Burn For Me (Phoenix Fire #1)(2)
Author: Cynthia Eden

Eve put the stethoscope over his heart. She adjusted the equipment, listened, and glanced up at him in surprise. “Is your heartbeat always this fast?” Grabbing his chart, she scanned through the notes. Fast, but not this fast. His heart was galloping like a racehorse.

Eve put her hand against his forehead and hissed out a breath. The guy was hot. Not warm, not feverish, hot.

And she was so close to him that her br**sts brushed his arm.

Subject Thirteen’s heartbeat grew even faster.

Oh . . . just . . . oh. Hell. She hurried backward a bit.

“I need to draw a sample of your blood.” She also wanted to take his temperature because the guy had to be scorching. Just what was he? Not a vampire, those guys could never heat up this much. A shifter? Maybe. She’d seen one of those subjects on her first day. But the shifter had been in a cozy dorm-type room.

He hadn’t been shackled.

Eve put up the stethoscope and reached for a needle. She eased closer to Thirteen once more and rose onto her toes. The guy was big, at least six three, maybe six four, so she couldn’t quite reach his ear as she whispered, “Are you here willingly?”

Eve began to draw his blood. Thirteen didn’t even flinch as the needle slid into his arm.

But he did give a small, negative shake of his head.

Shit. She eased back down and tried to figure out just how she could help him.

“I’m Eve.” She licked her lips. His gaze followed the movement. The darkness in his stare seemed to heat. Everything about the guy was hot. “I-I can help you.”

He laughed then, and the sound chilled her. “No,” he said in that deep rumble of a voice, “you can’t.”

Eve realized she was standing between his legs. His unsecured legs. His thighs brushed against hers, and she flinched.

The smile on his face was as cold as his laughter. She’d been correct when she thought she saw a cruel edge to his lips. She could see that hardness right then. “You should be afraid,” he told her.

Yes, she was definitely getting that clue.

Eve pulled out the needle. Swabbed some alcohol over a wound she couldn’t even see. Then she stepped back, as quickly as she could.

“Don’t come back in here,” he told her, eyes narrowing. A warning.

Or a threat?

Eve turned away.

“You smell like f**king candy . . .”

She stilled. Now her heartbeat was the one racing too fast.

“You make me . . .” His voice dropped, but she caught the ragged growl of “hungry.”

And he made her afraid. Eve slammed her hand onto the metal door. “Guard!” Her own voice was too high. “We’re done!”

The door opened and she all but fell out of the room. Even though she was afraid, she risked one last look back. Thirteen was staring after her, his jaw locked tight. He did look hungry. Only not for food.

For me.

The door slid shut and she remembered how to breathe. She sucked in a deep breath as she looked up—right into Dr. Wyatt’s too sharp green gaze.

“Problem?” He asked softly, the barest hint of a southern drawl sliding beneath his words. Since the Genesis facility was hidden away in the Blue Ridge Mountains, many of the folks working there had a slight drawl that spoke of roots in the South.

The guards, anyway. Thirteen hadn’t possessed any accent that she could hear.

Yanking back her control, Eve shook her head and pushed Thirteen’s chart toward him. “No problem at all, sir.”

Liar, Liar.

She could still feel Subject Thirteen’s stare on her body. Worse, she could feel him.

“Good,” Wyatt said, “because it’s time to begin.”

Uh, begin? She’d rather thought her job was done.

He motioned to the guard. She’d already learned that guy’s name. Mitchell. Barnes Mitchell. As Eve watched, he pulled out his gun and checked the clip.

“The first shot shouldn’t be to the heart,” Wyatt instructed as he cocked his head to the side and pursed his lips. “We want a comparison shot. Wound him first,” he said with a nod, “then go for the heart.”

What?

But Barnes just nodded and headed back into Thirteen’s room with his gun ready.

Eve lost the breath she’d taken as horror nearly choked her.

Cain O’Connor drew in a deep breath. The air smelled of her. A light, sweet scent. He could almost taste the woman—and he wanted more of her. So much more.

What were the bastards thinking? Sending in a little morsel like her. Didn’t they know what he could do to her? What he wanted to do? After all these months . . .

Maybe they’d wanted to tempt him. He pulled on the chains, testing their strength. They weren’t made of any metal he’d ever come across. Reinforced with who the hell knew what. The Genesis pricks thought they were so smart with their inventions. “Supernatural-proof” as that ass Wyatt had gloatingly told him when he’d asked about the chains.

The chains wouldn’t hold him forever. This prison would end. Their nightmare would begin.

Soon.

The door of his cell opened. He caught a glimpse of her—Eve—as she glanced back at him. Her blue eyes were wide, afraid. She should be afraid. She should run as fast as she could from this place. Before it was too late for her.

It was already too late for the others. He’d marked them for death. Especially that bastard Wyatt. The doctor got off on torture.

How will you like it when you’re the one screaming, Wyatt? Will it be so much fun then?

The guard stepped inside. He smelled of sweat and cigarettes. The door closed behind him. No more Eve.

But Cain could hear her footsteps. Hers and Wyatt’s. His senses were far more acute than he’d let on. Why give the enemy any advantage?

Why give them any f**king thing at all?

The guard, a stocky bastard with shifty eyes and a definite taste for torture, had his weapon out. Cain’s jaw locked. He knew what the gun meant. This time, they were going to try old-fashioned bullets.

Would they take a heart shot? Or a head? Maybe the guard would shoot him right between the eyes and blow his brains out.

“What are you doing?” Eve’s voice. Drifting lightly to his ears like a whisper. They thought they’d soundproofed his room.

They were wrong. He couldn’t hear the voices perfectly, but he caught the whispers. Knew so much more than the not-so-good doctor realized.

Cain glanced toward the mirror. He saw right through the reflection and into the room. All it took was a little focus, a slight push of power . . .