Blood Mate: The Project Rebellion, Book 2 Read online

  Darce turned his attention to the floor. Marks on the painted concrete showed where his cage had been moved into place. He shunted from side to side, angling his line of sight. Yeah, there were more marks to the left and right. Which meant more cages.

  A slight noise to his right drew his attention like that of a hawk spotting a mouse in the undergrowth miles below.

  “Hello? Who’s there?”

  His voice sliced through the darkness, the tone sharper than he’d have liked. He winced. What if the guards were listening? Oh, fuck ’em. He needed to know what was going on. In all his time on the base, they’d never used the hangars. In fact, the hangars were supposed to be empty. Yet all evidence pointed to the contrary. Which meant whatever was going on was being concealed from the rest of the base.

  But why?

  There was no answer to his question, but he knew there were others out there, listening. The air was alive with awareness. As though they were waiting for what he’d do next. He tried again.

  “Hello? Who are you? Where are we? Talk to me, dammit!”

  “Shut the fuck up!” A deep snarl answered him, the voice one he didn’t know. Deeper and very Lycan, but not Lycan at the same time. Something else. Darce’s brow furrowed. What though?

  “No, talk to me.”

  “Drop your voice or you’ll bring them back.” This time the growl was deeper, the sound just below human hearing.

  Darce shrugged, but did as he was told. “I can handle whatever Beevis and Butthead can hand out.”

  The answer was a frustrated intake of breath, then a snarl. “You might, hot shot. But some in here aren’t in any fit state to. So pipe down.”

  Darce shut his mouth with a click. The thought that others might be punished for his actions stole the words better than a strip of duct tape. Who was he kidding? He should have expected that. This was the Project after all.

  He slumped to the side of the cage, and let his bodyweight take him down until his ass hit the deck. He propped his elbows on his knees. Head down, he closed his eyes. The cuts and bruises from the beating stung like a bitch but they were superficial. Already healing.

  “Hey. Loverboy.”

  Darce’s head snapped up as the same voice as before spoke.

  “What?”

  “Your twelve o’clock. High.”

  Darce’s gaze zeroing in on a section of the roof. He was about to open his mouth, ask what the fucking hell his “cell” mate was on when movement caught his eye. There, almost hidden by one of the support struts. His heart stuttered, almost stopped and then swelled when it started up again.

  His mate was here. Her lithe form graceful as she climbed along the support strut until she was directly over him. He leaned back and watched her, fascinated by the way she moved and the elegant lethality in every line of her body. She was amazing. Just amazing.

  And—fuck it—he didn’t even know her name.

  He’d asked but she hadn’t responded, nor had she been wearing name-flashes on her uniform like the human soldiers. Another attempt by the powers-that-be to strip the subjects of any pretence of their former humanity.

  She looked down and their gazes caught. A thrill shot through him, a shiver on his skin at her intent look. All of a sudden his injuries didn’t seem so severe. The myriad cuts inflicted by Adkins’s fists forgotten, Darce stood straighter, altered his posture to show off his body to best advantage.

  As he did, self-doubt—something he’d never suffered from in the past—assaulted him. He wasn’t heavily-muscled like Jack, Leon or even Blake. What if she preferred bigger men? No, she was well into him. He flexed his arms. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.

  Sure, she’d delivered him to the Project but they’d kissed in the truck. She’d been putty in his hands. If they hadn’t arrived at the base, he’d have had them both naked and taken them to Heaven and back.

  And she was here, skulking in the shadows. If she had clearance to be in here, she’d have come in through the door rather than hiding. Relief rolled through him. She wasn’t a part of whatever the fuck was going on in here. He hadn’t wanted to think she was capable of the atrocities his sense of smell had picked up, but to have that confirmed eased something deep inside him.

  “Hey, sweet thing. Couldn’t resist me, huh?” He smiled up at her, keeping his voice below human hearing, and sucked in his gut to tense his abs. Yeah, he was showing off and he knew it. So sue him. What guy didn’t want to look good for his girl?

