Chapter 5

“I thought you knew the code to the elevator,” Rinehart demanded as he, Max and Rock watched Des punch numbers into the keypad for the fifth time. Des had managed to tune into the place where Lucan was being held. Rock stood guard at the only door in or out of the place—in other words, they were sitting ducks.

“I’m trying,” Des muttered, punching in yet another failed code. He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “Obviously I’m not completely in tune with these visions yet. I was right about the elevator.”

“It’s now or never,” Rock asserted. “We got company.”

Rinehart tensed. “How many?”

“Two,” Rock reported.

Rinehart acted without waiting for input. He stepped up to Rock’s side and grabbed the door, yanking it open and meeting the soldiers head-on. “About damn time,” he said. “We’ve been waiting fifteen minutes. Walch is expecting us down below.”

They stopped in their tracks, stared at him. “How did you get here?”

“I followed the yellow brick road,” Rinehart retorted sarcastically, instinctively knowing that the other Knights had taken position behind him—their unity always a source of confidence. “How do you think I got here? Walch told me to get my ass down here and I did. I’ve been standing here waiting for your kind escort services for fifteen minutes. If he’s pissed, it’s on your heads.” The two soldiers exchanged skeptical looks, and Rinehart pressed onward, jerking his cell from his belt and eyeing the names on their shirts. “Rogers and Miller. I’ll just call Walch and let him know you two are the holdup.”

Miller responded instantly. “That won’t be necessary.” The look on his harsh features reeked of hatred.

Rinehart hesitated, glanced at his phone and back at the two Beasts. He snapped his phone back onto his belt and motioned them forward. “Lead the way,” he said, motioning the Beasts forward.

The Knights followed in their wake, exchanging a few meaningful looks. They sized up the two guns hanging on each Beast’s belt. Rinehart and Rock silently agreed to be the ones to act—they were the ones without mates, with the least to lose. Unexpectedly, a voice rang in the back of his mind, a voice that said Laura was his mate. Inwardly, he cursed the distraction. Now was a time for war, for battle, for focus. Not female distractions. He’d gotten his men killed because of that once before, and he wasn’t doing that again.

In the elevator, the Knights stood to the back, while the two Beasts stupidly placed themselves in front, in a position vulnerable to attack. And attack the Knights did—the instant the Beasts stepped outside of the elevator, Rinehart and Rock acted. Before the enemy ever knew what happened, they’d lost their weapons. Each Knight held a gun pointed at a Beast in soldier disguise. The two Beasts whirled around to face them. A snarl escaped one soldier’s lips, and Rinehart knew the Beast was struggling to maintain his human form.

Rinehart cocked the gun in his hand. “A well-placed bullet will hurt like hell,” he said, his voice cutting like the blade he wished he held. A bullet wouldn’t kill a Beast any more than it would a Knight, but it damn sure would cause pain. One of the soldiers dared a step forward. Rinehart lifted his gun slightly. “Make my day. Keep coming at me. Give me a reason to shoot.” The soldier stopped in his tracks. “That’s what I thought,” Rinehart said. He cut his gaze ever so slightly to Des. “Lead the way. Where is he?”

Des motioned with a slight lift of his chin. “Third door on the right.”

“We’ll cover you,” Rock said, as he and Max stepped forward, assuming more aggressive stances in front of the enemies.

Rinehart was moving toward the door before Rock finished his sentence. All he could think about was getting to Lucan before it was too late, before they pushed him over the edge. It didn’t matter that Lucan might be perfectly fine, bullshitting about nothing with Walch. It mattered that he might not be—that Rinehart would be the reason if he wasn’t. It mattered that Des’s visions had said Lucan was in trouble.

Rinehart reached the door a second before Des and found it locked. Without hesitation he leveraged his weight on his back foot and kicked in the door, putting every bit of supernatural strength behind the action, determined he would not be kept out of that room. The door fractured under the pressure, and the two Knights stormed the room. They found it empty.

Both Knights rotated around and aimed at the door, fearful of being trapped. “Where is he, Des?” Rinehart demanded.

Des cursed. “This is the room,” he insisted. “This is it. He was here.”

