He didn’t know. Couldn’t remember what had become of the werewolf after the explosion. His focus had been on her. “The cop got out. Maybe Trace did, too.” He’d offer her hope, always.
Eve nodded.
“They’ll be looking for me now.”
They. Not Genesis. That organization was dead. Jeremiah Wyatt had blown it—and himself—to hell. And you don’t get a ticket back, bastard.
But the humans who’d been on that scene, they’d all gotten a clear look at him. Seen the fury and power that lurked inside him.
Subject Thirteen had a face. A face they would fear.
“You don’t have to hide,” Eve told him. “Not from me. Not from them.”
He’d never hide from her. But as for the others . . . “They’ll want me dead.”
“Then it’s a good thing you can’t die.”
Her words caught him off guard. He’d expected a plan, not—not her fast, caustic reply.
Cain laughed. The sound was rusty, old, but the laughter built inside him.
Eve blinked, then her eyes widened. “This is what I wanted,” she whispered.
The laughter faded slowly. This is what happiness feels like. No wonder humans went around smiling all the freaking time.
It felt good.
“You are what I want,” he told her. “When I thought that I’d lost you . . .”
No, he didn’t want to go back there. To the hopeless moments. He’d known only fury. Agony. Can’t lose her.
Won’t.
“Don’t ever get hurt again,” he ordered. He didn’t think he could stand it. And any humans around at the time of her pain . . . well, they might not be able to stand it, either.
“I’ll try not to,” she said softly, with a hint of a smile playing around her lips. “But, ah, can you do me a favor, too? Maybe . . . stop dying on me.”
Cain wasn’t sure how many more deaths he could survive. How much more darkness he could take.
Not true.
The knowledge sank inside him. He could die a hundred more times, he knew that. Die and come back—as long as she waited for him. “Stay with me,”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
There was no other place for him. He only wanted to be at her side. Always. He brought her hand to his lips. Kissed her knuckles.
He rose. Pulled her to her feet. He was aware of the darkness, lurking in the back of his mind, but with Eve’s hand in his, that darkness stayed in the background.
There wasn’t any death on the beach. No fear. No rage. Just Eve.
Just . . . hope.
For more.
Her fingers twined with his as they walked toward the ocean. His feet sank into the sand. Eve’s shoulder brushed against his arm.
There would be no more hiding in the shadows. Not for him. But the more he thought about it, the more Cain realized that he didn’t care. He’d find a way to deal with the humans.
He had something better than anonymity. He had life.
He had Eve.
Cain kissed her and the passion stirred once more between them.
How he did love that sweet burn.
Eve.
Finally, he’d found someone who could look past the fire. Someone who wasn’t afraid of the heat. Someone who’d always been meant to be—
Mine.
Just as he’d been meant to be hers.
Together, through fire, through death.
Through life.
EPILOGUE
Humans feared him. That was nothing new. His story filled the televisions. The newspapers. The Internet chat sites.
A phoenix. Myth. Man.
What the hell ever.
He didn’t care what people said. Their gossip and their fears didn’t matter to him.
She mattered.
Cain watched Eve walk toward him. She was coming from their house. The house he’d bought for her. Right on the beach, nestled high so the waves and the storms wouldn’t hurt it.
Their home.
It had been just a few months, but he felt like he’d always been there with her.
Maybe Eve was his real home.
“I’ve found a specialist who works with wolves . . .”
Ah, he could hear the excitement in her voice.
Cain reached for her hand. “You mean werewolves.”
Eve nodded quickly. “She’s been doing genetic research for years. I think—I think she might be able to help Trace.”
Cain didn’t point out that they hadn’t seen the wolf since the explosion. His body had never been recovered. Not that much would have been left for recovery . . .
But Eve had hope. And if she believed the guy was alive, then he would believe, too.
“We can talk to her and find a cure.” She was so certain.
And sexy. His lips skimmed over hers. “When do we leave?” He knew Eve. Always fighting. Always pushing.
That was fine—as long as she remembered who was by her side.
Her smile lit up her face. “I’ve already booked the plane tickets.”
Of course she had.
“This will work,” she told him, “Trust me.”
He did trust her. He’d let her reveal his full story to the press. He’d worked with the FBI, for her. He’d bled, he’d died—all for her.
Trust? That was the least he’d given to her.
She turned away, pulling his hand so that he had no choice but to follow her. Always.
“Oh, and I’m pregnant . . .” she tossed back at him in a rush.
For a minute there, Cain wondered if his heart had stopped.
Eve glanced back. A flicker of worry had her eyes scanning his face. “I thought . . . um, you’re still good with that plan, right?”
That plan. Marrying her. Having a home. Having a family.
“I know it’s sooner than we’d thought,” she said, the words coming fast, the way they always did when she was nervous, “and I didn’t expect—but I’m glad and I hope you—”
Cain kissed her. Her lips were open, so perfect, and his mouth pressed against her.
This is happiness.
The thought whispered through his mind. The same thought he’d had months before, right on the same beach.
Then another followed it, a vow he’d made to himself.
I will be better.
He’d protect the child, cherish him or her . . . just as much as he cherished Eve.
