Once Bitten, Twice Burned

by Cynthia Eden

  Son of a bitch. He had to get out of the flames. More humans would be coming soon. It would be rather hard to ignore the giant blaze for much longer.

  He couldn’t wait for the flames to die.

  Ryder sucked in a sharp breath and tasted the smoke. This would hurt, but he’d survive, provided he moved fast enough.

  The flames were a thick wall around him, easily eight feet high. The phoenix had planned his trap carefully. It made Ryder suspect that the guy had faced off against vampires before. Faced off against them, and no doubt killed them with his flames.

  Ryder wasn’t in the mood to die.

  Pain won’t stop me. He’d grown too used to it over the years. It was a companion now.

  Ryder’s muscles tensed, then he ran forward, racing through the fire. The flames burned his pants, the shirt he’d jerked on before, then the fire raced over his skin.

  Ryder dove for the ground. He rolled, spinning, as he tried to put out the fire that covered him. His clothes were charred, chunks missing, but so what?

  He rose, then frowned. There weren’t any burns on his body. Not even any blisters. The fire had touched his skin. He’d been sure of it but—

  Ryder lifted his hand. No burn.

  The flesh of a vampire burned quickly. Fire was one of the best weapons against a vampire. Only he hadn’t burned.

  Maybe the fire just hadn’t been able to touch him because he’d moved so fast.

  No, I felt the heat on my skin.

  Brows rising, Ryder walked back toward the circle of fire. His jaw tightened, and he shoved his hand right into the flames. The fire instantly surrounded his fist. He waited, counting . . .

  One, two, three, four, five.

  Ryder yanked his hand back.

  No burns. No blisters. No marks at all. In disbelief, he stared at his unmarred fingers.

  Sabine. Just what had his lovely phoenix done to him?

  When the flames finally died away, she found herself strapped to a hard, metal table. No, not strapped. She twisted her head. The bindings holding her down were made of metal, too.

  Her body was naked.

  She felt both hot, a churning from inside of her, and ice-cold, a chill that came from outside of her body. Goose bumps covered her arms.

  Static crackled. The sound made her head ache. Her gaze flew up—far, far up. At least twenty feet above her head, she saw a big, bright light.

  Just that light.

  “The fire lasted much longer that time, Sabine,” a cool, calm voice told her. “You must be getting stronger.”

  Sabine? Who the hell was Sabine?

  “Rest for a while. There have been some . . . developments.” The voice seemed to echo in the room. “We may even have a job for you soon.”

  Why had they restrained her? “Where am I?”

  A sigh slipped into the room. Not her sigh. A sigh that came from the voice. She’s female, just like me.

  “You always have the same questions, Sabine.” Now there was a hint of annoyance in the voice. Impatience. “Rest.” An order. “The next test will be different.”

  A test?

  “We’ll find out if you truly are getting stronger with each rising. The fittest will survive.”

  The fittest what?

  But the static crackled again. Then . . . silence.

  “H-hello?” she cried out.

  No answer.

  She twisted beneath her bonds. Pulled and yanked. Her left wrist cut open when the metal tore into it.

  The scent of blood teased her nose.

  He likes the blood.

  She stilled.

  And remembered.

  I am Sabine. She thought of the cold woman’s voice. Of hell and pain.

  I am Sabine.

  She stared up at the light. Remembered screams and death. A nightmare that wouldn’t end. And that voice . . . that cold voice.

  You will die. A promise.

  Because her beast was out of the cage, and there would be no going back.

  Time passed. The bonds holding her eventually were removed—the woman’s voice told her that they were programmed to release once her body reached a certain core temperature.

  Food was brought to her. Pushed through a narrow opening at the bottom of her door. She ate. Barely tasted the bland meal.

  She paced her room. Walked the small confines again and again. They’d given her clothes, jeans and a T-shirt and even tennis shoes. Maybe they were trying to make her feel normal now.

  Only she wasn’t normal.

  The man’s image would whisper through her thoughts every now and then, but she never let her expression alter.

  They thought her memories were gone.

  You thought wrong.

