Blood Mate: The Project Rebellion, Book 2 (11 page)

They’d brought Foster in the side, not through the main hangar doors, but a set of doubles in the side of the building. She studied the entrance from the shadows afforded by a dumpster point. The receptacle itself was long gone, but the brick and wooden structure was still there. Easy cover in the middle of the concrete.

The door was locked with a keypad. Sparkly new in the middle of the weather-beaten and sun bleached wall. She sighed. Fritz wasn’t too good at concealing his tracks. Which was great—made things easier for her. Even though she could have cracked the keypad within seconds, a slight motion in the darkness got her attention. A camera was mounted above the door, panning back and forth in a slow arc. She watched it for a moment. Damn, no way to get close to the door without being caught on camera and no way to fool it like she could human eyesight. She needed another way in. Crawling backward, she skirted around the back of the meager cover and slid away into the darkness.

Minutes later she approached the hangar from the opposite direction, running across the rooftops of the adjacent buildings. The hum of an engine warned her of possible discovery and she dropped flat to hide in the shadows while a patrol drove by.

In an instant she was on her feet again, racing toward the edge of the roof. Building speed and momentum. Without slowing down, she launched herself off the end and up. The air whipped her hair around her face as she sailed over the gap between the building and the hangar.

Her boots hit the roof and she rolled, coming up into a crouch to extend her senses. Any moment now, the air around her would fill with the sound of alarms, spotlights slicing through the darkness to look for her.

The seconds ticked by.

Nothing.

She paused for a moment and allowed herself to breathe again before creeping over the ceiling to reach one of the hangar windows. They weren’t proper windows, just opaque sections of sheeting to allow a little light in. Muttering softly, she worked a section loose with her claws, just enough so she could see inside.

Her eyes widened at the scene lay out before her. “Fuck me…”

Icy water poured over Darce’s head. He gasped, yanked into full consciousness in one breath-stealingly frigid moment. His chest expanded to drag in more air and goose bumps flowed over his skin in the wake of the water that sluiced down his torso to soak his pants.

“Fuck!”

A light snapped on, shining right into his face. He twisted to the side, squinting against the brightness and tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes. His arm wouldn’t cooperate, caught by something around his wrist. Awareness kicked in and he sat up, adrenaline burning the fog from his brain as he assessed the situation.

Tied to a chair, he sat in the middle of a concrete floor. There was nothing around him—just lots of air, and he couldn’t see into the darkness beyond the lamp, the light making spots dance over his eyes. It felt like a lot of empty space, rather than enclosed. The noises he made as he wrestled with his bonds echoed right back at him.

Nothing solid though, no information he could use. Fuck it, why couldn’t he have developed echolocation? The scientists had fucked with his genetic code so much that a pair of bat ears wouldn’t have been out of place and might have frigging
helped.

His sense of smell kicked in a second before someone stepped out of the shadows. Darce couldn’t move, and with nowhere to go, he couldn’t avoid the fist crashing down into his jaw. His head whipped around as pain exploded in his face. The inside of his cheek split, flooding his mouth with the metallic taste of blood.

Latching onto the pain, he used it. Forced power through his body to drive out the silver they’d filled him with again. Felt like a double dose this time. The stuff burned through his veins like acid while his wolf twisted and turned, howling in anger.

He lifted his head and winked in the general direction of the shadowy figure who had hit him. Male. Tall. Broad. Good right hook. The faint smell of camouflage cream and boot polish wafted toward him. Soldier. Had to be.

Good, Darce knew how to deal with soldiers.

“Oh, baby, yeah. Give me more.”

Two more blows landed in quick secession, rocking his head back and forth. God, the man could hit hard. For a human. Darce leaned back, let the pain fade and sighing in exaggerated relief.

“Aw man, that hit the spot.” He lifted his head and looked at his tormentor. A shuffle of feet in the darkness told him the guy wasn’t alone. “Itches are a bitch, aren’t they?”

