That had just been for show. If she’d really had a badass boyfriend, she wouldn’t have been screwing around with Cain. Just what kind of girl did he think she was?
The easy kind.
Obviously. Jerk.
She shoved against his chest. Hard. “There’s no boyfriend,” she gritted out. “That was a lie, okay? It was kind of a desperate moment.”
His lashes flickered. She could have sworn that some of the tension seemed to ease from his clenched jaw.
“As fun as this shit isn’t,” Trace said, bringing her attention right back to him, “wanna tell me why you just broke into my house?”
“I’m here for her.” Cain’s voice was flat. “I came back for Eve.”
Like she was some kind of package he needed to pick up. She dropped her hands and headed back to the bedroom. “La di damn da. Isn’t that fantastic?” She was pretty sure no violence was about to wreck the stairs, so she felt safe walking away.
She paused at the threshold of her bedroom and told him, “In case you didn’t know, I have a life—and a story to write. One very big, important story. I was going to talk to Vance tonight and get more material, but then you—”
Cain tackled her. Her body slammed into the floor even as the window near the bed exploded and glass flew into the room. Glass . . . and smoke.
“Are you all right?” Cain’s voice.
She blinked and managed to open her eyes. She wanted to talk and say that, yeah, except for having a two-hundred-pound male crushing her, she was fine.
Only . . . she couldn’t talk.
And she wasn’t fine. And that wasn’t smoke filling the room. It was some kind of gas. Choking her. Making her body feel limp and dizzy and . . . dammit, she remembered this feeling from Genesis! They were trying to drug her again.
She coughed and pushed at Cain’s chest.
“Get her out of there!” Trace yelled.
Cain already had her up. He pulled her with him and back toward the stairs.
“Told you,” Cain growled. More glass exploded—she could hear it shattering all through the house. “You’re being . . . hunted.”
Cain had followed her back to Trace’s house. Either he’d lead the hunters to her . . . they’d followed him or . . .
Or they followed me and Trace when we left the warehouse. We got away too easily. They followed us and they waited for Cain to show up.
If her throat weren’t burning so much, she could say this . . . but no, she couldn’t manage so much as a word right then.
“They’re coming in. They want us alive.” Cain was talking to Trace now.
What? Were they suddenly buddy-buddy? A little hell could do that to guys.
“Well, they want her alive anyway. They’ll either kill you or take you in.”
“I’m not going in a cage.” The fury in Trace’s voice chilled her. He’d been in a cage as a teen—trapped in prison. He’d sworn never to go back.
The cage hurt his beast too much.
Hurt him too much.
Trace needed to leave her. He could run so fast.
Without her, Eve knew he’d be able to get away from the hunters coming. “L-leave . . .” The word was a raw whisper in her throat. Why wasn’t the gas affecting them as much?
Trace staggered and fell down three steps. The gas was hitting him.
Her chest ached.
“I’ve got her,” Cain said. “Get out of here!”
But was it too late? Eve could hear the thud of footsteps racing inside Trace’s house. The hunters were coming for them.
Why?
Wyatt was dead. Genesis had burned. They should be safe.
“Hurt her”—Trace snarled—“and I’ll . . . kill you.”
She saw the beast shining in his eyes. His shift was coming.
“You can try,” Cain told him, not sounding too concerned, “but I can’t promise I’ll stay dead.”
The gas must’ve had the smallest impact on him. He still sounded normal. Was still walking and—
No, he was running. Running right down the stairs, dragging her with him, and fire was flowing from the fingers of his right hand. Fire that raced toward the men with guns. They shot their bullets, aiming at him. Eve heard Cain grunt, but he didn’t slow down.
The fire blew open the front door. She was behind him, stumbling, holding on to him as best she could as he faced the shooters. His fire swept out, forming a wall that shoved the others back, even as Cain pulled her toward a motorcycle that waited near the edge of the property.
The fresh air slid into her lungs, making her stronger. The light of dawn was a red streak across the sky as she climbed onto the motorcycle. She heard a wolf howl and saw a dark shadow race into the trees.
Trace. He’d gotten away. He was safe. Eve sucked in a deep breath of that fresh, mind-clearing air. Trace was safe . . .
And his house was being gutted.
The motorcycle roared to life. Cain had jumped on behind her, his body curved around hers. Eve gripped the handlebars and she drove that bike the hell out of there. She knew her motorcycles. Knew exactly how to handle them.
A hail of bullets rained down on them.
Eve swore and tried to steer the motorcycle in as much of a serpentine style as she could in order to avoid the bullets.
Cain’s fingers wrapped around hers. Held tight. Helped her to keep steering and to get them away from the hunters.
Then the bullets were distant echoes, whispers of thunder floating on the wind. The shooters were too far away to hit them. They’d have to give chase, have to keep hunting them, so she needed to get away as fast as possible.
Good thing she knew this area.
And the perfect safe house.
“Faster,” Cain whispered behind her.
The wind whipped her hair back and seemed to bite right through her clothes.
But she drove faster and held on to the handlebars as tightly as she could.
With rage building within him, Richard Wyatt watched the motorcycle disappear into the darkness.
