by Liliana Hart
She sucked in a big breath, and a sharp pain in her side nearly made her pass out.
She forced her frozen fingers to close around the hard object in her hand. Some part of her brain identified it as a gun. Why did she have a weapon?
Sounds, now recognizable as footsteps, crunched in the hard-packed snow behind her, moving ever closer to where she and the others lay. Please, God, let whoever it was be here to help her.
“I’m at the scene.” A male voice spoke. “I’m checking for survivors now.”
She slumped with relief. He was here to help them.
Closing her eyes, she hoped to save her energy for when he came near. She’d call out to him then. For now, she’d gather her strength.
“These two are dead. They’re in a dozen pieces. The vehicle’s burned out.”
He paused, but she couldn’t hear any other voices. Her rescuer must be on a cell phone.
“I understand. Either way, we’ll need an ambulance or two to clear the scene.”
She went limp. An with ambulance nice warm blankets and an IV pumping magical pain meds through her system. Nirvana.
“Hey, this one’s still alive!”
Relief filled her. She wasn’t the only one. Maybe the other survivor could tell her what had happened. Everything remained so fuzzy.
A gunshot rang out and blood spattered her face. What? He shot the survivor? Panic and adrenaline surged, but she didn’t dare move. Fear cleared her brain a bit.
“Poor bastard’s dead now.” The man laughed. “Oh, yeah, I’m sure of it. Not even his mother would recognize him.”
She prayed her cracked skull and the blood-matted hair covering her face would convince him she had fatal wounds and he’d leave her alone.
“One left to check. Looks like it’s the woman we were told to watch out for. Seems pretty dead from here, but…”
A hard kick to her leg made her jerk.
Dammit. She’d given herself away.
She summoned every ounce of strength she had. She spun her arms towards him and emptied her weapon into the man standing over her. Agonized screams escaped her throat.
He cursed, raised his gun, then fired. One bullet, then two more slammed into her abdomen. Oh, my God, she’d been gut shot. No one survived that.
Pain paralyzed her. Why was he still standing?
Finally, he collapsed to his knees, groaning and clutching his chest.
She gasped, unable to move. She might be dead, but, at least, she’d taken the killer with her.
Harsh breaths sawed in and out of his lungs, then, a moment later, he slowly rose to his knees. Spent bullets fell from the Kevlar vest that had shielded him.
“I just love Kevlar. Don’t you?” He lifted his weapon one more time and aimed it straight at her head.
A massive spear of lightning crackled across the frigid air. The huge bluish-purple bolt struck the killer, engulfing him in flames.
“What the hell?” Terrified, Samantha shifted her pounding head slightly to the right. Fifteen feet away, she caught the shimmering double image of a shirtless, muscular man. He wore arctic camo pants, like the killer had, and he stood angrily watching her, his hands and arms covered with sparks and flames.
She had to be hallucinating.
He stalked toward her, the strange fiery bolts slowly receding, but an indigo aura still surrounded him, making him look otherworldly. He did not look happy to see her alive.
“Please, stay…away.” Fear stole her voice, but even her merest whisper ricocheted like a bullet within her brain.
This time, when blackness threatened she welcomed it.
Maybe, if she were lucky, she’d never have to wake up and face the man with the glowing eyes.
Chapter Three
Alex cradled the woman tenderly in his arms as he trudged back through the snow to his hideout. He’d wrapped her shattered head in his T-shirt and her bullet-riddled body in his jacket. From the amount of blood she’d lost, he doubted she’d last much longer.
Pellets of snow whipped against his bare torso, but the cold didn’t bother him.
His upcoming decision did.
Alex could let her die, which might be a godsend for both of them at this point. Or, he could share his tainted blood and risk turning her into another freakish creation like him. He doubted she’d thank him for that.
Blue tinged her hands and lips as her body desperately tried to send all its warmth to her brain. Even with all her wounds, he could still see her stunning beauty. Parts of her brown hair shone a beautiful auburn in the light, but congealed blood and ice had darkened most of it to black. She weighed nothing at all and, after spending so many years with Navy SEALs, her fragility called to him.
The old him anyway.
The one who’d been a protector. A so-called hero.
Now he was just a monster who fed on hatred and thirsted for revenge. Nothing more. Why had she come here, reminding him of a part of this life that he could never have again? He’d always thought he’d have time for a family. A wife.
But, like his psychotic father, Alex could no longer control his rage. He never wanted to do what his father had done.
Alex vowed to protect her from his volatile temper, but he feared the paranoid thoughts that too often flooded his mind. He approached the door of the small, dilapidated cabin that served as a disguise for his true underground home. With the storm, he had some time before his enemies arrived. Time to help her…or time for her to die, and for him to disappear. Again.
Alex carefully eased the woman up against his shoulder, then opened the door and made his way inside. The T-shirt he’d wrapped around her head wound was soaked with blood. He imagined his jacket was, too.
Thank God for his uncle. The paranoid recluse had done something right when he bought this property, many years ago, and buried the connection to himself and any relation too deep to track—at least until today.
