When they reached the third floor, Eve heard a soft hissing. She frowned at that sound and glanced around.
“Gas,” Cain whispered.
Because, of course, nothing could be easy.
But then that low hissing stopped. Glass shattered.
Cain rushed forward, with Eve following right behind him. But Cain threw up his arm and stopped her before she could enter the room with the smashed door. “Wait, you can’t breathe the—”
But the gas—the familiar, faint white smoke—was dispersing. The windows in the room had been smashed and fresh air was sliding inside the office.
Wyatt’s office.
And Wyatt was the one who hung, with his hands and face bloody, half-out of the nearest window.
Cain leaped across the room and grabbed him.
Eve didn’t move. Her gaze swept around the area. Lingered on the pile of dead guards. Their heads hung, twisted the wrong way. Blood covered them. Such brutal kills.
Nausea rose in her, and Eve glanced away. Her gaze found the files scattered on Wyatt’s desk. There. That was what she needed. Proof. Data for her story, but more . . . maybe the answer to helping Trace was in those files.
She rushed forward. Started flipping through the pages. Tables. Charts. Her eyes scanned down the text. Read about the experiments. The drugs.
Vampire blood.
Evolution.
Rebirth.
Her breath heaved out. She grabbed the flash drive nearby and hooked it to Wyatt’s computer. Then she started scrolling through the files, copying as much as she could and—
“You can’t kill me.” Wyatt’s too-calm voice chilled Eve and had her glancing back over her shoulder.
Cain had yanked the guy away from the broken glass. There were slashes all over Wyatt’s face and arms, and what looked like bite marks on his neck.
Ryder.
Her gaze searched the room, but there was no sign of the vampire.
“I bet I can kill you,” Cain promised, and he let his fire out.
Wyatt’s eyes widened in fear, and when the flames licked at his legs, he screamed.
“No!” Eve jumped forward and grabbed Cain’s shoulders. “Stop it!”
Cain turned on her with fury. “You’re trying to save him?”
No. She shook her head and glanced at Wyatt. He was slapping at the flames, trying to put them out. He looked . . . scared. “I want to save the others.” Trace. The humans who were still alive in the building. The other paranormals who were trapped there. She swallowed and, focusing on Wyatt, Eve demanded, “Tell me how to fix Trace.” Because when something—someone—was broken, it could damn well be fixed.
Wyatt rubbed his hand over his neck. It looked like the slashes and bite marks on his skin were already starting to close.
Bullets hadn’t killed him. The guy had enhanced healing.
What the hell is he?
Wyatt was just smiling at her, cocky once more now that he thought death wasn’t coming for him. “There is no fixing your werewolf. The beast is out, and he’ll kill and destroy until there’s nothing left.”
Cain snarled and tried to lunge forward. Eve tightened her hold on him. “We need him.” Cain couldn’t kill Wyatt. Not yet. Wyatt was the only one who could tell them what had been done to Trace. Trace . . . and probably so many others.
Wyatt laughed, then his voice was mocking as he said, “Yes, yes, you need me. You can’t kill me. No one can. If I die, I take all my secrets to the grave.” His gaze found Eve’s. “Like your secrets. I know them, every . . . single . . . one.”
Goose bumps rose on her arms.
Wyatt’s calculating gaze slid between her and Cain. “Maybe there is a way to save your wolf. . . Maybe.”
Eve tensed. “Tell me!”
“The cure’s right beside you. Your phoenix.”
“He’s bullshitting,” Cain growled. “Trying to save his sorry hide.”
Wyatt just shrugged. “Your kind . . . so rare, so powerful. Too powerful for even death to contain. You can survive anything, and just rise from the ashes.”
“Trace isn’t a phoenix!” Sweat slickened Eve’s hands. “He can’t survive. Tell me how to help him!”
Wyatt’s focus was on Cain. “His tears. The tears of a phoenix. Legend has it that they can heal.”
What the hell was the guy going on about now?
“But I can’t get him to cry. No matter how much pain I give him.” Wyatt’s lips twisted. “Can you even cry? Maybe it takes a soul to cry . . . and monsters like you don’t have souls.”
“You’re the one who doesn’t have a soul,” Eve fired back at him. “You’re the one who’s dead inside.” Cain had been right. The guy was just bullshitting them.
Wyatt’s gaze came back to her. His smile chilled Eve. “The phoenix has a connection with you. Maybe when you die . . . perhaps he’ll break then. Maybe then we’ll get him to shed a tear and save your wolf.”
“She’s not dying!” Cain’s roar.
Wyatt acted as if he didn’t even hear him. “Poor little girl,” he said, his accent thickening as his eyes swept over Eve. “Unlike Cain, you never had a problem with shedding tears. I read the report. Heard the stories about how you cried so long and hard when your mother died. When your father bled out before you . . .”
Eve’s heart slammed into her chest.
Cain’s hand curled around Eve’s. “He’s just screwing with you.”
No, he was torturing her. “Those vampires . . .”
The ones that had been in the pit, the ones they’d killed . . .
Wyatt’s smile widened. The bites had almost faded completely from his neck. He lifted a brow. “Remembered them, did you? One of my father’s . . . experiments. Unfortunately, those soldiers weren’t strong enough to adjust to the vampire DNA running through their bodies. They mutated. Became rabid feeding machines within just a few months of their transformation.” His smile faded. For an instant, he almost looked sad, but Eve knew that fleeting expression had to be just another one of his tricks. Wyatt didn’t care about anyone or anything.
“Your father transformed those men?” Eve held her body carefully still. Beside her, she could feel the leashed power vibrating within Cain.
Wyatt nodded. “A failed experiment. One of the few my father had.” Wyatt lifted his hands and stared down at them with narrowed eyes. “One of the few,” he said again, voice softer.
Why weren’t guards storming into the room? Swarming them? Eve glanced back toward the door. Everything was off about this place. But . . .