A television hanging from the ceiling flipped on, and Walch appeared on the screen. “Violence really isn’t necessary, gentlemen. Lucan won’t be detained nor has any lasting harm come to him.” Rinehart glanced at the door and back at the screen in time to see Walch smile. “This time, that is,” Walch added. “Next time might be another story. Let Lucan’s visit serve as a warning. I will not be crossed, nor will I kiss anyone’s ass, most assuredly not yours, Mr. Rinehart. You will serve me and me alone until you leave this island.” The screen went blank.

Rinehart quickly quelled the guilt over his role in whatever had befallen Lucan. He and Des exchanged a look, and in unison, lunged for the door, neither comfortable staying inside a room that could still become a trap. The minute they’d cleared the room, another door opened directly in front of them.

Lucan was shoved forward; his shirt had been ripped open and blood was dripping from several stomach wounds. Wounds that were meant to induce pain, not death. Wounds that induced anger in Rinehart.

Lucan wobbled, his legs unsteady beneath him. No one spoke, no one moved. Tension laced the air with an elastic quality, calm before chaos. But Rinehart didn’t feel calm. He felt the Beast inside him rising, felt it pressing him into rage, into action rather than calculation. He inhaled deeply to calm himself and willed his Beast into submission, almost shaking with the effort. Good Lord, he was further gone than he’d thought. Here he was concerned about Lucan snapping, and he himself might well be the threat.

A soldier walked through the doorway behind Lucan, violently shoving him again. Lucan stumbled, crumbling to his knees. Rinehart flexed the fingers of his free hand, an edgy readiness for battle thrumming through his veins.

Seconds passed, the silence thicker now. Silence that brought only one question—who would act first? And then abruptly, that silence was broken, an unexpected sound filtering through the air. That sound was Lucan’s laughter. A pained, bitter laugh, laced with defiance.

“Take him,” ordered the soldier standing behind Lucan.

Lucan pushed to his feet—when clearly his captors thought he could not—and walked to stand beside the Knights of White. Together they faced the enemy, staring them down. They wanted to stay, wanted to fight, but Rinehart struggled with the need to walk away, struggled with the darkness that made him burn for vengeance. There was no doubt he was shaking now, shaking from the effort to hold himself in check. There was more at stake than one fight and a few Darkland Beasts, so why couldn’t he pull away?

A hand came down on his arm, and Lucan’s voice rumbled to his left. “Walk away,” he hissed in a half whisper. “Walk away.” And with those words, with the realization that Lucan had taken a beating and still had the will to walk away, Rinehart felt a slap of reality.

“Walk away,” Lucan repeated. Rinehart swallowed hard and managed a step backward.

And as often they did, the Knights instinctively moved together, taking the next step away in unison. One by one, they took positions inside the elevator. And as those doors shut, and he stood amongst his closest friends, his brothers-in-arms, Rinehart faced his inner Demon. He was in trouble. He was losing himself. But he vowed he would not destroy this mission, though now he had to end it sooner rather than later. No one else would be hurt under his command. No one.

 

Hours after Lucan’s rescue, Rinehart sat in a chair near the Knight’s bed. Fortunately, they were now able to speak freely in select locations where Max had rigged a discreet static device that could be switched on intermittently to cover critical conversations. Even so, no one had spoken of the way Rinehart had come close to snapping; it was in the air, an unspoken concern they all held. He was leading this mission. He should be the strongest, the most prepared. Instead, he was a risk to be monitored. And Rinehart didn’t know what to do about it. He clung to the hope that Laura was indeed his mate, that she might hold his salvation in her hands. But with that hope came doubt. He’d heard stories about how mates instantly felt more than desire—they felt trust. Laura certainly didn’t trust him. Rinehart’s plan was to talk to Laura, to try to win that trust he didn’t have, that a mate should already have offered.