Jedediah Winters had foretold the imminent end of the world for three decades, right up until his own death a few years back. He’d renovated this abandoned missile silo and stocked it with supplies to save himself from the roving militias or the nuclear bombs that signaled his version of doomsday. His store of basic medical supplies surpassed that of most pharmacies.
Little did Alex’s distrustful relative know, the nephew, to whom Jed bequeathed his silo, was far more lethal than anyone his uncle ever feared might come here.
But, the untraceable land purchase had saved Alex’s life and gave him a secret place to heal and try to create an anti-serum to counteract his condition.
The woman in his arms cried out in pain.
Alex held her protectively, trying to keep from jarring her any more than necessary as he made his way around the furniture he’d scattered as he ran to save her.
Toward the middle of the cabin, he nudged open a rusty wall panel and leaned his face toward the hi-tech backlit screen. An ocular scanner beam crossed his eye and a series of locks clicked open. Heavy metal doors slid back, unveiling a pristine, waiting elevator.
He stepped inside and she nestled into his neck, probably seeking his warmth. Her skin was so soft and so very cold. He pumped more heat into his own body, trying to share.
He was crazy to take the time to help her. This dying woman and those already dead at the accident site threatened everything Alex had worked for the last few months. He didn’t need more complications in his life.
The woman moaned again, trying to shift in his arms. He couldn’t believe she’d survived this long.
“Shhhh,” he crooned, feeling stupid. “You’re all right.”
But, most likely, she wouldn’t be. He’d have to extract some of his blood and inject her quickly, then return to the explosion site and destroy any evidence that could be traced back to him. Trained assassins, like the one he’d just fried, didn’t work alone. They were hired guns.
More of his type would follow soon, and Alex, by carrying the badly wounded woman, had left a half-mile
blood trail leading right to his front door.
After the elevator stopped Alex adjusted his hold on the unconscious woman, repeated the ocular security access, then entered a numeric code on a different screen. His bloody fingerprints marred the numbers.
After the doors opened, he touched his hand to all the numbers on the keypad at once, bringing the metal to a similar temperature so his numeric code couldn’t be ascertained with a heat sensor. Not all paranoia was crazy.
He walked through the door, shifting her, and she groaned. He looked down at her.
Could he save her?
She blinked up at him. “Help me,” she whispered, her breathing now quick pants. “Please.”
Her pleading eyes made the final decision for him. He should be dead, but inside his body was a substance that healed. He’d studied himself and his blood, long enough over the last few months, to know what it could do.
Alex placed her gently on a metal table and carefully removed the blood soaked T-shirt protecting her open head wound and fractured skull. Her body bore lacerations and burns from the explosion, as well as the three bullet wounds.
She should be dead.
He stopped for a moment. He studied the cuts on her face. They’d been worse. Or so he thought. Maybe it was a trick of the light?
Maybe she was one of them.
A flash of angry heat whipped through him at the thought. He’d let down his emotional barriers. Big mistake. Along with the sympathy came the unwanted paranoia, the anger. Just like his men.
Was she a predator sent to find him or was she prey? A victim in the wrong place at the wrong time, just traveling by, only to be used as bait by a killer came for him?
Stop it! Just save her, dammit.
Alex grabbed a medical bag, removed the tourniquet and stethoscope, then dug through the drawers for other supplies. He set some syringes on the counter, regretting that he had no time for even a rudimentary blood compatibility test.
“H…help!” She choked, gasping for air.
He whirled around. No time to question.
Her body spasmed, her head banged hard against the hard steel. She’d hurt herself even worse if he didn’t help her. He tied the tourniquet above her elbow, praying the whole while.
Her breathing slowed to almost nothing.
He extracted a few vials from his arm. He didn’t know how much blood to give her, or even if this transfusion would work, but, if he didn’t act now, she had no chance at all.
His hand shook as he searched for a viable vein in her arm for the injection. God, forgive me for what I’m doing to her. Please, protect this woman from my evil fate.
He inserted the needle beneath her skin, miraculously entering a vein, then slowly added the contents to her system.
One minute passed, then two.
Nothing happened.
“Come on, lady. You can do this.” He held her bloodied face in his palms and willed her to live. “Come back, sweetheart. Start healing.”
Still nothing.
Alex wet a cloth with warm water and slowly washed the congealed blood from her face. He cut off part of her clothes and washed her abdomen.
His blood flowed throughout hers now. Would his healing gift be hers? And his curse? He brought over a clean cloth and gently cleansed the area around the bullet wounds.
They’d stopped bleeding, but they weren’t healing.
Was she dead?
Holding his breath, he pressed his fingers against her carotid artery. A thready pulse. He practically sagged with relief. Why did he feel so much for her? They’d just met. He shouldn’t care. And yet, he couldn’t help it. She was a fighter.
“Live, damn you,” he said.
Had he given her enough blood? Maybe she needed more, seeing that her injuries were so severe.
He grabbed another large syringe and repeated the process as quickly as he could. He stood back, holding his breath, watching her for any sign of reaction.