  Because when she’d come back after her last death, her memories had returned completely.

  She heard footsteps approaching her cell. After her deaths, her senses had sharpened, too. She could catch the faintest of smells and hear the softest of whispers.

  You don’t know what I’ll do to you.

  She didn’t let her smile break free. Sabine stilled and waited.

  The door opened. Sabine didn’t rush for the door. She didn’t do anything. They thought they’d trained her. Broken her.

  They were wrong.

  A woman walked inside. A woman with sleek red hair that was twisted up on her head. She wore a lab coat, carried a clipboard, looked perfect and pretty.

  But she was rotten inside. Sabine could smell that, too.

  Guards flanked the woman, and, big surprise, they had guns trained on Sabine.

  “I-it’s time for a test.” The woman’s voice trembled. It had never trembled before.

  Sabine lifted a brow. Are you afraid to be in here with me? You should be.

  The woman—she smelled of antiseptic, blood, and fear—locked her gaze on Sabine. “I can give you freedom.”

  Her words were not what Sabine had expected.

  “There’s a monster out there. A dangerous, vicious beast. He has to be stopped.”

  Sabine was already looking at a dangerous, vicious beast. Just one that wore the skin of a human.

  “He’s like you,” the lady told her. Then her jaw dropped as she seemed to realize what she’d said.

  ’Cause, yes, calling me a dangerous, vicious beast will make me want to help you.

  “Why aren’t you talking?” the woman demanded. She seemed unnerved by Sabine’s stare. Good. The redhead’s brows shot up. “Can you talk?”

  “Yes.” She just didn’t want to waste words on the bitch.

  The redhead sighed, as if in relief. “Our facility has been breached.”

  Was that why the lady was sweating?

  He’s coming for me. The thought had Sabine’s heart squeezing. Ryder had given her a promise. Freedom was close. Close enough to taste.

  “We know our director will be targeted for assassination.” The woman’s fingertips had whitened around her clipboard.

  Their director? Ah yes, must be that dick, Wyatt. He’d come to see her a few times. Come to gauge the success of his precious “research.”

  The redhead’s eyes narrowed on Sabine. “We want you to stop his attacker.”

  Seriously? The bitch was crazy. Sabine wasn’t going to stop him. She’d applaud the guy. Give him a freaking standing ovation.

  As the silence stretched, the redhead finally seemed to realize that fact.

  Uh, hello? I’m the captive that you’ve been torturing and killing for days. Why, oh why, would I ever help you?

  “You remembered this time, didn’t you?” the woman asked as she eased back a step. “Wyatt said that could happen. That sometimes you’d rise with your memory there. It just hadn’t happened before, so I thought . . .” Her voice trailed away.

  Sabine just kept staring at her.

  The woman cleared her throat. “Actually, that might make things easier,” the redhead murmured, but she still made a point of getting closer to the guards. The woman slanted a
quick glance at the guard on her right. “We still have the tail on her brother, right?”

  My brother. Sabine fought to control her expression. They were looking for a weakness. She wouldn’t give Genesis one.

  But the crazy bitch was still talking. “Make sure our watcher knows that if Sabine doesn’t complete this task, a bullet should be put in Rhett’s head.”

  Fire burned in her gut. Heating and churning and boiling as fury and fear clawed at her.

  “Now that got your attention, didn’t it?” the woman said, sounding satisfied. “I saw the flash of fire in your eyes.”

  “I’ll give you a flash of fire,” Sabine promised, knotting her hands into fists.

  The woman jumped back a good two feet. Her shoulders brushed the cell door. The guards lifted their weapons.

  Sabine had been playing with fire lately. Conjuring it from nothing. Letting balls of flame roll in her hands. The practice helped to pass the time.

  Now, deliberately, she let the fire rise from her palm. The ball hovered over her hand. “Look what little trick I learned.”

  Though they already knew this. They’d been watching her through their cameras and their two-way mirrors.

  “Do you want your brother to die?”

  Sabine forced a shrug. “Maybe he’ll just come back.” She even managed a smile. “Like me.”