“Sorry, sir,” one of the hunters said to him, shaking his head. “We weren’t expecting that much power and—”
Excuses. He’d warned them just how powerful Cain could be. “How many bullets did you put into Subject Thirteen?”
That had been his real goal. Killing Thirteen. Capture would have been good, but this way . . . this way he got to experiment a bit more. Every time Thirteen died, Richard learned so much more about his test subject.
The human swallowed and glanced away, his gaze heading toward the small patch of road that Eve had used when she escaped. “We hit him . . . hell, at least four times. The guy just didn’t go down.”
He would. With four bullets in his body, Thirteen would be going down. Sooner or later.
Richard tapped his chin and then gave the order. “Follow them.”
“And the wolf?”
That big, snarling beast that had rushed into the woods? “Forget him.” Wolves were a dime a dozen. But Thirteen and Eve Bradley, they were special.
The guard turned away to carry out Wyatt’s orders. Richard didn’t move, not at first. He stared down that twisting road. Hit four times. Wonderful.
If the bullets didn’t kill Thirteen, then the blood loss probably would.
And what would happen to Eve when Cain burned . . . and rose? Did she have any idea how dangerous the beast was when he first rose?
Probably not. Sometimes, Cain was able to hold on to some of his sanity when he rose.
Sometimes . . .
But on other risings, the beast took total control. Fire. Hell. Fury. Death.
Eve was about to learn a whole lot more about her new lover. She just might not survive her discoveries.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cain couldn’t move his feet. They hung limply, scraping over the road.
Did Eve realize what a deadweight he was on her?
That last bullet had lodged low in his spine. His fingers were wo
rking—barely—but he couldn’t feel his legs.
And the blood had already soaked his clothes. Too many bullets. Too many injuries.
He knew when death was coming.
Fuck. Eve needed to get away from him. But he couldn’t tell her. Couldn’t do anything but slump over her and try to hold on.
I’m sorry.
For what would come next.
She’d taken the motorcycle over so many roads, then off the roads. They were on a long, lonely field in the middle of nowhere. The engine growled softly, the only sound that Cain could hear.
When he saw the small, stark cabin rising before him, Cain knew Eve had thought to bring them to a safe house. Pity, no house would be safe enough for them.
Just a few feet from the house, she turned off the motorcycle. Tried to push him back. “We’ll be . . . ah . . . safe here. This place has been empty”—she gave another push back against him—“ever since—Cain!”
He’d fallen off the motorcycle. He barely felt the crash onto the ground. He was too far gone.
Eve was beside him. She rolled him over and stroked his face. “Cain?” Her voice was soft with worry and fear.
He tried to speak, but blood was choking him. Go. Run. When I come back, don’t let me touch you.
Because when he came back, the darkness inside him would be even stronger.
After a rising, sometimes he couldn’t even remember his name. Sometimes . . . he didn’t care—about anything or anyone. He just wanted the rush of fury. Of rage.
Every rising pushed him closer and closer to the edge. And with each death, he wondered . . . will this time be it? This time, would he rise as the monster he’d always feared? The one that lived and breathed inside him?
“Cain!”
He realized she’d been yelling his name. He hadn’t heard her. Couldn’t speak still, so it didn’t matter.
Her hands were sweeping over him and finding all the injuries. Too many. He’d shielded her as best he could and taken all the hits.
Cain knew that he could come back from death. But if Eve had been hit—she wouldn’t have been able to rise. Coming back from death wasn’t a luxury that she had.
Not a luxury. It’s a fucking curse.
His eyes found hers.
“You took the bullets,” Eve whispered. It almost looked like she was crying.
No one had ever cried for him before. His chest began to ache.
She slammed her fist right into his heart. “You took the bullets! Damn you!”
What? Had she wanted to die? Death wasn’t a nice easy ride. It was a fucking bitch.
Or maybe that was just hell.
“You’re dying on me . . .” Anger rumbled in her words. “And, what? I just have to sit back and watch?”
Yes.
She grabbed his jaw and turned his face toward hers. When had he looked away?
“You’re coming back.” Her words were a demand.
He couldn’t speak.
“You’re coming back.” Then she put her mouth against his. Sweet. Death had never tasted so sweet. “You have to come back.”
He could feel the fire building inside him. She had to feel the growing heat, too, but she still kept her hands on his face. Kept her lips so close to his.
“Come back,” she told him once more. “Don’t leave me.”
The flames were going to burst free. He knew it, but first—first he had to die.
His heart stopped beating. The blood choked him. His eyes stayed open, on her.
Eve’s lips trembled. Her hands rose slowly, so slowly, and she closed his eyelids.
“Come back.” A final whisper from her. Her fingers brushed over his cheek. Then she pulled away.
Death took him.
The fire burst over his flesh, so bright that it lit up the sky. A giant blaze that burned so hot the ground was singed about five feet in every direction.
Eve stood back, watching. Not because she was afraid of the flames, but because she was afraid any move she made might stop the fire.
Cain wasn’t back yet, not fully. But . . .
Soon.
