Shaw was still talking. Saying something else about Cassie. The throbbing in his temples was worse, and all he could see—wasn’t Shaw. It was Cassie.
Cassie was the key to everything he wanted. Cassie. Once they captured her and Dante, they’d take as many samples as they wanted.
They would do what they wanted.
The power of hell was in Jon’s veins. There was no stopping him now. And those who tried . . .
They’d die.
“I have men I can contact to help us. An army at my beck and call,” he snapped, suddenly realizing that a heavy silence had hit the room. An army that wouldn’t realize he wasn’t taking orders from Uncle Sam anymore. They would follow his orders, never thinking that he would mislead them. Fools. He’d been waiting for this, planning.
By the time the suits upstairs in the government offices figured out what was happening, it would be too late.
The world would be his.
And so would Cassie Armstrong.
They were in Louisiana. Progress. Cassie’s legs definitely felt like Jell-O . If she didn’t get off that motorcycle soon, she was pretty sure that she might collapse.
She braked at a gas station. Well, gas station/casino. It was one of those weird combos that she saw only in Louisiana.
There was a small motel behind that station, and then—nothing but swamp. Twisting trees. Thick green water. And, she was sure, plenty of alligators.
“Why are we stopping here?” Dante’s voice rumbled from behind her.
She shoved down the kickstand. “Because while you might be superman, I’m not.” Not even close. “I need to rest.” Before she fell on her face. Just a few hours of sleep, then they could keep going on the road.
If they weren’t on the motorcycle, they could take turns—one driving while the other slept.
But unless she stole a vehicle . . . and that would just attract attention we don’t want . . . she needed to crash in that no-tell-motel.
“Please tell me you have some money,” Cassie muttered as she pushed away from the motorcycle. If he didn’t have money, she might just sleep right there on the ground.
“I have money.”
She could have kissed him. Except, well, she knew where the kissing would lead.
Dante glanced around the dark station and then toward the motel. “No one seems to be here.”
“Because it’s close to one a.m., and sane people are sleeping.” She took his hand and started dragging him toward the motel’s office. “Let’s go be sane, too.”
The door to the office was locked. Fabulous. Cassie lifted her fist. Banged. “Hello!” Oh, please, come answer. Please.
“Someone’s coming,” Dante said as he stiffened beside her.
Great. Perfect. She was going to crash into that bed and—
His fingers curled around her hand, stopping her banging. “Not from inside.”
Uh, what?
He turned his head and stared out at the swamp. “Someone is coming from out there.”
He stepped in front of her, putting his body between hers and whoever it was that was venturing out of the swamp.
“Put your hands up!” The roar broke the night.
Dante didn’t raise his hands.
“I said . . .”
She was pretty sure that was the sound of a shotgun being cocked.
“Put your hands up!”
Cassie poked Dante in the back. “Don’t burn him.”
Not yet. She knew Dante tended to have instincts that demanded he attack first and think later.
It wasn’t one of those instances.
Dante lifted his hands.
“Tell the woman to step around you! I want to see her!”
She started to ease around him, but Dante moved at the same time, blocking her.
“You put down that shotgun,” he snapped, “and then you can see her.”
A stark pause. “You humans?”
Dante wasn’t. She . . . Well, Cassie didn’t know where she fell on that score.
“Yes,” Dante said, his voice clear and calm.
A flashlight was shone on them. More footsteps came toward them. A lot of footsteps. And a lot more flashlights.
“Show us your fingers and your teeth!”
Wait. Fingers and teeth?
Fear twisted in her stomach. She didn’t like where this was going at all.
“He looks normal!” a new voice called out.
“Drop the shotgun,” Dante snarled.
She was afraid he was about to fire up.
“Thought you were one of ’em . . . always come up at night . . .”
That fear in her stomach was twisting into an ever bigger knot. She lifted her hand and clutched Dante’s broad shoulder. “One of what?” She was on her toes and could see that the shotgun was pointed at the ground.
“Vampire.” The man holding the shotgun—she couldn’t see much of him, just a dark shadow—said the word like it was a curse. “Only them vampires are different . . . black claws, every tooth’s a fang, and they just want to feed and feed.”
Primal vampires. “You’ve seen some of them? Here?”
“We staked five last night.”
The infection was spreading. She’d thought all of the primals in Louisiana had been stopped, but it was so easy for their virus to spread. One bite, and the human was infected.
Her gaze swept the circle of flashlights. “Were any of the people here bitten?”
“Jamison . . . he ran into the woods before we could—” The man broke off, but she knew what he’d been about to say.
Take him down.
Cassie flinched. “This is why I have to get to Mississippi,” she whispered to Dante, guilt pushing through her. She’d been tired so she’d wanted to stop and rest, but people were dying. “We can find a cure.”
“Ain’t no cure for them,” the man with the shotgun called out. “Only death. If we want to keep livin’, we have to take out all the vampires.”
But not all vampires spread the primal virus. The virus had been man-made, generated in Genesis.
“Now get back on that motorcycle,” the man shouted to her. “And you drive as fast as you can through the bayou. Don’t stop for anyone or you’ll be dead.”