In the distance, Cain heard the faintest echo of a wolf’s howl. His head lifted.
“Cain?” Eve questioned softly. “Your eyes . . .”
He knew the fire lit them. But the fire wasn’t just about rage. Not anymore. He smiled at her and said, “I’m good with the plan.”
More than good. The plan was pretty fucking perfect to him.
Eve hugged him, squeezing tight.
Over her shoulder, he stared off into the distance. The howl was gone. Pulled away by the crash of the surf. But he’d heard it, and Cain knew what would make the perfect wedding gift for his bride.
He just had to track that wolf. . . maybe he’d call in a blood debt for that job. That vamp Ryder did still owe him.
Cain smiled . . . and began to plan.
Keep reading for excerpts from
the next two books in
Cynthia Eden’s
Phoenix Fire series
Once Bitten, Twice Burned
Available Summer 2014
and
Playing With Fire
Available Fall 2014
There was nowhere for her to run. She was pinned to the thick stone behind her and trapped with him in front of her. She shoved her head back against the stone as she tried to put a feeble distance between them, and unfortunately for her, that move had the effect of exposing more of her throat to him.
“You can’t be real,” she whispered. “Your teeth . . . your eyes . . . none of this is real. They drugged me. I’m hallucinating.”
If only. Poor lady. She’d h
ad no clue about the monsters that walked in this world, not until Wyatt had tossed her into hell. “Just . . . hold still. It’ll be . . . over soon.”
Just a few sips.
“No!” She screamed then rammed against him, a blow that was surprisingly powerful. Powerful enough to send him stumbling back five feet.
His ass hit the floor because he’d never expected that kind of attack from her. Humans weren’t strong enough to toss vamps around like that.
The intercom crackled. “Ah now, Sabine, that wasn’t part of the deal. I told you that if you provided nourishment for my guest, then we’d discuss your freedom.”
Her chest heaved. A nice chest, he noticed, even through the rage and hunger. Full breasts.
“I’m not nourishment!” she yelled as she glared into the two-way mirror. “You can’t do this to me! I have rights!”
“Your rights don’t exactly apply here.” Wyatt didn’t sound concerned. Why would he? The guy had the might of the U.S. military backing his little “experiments.”
The worst fucking mistake the paranormals had ever made was coming out of the closet. But some idiots just couldn’t keep quiet. They’d shown themselves to humans. Gotten tired of living by the old ways—or hell, maybe even technology had been to blame. Too much advancement. Cameras everywhere. Eyes always watching.
It was hard to hide the beast inside when big brother was always spying on you.
So they’d come out, and freaks like Wyatt thought they could harness their paranormal power. Use science to make magic into their weapon of choice.
“If you aren’t cooperating, Ms. Acadia, we can always take you back to your cell.” Wyatt’s voice lowered. “Guard, retrieve—”
“I don’t want my cell! I want to go home! I want—”
Ryder pounced. In an instant, he had her in his arms. He twisted her hands and secured them behind her body. She was struggling, definitely using more than just human strength, but he was prepared for her. She wasn’t getting away.
“I won’t hurt you,” he told her, hoping the words weren’t a lie. Sometimes, the bite could bring a woman pleasure. A better release than sex.
Sometimes, the bite could bring pain. Worse than torture.
He didn’t want her to hurt.
His mouth was desert dry. His fangs fully extended and aching. He could already taste her.
I just want her.
His tongue swept over her neck. Sampled, then he sank his teeth into her throat.
The woman—Sabine—gasped against him. Her body arched into his as the first tender drops of her blood spilled onto his tongue.
“Make sure the recording is operational.” Wyatt’s voice seemed to come from so far away. “I want to get every bit of this.”
But Wyatt and what he wanted didn’t matter. Sabine’s blood was on Ryder’s tongue, and her blood . . .
Her blood.
It was like nothing he’d ever tasted in all of his four hundred years of existence. Not just warm—the blood was hot. Spicy. Rich with flavor. He wanted to lap it up, to savor it.
To gorge on it.
His hands hardened on her. He’d meant to take just a few drops.
He wanted to lift his head away. Wanted to so badly but. . .
Her blood was too good.
He drank more, greedy. Desperate. Her blood flowed through him, heating his body from the inside out and sending tendrils of power pulsing through him. Some humans tasted of wine. Some of the euphoria that came from drugs.
No one had ever tasted like her. Life. Sex. Pleasure. Everything he wanted was right there in her blood.
He drank deeper.
“S-stop.” Her voice was weaker than before.
He didn’t want to stop. He’d looked for this—he’d always wanted this taste. Craved it, when he hadn’t even known what he was missing. His body seemed to be growing stronger, the muscles expanding with every drop of her blood that he took.
She sagged against him, and Ryder scooped her into his arms, holding her even when her head fell to the side and her breath rattled in her chest.
More.
More.
At first, he thought the urging was just inside him, but then he realized that bastard Wyatt was the one urging him on.
And the woman . . . Sabine wasn’t fighting him any longer. She barely seemed to be breathing.
He jerked his head away. Stared down at her in disbelief. He hadn’t taken that much, had he?
