Blood Mate: The Project Rebellion, Book 2 (7 page)

“Whoa, seriously? What…all of them? You’ve gotta be kidding me.”

Surprise rang in Wilson’s voice. What were they talking about? Keeping an eye on the unconscious Lycan, Toni edged forward to try and catch more of the conversation. Her boot scuffed against metal as she moved. She leaned one shoulder against the bulkhead just behind the driver’s door. The body and the cab were riveted, but like most military kit, the truck had been made by the lowest bidder for the contract so there was a slight gap. She pressed her ear to it.

“Yeah, the bastards stole a couple of humvees and took out most of the teams that went after them. We lost most of them and the two gunships.”

She stilled, a frown creasing up her brow. No, that wasn’t possible. The Project had fielded a massive amount of firepower to deal with the Lycan threat. Way too much in her opinion but Fitz was the overkill king. There was no way eight men…

No
, she corrected herself as her gaze cut to the man lying in front of her. There was no way seven men could decimate the forces sent after them. Not unless they were adding some Chuck Norris and Rambo DNA into the Lycan mix these days.

Wilson whistled. “Fuuuuuck me. How many made it back?”

“Not many…and most of the survivors are in the infirmary. The place is rammed. So if you got any walking wounded, I’d get your section medics to deal with them until things calm down.”

“Yeah, sure thing. We just got some cuts and scrapes. Nothing serious though. So…you going to let us through or you want to flirt with me some more? We’re carrying a live Lycan and I know the boss lady’ll want him in a cage before the bastard can wake up.”

“What the…” The guard’s tone sharpened at the mention of a Lycan. A second later the gate buzzed, and Toni’s enhanced hearing picked up the whir of the motors as it started to lift. “Why didn’t you say something, man? I’d have let you straight through.”

Wilson chuckled. “What, and deprive you of the pleasure of my charming company?”

“Dickwad.”

“Asswipe.”

“Fucktard…now get through. Beer after shift?”

“You bet your ass. It’s your round.”

A clunk rolled through the metal frame as Wilson put the truck into gear and it lurched into motion. Toni leaned her head back for a second, watching out the open back of the truck as the guard waved the others through after them. But when Wilson turned left just after the gatehouse, the rest of the convoy turned right, peeling off toward the motor pool.

She took a deep breath, and then another. At least she had a couple of minutes before they rolled up to the labs to get herself together. The truck leaned and wove over the damaged road surfaces around the outside edges of the camp before reaching the loading area behind the labs. Fitz’s camp upgrade had ended with the defenses and the main areas. The roads were still shit, puckered with holes, and half the barracks were falling down. The barracks didn’t bother her—they were used to house the Lycans anyway—but it would have been nice to be able to drive around the base without feeling like her spine was being jack-hammered into her skull.

Not long now though.

She swept a glance over her prisoner again. Darcy. What an odd name for a guy these days. She could only assume that his parents didn’t like him, had a sense of humor, or wanted to toughen him up in the schoolyard by giving him a feminine-sounding name. Possibly all three.

The truck slowed and pulled to a stop. Hearing the handbrake come on, Toni moved to the back to start undoing the tailgate. Idly, she listened to the sound of Wilson’s footsteps as he headed into the lab to grab some medics and a trolley. Preferably one with bad-ass straps on it, because when Foster woke up, he was not going to be a happy bunny.

The last latch gave and the tailgate swung down to smack into the bumper mounts. A metallic clang rang through the air, the blow reverberating through the vehicle. She shot a glance at Foster, just in case he’d regained consciousness. He’d seemed out of it, but she’d made that mistake too many times already today. He lay still, sprawled across cold metal like a rag-doll. Only the rise and fall of his chest and the warm, vital,
wild
scent filling the small cabin assured her he was still alive.

