Cynthia Eden - Once Bitten, Twice Burned

“Let me help you.” His whisper against her lips. “Trust me. I won’t hurt you . . .” Ryder’s words were rough, ragged.

Did she imagine it or had he said . . .

I won’t hurt you . . . again.

But he wasn’t even close to hurting her now. His lips were light on hers. So soft and gentle and she wanted to kiss him back. To taste him. To forget the fire and just feel him.

“I know what you are.” His lips feathered near the edge of her mouth. “I know.”

Slowly, his head lifted. The water had soaked his hair dark. Droplets clung to his thick lashes. Slid down his cheeks. High cheeks. Such a handsome, sexy face. A face made to tempt a woman to sin.

Her gaze followed those drops of water. Fell down to his lips. Sculpted, sensual. But then—then—“You have fangs.”

Did his lips curl in a faint smile? The smile was so brief it was hard to tell for sure. Then he said, “And you’re burning the room around us.”

She blinked up at him.

“Pull it back, love,” he told her. “Pull it back.”

She didn’t know how.

He kissed her again. “Focus on me.”

She wanted to, but it was hard with the giant wall of flames just inches away. “You should move away.”

Ryder shook his head. “I won’t leave you. I won’t watch. ”

She didn’t even know what that meant.

“Breathe,” he told her. “Slow. Deep.” His hand moved to rest over her heart. “Too fast,” Ryder told her. “ Breathe. You’re safe with me.”

She wanted to believe him. The scream in her mind—it had quieted so much, but her nails still dug into the wall. She focused on getting her breaths to match his. In. Out. In . The fire appeared to be shrinking. The flames were flickering.

“Good.” His voice seemed to rumble inside her. His touch—his hand—it was cool against her overheated flesh. The edge of his thumb slid over her breast, and she gasped at the contact.

The flames flickered again.

She wanted to grab his hand and yank it away from her flesh, but she was afraid to touch him. If he burned like the wall did, he would be dead instantly.

But he was tensing before her. His head tilted even as his gaze flew toward the door. “They’re coming.”

They?

He dropped his hand.

The water kept falling on them.

“Stay behind me,” he ordered. “No matter what happens. Stay behind me. ”

She yanked her hands away from the wall. Fisted them and shoved them behind her body.

The door was opening with a screech of metal that hurt her ears. There were men there. Men who wore thick, heavy white suits and giant masks that covered their heads.

What in the hell?

The men had guns in their hands, and their weapons were aimed at Ryder.

“Do you really want to dig out more bullets, Ryder?” a low voice asked. A voice that came from above them. Her head jerked up, and she saw a small speaker in the middle of the ceiling.

“Not really,” Ryder drawled, “so I think I’ll just kill these bastards instead.”

And he lunged forward, moving in a flash despite the blood that still covered him. He was injured, hurt so badly, and—

He killed a man while she watched. Yanked the gun from the guy’s hands. Turned the weapon back on the man in white and shot him. Blasted him in the heart and then aimed the gun on the others. “You should move faster,” he told them.

They were trying to fire. Shooting with their weapons, and she lifted her hands, wanting the nightmare before her to stop.

Flames flew from her fingers and headed right for Ryder and the others.

The flames licked over Ryder’s back. He didn’t even stop attacking.

I’m sorry!

The flames hit the other men. The men in those heavy white suits, but the fire didn’t hurt them.

“You’ll have to burn hotter than that,” the voice on the speaker said. “Their suits are reinforced, and your temperature is far too low.”

What?

“But if you keep the flames going, you may very well kill Ryder,” that droning voice told her.

She dropped her hands.

Ryder had another guard on the floor. The man’s neck had been broken.

Ryder glanced over at her.

She screamed a warning at him. More guards were coming. They fired at him.

But the new guards weren’t using regular bullets because no blood appeared when he was hit.

“Those tranq darts can take out anyone,” the voice she already hated told her, “even a monster as strong as Ryder.”

Another guard lifted his weapon and fired at her. Ryder roared and grabbed him. The man was dead before he hit the floor.

And she was hit. A tranq dart was in her chest. Her knees gave way.

“No point fighting,” that annoying voice blasted out from the speaker. “Like I told you, the tranqs can take out anyone.”

Her shoulder slammed into the floor. She tried to push back up to her feet, but she couldn’t get her limbs to work right.

Ryder was falling, too. Falling, but still fighting. Another dart sank into his neck.

Then his head hit the floor. The smack of his skull had her flinching and reaching out to him.

I’ve reached for him before. The memory was there, just beneath the surface of her mind.

He groaned when his body collapsed on the floor. A guard went to step over him—

Ryder’s hand flew out, tripping the man. “I’m not . . . out yet,” Ryder growled. “Stay the . . .” His fist slammed into the man’s mask, “hell away from . . . her.”

Her heart was slowing down. It felt like she had mud in her veins, not blood.

Ryder had yanked that man closer to him, and as she could only lie there and watch, Ryder buried his fangs in the guy’s throat.

Drinking from him.

Her neck began to ache.

Another memory was there, trying to push through.

“Get her out!” The shout blasted from the intercom. “Now!”

The men not unconscious or dead hurried to obey. Ryder was too weak to hold them all off, but he took two down.

Two others grabbed her. Fire sputtered from her hands, but it didn’t burn their suits. They dragged her out, hauling her right past Ryder.

He snarled in fury and tried to reach for her, but she knew the tranq must be having the same effect on him.

Mud inside. Can’t move.

Ryder grabbed one of the fallen men. Sank his teeth into the unconscious man’s throat.

“I’ll . . . find . . .” Ryder’s voice was following her. Her gaze found his. Blood stained his mouth. His victim lay on the floor beside him. Two puncture wounds marked the man’s throat.

“I’ll find . . . you . . . Coming . . . for you !” Ryder growled after her. She wasn’t sure if his words were a threat, or a promise.

Maybe they were both.

Then she was outside of that small room. The men in white lifted her onto some sort of gurney. They strapped her in and rolled her down a hallway. Fluorescent lights flickered over her head.

She tried to break free, but the drug was still slowing her down.

A door opened. The scent of bleach and antiseptic hit her.

Another room.

“Let . . . go,” she whispered.

Then a man leaned over her. Tall, dark, with green eyes.

Not like Ryder’s eyes.

This man’s eyes were a cold, arctic green. Chilling.

“You’re lucky we got you away from him in time.”

She didn’t feel lucky.

“Sabine, I’m sorry for what he did to you.”

Sabine. There was the name again.

He smiled. “You don’t remember, do you? That happens sometimes, after a rising.”

It’s the Twilight Zone. She remembered that show. The images of it flashed through her mind in quick succession. I’m in it. Someone. Get. Me. Out.