Her knees pushed into the dirt as she knelt and watched him. She’d tried to get them away from the city. She hadn’t even realized that he’d been hurt. Not this bad.
Bad enough to die.
He won’t stay dead. He hadn’t before. He’d come back. She knew he would return to her. He had to.
The fire raged hotter. She could barely see his body. The flames actually seemed to be roaring.
No. That wasn’t the flames.
That was Cain.
Because those flames were rising, he was rising. Standing up, spreading his arms out by his sides, and roaring his fury to the world.
She didn’t move.
The heat blasted around her and . . .
He turned to look at her. As the flames began to fade away, vanishing and leaving his golden, tanned flesh behind, unmarred, perfect, he stared at her.
His eyes still burned. She could see the flames flickering there.
What are you?
His hands were at his sides, his feet braced apart. The clothing had burned from his body, and her gaze swept over him. No more bullet wounds.
Only strong, hard flesh.
Her breath rasped out. “I knew you’d be okay.” Knew, hoped—same thing.
He took a step toward her. The flames in his eyes eased back into the normal darkness of his stare.
She offered him a smile and hoped that it didn’t look as desperate as it felt. “You scared me, though.” Her legs weren’t quite working yet, which was why she still knelt on the ground as he approached. “I don’t exactly like it when people die right in front of me.”
His death had brought back too many memories of the family she hadn’t been able to save. Of the flames and the fire that had taken them, but left her behind.
Don’t leave me. Daddy, Daddy, don’t leave!
But in the end, they’d all left her. She’d been so alone.
Eve took another deep breath and straightened her shoulders. “Well, now that you’re back, what are we going to—”
He pulled her off the ground and right up into his arms. Her words ended in a yelp as she lost her breath. He held her above the ground with his too-hot touch, letting her feet dangle a good foot in the air.
His gaze stared hard into her own. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, and the guy actually stared at her as if he had no clue who she was.
And that scared her. A lot. Because she’d seen what he did to the folks he considered his enemies.
“C-Cain?”
His head jerked at the sound of her voice.
“You’re hurting me,” she said, but the words weren’t quite the truth. His hold was strong, but not bruising. Didn’t matter though. She wanted down. There was something about his stare that chilled her.
And Cain wasn’t the chilling kind.
That furrow between his brows deepened, but he slowly lowered her to the ground once more. Then his head leaned toward her and he—had he just sniffed her?
She put her hands on his chest. “We need to go inside. It’s not safe out here.” They were in the middle of nowhere, so she was hoping no one had seen that blaze light the night, but if their pursuers were close enough . . .
We could be screwed.
“Who are you?”
Those words, stilted, flat, had her own eyes widening.
She realized that there was no recognition in Cain’s gaze. Just . . . darkness.
“I’m Eve,” she whispered as she stepped back. She swallowed, glanced down, and forced herself to reach for his hand. It’s Cain. He just needs a few minutes. Give him time. He’d risen before and still known her. He’d remember her this time, too. He just needed—hell, she wasn’t sure what. Time. “We have to go inside. It’s not safe here,” she said again.
“Why not?” Still flat. No emotion.
How long would it take before his memory came back?
A few minutes? A few hours? If only she’d had the chance to read Wyatt’s notes on Cain. “We’re not safe because there are men after us. They want to kill me.”
That got no response. Not even a blink.
“And they want to kill you,” she added.
He shrugged. “I can’t die.” He smiled, and it was a smile with an edge of evil. “I’m sure they can die. I’ll just kill them and listen to them beg and scream.”
This wasn’t the guy she knew. Goose bumps rose on her arms. “Cain?”
Something was off. He was off.
He glanced toward her. “Scared?”
Hell, yes. “No. Of course not.” She straightened her shoulders. “Now come on. It’ll be light soon. Let’s get inside and figure out what we’re supposed to do next.”
She tugged his hand and he actually followed her into the small home. It was a bit dusty inside. Since seventy-two-year-old John Monroe had gone hitchhiking across the U.S. last June, no one had been there—which made the place perfect for hiding.
“Maybe we can find you some clothes and—”
He yanked her back against him. “I like the way you smell.”
Um, okay. “Cain, I—”
He kissed her. Deep and hard, driving his tongue into her mouth and locking his hands tightly around her. The kiss was wild, wicked, and dominant. He didn’t seduce her with his lips and tongue.
He took.
Her nails sank into his shoulders, and she turned her head away from him. The last time she’d had sex with him, it had turned into slam-bam-good-bye ma’am. He might be having some issues right then, but she wasn’t just going to offer herself up again.
Even if the sex had been fantastic.
He was kissing her throat. Licking her. Lightly nipping the flesh. “I remember”—his voice was a growl—“your taste.”
She wouldn’t ever be able to forget his. “Let me go.”
He didn’t speak, but pressed another kiss to the curve of her neck. Damn, but that was a weak spot for her. One lick there and she was already arching her hips against him.
Down girl. “Let me go,” she said again, the words harder. She’d give him ten more seconds, then she’d start punching.
His head lifted. He stared at her. Had his eyes always been so dark? Like midnight with no stars or moon—total darkness. His breath came out, ragged, and he said, “I can’t.”