  One perfectly arched red eyebrow rose. “Since you were adopted and he isn’t your blood brother, I find that highly doubtful.” She gave Sabine a wide smile. “But let’s go see.” She turned to face the door.

  “No!” The word broke from Sabine, and the redhead looked back, all Cheshire-cat satisfied.

  Damn her. “Why are you doing this?” Sabine demanded. “I’m a person. I have rights!”

  “You’re a weapon. And you’re about to be used.”

  Very, very cold bitch.

  “Your target is a man named Cain O’Connor. He’ll most likely be with a woman—Eve Bradley.” The redhead held up her clipboard. There was a manila file on that board. The lady pulled it free, then tossed the file near Sabine’s feet. “You can find their pictures in here. Look at them. Memorize them, then go and find those two.”

  Sabine didn’t look down at the file. “And if I do, you’ll let my brother go?”

  The redhead nodded.

  Sabine heard the shrill cry of an alarm. The woman was right—it sounded like the second Genesis facility had been breached.

  “Kill O’Connor. Leave the woman alive.”

  Sabine rolled her shoulders. “Then you leave me and my family alone?” Not that Sabine could trust her but . . .

  “I give you my word.”

  What choice did she have?

  Sabine let her fire die. Wisps of smoke floated above her hand. Slowly, she walked toward the woman. “Who are you?” she asked. The redhead with the upper-crust New York accent, one that spoke of old money, had never told Sabine her name.

  “Doesn’t matter.” The redhead licked her lips. Her body had tensed at the alarm’s cry.

  To Sabine, the woman’s identity mattered very much. A scientist, a doctor, a sadistic torturer. She was going to track this woman.

  Sabine stared at her a moment longer, then she bent to pick up the file. She opened it, and her gaze fell to the photos inside. The male—Cain O’Connor—had gold skin, dark eyes, and hair that was almost black. He stared back up at her with an undeniable fury.

  Yes, she could relate to that particular rage.

  The woman’s picture showed sparkling blue eyes. Smooth skin. Dark hair. She was wearing a lab coat, just like the one the redhead had on.

  Was Genesis killing its own now? Hardly surprising.

  The alarm seemed to shriek even louder.

  “He’ll be going for Wyatt’s office. You’ll find him on the third floor.” The redhead was backing out of the room. The guards were starting to sweat now, too.

  There was fear in all of their eyes.

  Sabine could hear screams coming from a distance. Screams. Yells. Growls?

  “If Wyatt dies, if you don’t stop O’Connor . . .” The redhead stopped and glared at Sabine. “I’ll know, and I’ll make sure that a bullet finds its way into your brother’s head.”

  Then she was gone, running away with her guards flanking her sides. Sabine’s cell door was left wide open. The alarm continued to shriek.

  She looked down at the pictures once more. Was this what she’d become? A killer for Genesis?

  She’d had a normal life once.

  She’d been a photographer. She’d taken so many pictures, mostly all in her beautiful New Orleans. She’d shown her work at galleries. Set up a website and even been able to make a fairly decent living doing what she loved. She hadn’t gotten rich, but she’d gotten by.

  She’d had a home. Friends. Family.

  Rhett. No, Rhett wasn’t her blood brother. But what did blood matter? When she’d broken her leg at six, he’d been there, holding her hand, talking to her, until the cast was set. When she hadn’t made cheerleader at thirteen, he’d been there. Telling her that she was better off. That she was too good for the team and that the cheer captain had just been jealous of her skills.

  He’d been wrong, of course. She hadn’t made the team because she straight-up sucked and because, during the routine, she’d accidentally punched the captain, Kristi Martin, in the face.

  At sixteen, he’d been there for her again. When her boyfriend had gotten drunk and a little too handsy—not respecting her first-base rule—Rhett had, well, he’d kicked Johnny’s ass.

  He’d always been there for her.

  I’ll make sure a bullet finds its way into your brother’s head.

  Sabine’s breath whispered out. She knew that she would do whatever was necessary in order to protect Rhett.

  Even if it meant letting her monster take control.

