“What are you doing?”
She didn’t answer. Just picked up a big, triangular shaped chunk of the mirror—and shoved the sharp edge into her left shoulder.
“Cassie!” He grabbed her hand and yanked the chunk back out.
She whimpered at the pain and tried to fight him.
He just held her tighter. “Is it the drug they gave you? Is it making you do this?” The scent of her blood was driving him crazy. Pissing him off. “Dammit, stop.”
Her breath heaved out. “They’re coming.”
Yeah, he’d heard her say that before.
“There’s a tracking device in me. When they shot me”—she sucked in a deep, pain-filled breath—“it implanted. I have to get it out, or they’ll get me.”
“So you decide to do emergency surgery on yourself with a chunk of glass?”
“I don’t . . . have a lot of options.” Her lips trembled and twisted into a faint smile. “Don’t worry, I’m a doctor.”
That smile shouldn’t have made his heartbeat kick up. It did.
He could only shake his head. “You’re an insane woman who is bleeding all over the place.” Grabbing a washcloth, he shoved it against her shoulder. “You’re probably going to get an infection and—” He broke off. How did he know about infections? He knew how to drive a car, how to talk in French, how to beat the hell out of anyone who tried to give him a rough time.
But he had no actual memories of his life. Well, except for those dreams of her . . . killing me.
“D-don’t worry. I never get infections. I can’t.”
Such a lie. Humans could catch anything. They’re weak. The knowledge was there, inside him, coming from the man he’d been before that dirty alley.
She wasn’t fighting him anymore. “Please.” Her whisper. “I don’t have much time. I need to get this thing out of me.”
He understood now. “That’s why you wanted me to leave you. Because you think they’ll track you here.”
A broken laugh came from her. “You’re pretty big game to them. If they think you’re with me, then, yes, they’ll be coming for you, too. And I promised you that I’d never let them lock you up again.”
I don’t remember that promise.
“Too bad you don’t remember that,” she said, seeming to echo his thoughts. “Or me.”
His hands fell away from her. The bloody cloth slid to the floor.
Cassie squared her shoulders and reached for the chunk of mirror once more. “You don’t . . . you don’t have to watch.”
He was watching. Leaving her didn’t seem like an option.
She stared at her reflection in what was left of the mirror and slowly made a deeper cut on her shoulder. Blood slid down her skin, soaking the shirt. Her breaths seemed loud in that small space, and he hated the pain that flashed across her delicate features.
But she didn’t cry out.
Her finger slid into that wound.
His back teeth locked.
A tear leaked down her cheek. But she didn’t cry out.
“G-got it . . .” Her bloody fingers slid from her wound and she dropped a tiny computer chip into the sink. It hit with a clatter. Then her hands curled around the edge of the sink, and she seemed to steady herself. “A tear or two would make this so much easier,” she muttered.
He frowned at her bent head. She was crying. The woman realized that, didn’t she?
She glanced over at him. “But I’m guessing you don’t remember that part, either, do you?”
He just stared at her.
“Right.” She took in another deep breath then ripped away the bottom of her T-shirt. He saw the smooth flesh of her stomach as she twisted and tied the fabric around her shoulder.
His hands lifted, taking over the task as he realized she was trying to bind the wound.
“Th-thank you.”
A woman in a torn, blood-soaked top wouldn’t exactly go unnoticed in the city. But at least she wasn’t dripping blood everywhere anymore.
“I have to get back to my safe house,” she said with a nod. “I’ve got . . . supplies there. I can stitch the wound. Change. Regroup.” Her gaze held his. “You haven’t left me yet.”
The woman was stating the obvious.
“You haven’t killed me, either.” Again, she seemed to enjoy the obvious.
“Why?”
He glanced down. Saw that her blood was on his hands. The sight seemed familiar.
Don’t die, Cassandra. Don’t leave me.
The words pushed through his mind. His words. Another time. Another place. An image came to him. Her body had been broken and bloody, and her eyes had gone glassy as she—
Died?
“Dante?”
He hunched his shoulders and jerked on the faucet, sending water surging into the sink. The blood on his hands washed away even as the hazy image faded from his mind. Surely he’d never held the woman and begged her to live.
He stared down at the red water and the bits of broken mirror in the sink. “You said you were my key.”
“I—”
He turned off the water and glanced back at her. “You don’t escape me until I get all of those secrets that I was promised.”
She nodded.
He hated the smell of her blood.
“We should hurry,” she told him as her gaze darted away from his. “They’re fast trackers.”
“Who are they?” That was the first secret he wanted. But before Cassie could answer he heard . . .
The squeal of tires. Engines growling.
Cassie began, “They’re—”
“Here.” In the last week, he’d discovered that no one had senses quite like his, and he’d heard the approach long before she had. “They’re here.”
Her eyes widened.
Fine. If they wanted a battle, then he’d give them a war that would rip their lives apart.
“No.” Her hand grabbed his. Her knuckles were still bleeding. “There are too many humans around here. Your fire . . . you can’t always control it. We need to get the hell out of this place.” She brushed by him and eyed the small window on the side of the bathroom. “Think you can fit?”
No. But he stepped forward and drove his fists into it. The whole window frame flew backward and slammed into the ground.
“Right. Super strength,” she whispered. “Handy.” Then she was jumping from that window, even though they were on the second floor. He tried to grab her, but it was too late. Her body curled in and she hit the ground with a thud.