Tempting Evil

This man, enhanced human or not, had no such choice.

His hand shot out and thrust me hard against the wall, his lips crushing mine as he ripped at his clothes with one hand and groped wildly with the other.

I kissed him back, enjoying the taste of him, the feel of him, giving him that much as I slipped my hands up his back and around his neck. My fingers found the wire's co

But the little lances of fire begi

I quickly sorted through his thoughts and memories to find the information I needed. The controls to Iktar's implanted bombs were indeed here, locked in a cabinet in the main office—which I hadn't noticed but was apparently to our right. Joe didn't have the code for the cabinet. The other man, Maz, did.

That was all I could get. I made him step back, and put my hands around his neck. His neck muscles were tense under my fingertips, the beat of his pulse erratic. Killing him was just a matter of applying some pressure to the right spot, feeling his flesh and bone crack and break under my grip.

My stomach rolled.

I couldn't do it.

I just couldn't.

Jack might want me to be a killer, he might have trained me to be a killer, but killing so coldly, so matter-of-factly was a state of mind, a zone you went to. Or so Rhoan had once said. I didn't have that zone, not yet, and I'd be damned if I'd step on the path to that dark place unless I absolutely had to.

But I couldn't leave this guard as he was, memory intact, either.

Sweat trickled down my cheek as I went back into his mind and reorganized his memories. Made him remember not me, but a short, blond man with green eyes and a bulbous nose. I had no idea if such a man actually stayed here, but at least Starr would waste time looking for or interrogating him. Better than me or Rhoan. I left him remembering Merle's order for the papers—a fact Merle and his memories would strenuously deny, therefore heightening the confusion. Then I added a fight and gave him bruises to prove it with a quick one-two punch to the jaw that knocked him out cold, and threw him back to the floor.

His body had barely hit when the second man suddenly appeared. I saw the gun in his hand in one of those heart-stopping moments when you just know you're not going to get out of the way in time, and flung myself sideways anyway. The retort echoed loudly in the small room and the bullet tore through my arm rather than my heart. Pain bloomed, but I ignored it, unleashing my aura as I hit the floor, striking him with it as hard as I could.

It didn't affect him. He just stood there, gun aimed and expression fierce.

Shock rolled through me. I'd always believed, had always been told, that a werewolf's aura would devour any race. Hell, even the Government believed it, because they'd recently put in place laws that made the use of auras on humans the equivalent of rape. We could use it on each other just fine, just don't touch the precious humans or you'll find yourself thrown in prison.

So why wasn't he affected?

I didn't know, and right now, didn't have the time to wonder. I closed my eyes and forced myself to ignore the beat of pain in my arm, the sweet smell of blood seeping onto the carpet. Let my limbs go lax, as if unconscious.

For several seconds, the man didn't move. His steady breathing stirred the air, as did the scent of him, a weird mix of grease and earthy, heady pine.

I remained as I was, on the carpet and bleeding all over the place, and eventually he cautiously walked toward me. He toed my leg several times, then carefully bent to take my pulse. He was too ready for action, the gun too close to my heart, to react in any way, so I simply lay there as his fingers pressed into my neck. After several seconds, he grunted and rose. He walked across to his partner to check him, then walked back around me to the desk. As he reached for the phone, I kicked his legs out from underneath him. He was spi

He went limp and tension slithered from me. Instantly, pain bloomed again, becoming a red wave that left me momentarily gasping. The bullet might have been an ordinary one rather than silver, but it still fucking hurt. I quickly shifted shape to stop the bleeding and start the healing. Though the pain muted, it didn't go away.

But right now, I couldn't afford to waste more time on another shift. I had to get the controls for Iktar and get the hell out of here.

I swiped at the sweat on my forehead with my arm, grabbed the gun and shoved it on the tabletop. Then I scrambled back, gripped his belt and hauled him onto his side. Blood began to soak into the carpet and his breathing seemed a little easier. After unclipping the wire from around his neck, I dove deep into his mind and grabbed the code for the security cabinet that held the controllers, then did a quick search for other usable information—which came in the form of the location of the fire exits for the subterranean levels. Surprisingly, this wasn't the tu

The guard didn't know. Actually, he had no awareness of that particular tu

The sharp spikes begi

I quickly gave him the same false memories as the first man, then re-clipped the wire around his neck and rose. A quick search in the nearby office uncovered the cabinet. After the code had been entered, the draws clicked open. Inside was what looked like game controllers, several bunches of keys, and a notebook that just happened to contain all the codes for the various areas. I found a bag and carefully shoved everything inside, then locked up and headed out. I was at the door when I remembered one vital thing—all the locks to security areas were key and thumbprint coded. I couldn't get out of this room, let alone into the labs or anywhere else, without both.

Fuck.

I glanced at the two men, then the knife the first guard had. There was no choice—and losing a thumb was infinitely better than losing his life.

I carefully lowered my haul then walked over to get the knife. A quick check told me his pulse was a little thready, but otherwise strong. Unconsciousness would hold a little longer. I stole his knife and walked across to the other guard.

The hilt seemed to grow heavier in my sweaty palm, as if the knowledge of what I was about to do weighed down the metal. I touched the second guard's neck lightly, checking his pulse yet again, then took a deep breath to fortify myself and splayed his hand on the floor, thumb well away from the rest of his fingers.

After another breath that didn't do a thing to calm my stomach, I raised the knife and sliced down as hard as I could. There was little resistance. The knife slammed through skin, muscle, and bone as easily as it did the carpet underneath, stopping only when the blade hit the concrete base. The force of the blow echoed up my arm, making my teeth ache. Blood welled from the wound, thick and rich.