her neck, trying to make Sabine swallow.
Live.

The guards grabbed him, trying to yank him away from her.
Hell, no.
He threw them back. Heard thuds when they hit the walls.

“You have to swallow the blood,” he told her, voice dark and rumbling with command. “Come on!”
I didn't mean to do this.
She'd been so afraid. He'd told her that he'd hold on to his control.

But the beast that he was hadn't been able to hold on. The beast . . . Ryder . . . he destroyed. That was his life. All he knew. And he'd destroyed her, too.

His vision seemed to blacken. She was the only thing he could see in that growing darkness. Beautiful, so still.

His head sagged over her.
“Please.”
Now he was the one to beg. He'd tasted heaven, and he'd tossed her to hell, all in one instant of time.

“Get away from her!” Wyatt's voice wasn't on the loudspeaker any longer. It was right there. In the room with him.

Kill him.

Ryder's head jerked up. He bared his fangs.

And . . . and felt her mouth move lightly against his wrist. She was trying to drink, to take his blood.

Sabine was fighting to live.
Yes.

His gaze snapped back to her. “That's it! Come on, just drink some—”

Gunshots blasted. Bullets drove into his chest. One. Two. Three. The force of the hits had him falling back even as his blood sprayed the wall behind him.

“I
told
you,” Wyatt raged as he lifted his weapon.
Wyatt had fired?
“Back away from the female subject!”

Ryder ignored the pain and reached for her again.

“Stop him,” Wyatt ordered. Ryder realized the guards were back on their feet. “Shoot him until he stops moving. The bullets won't kill him, but they can put him down for a time.”

Then the bullets exploded, popping like firecrackers over and over again as they sank into Ryder's body. His chest. His arms.

He hit the floor. Blood seeped from his wounds. Pooled around him on the stone floor.

“Enough!” Wyatt lifted his hand. His eyes went from Ryder to Sabine.

Her head had turned and her eyes—wide open, still alive—were on Ryder. He could see the life in her gaze. She was trying to come back to him.
Trying.
She just needed more of his blood.

Her hand had lifted. Was she reaching for him? Ryder gathered every single ounce of strength that he had. “My . . . blood . . .” Only a little more, and she'd be fine. He could save her. Her death—unlike all the others—wouldn't be on him. He started crawling to her through the blood.

“She's gonna live,” one of the guards muttered. “I thought he was supposed to kill her.”

He could be more than a killer. She could be more than a victim. Blood soaked his clothes. The power he'd gotten from her rich blood was gone, stolen away by a hail of bullets.

“He did kill her.” Wyatt's voice was flat. “We just have to wait for her to die.”

No!
“Can . . . help . . .” He was almost to her side.

“Chain him,” Wyatt ordered. “He's too weak to fight you. Chain the vampire and let him watch.”

Their arms grabbed him. Jerked him away from her. But he wasn't as weak as they thought, not even with the bullets lodged in his organs. Ryder fought them, clawing and snapping with his fangs. Half a dozen guards had to jump on him and yank him back to the far wall. Then they locked thick chains around his wrists, trapping him. The guards hurried back as soon as those locks snapped in place. They were bloody now, too—from the wounds he'd given them.

When they moved away, he saw her again. Her chest was struggling to rise. Her eyes were still open.

“Don't . . . do this,” he growled as he strained to break free.

Wyatt walked around her, staring down at Sabine as she sprawled on the floor. “Why do you even care? Shouldn't she just be food to you?”

Ryder didn't speak. He wouldn't tell this bastard anything about himself.

“I think one of the bullets must have ripped into your heart”—Wyatt didn't sound particularly concerned—“you're bleeding far too much. Hmmm . . . I should have considered . . . will that wound to the heart kill you?”

No. It wouldn't. He was healing already.

“I didn't intend for them to shoot you in the heart.” Wyatt frowned at the guards. “Errors like that cannot be tolerated here.”

The guy was psychotic.

A bullet to the heart wasn't normally an error. It was murder.

“You're just . . . gonna watch . . . her die?” Ryder yanked at the chains and didn't care when they cut into his wrists. He'd heal. He always healed.

She won't.

“Yes.” Wyatt nodded and offered an almost-absent smile. “Yes, yes, I am.”

Her eyes were on Ryder—her eyes . . .

He saw the life leave them. Actually saw a veil of nothing sweep into her stare.
“No!”
He yanked at the chains, twisting his hands, breaking his wrists as he fought to get free. He smashed his fingers as he tried to jerk his hand through the ring that bound his wrist. He didn't feel the pain as he struggled.

Dead.

“Exit,” Wyatt snapped,
“now.”

The guards started hauling ass. They were leaving her like that? Just sprawled on the floor like a broken doll?

Maybe there was still time. His right wrist shattered.
Maybe
.

“If I were you, I wouldn't move,” Wyatt advised Ryder with a quick frown as he paused by the door. “This is her first change. I have no idea how powerful it will be.”

Ryder didn't understand the bastard. He was moving, all right.
Won't give up. Won't—

The door slammed shut behind Wyatt and his men. And . . . the scent of smoke teased Ryder's nose.

What the hell?

His gaze snapped back to Sabine. Her eyes were still open, only her eyes weren't dark brown any longer. The brown was changing, turning to a gold, then seeming to burn red.

Red like fire.

The scent of smoke deepened around him. Ryder pulled his broken right hand free. Now the other—

Her body began to burn.

He yelled then, roaring her name, but the fire didn't stop. It blazed hotter, higher, and swept over Sabine's slender form. The white-hot heat from the blaze rushed over his skin, almost singeing him. Sprinklers erupted with a powerful spray from overhead, and the water drenched him but did nothing to stop the blaze that consumed Sabine.

His breath rasped out. Ryder stopped fighting for his freedom. There was nothing to be done now. No one could come back from those flames.

So there was nothing for him to do in the end but watch the fire burn, to hate himself for the monster that he was, and to wish that Sabine Acadia had never had the misfortune to walk into his prison.

But then something began to move within those flames.
She
moved, and Ryder realized that Wyatt's experiments were just getting started.

Because even though she'd just died right in front of him, even though Sabine was burning, it sure looked like she was trying to rise from the fire.