Playing With Fire (10 page)

He jumped toward it and ripped open the door. Saw Cassie slumped and strapped down in the backseat. Another woman was there—a woman with a gun that she lifted toward him. Her face was cloaked in the shadows.

He snatched the gun from her. Tossed it behind him and yanked Cassie out of the seat. Her eyes were closed. Her body was limp.

The chopper had fallen only ten feet—surely that wouldn't have been enough to . . . to . . .

“Cassie?” He put her down on the ground. Ran his hands over her, checking for injuries. And there were injuries. Cuts and scratches all over her. “Cassie. Cassie, open your eyes.”

The beast that lived inside of him was clawing to be free. He could taste the ash rising on his tongue. The only thing holding that beast in check was Cassie.

Come back to me.

She'd been the only thing to ever hold him in check.

She'd been eight the first time she came to him. A little girl, big green eyes, trembling voice.
I don't want him to kill anyone else.

She'd tried to save Dante then.

He'd died.

She wouldn't die now. He wouldn't let her.

Her eyelashes flickered.

Yes.
“Cassie?”

Her breath whispered out and her eyes opened. “Knew . . . you were coming . . .”

Hell, yes.
He pulled her against his chest. Held her tight right next to his racing heart.

Over her shoulder, Dante saw the blond female stumble out of the helicopter. She fell onto her knees, but pushed forward, all but crawling away.

The man who'd been piloting that helicopter shoved from the wreckage. He didn't try to crawl away. He stood there, glaring at Dante. “Do you remember
me,
bastard?” The man snarled.

Dante didn't let go of Cassie.

“I'm the one who took her from you. This time . . . all the times. I'm the one she was going to marry.”

What the fuck?

“You think she's yours. You're wrong. She's been working you from the beginning. It's all part of an experiment. Every single moment.” The man smiled and lifted his hands. “But you can't see her for what she is, can you? Because she's got you fooled.”

“No . . . Dante . . .” Cassie whispered.

“Her injuries are from samples that
she
ordered us to take. She wanted to see how her body had changed since you were dumb enough to give up your tears to her in New Orleans.”

Dante rose, making sure to put his body between Cassie's and—“What is your name?”

“Lieutenant Colonel Jon Abrams.”

“You're a dead man, Lieutenant Colonel.”

The man laughed. “You're already a wanted criminal. Thanks to me, your face is on every TV in the nation. You think you can walk away from here? Cassie won't go with you. She lured you here. Wanted to keep doing the tests on you.”

“Dante, I
didn't.
” Cassie said, her voice growing stronger.

It sounded like she was backing away from him. He heard the rustle of her footsteps and realized that she was retreating.

Leaving him to face off against the other man.

“Do you know why she wants to study you so much?” Jon took a step toward him. “Because her lover is sick. Not sick so much as
transforming.
If she can't help her werewolf, she'll lose him, and Cassie doesn't want to lose Trace.”

Trace.
The name was familiar . . . Wait. The cabin and the warehouse—both had been owned by a man named Trace. Wasn't that what Cassie had told him?

“Cassie uses anyone she can, in order to get what she wants. She used you. She used me. She's not the damsel in distress that you seem to think.”

The helicopter was burning behind Jon. The flames rose into the air, and Dante saw that men with weapons were spilling out of the ranch. Oh, so
now
they thought they were brave enough to fight?

Or were they just eager to die?

“Dante . . .” Cassie's voice called out quietly. “Get away from him.”

What?
“I'm not afraid of the human.”

Jon took another step forward. “But I'm not just human.” His hands lifted, moving in a fast blur, and knives slashed into Dante's chest.

No, not knives.
Claws
.

“I stopped being human long ago. I guess Cassie has a thing for monsters, huh?” Jon's teeth had elongated. He lifted his claws again—and came for Dante's neck.

Dante sidestepped, twisted, and came up ready to send his fire right into the man's heart.

A shot rang out, an explosion that ripped past the fire and the shouts from the approaching men.

Jon froze, then he looked down at his chest. A dark shadow bloomed in the middle of his shirt. Growing bigger, bigger. He lifted his head. “Cas . . . sie?”

Dante spun around and saw that Cassie had grabbed the gun that he'd tossed aside earlier. She still had that gun aimed at Jon.

“I told you, Jon . . . you should have left . . . the program.”

It sure looked like he'd left the program right then.

More gunfire erupted—from the guards rushing toward them. Seeing their boss get shot down had driven them over the edge. A bullet sliced across Dante's arm as he leaped toward Cassie.

Using his body, he shielded her. “I'll stop them.” A deadly promise.

There would be no more running.

No one would be left alive to hunt them.

“Dante, no!”

But he'd turned his back on her. Lifted his hands. It would be easy enough to send a wall of flames rushing toward their pursuers. They'd be dead in moments.

So simple.

He'd killed before like this. Taken out an army that came after him. A different life. The same beast inside.

The fire had raged and raged.

He'd eventually been captured, and later, accused of witchcraft. Of working with the devil.

“I am the devil,” he whispered as his flames began to rise.

They'd hung him.

He'd come back, burning in front of them.

“I won't run,” he said.

The shots stopped firing. Maybe the fools finally realized they were facing a creature they couldn't ever hope to defeat.

Good-bye.

Some were turning tail and running away. Dumb. They'd never be able to run fast enough.

“Dante,
no
!” Cassie jumped in front of him and grabbed his hands. “Don't do this!”

“They took you. They hurt—”

“They're people. Some of them might hate what they're doing, some don't even
know
what's really happening. You can't just . . . just kill them all!”

Of course, he could. With barely a thought. “Watch me.”