  She rolled her eyes in response but he caught the gleam of feminine interest and grinned. She liked him. Oh yeah, baby, she liked him all right. Couldn’t take her eyes off him, her expression tight as she took in the cuts and bruises. He ignored them and threw his shoulders back, puffing out his chest, his posture strong and tall. It would take more than Adkins to beat him down.

  Her gaze moved on, looking over the rest of the hangar. From that position, she would be able to see everything. A frown marred her features, indicating she didn’t like what she saw. He surged to the front of the cage, interest sharpening his voice.

  “What is it? What do you see?”

  She shook her head, opening her mouth to reply. A door clanged somewhere on the other side of the hangar and she looked up. She retreated into the darkness and became so still Darce had to squint to reassure himself that she was still there.

  A growl cut through the darkness, the deep sound a warning and all around him. Darce felt the absence of movement. As though the entire hangar was waiting on something. Lycan spoke again, his strange voice rubbing all Darce’s senses the wrong way.

  “I suggest you play dead, Loverboy. They’re bringing them back and believe me, you don’t want to attract attention.”

  What the hell did she think she was doing? Twenty-four hours since she’d located Darce in the cage, the same question rolled around and around in Toni’s mind as she lifted the loose flap at the bottom of the hangar window again. With a sigh, she started wriggling through. She shouldn’t be here but she didn’t have a choice. All day, she’d only been able to think about Foster. The wounds over his body. The look on his face when he’d seen her and tried to show off. The hint of a smile curved her lips for a second. Wasn’t that just like a man? It looked like he’d been half beaten to death and what did he do? Puff his chest out and try to look invincible. Idiot. Then she’d had to disappear fast before they caught her, and all she’d been able to think about in the twenty-four hours since was getting back to him.

  Grunting with exertion, she grabbed an overhead strut, taking all her weight on her arms and shoulders to bring the loose panel back into place with her feet. It rattled a little, then settled against the metal cladding. Staying in place, she looked around to make sure no one had heard it. At the first sound of running feet, she was so out of there. She wasn’t stupid—getting caught in a hangar that was supposed to be abandoned would be a bad move. The base was already top-secret, so if there was a secret part of a secret base…yeah, the shit would hit the fan in a bad way if they found her here.

  The danger didn’t put her off. All that mattered was getting into the hangar and finding her wolf. Worry threaded through her. Last night he’d been in a bit of a state, obviously healing but she hadn’t been able to get closer to check before being chased off by a couple of guards entering the hangar.

  She swung her legs down, waited until she was stretched almost to her full height, then twisted in midair and hauled herself up onto the support strut. Grim pleasure filled her at the strength in her muscles. She’d never have been able to do this when she was human. These days, she thrashed the monkey bars. And chin-ups? She made grown men cry when she out-chinned them without breaking a sweat. Pussies.

  She crawled out along the strut, high up over the suspended lights, using the darkness above to hide her movements. Below her, row after row of cages stretched out. Some were occupied, shapes huddled under blankets. The aura of pain, and the scent of blood rose up to her like heat from Hades. Squinting
, she searched among them for Foster. He was a big bastard. Lean but tall, so he should stick out like a sore thumb.

  Worry threaded through her when she couldn’t find him. The cage he’d been in yesterday was gone, the space empty. Her boring routine of training and reports had passed by in a daze as the image of his face haunted her thoughts. The way he flicked his hair back—the darkness of his eyes ringed by amber when he looked at her, man and wolf watching her. The broad width of his shoulders and muscled chest…satin skin pressing against her, lips hot on hers as they’d kissed…

  A shiver rolled through her, heat blossoming in her cold body at the memory. She’d been tormented by images of the man and memories of that kiss in the truck. There was something wrong with her. Had to be. She didn’t lust after men like this, not even before. Certainly not now. So why Foster? What was so special about him?

  And where the fuck was he?