Dante wasn’t moving. Cassie tugged on his arm. “Come on, Dante.”
“They’re lying.”
Her heart slammed into her ribs. “What?”
“Get out of here!” the man yelled at the same time.
“More were bitten. I can smell it, like rot in their blood.”
Oh, crap.
Dante pointed straight ahead. At the man with the shotgun. “He’s infected.”
The shotgun blast broke the night, but Dante had moved in an instant. He’d grabbed Cassie and shoved her back against the glass window of the motel.
“I think Jamison might be the only one not infected,” Dante muttered. “I can smell the rot on all of them.”
But . . . but they were talking. The primals she’d seen had been barely able to do more than growl and snap with their teeth.
Is the virus still mutating? That was a terrifying thought. But . . . it had to be. Mutating, changing, as it was transferred from host to host.
This was so bad. Very, very bad.
“Why did they tell us to run?” Cassie whispered. She didn’t get that. Why not just spring up and attack them?
Crap—those thudding footsteps were closing in.
“Get away from the woman!” The shout came from the darkness. “Or we’ll kill you.”
“They wanted to see what I was before they attacked,” Dante whispered. “I can smell them, and they could smell just enough about me to tell them I was different.”
The motorcycle was about ten feet away. They could run for it, but . . .
What would happen the next time someone stopped for gas or a motel room? It was the perfect place to pick up prey.
The shotgun blasted again. It blew out the glass in the motel’s
window.
Cassie gasped as a heavy shard of glass embedded in her arm. By habit, she immediately clamped her lips together, holding back any other cries.
Her cries didn’t matter. The blood did. And that scent was in the air. As if things weren’t bad enough.
“Sweet . . . so fuckin’ sweet . . .”
“Blood . . .”
“Mine!”
The voices were wild, frenzied, and suddenly, at least four men were charging for her. As they rushed closer, Cassie saw that their mouths were full of gaping fangs.
“She’s not yours.” Dante’s voice was flat. “So go to hell.” He opened his hand and sent a ball of fire rolling right toward them.
Cassie grabbed the chunk of glass, yanked it from her arm, and backed away. That fire he’d just sent out—“The gasoline!” Had Dante forgotten they were near a gas station?
The explosion ripped through the buildings, and the force of the blast sent her flying back through the air. She didn’t know where Dante was, couldn’t see him at all and—
“Got you.” His voice. The man who’d been talking before. The man who’d shot at them. He grabbed her injured arm.
She felt the slide of his claws over her skin. Then his mouth was on her, and he was drinking her blood. Guzzling it.
“No!” Cassie screamed as she punched at him.
Her punches weren’t having any effect.
But . . . her blood was.
He stiffened. Shuddered. Fell onto the ground as he convulsed. His head jerked and twisted and then—he stopped moving entirely.
The virus might be mutating, but her poison still worked.
Her arm throbbed where he’d bitten her.
“Cassie!” Dante was there, hauling her to her feet and running his hands all over her as he searched for injuries. When he touched the blood on her arm, he froze. “Did he—”
“He bit me.” His teeth had torn into her, digging deep. “But I won’t turn.” She couldn’t. Though the first time a primal had bitten her, she’d been terrified that she’d spout fangs and claws.
But her poison destroyed the virus—and the vampires.
“What the hell are they? I’ve never seen vampires like them.”
“Genesis made them. They were supposed to be super soldiers.” Her gaze was on that still vampire. The fire that Dante had sent out—burning so bright and hard—lit the scene. The man was definitely dead. Pity. He looked to be so young, barely twenty. “But Genesis just made a virus that took over its host. The progression is fast, so fast . . . all the host soon knows is bloodlust and hunger.”
A bloodlust that could never be fully slaked.
“One bite,” she whispered, “that’s all it takes.”
Dante’s hold on her tightened. “Are you sure you won’t turn?”
She tilted her head to study him. He’d destroyed the other vampires so easily. “Would you kill me, if I did?”
“Will you turn?” He shook her once, and she could see a stark expression of—was that fear?—in his eyes.
“I can’t,” she said softly. “I’ve been bitten by primals before.” Her head shook. “I don’t turn.”
Her blood was poison to them. Not a cure.
“This is why I need you,” she whispered. “These men were probably normal humans until recently. If we can find a cure, we can stop this. But if we don’t, I’m scared the primals will take over.” Especially if they were mutating on their own, getting even stronger.
The primals should never have been allowed out of Genesis. But when the facility had fallen in the mountains, some had escaped and gone on a feeding frenzy.
Dante’s gaze locked with hers.
“We have to stop them,” she said again.
He gave a grim nod. But then he stiffened and whirled from her.
“Dante!”
He was running away from the fire. Toward the swamp. Toward the man who was staggering toward them.
Cassie rushed after him.
But then he stilled, stopping just a few feet from the man.
He wasn’t a man. A boy. Maybe thirteen. Fourteen. Covered in scratches and bruises. His eyes were wide and desperate. “Please,” he whispered, “please kill me.”