Corpses smelled different to her, even ones where the heart had just stopped beating. It wasn’t just a smell, it was a feeling—as though the dead part within her could recognize its own kind. Guilt clawed at her chest, trying to get a purchase. It would be easier for him if he was dead. At least he’d be beyond whatever Fitzgerald and the Project could do to him. Beyond forcing him to betray the men in his squad, because she had no doubt that he would talk. They would make him talk, make him spill every last secret he had just so the pain would stop.

Bile rose but she fought it down and ignored the guilt. Guilt was for humans and she wasn’t human. It was survival of the fittest, dog eat dog. That’s what evolution was all about, wasn’t it? Only the strongest survived to pass on their genes, until the whole race was propagated by those individuals fittest or ruthless enough to make it. The fact that she couldn’t have children didn’t enter into it. Another pang twisted her heart, but again she ignored it. She wasn’t human, so why should she subscribe to the human model of reproduction? Perhaps her children wouldn’t be cute and wear diapers.

Gritting her teeth, Toni clamped down on that train of thought, crawling over to the Lycan to start bundling him toward the back of the truck. A door slammed nearby and the sound of wheels rattling over asphalt reached her ears.

“I’m telling you, man. Janie from the office swears that’s what it was.”

“Yeah, yeah. And last week she swore she saw Elvis in Wal-Mart.”

“She did. It was a freaking impersonator, a good one. I told you that, remember? For fuck’s sake Charlie, it would help if you’d actually listen when I’m talking to you.”

Toni tilted her head as the voices, and the trolley, approached. It had a damaged wheel, a click-click-click that would drive her mad until it was either fixed or she ripped it off. Scent reached her next. Both were male, easy enough to work out from the voices, but confirmed by the smells that reached her delicate nostrils.

The first had showered recently and wore a clean shirt. The dual scents of a woodsy, citrus shower gel and laundry powder assaulted her senses, almost hiding the sharper scent of an anti-dandruff shampoo. He’d showered and changed his clothes recently—perhaps just on duty and getting into his day. Tough shit. His first job of the day was to lump around a sweaty, blood-covered Lycan. She doubted the laundry-shower freshness was going to win out against that.

She turned her attention to the second speaker, dragging in a deep breath and rolling it over her tongue. The second guy had been on duty for a while, no doubt on an overlapping or double shift to the first. The aroma of lunch and numerous cigarette breaks clung to him like a shroud and under it, not one but two perfumes. One was expensive and luxurious, but already fading. From kissing his wife this morning perhaps? The second was newer, and a cheaper brand. The sort of perfume a younger woman would pick up at a superstore. His mistress? Perhaps the Janie they’d mentioned earlier?

Her lip curled back in disgust. She’d never understood why people felt the need to cheat on their partners. If they didn’t want to be in the relationship in the first place, why be there? Why not leave and be with someone who made them happy? Someone they didn’t feel the need to cheat on? Perhaps it was the excitement, the danger element? Anger rolled lazily through her. Any guy who cheated on her had better like the danger element, because she’d rip his freaking heart out and make him eat it.

“Yeah, well.” The second speaker huffed. “I would if you didn’t talk utter shit most of the time. She says this friend of hers saw a Hybrid? Ha! Read my lips. There’s no such thing. They don’t fucking exist. You’ve seen the data, James. We’ve never seen even a hint of a viable cross infection, you know that.”

They’d reached the back of the truck now, shoving the trolley into place with another clang of metal. She cast it a cursory look. Plastic sheet over the hard mattress, heavy duty steel with reinforced restraints. Once they got the Lycan onto it, he wasn’t getting loose any time soon. Neither had noticed her where she was half crouched in the darkness at the back of the truck, so she cleared her throat. Both men jumped, their faces draining of color when they recognized her, fear in their eyes before they tried to hide it. She knew the words from the manual, had read them herself way back when. Never show fear. Animals who sense fear attack.
 

She didn’t attack. Instead she smiled. It didn’t appear to ease their discomfort. Pity.