  She swung onto a different strut to search another row of cages, and then another. Then she reached the final row and her breath stuttered to a stop in her chest. Foster was in the last cage, slumped like a broken rag doll in the corner. His head was down, hair covering his face, and blood over his chest, pooled on the floor under him. Anger and panic rolled through her. What the fuck had they done to him?

  She dropped down to the spars holding the lighting grid, and caught her breath as the metal creaked under her weight. Please hold, she thought to herself, not wanting to crash to the floor below. A drop to concrete wouldn’t hurt her, but it would blow her cover six ways to Sunday.

  “Hey…” She hissed, trying to get the wolf’s attention. “Hey, Foster. You dead?”

  He grunted, one shoulder shrugging, the arm flailed about on the floor next to him. Shit, how badly had they beaten him? She was going to fucking kill them. Drawing a deep breath, Toni fought the anger back and concentrated on the man in the cage below her.

  “Talk to me, Foster. Damn stupid mutt. Let me know you’re okay.”

  He grunted again, head moving from side to side. He could hear her. Encouraged, she inched along the support spar to try and see more, careful not to drop below the lights just in case. As though he could follow her movements, his head turned. Then he slid to the left, slumping full length on his side. With a groan, he rolled over, his hair falling back.

  She winced at the bruises over his handsome face. One eye was black, almost swelled shut, and there a vicious cut curled over the other cheek, splitting his lip. Clenching her fists, she fought the need to drop down onto the top of the cage, rip it open and look after him. To soothe his wounds. Reassure herself that he was okay, that they hadn’t done any permanent damage.

  “Foster! Wake the fuck up!”

  The words had just left her lips when the sound of the door opening rang through the hangar. Toni swore, skinning back up the lighting drop-poles like a monkey up a tree. What the hell was it about these guys? Did they have ESP or something?

  “Yeah…he’s down here. Last cage on row nine. Boss wants him down in the ring pronto,” a voice announced as a trio rounded the corner and walked along the row below her, heading for Foster’s cage. “He’s a bit messed up, not that it matters. He won’t last that long against Steele.”

  Ring? Steel? What the fuck was going on? She edged along the steel, trying to get a better vantage point. The two goons with the white-jacketed doctor opened the cage and picked Foster up to half-carry, half-drag him out. He groaned, flailing his arms around but not in a concerted effort to get free.

  Her concern mounted. Shit, they must really have fucked him up for a Lycan not to fight back. The trolley rattled on its wheels as they dumped him on the top. He tried to lurch to the side, showing at least some awareness of the situation, but they dealt with him easily. Within seconds he was strapped down tight.

  “Right, let's get this show on the road,” the doctor said brightly. Too brightly. His tone rang with false positivity with an undertone of “thank fuck shift is almost over” and the scent that wafted up at her reeked of coffee and too long in the same clothes. Dude needed a shower.

  The trolley started its procession along the row of cages, and above, she kept pace, shimmying down the support strut. Where the hell were they taking him? Oh shit, what if they took him off base? Her talons lengthened and a low growl tried to rumble from her throat. They couldn’t take him off base. She wouldn’t allow it. She’d kill them all first and hide him—

  In her panic and concentration on the scene below, she forgot to watch where she was putting her hands and feet. Her fingers closed around what she expected to be smooth steel, only to find the brittle sharp, cookie-like crumble of rusted metal.

  Fuck! She grabbed again as she started to fall, driving her hand through the rust to get a firm grip. The broken metal flaked away, dropping like a faint snowfall of brown. The edge lacerated her palm, pain slicing through her hand, but she held on. It was that or find out that unlike Dumbo, she couldn’t fly for shit.

  Blood welled, the scent thick in the air and she watched three black drops fall. Thicker and heavier than dust, they didn’t hang like a cloud below the lamps. Harmless. Unnoticed. Toni bit her lip, holding her breath. The drops raced toward the small group below. If they hit the Lycan, she didn’t know what would happen.