She moved restlessly, breathing a bit deeper, then, to his shock, she started healing. He could see the actual changes in her body happening, from moment to moment. She healed fast. Almost too fast. Had he given her too much?
Her body convulsed and she cried out in pain. She reached up, holding her head as her fractured skull reformed to its normal shape. Sinew and bone fragments knit together before skin grew to cover it all. Her hair filled in. Still, she panted, her hands clenching and unclenching as her legs thrashed against the metal surface.
Spooked, he gathered her in his arms to keep her from hurting herself more.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. It’s going to be fine.” He crooned nonsensical words and held her as she bent her head back and cried.
He had no idea how long she sobbed. Finally, she went limp and he gently laid her on the steel table again.
Stepping back, he could see her face wet with tears.
Guilt swamped him. What had he done to her? What made him think he had the right to play God? What would she think of him when she awoke? If she awoke.
He whipped the used syringe across the room.
Damn Dr. Gennaro for his genetic changing serums. Damn whoever chose to experiment on Alex’s SEAL team. Alex already hated himself for not saving them. Why had fate put this life and death choice in front of him?
He was as bad as the others. Experimenting with his toxic blood on an unsuspecting woman. Rage welled in him and he struggled to contain it.
He shouldn’t have let himself feel anything. Emotions were too dangerous. Made him do stupid things. Made him think with his heart, not his head. He backed further away from her. He would not hurt her more. He would not be his father.
Alex’s breathing labored under the strain of staying in control. One thing he’d learned over the last few months, the serums intensified every weakness and every strength. His rages were deadly now.
Calm down. Don’t give into it.
Paranoia seeped in slowly, poisoning his thoughts and feeding his growing fury, until sparks burst from his hands, and small flames licked their way up his arms.
No.
But insidious thoughts took control.
She could be the enemy. Someone sent from the government.
She’d found him somehow. Could have led these people to his door. Told others where his silo was buried.
Given him up without a qualm.
He’d have to leave now, before anyone else came.
Alex punched a metal upright, denting it with his fist. Plaster fell from the ceiling, throwing his overwhelmed mind back to the night at the lab with the shrapnel and debris raining down.
Fire engulfed his arms and his chest, while lightning crackled around him.
Doctor Gennaro had used Alex and his men like lab rats, then the military police had tried to kill half of them.
The woman on the table moaned and he whirled back to her in anger. He’d made a mistake in saving her. Why had he done it?
She moved slightly, no sign of the fractured skull or bullet wounds in evidence—except the blood on her shredded clothes and matted hair.
Surely, his blood hadn’t done all that. Or was she like him? Was that why she recovered so quickly? But, if she was after him, who was the man who had tried to kill her?
Maybe they were both after him.
His paranoia ran rampant.
He had to leave. Now. Before he completely lost control.
He stared at the monitors. Saw the trail of blood from the accident site to the cabin. He had to protect himself. More men would come here soon. For her. For him. For the dead men outside.
He’d leave. Take as much equipment as he could. Maybe take her, too, as a hostage.
No. She confused him. Brought on the rage he could not yet control.
“Dammit, I need more time.” To think. To plan. He’d never figure out the antidote while being chased across the country.
What if there were more monsters like him out there?
Her head aching, she open
ed her eyelids, just a slit. The bright overhead lights seared her pupils and knifelike pressure pierced her brain. She heard angry mumbling coming from nearby, but couldn’t distinguish any words.
A chill swept through her, along with the realization she was lying, nearly naked, on a cold metal table. Forcing her eyes open wider, she saw a doubled, blurry image of big, tall man…on fire?
“Oh, my God. I’ll help you.” She struggled to rise.
A huge bolt of lightning crackled across the room toward her. She threw herself from the table, and landed hard on the cement floor. Heat from the strike melted the sink faucet on the counter above her and the plastic dripped onto the floor—and onto her. Red, raised welts appeared on her skin.
He’d just tried to kill her.
She grabbed a scalpel from a nearby cart bearing medical equipment and clutched it in her hand. This guy looked like a Tesla machine demon, with flames and glowing eyes.
The man came around the corner of the lab table, his anger and heat palpable. “Don’t move. Don’t say a word. I need to calm down.”
“You need to calm down? I am officially freaked.” She scrambled back, dizzy and furious, then jabbed the blade at his double image. “Come near me and I’ll kill you.”
He took a step toward her, stopped, then suddenly the glow left his eyes. She barely came up to his chest and she was going to kill him? He could take that knife from her hand and pin her to the floor in two seconds flat. Of course, she’d be cooked in three.
“Cooked?” she rocked back. “Who are you? Forget that. What are you?”
“You heard what I was thinking?” he demanded, his face darkening but the flames dying down.
The shock on his face would have made her laugh if she wasn’t scared witless that he’d just stepped closer.
“You didn’t say that out loud?” she asked in a worried whisper.
“No,” he emphasized. “I didn’t.”
“But that doesn’t make sense. None of this does.”
“You’re one of them, aren’t you?” His accusation triggered that strange aura around him again, along with a new round of sparks and flames. “Someone the military experimented on. That’s why you healed so fast. What other powers do you have?”