“We’ll check back in an hour,” Max said, as he, Rock and Des headed to the door on scouting missions. Rinehart didn’t respond, nor did anyone seem to expect him to. Instead, he sat unmoving, lingering by Lucan’s side, not sure why. Lucan had long ago given his account of the events he’d encountered, and Rinehart had asked his questions and received his answers. But still, he remained unable to get out of the chair. Guilt seemed to be a weight pushing him down, holding him in place. It had been a long time since Rinehart had relived the past, but tonight it had crashed down on him like a tidal wave and for no apparent reason. Every day, he went to war against the Beasts. Every day, he and his fellow Knights risked their lives, risked each other’s lives. Why was the past resurfacing now from the black hole he’d buried it in? And why did he somehow think Lucan held the answer to that question?

Lucan stretched, stifling a moan in the process, his movements pulling Rinehart out of his reverie. A moan slid past the bandages covering Lucan’s bare midsection, bandages that served two purposes—hiding the rapidly healing wounds from the cameras while also allowing the medicine, a special formula created by their Healer, to aid his body’s regeneration.

Adjusting his position on the pillows, Lucan cut Rinehart a sideways look. “Stop watching over me like I’m dying or something. Because I have to tell you, man, if you hang out by my bed much longer, I won’t respect you in the morning.”

Another time, Rinehart might have laughed, but not now. Suddenly, he knew what he wanted from Lucan. He wanted answers beyond what was happening in the moment, beyond Walch and this island.

“I know how close to the edge you are,” he said, thinking of the flash of red he’d seen in Lucan’s eyes during battle, a sure sign his humanity was slipping away. “Yet you kept it together in there. You didn’t break.”

A long pause ensued before Lucan awkwardly pushed himself farther up the headboard. “I’ll make sure I die in battle before I allow myself to turn.” His voice was taut, a bit hoarse, and Rinehart wasn’t sure it was from pain.

“Is that what happens? You simply turn into one of them?” It was the question every Knight wanted to ask but wasn’t sure he wanted answered. Lucan had been among the previous generation of Knights, nearly three hundred years ago, and he had witnessed many of those first Knights turn to the darkness, lost without a mate to bind their inner Beast.

A look of shock registered on Lucan’s face at the question, before his jaw tightened and he barked a bitter laugh. “If you ever saw one of your brothers-in-arms snap, you wouldn’t call it simple.” His gaze slid into the distance as if he were reliving the past—perhaps also describing his present.

“I’ve watched far too many Knights I considered friends slip away. Now I know what they went through, man. I know and I wish I didn’t. At first, you feel the taint of the Beast slowly begin to grow. It slides inside your soul and eats away at it. You fight to keep it at bay, struggle to beat it down. Then you do anything you can to feed your primal urges. You go looking for battles when you might have waited for them to find you. Sex becomes an outlet. Sex and more sex. But then sex gets dangerous. You begin to feel the Beast hunger for more than pleasure from the woman—it wants to devour her, and you fear you might just let it. Every minute of every day, you fight in this internal struggle between man and Beast, you fight to stay in control or snap. It’s excruciatingly intense.”

Lucan’s attention abruptly shifted back to Rinehart. “But you know all of this.” He hesitated, then said pointedly, “Those of us fighting the darkness sense when another is doing the same. I feel your struggle. But at least we have something the others didn’t. We have a chance to find a mate.”

Rinehart digested Lucan’s final words with skepticism. Yes, they all wanted a mate to bind the Beast within and set them free of the darkness. But what if that mate didn’t want them? What if that mate turned away and just left them to self-destruct? “Some of us are stronger than others,” Rinehart murmured, tormented by his own weakness. Lucan was three hundred. He was ninety-two. “I won’t make it to three hundred.”

Lucan waved off the declaration. “If I can do it, you can, too.”

Rinehart wanted that to be true, but he knew he was slipping, knew all the same desperate feelings that Lucan had described. And he knew them centuries sooner. Lucan seemed to read his thoughts and added, “We have to hang on. We’re needed.”

It was Rinehart’s turn to dismiss Lucan’s words. “Not if we become liabilities.”

“Ever since we got to this island,” Lucan mused, “I’ve felt I was supposed to be here, that I have a connection beyond our duty. I think you and I are both hanging on because of this place and whatever is going to happen here.” His brows dipped. “Do you feel it?”