But he couldn’t remember how long he’d been drinking. He only knew—
I still want more.
He lifted her higher against his chest. Held her cradled in his arms. There was no more weakness for him. Only strength. But she . . .
Her lashes were closed.
A fear unlike any he’d known before had his whole body tensing. He’d just found her. Ryder knew he couldn’t lose her so soon. Not. Now.
And sure as fuck not by his own hand. Or teeth.
He brought his wrist to his mouth. Slashed open the flesh. He knew what she needed. “Drink for me.” She’d be all right once she drank his blood.
“No!” Wyatt’s voice thundered out. “Stop! Put Sabine down and back away.”
“Fuck off.” Ryder lowered them both to the floor so he could better tend her. But he kept her close as he put his wrist to her mouth. “Drink.” She’d just need a little of his blood, and she’d heal.
If she’d just drink . . .
An alarm began to sound. Voices shouted over the intercom. Then footsteps rushed outside his door. The guards were finally coming in to face him.
It was the perfect time to kill them. But if he moved away from Sabine, she’d die. She needed more of his blood. She needed him to survive.
His eyes narrowed on her face. What are you?
She’d been afraid. She’d fought him. She’d stared at a monster and had asked to go home.
Now she was almost at death’s broken door.
“Get away from her!” Wyatt was shrieking.
She wasn’t drinking. Ryder pried open her mouth. Forced drops of blood onto her tongue and then massaged her neck, trying to make her swallow. Live.
The guards grabbed him, trying to yank him away from her. Hell, no. He threw them back. Heard thuds when they hit the walls.
“You have to swallow the blood,” he told her, voice dark and rumbling with command. “Come on . . .” I didn’t mean . . . to do this. She’d been so afraid. He’d told her that he’d hold on to his control.
But the beast that he was hadn’t been able to hold on. The beast . . . Ryder . . . destroyed. That was his life. All he knew. And he’d destroyed her, too.
His vision seemed to blacken. She was the only thing he could see in that growing darkness. Beautiful, so still.
His head sagged over her. “Please.” He was the one to beg. He’d tasted heaven, and he’d tossed her to hell, all in one instant of time.
“Get away from her!” Wyatt’s voice wasn’t on the loudspeaker any longer. It was right there. In the room with him.
Kill him.
Ryder’s head flew up. He bared his fangs.
And . . . and felt her mouth move lightly against his wrist. She was trying to drink, to take his blood.
Sabine was fighting to live. Yes.
His gaze snapped back to her. “That’s it! Come on, just drink some—”
Gunshots blasted. Bullets drove into his chest. One. Two. Three. The force of the hits had him falling back even as his blood sprayed the wall behind him.
“I told you,” Wyatt raged as he lifted his weapon. Wyatt had fired? “Back away from the female subject!”
Ryder ignored the pain and reached for her again.
“Stop him,” Wyatt ordered.
Ryder realized the guards were back on their feet.
“Shoot him until he stops moving. The bullets won’t kill him, but they can put him down for a time.”
Bullets exploded, popping like firecrackers over and over again as they sank
into Ryder’s body. His chest. His arms.
He hit the floor. Blood seeped from his wounds. Pooled around him on the stone floor.
“Enough!” Wyatt lifted his hand. His eyes went from Ryder to Sabine.
She wasn’t moving. Her head had turned and her eyes—wide open, still alive—were on Ryder. He could see the life in her gaze. She was trying to come back to him. Trying. She just needed more of his blood. Her hand lifted.
Was she reaching for him? Ryder gathered every single ounce of strength that he had. “My . . . blood . . .” Only a little more, and she’d be fine. He could save her. Her death—unlike all the others—wouldn’t be on him. He started crawling to her through the blood.
“She’s gonna live,” one of the guards muttered. “I thought he was supposed to kill her.”
He could be more than a killer. She could be more than a victim. Blood soaked his clothes. The power he’d gotten from her rich blood was gone, stolen away by a hail of bullets.
“He did kill her,” Wyatt’s voice was flat. “We just have to wait for her to die.”
No! “Can . . . help . . .” Ryder was almost to her side.
“Chain him,” Wyatt ordered. “He’s too weak to fight you. Chain the vampire and let him watch.”
Their arms grabbed him. Jerked him away from her. But he wasn’t as weak as they thought, not even with the bullets lodged in his organs. Ryder fought then, clawing and snapping with his fangs. Half a dozen guards had to jump on him and yank him back to the far wall. Then they locked thick chains around his wrists, trapping him. The guards hurried back as soon as those locks snapped in place. They were bloody—from the wounds he’d given them.
When they moved away, he saw her again. Her chest was struggling to rise. Her eyes were still open.
“Don’t . . . do this,” he growled as he strained to break free.
Wyatt walked around her, staring down at Sabine as she sprawled on the floor. “Why do you even care? Shouldn’t she just be food to you?”
Ryder didn’t speak. He wouldn’t tell the bastard anything about himself.
“I think one of the bullets must have ripped into your heart.” Wyatt didn’t sound particularly concerned. “You’re bleeding far too much. Hmmm . . . I should have considered . . . will that wound to the heart kill you?”