Until the flames started.
The lock snicked open, but Cain moved quickly, twisting his wrist so that the mechanism still appeared to be closed. If those watching saw that he was loose, they’d turn on the gas again.
Cain needed Wyatt to open the door for him. If that door would just open . . .
He’d unleash hell.
He brought his lips close to Eve’s small ear. “We have to make this look real.”
She shuddered against him. Fear. Had to be in fear. She’d seen what he could do. She had to be terrified that he’d hurt her.
He wouldn’t.
Cain had his control gripped as tightly as he could. He just had to hold on for an hour. Then the fire could rip free.
One hour . . .
At least fifteen minutes had passed already. Had to have.
He grabbed her hips, lifted her up against him. Held her easily.
Her breath caught as her hands curled around his shoulders. To the men watching, it would look like he was pinning her to the wall and driving his aroused flesh against her.
Because . . . he was.
She just felt so good. Soft. Silken. Her taste filled his mouth and her body trembled against his.
It would be easy to strip her clothes away. To thrust into her. To let go.
Her hands lifted and sank into his hair with surprising strength. “It can look real.” Her lips skimmed over his jaw. “But it won’t be.”
His lips curled. Maybe it will be.
Then he heard the door slide open behind them. Metal grated. In an instant, he spun around, putting his body in front of Eve’s.
He expected Wyatt. Instead, Barnes stood smirking at them. “Change of plans.”
“I have an hour!” Cain’s voice thundered out.
Barnes backed up a step. “That was before the vamp started convulsing. He needs fresh blood—and guess who’s gonna be his donor?”
The hell she was.
“Now come on, lady.” Barnes lifted his gun and pointed it at Cain’s chest. “We’re leaving.”
“No.” Cain stalked forward. One step. Another. More, a few more feet . . . and the chains weren’t supposed to let him advance any farther.
His leash stretched taut behind him.
The guard was sweating. Sweating, but still looking too confident.
If those chains had been locked, the guard would have possessed the power.
Would . . .
“You shouldn’t have hit her with your gun.” Cain kept his eyes down. Barnes couldn’t be allowed to see what was coming, not yet.
The guard’s feet shifted on the floor.
Eve stayed pressed against the back wall. Smart woman.
Cain flexed his hands. One lunge, and the chains would fall away. He had to be fast. Fast enough to get through that open door.
“And you really shouldn’t have f**king cut out my heart in your third experiment . . .” That shit had hurt.
The bastard guard had laughed while he cut into Cain’s chest.
Cain glanced up. Barnes wasn’t laughing now.
He’d never laugh again.
Cain lunged forward. He shoved his hand into Barnes’s chest and threw the ass**le back through the doorway.
Barnes screamed, calling out for help. Help wouldn’t come in time.
Cain cleared the doorway. No more locks. No more chains. He felt the power swelling inside him. Building higher and higher.
Barnes was on the floor. Shooting at him. The bullets were like bee stings on his flesh.
Eve screamed behind him. Cain didn’t stop advancing. He grabbed the gun. The metal melted in his hand. Then he grabbed Barnes.
Flames erupted, burning so bright. . . .
The shriek of the alarm froze Wyatt as he entered his private office.
He turned to the right and pulled up the security feed.
Sector Three. Subject Thirteen. He stared at the monitor. Thirteen stood before a pile of ash. Outside his holding cell.
Dammit. They had to tranq him. Had to knock him out before—
Thirteen looked up at the security camera and smiled.
Wyatt could see the flames burning in Thirteen’s eyes. The beast was out, and he was ready to destroy.
“Stop him,” Wyatt whispered into the intercom. His message would feed into the earpieces of every security guard in the facility. “Use the SP-tranq.” It was their all-purpose drug to take out the supernaturals. Sure, the weaker ones never woke up after getting an injection, and the stronger ones, well, it didn’t keep them out for long. . . .
But they didn’t need too long, just—
Thirteen wasn’t on the monitor anymore. Shouts and gunfire echoed through the facility, and Wyatt could smell smoke. Thirteen was leaving a path of fire in his wake.