Darkness was all Rinehart felt these days, but he wasn’t about to say that. He ran his hands down his pants. “I don’t know what I feel.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I should let you rest.”

“Yeah,” Lucan agreed, sliding his way back down the headboard. “I should rest. Besides. Laura needs attention.” He smiled. “And from what you’ve said, you’re the man for that job.”

Rinehart’s gaze dropped to the floor; turbulent emotions he couldn’t begin to describe tightened his chest. After consideration, he wasn’t so certain he was the man for the job. If she wasn’t his mate, she was a distraction he didn’t need. He’d been down that path with a woman and didn’t want to go there again. In fact, if anyone could connect with Laura on her work, it would be Lucan. But Lucan wasn’t in a position to act right now, and they couldn’t wait to make forward progress with Laura until he mended.

“She’ll trust you,” Lucan said softly.

Rinehart looked up to find Lucan staring at him. “You’re sure of that?”

“Aren’t you?”

Rinehart inhaled. No. No, he wasn’t. “I’ll check in on you later.”

He didn’t say another word, but turned on his heels and headed for the door. There was no way around this. He had to go to Laura and win her favor. And he had to do it tonight.

 

Walch walked into his own quarters and straight to the kitchen, where a bottle of brandy and a glass awaited his evening ritual. Alcohol no longer affected his senses, but he enjoyed the warm, rich flavor of an expensive brandy. A flavor that mimicked the richness of his new, eternal life.

He grabbed the remote and punched a button. A monitor lowered from beneath a cabinet. It was pizza night for the ladies—in other words, information night. Laura spoke more frankly about her work to Kresley than she did to anyone else. Walch flipped the channel to Laura’s room and found her absent. Another button, a few more channel shifts, and he found Laura sitting on Kresley’s bed, talking with her favorite patient. His cock thickened as he thought of having the two of them in that bed; and that day, he vowed, would come sooner rather than later. Laura’s spicy defiance and Kresley’s sweet innocence—he would devour their bodies and then claim their souls.

“I thought you’d never get here.”

The soft female voice coming from the doorway behind him stroked more than his ears, it stroked his cock, thickened it, and pressed him to act. But he despised the idea of a woman, any woman, dictating his actions—hell, he didn’t want anyone dictating his actions.

Walch drew a calming breath and forced himself to ignore his guest. He filled his glass and listened in to the conversation between Laura and Kresley as he swished the rich, amber liquid around in the glass. He downed the liquid, its warming bite sliding down his throat, but the brandy did nothing to sate the growing demand of his body. His primal physical needs were more pronounced now, more demanding. He required satisfaction. But now was not the time to find it with Laura or Kresley.

“Come here,” he ordered the female.

Though she walked soundlessly, he could feel her approach in the rush of blood charging through his body. She stopped beside him. Still, he didn’t look at her. He motioned for her to stand before him. She appeared there in mere seconds, her long, dark hair like a silky veil clinging to her petite shoulders. She wore a light blue dress—he didn’t like it. “I’ve told you, no clothes.”

“I know, but—”

He cut her off, realizing the conversation with Laura and Kresley appeared to be taking an interesting turn. “Wait for me in the bedroom, and be naked when I get there.”

She ducked her head and did as he said. Carol was his slave now, her soul in limbo, her body his to possess. She would do whatever he said, when he said. She would not betray him. But Laura would if he let her. He turned up the sound of the monitor and listened closely to a conversation that had become quite revealing. And knowledge was power, and power was the greatest aphrodisiac of all.

 

Laura stood in Kresley’s kitchen and poured hot tea in a cup. The pizzas that one of the mess-hall cooks made every Friday, special order and ready-to-cook, were in the freezer, awaiting another night. Kresley was too sick for pizza or much of anything else. She rested in the bedroom, shivering her way through a fever while watching television.

Rinehart’s team had disappeared right after he’d received his text message, which, though a bit odd, had made her life easier. It was hard enough to dodge the lab techs Walch had assigned to spy on her. She used them on a limited basis, mostly for busywork she created just for their perusal. Hiding her relevant research had become a practiced skill, well mastered, but now with Rinehart’s team breathing down her neck, that might not be the case anymore. Their absence that afternoon had, at least, given her a chance to run blood tests and document her facade of concerns that the injections might be creating side effects. None of the other patients were sick yet, but their blood counts indicated they would be soon, which would support her notes.