The soldier stayed silent, a voice coming from the left.

“Very funny, Lieutenant Foster. They should put you on the stage.”

Darce nodded. “My mom always did say I had the face of a star.”

“Tell me what you know of Alpha Three.”

“First word of the phonetic alphabet, and a number.” Darce rolled his eyes. “Didn’t they teach you that in basic?”

“Ha. Ha. Ha. Very funny. Corporal Adkins, show the Lieutenant how funny you find him.”

Darce tensed his stomach muscles a second before the corporal stepped forward and a rain of blows started. He rolled with them where his bonds would allow, but he had to admit, the guy knew how to deliver a beating. The corporal’s fist smacked into Darce’s flesh with the precision of a surgeon. Each punch placed for maximum pain and effectiveness.
 

Fur brushed against the inside of his skin and Darce’s wolf howled in rage at being triggered, but he couldn’t change. The silver in his blood and around his wrists and ankles had him locked down tight.

The corporal stepped back. Darce dragged a shaky breath in and flicked the hair out of his eyes. Blood seeped from the wounds about his head and chest, oozing down his skin.

“What do you know about Jack Harper?” the interrogator demanded.

Darce gave the darkness a blank look.

“Who?”

Adkins started again, and so the routine went. The interrogator would ask a question, Darce would play dumb and the pain would begin anew. If they thought they were going to break him though, they had another thing coming. Determination galvanized every cell in his body, man and wolf in total accord. They’d have to kill him before he’d give up his pack.

“Is that all you got?” He sneered after the latest beating and spat blood across Adkins’s boot. “Fucking pussy. My nana can hit harder ’n you.”

Adkins didn’t move, but Darce felt malevolence pouring off the man. Good, he could use a pissed off, off-balance soldier.

“You don’t like me, do you Foster?” The interrogator asked.

“Nothin’ personal, bud. I hate everyone. I’m in an emo phase.”

“With an attitude like that… I can see why Harper put down that the rest of your squad hates you. How’s that feel, Foster? To know everyone hates you?”

“Nah, you’re mistaken. Everyone loves me. Just ask your wife.” Darce lifted his head and sniffed at the air theatrically. “Or that bitch you’re banging. Cute perfume. Cheap but there’s nothing wrong with a bit of cheap every now ’n then.”

He felt more than saw the signal pass between the men and Adkins lifted his fist again. Darce gritted his teeth and rode it out. For each blow that landed, he replaced it with one of his mate’s kisses. Took himself back to the truck when he’d had her in his arms. Adkins broke off, wheeling away as his gasps filled the air. Beating a chained man was obviously a bit of a workout for him.

“Fuck it, the dog’s got a boner,” he growled, his rough voice almost Lycan deep. “We ain’t gonna get anything out of him if he’s jonesing for this. Throw him in a cage and let Steele have ’im tomorrow.”

Chapter Eight

 
“Steele? Who the fuck is Steele?” Darce demanded as Adkins unlocked his wrists and ankles.

Blood rushed back into his limbs and dragged a groan from his lips. He tried to kick out, to get at least one blow in on the human soldier, but his body refused to cooperate, the pins and needles hampering his reactions.

“Bet you feel like the fucking man, don’tcha Adkins? Beating up on drugged up captives?”

Adkins answered by cuffing him hard across the face, a backhanded blow that brought a snarl to Darce’s lips but he couldn’t do anything about it. He needed moonlight or his mate near to force the silver out of his skin.

He tried to bite as the corporal dragged him to his feet and shoved him toward the cage behind the chair, but his teeth snapped empty air. Stumbling, he threw his weight to the side to try and shake Adkins off, but the human had a grip like iron and Darce had the legs of a drunk disco-dancer at the moment.

“Animals like you need showing who’s the boss,” Adkins spat, pressing something to the back of Darce’s skull. The taser fired and at least fifty thousand volts careened through his system. His back arched, all his muscles locking out while each and every wound on his body decided to make itself known. Life seemed to like reminding him that he had a high pain threshold, but this was a whole new level.