  They couldn’t cross-infect each other—not as far as she knew—but if the blood hit the Lycan or the trolley, even the most intellectually-challenged guard was going to wonder where it had come from. Time crawled by, the black drops falling in slow motion. Each step the trio took seemed to stretch out longer and longer, seconds becoming minutes until…

  The three men passed underneath, the drops splashing down the last guard’s uniform and soaking into the black-on-black fabric.

  Toni sagged against her perch in relief when the trio and their captive stepped into the lift. Of all the stupid things to do…she should have been more careful. She couldn’t get caught in here. Not without knowing what the fuck was going on.

  The elevator door closed with a ping and the light above it started to move. Going down. A frown on her brow, Toni surveyed the hangar. No cameras on this side and no other guards. If any of the occupants in the cages had seen her, they didn’t give a shit, be that because of drugs or other reasons. Unfurling herself from the strut, she dropped past the lights to land in a crouch in front of the lift, her injured hand cradled to her chest. Already she could feel the flesh deep inside the wound knitting together, so it would stop bleeding soon. Not freaking fast enough. Being stealthy did not include leaving bloody fingerprints everywhere.

  She rose to her feet and considered the doors in front of her. The elevator door and the one next to it. Stairs. She shouldn’t go in there, but curiosity rode her harder than an admin officer with an axe to grind over paperwork. She had to know what the fuck was going on here.

  Without hesitation, she pushed open the door and descended into hell.

  Chapter Nine

  “Right. There they go. Two vehicles from the main gate. One taking the north road and one the south. Usual patrol route by the looks of it.” Jack lowered the binoculars and turned to the small group behind him.

  Only five of the pack, six with their newest member, Lilly, were present. Sanders, crouched next to Nic, flicked a glance around. Most eyes were on Jack, each face grim and determined. He crouched down and used a small stick to point at areas on the mud and stone map he’d built of the surrounding area.

  “We’ll take the one on the south patrol. They always head out over this section first, to the furthest point here.” Another jab of the stick into the dirt. “They’ll head on up along here.” Sanders watched the end of the stick trail along a finger-drawn line in the dirt that indicated a road. “This is our point here. Just after the turn.”

  Jack looked up. “Nic, you’ll be the bait. Usual drill. Richards, you and Sanders take the far side of the road. Palmer, you’re with me on the near side.”

  “And what about me? Where am I?” Lilly butted in, ea
gerness shining in her eyes as she leaned against her mate.

  Jack turned his head to smile at her. “Back here, baby. This is a full on ambush. If we’re unlucky, they’ll manage to get off a shot or two. Live rounds. I won’t risk you getting hurt.”

  Oh boy, this is going to be interesting.

  The rest of the pack found something else to pay attention to. Nic studied her fingernails while Sanders snapped a small twig into even smaller pieces. He had no clue what Palmer and Richards decided on and didn’t want to risk looking up in case he got dragged into the argument.

  “You have got to be kidding me?” Lilly’s voice was calm. Dangerously calm. “You won’t risk me being hurt? After the night of the living dead back at the hospital? I can take care of myself.”

  Palmer sniggered. “Yeah, boss. Just give Killer an axe—she’ll deal with this ambush no problem.”

  Sanders had to work hard to wipe the smile off his own lips, a task made easier when Jack glared around the group. Although Lilly had handled herself well in her first encounter with a Reanimate, Jack wouldn’t risk his precious mate. Not now he’d found her.

  “In fact, I think we shou—”

  “Stow it, Palmer.” The warning rumble didn’t come from Jack, but from the big man hunkered down next to Palmer. Ignoring the twinge in the middle of his chest, Sanders forced himself to look at the guy.

  Tall, broad and with the ripped build of a Greek god, Sergeant Leon Richards was Sanders’s idea of perfection. Blond hair fell in a cascade, but rather than looking messy, the locks seemed to have arranged themselves in artful disarray to highlight the width of his shoulders. He looked so good that the pack had taken to calling him Hollywood. Even in a pair of ripped board-shorts and with a fading bruise across his ribcage, he looked like he’d stepped from the centerfold of a magazine. Sanders knew what kind of centerfold he’d like to see Richards star in.