Flames began to flicker over Dante’s body. She realized that if Trace came into that elevator with them . . . he’ll die. Dante might not hurt her when he rose, but Cassie had no clue what he’d do to a werewolf.
Heart racing, she looked up. She saw Trace’s glowing eyes. “Run,” she told him, focusing completely on the werewolf. “Get out of here. Don’t stop for anyone or anything. You find Eve’s scent. You follow it. You follow it!”
Did he even understand her at all? In that instant, with such wildness and fury in his stare, she wasn’t sure.
But then the werewolf leaped away. The elevator’s doors closed.
And the fire spread along Dante’s body.
She inched back, trying to flatten herself against the right wall. Dante was in the middle of the elevator, sprawled on the floor, and the flames were rising. Rising . . .
The doors opened, and she jumped out. The fire lanced over her skin. The flames crackled. Cassie opened up the control pad and did a fast and frantic override of the system. Now that they were back down below, she didn’t want that elevator going anywhere. And if the guys upstairs couldn’t get down through the elevator . . .
It will buy us time.
Time that she desperately needed.
She stared at Dante. Watched those flames burn. He’d be back to her soon. She just hoped he came back sane.
She’d seen a few of his risings during his time at Genesis when he hadn’t come back sane. She’d gotten lucky the last time he rose. He’d remembered her. If he didn’t remember her this time . . .
He could kill us all.
The first moments after a rising were the most dangerous.
She wanted to stay with him, but there were others in that place who needed her.
Cassie spun on her heel and rushed back to Jamie and Charles. She shoved against the doors to her work room, but the doors wouldn’t open. Her fist banged against them. “Charles! Charles, it’s me! Let me in!”
“Is the phoenix with you?” His voice broke with fear.
“No.” Not yet. “Hurry, open the door!”
She heard the slide of a bolt—the very large bolt that she’d never used but Charles sure seemed familiar with—and then the doors were opening. Breath heaving, she hurried into the lab. “How’s Jamie, is he—”
He was strapped to a table. Convulsing.
Her heart stopped. Her blood hadn’t worked.
It was killing him.
He knew only the fire. Consuming. Burning. Twisting. He could hear screams, but there were always screams in hell.
The fire of the phoenix came from the bowels of hell.
He felt hands on him, claws that tried to hold him back and stop him from rising.
But he had to rise.
Someone waited on him.
An enemy?
A lover?
Both.
The memories were there, just out of his grasp, burned by the fire that whispered to him. The fire that told him . . . he was strong. The others were weak.
He could destroy.
He could take.
He could do anything he wanted.
And still the fire burned. Burned and burned even as his eyes opened.
The flames had spread from him, scorching the floor beneath him and rising to lick at the walls and ceiling.
He climbed to his feet as his gaze swept around the area. No one else was there.
An alarm was shrieking—a loud cry that annoyed him. And water was shooting from the ceiling.
The water didn’t stop his fire. Nothing could stop it.
Then he looked down, past his flames. On the floor, he saw drops of blood.
He inhaled, caught the scent, and the phoenix that he was—the beast that had taken over—knew the hunt was starting.
The flames followed him as he went after his prey.
“His blood pressure is skyrocketing!” Cassie tried to hold Jamie down.
Poor Jamie—he was so young. So terribly young. His eyes were rolling back into his head, and a keening cry broke from his lips.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
But sorry wasn’t going to save him.
“What happened to the phoenix?” Charles asked. He was still by the door, seemingly frozen.
“He’s burning, rising.” She couldn’t deal with that, too. She gave Jamie an injection. “Come on. Don’t do this. Stay with me.”
“Rising?” Charles’s voice had sure, ah, risen too.
Then she heard him swearing.
The giant bolt—one that was the length of the swinging lab doors, slid into place. Locking them in.
Her gaze flew to him. Charles was shaking his head. “He’s not getting in. He’s not!”
Unfortunately for them, Cassie didn’t think that metal bar would be providing them with a whole lot of protection. When faced with a phoenix’s fire, the metal would melt.
Dante would get in.
One crisis at a time. She sucked in a deep breath and focused on Jamie once more. He wasn’t shaking anymore, and his blood pressure was slowly getting back within the normal range.
Hope began to whisper in her heart. Live.
Sweat coated his body as if a fever had just broken. She picked up his hands. Studied his nails. No claws. She opened his mouth. Regular teeth. No fangs.
She took some of his blood and rushed to her microscope. Eyes narrowing, Cassie stared down at the specimen.
His blood cells were—not normal, but . . .
Not primal.
The cells weren’t mutating into the primal form. In fact, they looked very similar to her own.
“Without the poison,” she whispered, prayed. If his blood was clear, if he could make antibodies for the virus that didn’t contain the poison of her blood, then they’d just found the cure.
She was the one shaking.
“Do—do you smell smoke?” Charles asked as he hurried away from the door.
Yes, she did. Had been smelling it ever since she’d left Dante in that elevator.
“Jamie?” Cassie whispered. “Jamie, can you open your eyes for me?”
His breath sighed out.
“I-I can’t see anything on the monitors outside,” Charles said. “The smoke and fire are too thick.”
“Jamie?” Cassie fought to keep her own voice calm. “I need you to open your eyes. Look at me.” She’d seen other primal transformations, and, by this point, the victims already had their fangs and claws. The treatment was working.
Jamie’s lashes flickered. When his lashes lifted, she saw that his gaze was blurry. Lost. “Am I . . . dead?”
She threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. “No, you’re very much alive.” Tears stung her eyes.