“No!” Cassie held him tighter. “Let's get out of here. Let's just
go.
”

Running wouldn't work. “They'll come for you again.”

“No, no, with Jon dead”—her head turned toward the downed Lieutenant Colonel—“they won't come for us. We can vanish.”

Running wasn't his style. They'd hurt him by taking Cassie. Now they should hurt.

“Please,”
Cassie begged. “Let's get out of here.” She drew in a ragged breath. “I don't . . . I
hurt,
Dante. Please just take me away from here.”

Jaw clenching, he nodded. He'd take her away. Get her safe and secure, and when she wasn't watching—
when she can't see just how dark I truly am
—he would come back to finish the war these fools had started.

There would be nothing left but ash.

She smiled at him, the sight weak and trembling, but so beautiful.

He pressed his lips against hers. Sank his fingers into her hair. The beast wanted to be free to burn and destroy, but as he held her, she . . . soothed him.

She always had.

From the very first moment, when his cell door had opened and he'd looked up at a lost child.

She wasn't a child anymore.

But she was his.

He lifted her into his arms. Cradled her carefully. As they approached the thick wall and the barbed wire, he sent out a ball of fire to blast them an exit.

No one followed. No shouts or gunfire filled the night. Those behind him were too scared to fight.

Good. But I'll return.

He wouldn't give his enemies a chance to come for him again.

He'd spared enemies before, only to see them come once more and attack when they thought he was weak. So much fire and death. So many centuries.

No wonder he had tried to push away the memories.

He found the motorcycle that he'd left behind. He put Cassie on her feet, and saw that she still gripped the gun in her right hand. He stared at the weapon. “I could have killed him.” She hadn't needed the man's death on her.

I was going to marry her.

He'd
wanted
to kill the bastard.

“I tried to save him, tried to tell him to leave . . .” She shook her head. “It took me too long to realize that Jon didn't want to be saved.”

Dante pulled the weapon from her hand and put it in one of the motorcycle's saddlebags. He climbed onto the bike and gripped the handlebars. “Will you be able to hold on to me?”

Cassie climbed on behind him. “Yes.”

He wasn't sure he believed her. The lieutenant colonel's words replayed through his mind.
You think she's yours. You're wrong. She's been working you from the beginning.

Her hands curled around Dante's stomach. Held tight.

He revved the motor. Rocks and dirt flew out behind him as the motorcycle sprang away from the patch of trees. He didn't bother with the headlights. He could see just fine as he raced ahead.

Cassie's body was warm and soft behind him. Alive.

Going after her—getting her back—had been his only thought when he'd risen from the flames. He'd always believed Cassie was his . . . his alone. But as the motorcycle pushed forward ever faster, a dark suspicion began to grow in his mind.

I was going to marry her.

Cassie hadn't said the man was lying.

Her lover is sick. Not sick so much as transforming. If she can't help her werewolf, she'll lose him, and Cassie doesn't want to lose Trace.

Cassie had said that she had to get to Mississippi. That there were those in that area who needed her.

Dante's left hand rose and curled around her. He held her as tightly as she held him.

He'd seen much in his years on the earth. Things he hated. Beings he wanted to destroy.

He'd only once ever found something that he craved.

And he'd vowed to himself... once he realized just how important she was . . . that he would never let her go.

If Cassie had been lying to him, if she'd been part of his torture, she would pay.

But she would not get away from him.

 

The fire came to him, consuming, burning, destroying. The white-hot flames burned from the inside out, and as he died, Jon saw hell.

Monsters were there. Beasts made of flame who struck out at him. Hitting and slicing. He tried to fight—

Only to find that the flames surrounded him. Suffocated him.

He tried to open his mouth to scream.

But had no voice.

Only flames.

So many flames.

Rising and rising . . . burning . . . but not destroying. Not anymore.

Creating.

“Lieutenant Colonel!” A woman's voice. Shouting. Shocked.

His eyes opened. At first, everything seemed tinted by red. By the fire.

He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

“What have you done?” the woman whispered. “Y-you were dead . . .”

He was standing, his body naked, a circle of flame around him.

He looked past the flames and saw a woman standing there. A woman with disheveled blond hair. Fear covered the delicate curves of her face. “You're like him,” she said as she stumbled back a step.

Jon could only stare at her.

“The injection
. What
were you putting into your veins?” He lifted his hand.

“Do you . . .” She took another quick step back. “Do you even know who I am?”

His skin was unmarred. No blisters. No burns. He glanced down at his chest.

No bullet hole.

“Yes,” he said, speaking slowly, “I do know who you are.”

Even more, he knew
what
he was. The serum that he'd taken—so many of those painful doses—had actually worked.

He'd become like Dante. Only . . . better.

When Dante rose, his memory was often gone.

“I remember everything,” Jon whispered. The flames were still around him. He waved his hands. More fire appeared.

Beautiful fire. Red and gold and orange.

He heard voices shouting in the distance. The fear in those voices carried in the wind.

“It's your men. They were running—”

Running away, instead of trying to stop Dante?
“Where is . . . Cassandra?”

“He took her.”

While my men had cowered.

He started walking toward the sound of those shouts.

“Lieutenant Colonel?”

The blonde . . . Dr. Shaw. He could still use her. “Stay back,” Jon ordered. Things were about to get hot. If he accidentally killed the doctor, well, that would be unfortunate.

She froze.

He swept by her and let his fire grow.

“What are you doing?” Her horrified question followed him.

He didn't respond. He just let the fire loose. Let it race toward the old base.

As the fire grew, the flush of power filled him. He could feel . . . something . . . inside himself. Something different from the beast he'd carried since his first experiment at Genesis.

This new creature was clawing at him with fire. Struggling to get out.