He concentrated on breathing and staying conscious as Adkins manhandled him through the door of the cage. A hard shove sent him to his knees before he crashed into the back wall and slid down to land in a heap. He lay there, panting while he waited for the agony in his system to subside, glaring as Adkins locked the cage. Fucker was so dead when Darce got out of there.

“Behave and you might get a bone in the morning. Sorry but I forgot the paper in the corner for you to shit on. You’ll have to hold it. There’s a good boy.” The corporal chuckled and walked off, swinging the cage keys around his finger.

Darce watched until he was out of sight, and then slumped against the floor.

As cages went, it was a nice one. Someone had gone to the trouble of mopping it out for him so the pine freshness of cleaning fluid juxtaposed with the smell of old blood and stale piss. He rested his forehead on the floor and traced a dark stain with the tip of his finger. Someone—another wolf, female—had suffered in this cage. Died where he lay now.

His chest filled with a shuddering breath. He rolled his body until his broad shoulders rested against the wall at the back of the cage. He could almost feel her pain and terror hanging in the air like an expensive perfume. His hand flattened to cover the stain and he reached out, opened himself up in a vow to the dead woman in case she could hear him from where she was now. The Project would pay. For her and all those like her. All those who had ended their lives like animals in a cage.

A slight breeze brought other smells to vie for his attention. Other Lycans, lots of them, some Bloods and something else… Something he couldn’t put his finger on but familiar all the same. All different scents, different people, yet one thing linked them. The same pain, fear and hopelessness. Old or new? He couldn’t tell. Not at the moment. Too many scents to contend with, especially when he was full of the crap they’d pumped into his veins.

With a grunt, he rolled to his feet and padded to the front of the cage. The walls, back and floor of the enclosure were solid with bars to the top and front, limiting his field of vision to the area right in front and above. He could see the chair and lamp where he’d been questioned. The chair was on its side, the lamp dark now, Adkins and his boss long gone.

Beyond the little interrogation set up, he could see a section of wall, a window high up and a portion of a high roof. A hangar. Relief surged through him. He was still on the base. For a moment there, he’d been worried that they’d moved him while he was out. Taken him from the base and his mate. But they hadn’t. He was still here which meant she couldn’t be far away.

Darce turned his attention to the floor. Marks on the painted concrete showed where his cage had been moved into place. He shunted from side to side, angling his line of sight. Yeah, there were more marks to the left and right. Which meant more cages.

A slight noise to his right drew his attention like that of a hawk spotting a mouse in the undergrowth miles below.

“Hello? Who’s there?”

His voice sliced through the darkness, the tone sharper than he’d have liked. He winced. What if the guards were listening? Oh, fuck ’em. He needed to know what was going on. In all his time on the base, they’d never used the hangars. In fact, the hangars were supposed to be empty. Yet all evidence pointed to the contrary. Which meant whatever was going on was being concealed from the rest of the base.

But why?

There was no answer to his question, but he knew there were others out there, listening. The air was alive with awareness. As though they were waiting for what he’d do next. He tried again.

“Hello? Who are you? Where are we? Talk to me, dammit!”

“Shut the fuck up!” A deep snarl answered him, the voice one he didn’t know. Deeper and very Lycan, but
not
Lycan at the same time. Something else. Darce’s brow furrowed. What though?

“No, talk to me.”

“Drop your voice or you’ll bring them back.” This time the growl was deeper, the sound just below human hearing.

Darce shrugged, but did as he was told. “I can handle whatever Beevis and Butthead can hand out.”

The answer was a frustrated intake of breath, then a snarl. “You might, hot shot. But some in here aren’t in any fit state to. So pipe down.”

Darce shut his mouth with a click. The thought that others might be punished for his actions stole the words better than a strip of duct tape. Who was he kidding? He should have expected that. This
was
the Project after all.