Cassie shook her head.
Dante said, “Show me your teeth. Show me your hands.”
Those were nearly the same words that had been given to them.
She could already see the boy’s hands. They weren’t lined with claws. And his teeth—the boy opened his mouth.
No fangs.
“I don’t want to be . . . like them. . . .” His breath panted out. “I saw—saw what you did.” He lunged forward, caught Dante’s hand, and put it right over his chest. “Kill me,” he begged again.
“Dante, don’t!” She grabbed for the boy.
He started to cry. “My . . . brother was the one with the shotgun. I don’t want to be—”
“You’re not infected!” Cassie said, then she looked up at Dante’s face. He’d said that he smelled the . . . rot . . . from the others. “Is he?”
Dante shook his head. “You shouldn’t beg for death.”
The boy shuddered. “It has to be . . . better . . .”
“No, it doesn’t. Not if hell waits for you.”
She thought the boy might faint. He was sure weaving. “Are you Jamison?” The guy had said that Jamison ran into the swamp.
A weak nod. “J-Jamie . . .”
“Jamie, what happened?”
“Vampires . . . attacked everyone. W-we staked as many as we could . . . then . . . the others started to change.”
And he’d run. She looked back up at Dante.
His face could have been carved from stone.
“We can’t leave him out here alone.”
Dante jerked his hand away from the boy. “He isn’t my concern.” Dante caught Cassie’s hand in his. Tried to pull her away.
She wasn’t in the mood to be pulled. “More primals could be in the area. We can’t just leave him to die.”
“Why not?” Dante shrugged. “It’s what he wanted to do.”
Cassie wanted to slug him.
“And what of the others?” Dante asked. “The more that you talk about so much, Cassie. Are we supposed to go out and save every human in the area?”
“Th-they killed all those vampires who came,” Jamie whispered.
“You want to save the world,” Dante said, eyes seeming to gleam in the dark. “I don’t.”
“I’m not asking for the world.” Not right at that particular moment, anyway. She glanced over at Jamie. “I’m asking for him.”
She was pretty sure that Dante growled.
Then he said, “We can’t fit him on the motorcycle.”
“Th-there’s a truck, my brother’s truck, a few feet back there.” Jamie threw his thumb over his shoulder.
Dante swore.
Cassie glanced at Jamie. “Do you have any other family?”
“N-no, ma’am. It was . . . just me and Tim.”
And she’d killed Tim. She couldn’t let the boy die, too. “You’re coming with us.”
Even in the faint light cast from the moon and stars, the hope that lit his face was painful to see.
Dante was still swearing.
“Is he . . . What is he?” Jamie asked as he wiped his hands over his cheeks. She suspected that the boy was wiping away tears.
“I’m not a hero,” Dante said flatly.
No, he isn’t. “He’s the man who’ll keep us safe.”
Dante glanced at her but was silent. After a moment, he gave a grim nod.
Jamie’s breath rushed out then he was running and leading them toward the old pick-up.
He climbed into the bed of the truck.
Cassie slid into the front with Dante.
He caught her hand. “Why?”
She frowned at him.
“Why do you care about saving people?”
When your family business was wrecking lives, you have
a whole lot to make up for. “I didn’t save those vampires.”
“The only way to save them was death.”
She flinched. “There has to be more than that, even for vampires.”
His hold tightened. “Why?”
“Because I don’t want my family to have only been monsters, okay?” Is that so crazy? “I want to help, not destroy everything I touch.”
His touch was warm against her flesh. Heating with the phoenix’s power. “Why not?” His voice had hardened. “It’s what I do.” His hand pulled away from hers. “After a while, you might even start to like the destruction.”
No, she wouldn’t.
And she didn’t think he did, either.
“How the hell am I supposed to start this thing?” Dante snarled. “There’s no key.”
She leaned forward. Pushed under the dash. Her cheek pressed against his thigh.
Dante stilled.
Her fingers fumbled with the wires, and, in a few seconds, she had the engine sparking to life.
She pulled back, aware that his thigh felt rock-hard.
“How’d you do that?” His voice was low.
Cassie swallowed. “I’ve got a few tricks you don’t know about.”
His hand rose to her arm. She flinched. She was still bleeding.
“Yes,” he said softly, consideringly, “you do.”
Cassie scooted as far away from him as she could.
But she could feel the heat of his gaze sweeping over her.
“Get back on the highway, keep driving straight until I tell you to turn.” They could sleep in shifts, and make it back to her base sooner.
Silently, he followed her orders. The black pavement started to disappear beneath the truck’s wheels.
She tore part of her shirt away and wrapped up her arm. It seemed like a trend for her—using clothing to bind her wounds. But hey, it worked. When she had the wound covered, Cassie leaned her head against the window’s glass, staring out at the night that waited.
So much for an easy pit stop.
The boy was behind them, silent in the bed of the truck. Why hadn’t he tried to get up in the front with them?
Because he’s probably terrified of us. Right. She didn’t blame him for that. Especially since he’d no doubt watched her kill his brother.
Lately, she’d started to scare herself.