Playing With Fire (14 page)

Her spine snapped straight up. “No, I'm not fucking
you
here.”

“But you will be fucking me again . . . very soon.” He wished.

And, so did she. “Get me to Mississippi.” She wasn't entering that battle with him.

He nodded. “Then I'll have you.” Not a question.

It should have been. Wasn't someone being overconfident?

“Then I'll do my job.” The job she'd taken on—fixing her father's mistakes.

I didn't realize I was one of those mistakes.
She should have known though, as soon as she realized what her blood could do.
I should have known that he'd made more changes to me.

Her father had been a real-life Frankenstein—and she'd been his monster.

Dante backed away. Finally.

She sucked in a deep breath then hurried past him and climbed onto the motorcycle. Was it better for her to drive? She wouldn't have to be plastered to him if she was controlling the bike. And for someone who'd never driven a motorcycle before, she'd done a pretty good job for her first time. Good thing she was a quick learner.

I got this.

He climbed on behind her.

His arousal immediately pushed into her ass.

Crap.
She should have let him drive.
I don't got this.

His body curled around hers. His fingers covered hers as they rested on the handlebars. “One thing . . .”

Something else? They were burning daylight, they were—

“Don't
ever
run from me again.”

She wasn't about to make him a promise that she couldn't keep.

“Cassie . . . ”

“Don't give me a reason to run, and I won't.”

She kick-started the motorcycle and it pushed forward. Dante didn't say anything else, and she tried not to think about all of the reasons a woman had to run from a phoenix.

And the only reason she had to stay with him.

Because she still loved him.

 

“I need to do blood work on you,” Dr. Shaw said. Her clothes were covered in ash, the white lab coat pretty much black.

Jon had taken her to a backup facility in the area, one that had been a satellite office for Genesis at one point.

The small office was empty. Abandoned. Perfect for his purposes.

He hadn't called his bosses. Hadn't let them know that he was alive.

If they know, they'll shove me in a cage and try to replicate my success.

That wasn't happening. It was
his
success. His transformation. He was the most powerful being on earth. Even death couldn't stop him.

Jon could feel the power flowing through his veins, hot and intense. Pulsating within him.

“What was in that injection?” Dr. Shaw asked nervously. “Did it make you . . . what you are?”

He turned his head and stared at her. She was afraid of him.
Good. She should be.
She would also prove to be useful. Because he had such plans . . . “Yes, it did.” He'd hoped for that result—several now dead scientists had worked toward that goal for a very long time, but he hadn't been sure of the transformation.

Not until he'd died.

During the course of the dosages, they hadn't exactly had the chance to experiment and see if the injections were working. The only way to experiment and see if he could rise like a phoenix—was death.

Jon hadn't been particularly eager for that phase of the project. If the injections hadn't worked . . .
that would have been the end of me.

“A young phoenix was held in Genesis a while back,” Jon shared with her. There was no one for her to tell. “Sabine was easier to break than the males, because she didn't realize what she was.” Not until the first fire had consumed her.

He'd watched the videos of Sabine Acadia's deaths. Seen her terror. Each time, she'd been so afraid.

But she'd kept coming back.

“Her tears were collected and used to create the serum. It was believed that if someone with shifter DNA received enough dosages of that serum, he would change.”

“You were a shifter?”

“Thanks to Genesis, I was.” The first stage of their experiments. He glanced down at his hands. Since the fire, his claws hadn't come out. Were they gone for good?

He would miss them. It had been enjoyable to slash the throats of his enemies.

It had been even better to watch men burn before him.

“Is it a . . . permanent change?” Shaw asked carefully. “I heard that the soldiers who went through the shifter program had to undergo continuous injections in order to keep their beasts.”

They hadn't been born with the animal in them. Without those injections, the beast died.

“You took your injection right before Cassandra shot you,” Shaw continued, frowning. “If you die again, is that it? Or will you rise again?”

He wasn't sure of that.
That's why you're still living, Shaw.
“We're going to need more tears to keep creating the serum.” More tears. More dosages. He wanted to be
certain.

“How are we going to get them?” Shaw asked, nervously shoving back some of her hair.

He smiled at her. “We're going to hunt phoenixes, of course.” He knew exactly where to start.

The strongest phoenix. Dante. The bastard who actually thought he'd escaped with Cassie. “You
did
insert the tracking device on Cassie, correct?”

A grim nod. “I slipped it into her vein. If she tries to take it out, she could bleed to death.”

Shaw was appealing to Jon more and more. A strong mind and, seemingly, a very weak conscience. She'd be the perfect tool for him.

“I wish you hadn't destroyed all of my samples,” she said, the words snapping a bit.

His eyes narrowed. He hadn't meant to do that—the fire had just gotten a little beyond his control.

And I liked it.

“But . . . ah . . . I am sure that we'll get more samples from Cassandra soon.”

Yes, they would.

“You
must
find Cassandra Armstrong,” Shaw said. “We need her.”

His temples began to throb. “Cassie's mine.”

Shaw nodded. “We can't let her escape.”

Cassie's scent had seduced him for years. He'd been drawn to her even before his enhancement program had started. But
after
that enhancement, he'd wanted her even more. Her voice—her scent—everything seemed to call to him.

“She won't get away.” He needed her for the genetics knowledge she would bring to him, but more than that . . . he just needed her.

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.”