The guard stared at Cain. Yeah, that was fear blazing in the man’s eyes. Cain knew that look well.
“His office …” the guy muttered. “Basement, sub-level one …”
Definitely useful info. Cain slammed the guy’s head back into the wall.
Now someone was unconscious.
Cain had caught sight of an elevator on his first trip into the fun house. He shoved the guard’s body into the corner then turned right, heading for that elevator.
He’d taken two steps when he realized Eve wasn’t coming with him. He froze. They only had so much time… .
Cain glanced back at her.
“I have to see him for myself.” Eve’s chin lifted. “I’m not leaving until I make sure that Trace is dead.”
Morbid. And a pain that she didn’t have to experience. “They’ve probably already burned his body.”
She flinched. But Eve turned away, heading back down the hallway that would take her to the furnace room.
Guessing Wyatt burned plenty of bodies in there.
Cain looked back at the elevator. This was his chance. He’d slipped in, and now he could get to Wyatt. The bastard still thought he was buried under all those rocks.
The perfect opportunity … Cain stalked toward the elevator.
This was what he’d wanted. What he’d fought for. Vengeance. Wyatt deserved every minute of torment that he was about to get.
Cain’s fingers lifted toward the elevator button. He heard Eve’s footsteps slip away.
Eve kept her back pressed to the wall as she eased down the steps and headed toward the furnace room. Just the name of that place had her stomach tightening. Trace didn’t deserve this end.
My fault. He’d been trying to help her, and he’d wound up here. How the hell was that fair?
She wasn’t going to leave him there, even if all she could do was drag his body away from this hellhole. Trace had been her friend. She wouldn’t just leave him without a backward glance.
Two guards headed toward her. Even though she had a weapon, Eve didn’t leap forward and fight them. Stealth and surprise were her tools, and if she could avoid some bloodshed, then yes, please, that was what she’d like to do. She hunched into the shadows and didn’t make so much as a sound.
The guards marched by her. Didn’t even glance her way.
Once they were gone, she started breathing again.
And after a few moments, she started walking. Now that she was on the right floor, it wasn’t hard to find the furnace room. There was just one big, heavy metal door at the end of the hallway. All the other doors were made of normal wood. She was guessing the metal entrance led to the flames.
To Trace.
There was a lever in front of the metal door, no doorknob. So she spun the lever. Once. Twice. The third time, she heard the grind of gears and the door slid open with a clang. She stepped inside.
“What the hell are you doing here?” a sharp voice demanded.
Crap. Eve whipped out her gun and pointed it at the guy in the white lab coat.
He gulped and his eyes doubled behind the lenses of his glasses. “Guard, what’s happening?”
Right. She was supposed to be a guard. “Th-there’s a change in plans. I’m here for the werewolf.”
His gaze darted to the table on his left. To the body that was covered by a white sheet. “I’m disposing of him now.”
“The hell you are.”
He blinked, then his gaze swept over her. “You’re not one of the normal guards. This isn’t your floor.”
Seriously, the dude was slow on the uptake. Didn’t he realize she had a gun pointed on him? Was that normal guard behavior?
In this place, maybe it is.
Eve smiled at him. “No one has to get hurt here. I’m just going to take that wolf off your hands.”
But the man put his too-thin body between her and that table. “He has to be destroyed. He’s infected.”
Infected?
“I told Wyatt the experiment was dangerous, but the fool wouldn’t listen. They never listen to me here.” Sweat beaded his high forehead. “I have to burn the body before the wolf wakes up.”
Before the wolf wakes up … Her heart slammed into her chest. “He’s still alive?” Hope had her feeling light-headed. Yes! Trace was—
The man lunged for her. His fingers wrapped around the barrel of the gun and he tried to yank the weapon right out of her hand.
He was lucky she didn’t shoot his idiotic self right in the heart. Instead, Eve jerked the weapon back even as she kicked the guy in the groin. He groaned and staggered away a few steps, almost ramming into Trace’s body.
“Are you crazy?” she snapped at him. “You don’t charge at someone holding a gun.” That was a pretty clear rule.
Well, you didn’t charge when you were just a human, anyway. And this guy seemed to shout, “Human!” from every pore.
But he wasn’t looking at her. He’d grabbed the table—no, not a table, a gurney—that held Trace’s body, and he was shoving that body right toward the open furnace. A big, giant furnace with a gaping mouth and flames burning inside. The thing looked like what she’d seen inside a crematorium once.
Not the nicest memory.
“Stop!” Eve screamed, lifting her gun. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
He ignored her. He was too busy panting and shoving that gurney. Trying to dump Trace’s body in the fire. “Have to … destroy … before … monster wakes …”
No. Eve lunged for him and swung the butt of the gun at the man’s head. There was a loud thud as the weapon made contact.
The guy fell to the ground, his body sprawling in a limp heap.
Eve stepped around him and yanked the gurney away from those dancing flames. She grabbed the sheet and tossed it aside. “Trace?” Bullet holes covered his chest. So much silver. She could smell it all around him. Silver and blood.
Holding her breath, Eve put her fingers to his throat. Was there a pulse there? Or was it just her imagination? Her gaze flew around the room. There—a tray of instruments. She rushed to them, dropping her gun on the nearest countertop. She’d get the gleaming tweezers and pull out the silver bullets, or what was left of them. Werewolves always healed better once the silver left their bodies.
She curled her fingers over the tweezers, sent the other instruments scattering, then heard a screech of sound behind her.
Eve spun around. The gurney had flown across the room and crashed into the wall and Trace—Trace was on his feet. Still bloody, but standing on trembling legs.
“Trace!”
His head snapped up at her call, and his eyes locked right on her.
She’d never seen such fury in his stare before. So much blind rage and hate. It all seemed to be directed right at her. “Trace, I’m sorry,” Eve whispered.
There was no recognition in his eyes. Just more fury. He charged for her, and claws burst from his fingertips.
Eve leaped back from his attack. Her fingers flew over the instruments. She grabbed a scalpel. The gun was too far away. “Trace?” Her fingers curled tightly around the weapon, but Eve didn’t think she could use it. He had been hurt so much already because of her, she didn’t want to do anything else to him.
His hand closed around her throat. He lifted her into the air, and her feet kicked uselessly.
Then he smiled at her, a cold, cruel smile that flashed his fangs, and fear iced her heart.
Wyatt hunched over his desk. It was only a matter of time, just a few more moments.
And his prey would be coming to him.
He couldn’t look eager. Couldn’t even look aware. But he was ready. So were the guards who waited in the next room. As soon as the sensor alarm was triggered in his office, those guards would leap out and attack.