“I’d listen to…” She tilted her head to read the second man’s name-badge. “Doctor Blevins, if I were you, James. Hybrids don’t exist. I should know. I’ve been here long enough…”

She slid her hands under Foster’s side and started to half-roll, half-slide him toward the back of the truck. Sure, she could have lifted him bodily and dumped him on the trolley without much trouble, but it was never good to give away too much of what she could do to the scientists. Better that they thought she was weaker than she was, just in case. Never knew when she might need that element of surprise.

“They’re just an urban myth…” She grunted with effort as she pushed Foster to the edge. Lanky-ass piece of shit. He might have looked lean but he was packed with muscle and damned heavy. “A cautionary tale.”

James laughed, the sound nervous, and looked from her to Blevins and back again.

“Cautionary tale about what?”

She moved without warning, leaping over the prone form of the werewolf and the trolley to land the other side. The swift move took both men by surprise, Blevins a shade quicker to react than his colleague. He backed up as she got right into James’s face, her extended claws tickling over the young man’s Adam’s apple. For a moment dark temptation filled her. Just one little scratch, a tiny nick, and the virus would enter his system. Turn him.

No, not turn him. Any cut would kill him, thanks to the shit they made the techs and admin staff take on a daily basis.

“That.” She smiled again, keeping the expression small and tight. Then she retracted her claws and stepped back. Her manner was not pleasant. Not happy. Just…there.

“Don’t turn your back, James. Never get complacent,” she warned in a low voice. “Don’t ever forget that we’re not human. Not anymore.”

He blanched, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish. He backpedalled frantically, almost falling over his own feet. Both men eyed her like she was the second coming of Genghis Khan and scuttled around her to secure the Lycan. Toni stepped to the side, watching them load him onto the trolley and tighten the straps.

“That was cruel,” Wilson said beside her. “Funny as fuck, but cruel.”

She shrugged. “They’ve got to learn. Better they learn from me than a rabid wolf who really will rip their heads off and shit down their necks.”

She turned her head, and shot a glance at the shorter soldier as Blevins and his pale colleague pushed the unconscious Foster toward the labs. She steeled herself not to look, even though she wanted to. She’d done her part. What happened to him now was none of her business.

“You get that back to the motor pool,” she ordered, straightening her uniform and grimacing. Grubby and bloodstained. Perfect. She’d piss the boss off just by being there. He hated anyone not in perfect uniform. “Then hit the racks, and I’ll go and deal with Fitzgerald.”

A de-brief was in full swing by the time Toni slipped through the door and took a seat at the back. The room was the same as many the world over—drab walls and ceiling, populated by rows of plastic chairs and battered tables. Floor and baseboards were wipeable, but bore the scars and scuff marks of many sets of boots. If rooms could talk, she had no doubt that this one would tell many tales.

Today, though, it was just half full. Men sat scattered among the tables, new faces mixed in with the ones she was expecting. She knew most of the squad commanders on base but some were missing, replaced by corporals who looked ill at ease to be shoved into the limelight of Fitzgerald’s ire. She didn’t blame them. If she had a choice she wouldn’t be here either.

She slid a glance around the room. They were all injured—either that or field dressings over combats had just become the new fashion and no one had seen fit to tell her. The scent of blood and death hung in the room so thick she wanted to roll in it like a cat in catnip.

“You mean to tell me that one squad did all this? Took you all out?”

The demand came from the front of the room. The Colonel sat slouched in his chair like some kind of sulky teenager as he click-click-clicked his pen against the table. The flush on his skin a good indicator of his mood. From the color, red deepening into purple, an explosion of epic proportions wasn’t far off. God, she hoped so—one less asshole in the world to deal with—but not until he’d given her the cure he’d promised.

“W-well, not all of us,” a soldier near the front of the room stammered, holding a field book and trying to flip the pages with his left hand in an awkward motion.

His right arm was bandaged up close to his body, the white dressing already starting to darken with blood. Toni’s mood took a nose dive. Half these men should be in the infirmary, not forced in here to perform like monkeys for a jumped-up fucktard like Fitzgerald.