  Even if it meant killing.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Fucking chaos. That was all he saw. Chaos. Screams and growls filled the air as Ryder fought his way through the second Genesis facility. Locating this place had been a real bitch, but he hadn’t given up. Sure, he’d betrayed some people. Killed others during his hunt for information. My hunt for Sabine.

  But he’d gotten there. He’d found Wyatt’s hiding spot, and Sabine had to be there.

  He’d make Wyatt reveal her location because Ryder was not leaving without her. From now on, Ryder planned to keep Sabine at his side.

  Need her.

  The hunger that he felt for her had only grown since he’d escaped from his prison at Genesis. Something was wrong with him. He was certain of it. Wyatt had done something to him. Ryder had taken the blood of others since first biting Sabine—drained plenty of ’em—but no matter how much blood he took, it didn’t satisfy him. There was always a hunger inside of him. A craving for her.

  He rushed down the hallway, stopping outside the door he knew would lead to Wyatt’s office. He could smell the bastard inside. Ryder also knew that a trap waited for him behind that door—I can smell your guards, too, Wyatt—but he didn’t care. They were all about to see just how strong he was.

  But Ryder didn’t kick his way inside the room. Why waste the energy on a fancy entrance? He opened the door quietly, slowly. He’d take his time and see just what Wyatt had planned.

  The floor creaked beneath his feet as he entered the room. Wyatt had his back to him. The guy was leaning over his desk. Oh, but it would feel good to rip open the jerk’s throat.

  Wyatt leaned forward a bit more and his hand slid under the edge of the desk. In the next second, the door to the office slid closed, sealing them inside. Then Wyatt spun toward him. The guy had some kind of gas mask on, and Wyatt sneered, “Your mistake, phoenix—”

  Ryder rushed toward him. I’m not a phoenix, asshole. And you’re dead.

  Shock widened Wyatt’s eyes. “Wh-what—”

  Gas drifted from the small vents in the ceiling. Ryder glanced up at that smoky gas. Right, that wo
uld explain the mask. Since Wyatt had obviously been expecting someone else to come busting through his office door, the guy had set the wrong trap. The gas didn’t have any effect on Ryder. That horrifying knowledge was bright in Wyatt’s gaze.

  Before Ryder could grab Wyatt and sink his fangs into the jerk’s flesh, a narrow door to the right slid open. Five guards rushed out, their weapons clutched tightly. They also wore the masks, as if that would keep them safe.

  Ryder snarled and attacked. The fury that had built and built for days within him erupted. Fangs and claws slashed. The guards weren’t going to stop him. The guards—some that he recognized from his time at Genesis—weren’t ever putting him back in a cage again. They weren’t going to hurt anyone else again.

  Their bodies slammed into the floor. Their blood covered him.

  The hissing of the gas continued. Wyatt was clutching his mask, looking as if fear had frozen him.

  Ryder locked his gaze on the bastard, and taking one slow step at a time, he closed in on the guy. No escape. This reckoning was long overdue. “You have something of mine, Wyatt,” he said, snapping his teeth together, “and I want her back.”

  Wyatt tried to punch at him. Like that was impressive. Ryder punched back, hard enough to send the mask flying off Wyatt’s head. Then Ryder put his claws on Wyatt’s face. “Where. Is. She.”

  Wyatt started to laugh then. “Addicted, aren’t you?”

  Ryder sliced the skin on Wyatt’s left cheek. The laughter didn’t stop. So he sliced open the doctor’s right cheek. Matching wounds.

  The blood flowed and Wyatt tried to fight him again.

  Fool. “I can kill you quickly,” Ryder said, “or I can do it slowly. Either way, you aren’t getting out of this room.” Actually, he’d already planned for the slow death, but why tell Wyatt that?

  Wyatt’s face was red, mottled. And when he lifted his hand to swing at Ryder, the move was slow, uncoordinated. Ah, the gas was kicking in. “Won’t . . . kill . . .” Wyatt muttered.

  “Hell, yes, I will,” Ryder snapped right back. He’d take extreme pleasure in gutting the guy.

  But Wyatt shook his head. “The gas . . . won’t . . . kill . . . me . . . just . . . sleep . . .”