The test results for Carol had been clear, though she’d expected otherwise. Thinking of Carol sent a bolt of stress shooting through her body; she worried about the implications of Carol’s change—her new, darker presence. She didn’t know what it was, but something was wrong—something was very off. Was the serum altering the patients in some way she didn’t understand?

Laura gave herself a little mental shake, realizing the steaming mug in front of her wouldn’t be steaming any longer if she lingered. She reached for a sliced lemon and squeezed a few drops of juice into the beverage.

She found Kresley sitting against the headboard of her bed amongst a mass of fluffy, white down comforter and pillows. The entire room was white—white lace curtains, white wood for the headboard and nightstands, little ceramic white angels in various well-placed positions. A bit too sterile for Laura, who preferred rich, warm colors to take her away from the sterile box of confinement that guarding her secrets had painted her into. But somehow the color white served Kresley’s sense of comfort in a way only Kresley could understand.

Laura settled on the bed next to Kresley, noting her red nose and bloodshot eyes as she handed her the steaming mug. “This should help the sore throat and chills.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, sounding more stuffy. She sipped the warm liquid and shivered. “If I could get warm, I’d feel a hundred times better.” Laura tucked the blanket around her a bit more snuggly.

Guilt took another stab at Laura. She’d done this to Kresley. “I hate that you’re feeling so bad. I’ll stay awhile and make sure you get to sleep okay. Besides. I like our Friday nights, and I’m clinging to what little bit of that time we have tonight.” Laura kicked off her high heels and pulled the clip from her hair. She sighed with relief as the knot at the back of her head slackened, easing the tension she hadn’t realized was there. Leaning back on her hands, she thought of all their Friday nights. “This is like our little escape, a time we can pretend the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”

Kresley sat her mug on the nightstand and slid down farther along the headboard. “It doesn’t,” Kresley said. “Walch makes sure of that.”

More and more, Laura believed that to be true. They were captive here. Kresley was too intuitive not to figure that out. “We’ve made lots of progress since we came here,” Laura reminded her, trying to sound positive. She smiled and promised, “Dating is right around the corner.”

Kresley’s mood shifted abruptly; Laura felt the heaviness of the change settle in the air, around her, on her shoulders. She watched as Kresley balled the blanket in her fists, tugging it up to her chin and peering at Laura over the top. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

“What?” Laura asked, surprised. But then, she shouldn’t be. Kresley was far more intuitive than she knew herself to be. “Of course. What are you talking about?”

“All of a sudden you need help. These men are here to help, and suddenly I am sick. Has something gone terribly wrong with the injections and you don’t want to tell me?”

“No!” Laura said quickly, rotating around, one leg on the bed to face Kresley and let her see the truth in her expression. “Nothing has gone wrong with your injections.” She hesitated, considering how much to tell Kresley.

And Kresley noticed, and sat up again; urgency, and a bit of panic, were in her voice. “What? What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing, sweetie,” Laura assured her. “Nothing. I gave you all your shots today.”

“Late,” Kresley argued. “And you acted as if you didn’t want to.”

“Running a test is simply a precaution.” She hoped. God, how she hoped. The Carol situation kept creeping into her mind.

“You’re worried.”

Kresley knew her too well. “I’m cautious,” Laura assured her. “There’s a huge difference.”

Though her words came out steady and calm, Laura’s thoughts raced—with worries over Carol and the serum, and with the secret of the effort to escape. Maybe it was time she told Kresley what was going on. Maybe it was time to talk to each of them one-on-one. But still, she hesitated. Her instincts had been to form a plan and keep everyone acting normal in the meantime. But right now, she wasn’t any closer to a plan, and Kresley was sensing that things weren’t as they should be. Yet the feeling of urgency, of a need to escape this island, escalated every second of every day. Her patients were not children anymore. They were bright, gifted adults. They could help. And she needed help. It was time to admit that and ask for it.

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