Blood Mate: The Project Rebellion, Book 2 (15 page)

Fuck!
Darce leaped back as the injured wolf part-shifted faster than he’d expected and charged. The bestial roar rattled the chain-link enclosure and then the fight was on in earnest. He was forced backward, blocking hard and fast to avoid being gutted on the other wolf’s razor-sharp claws. Despite the promise he’d extracted from Darce, there was no leeway in the Lycan’s face—just murderous intent. In those amber eyes, Darce read his own death.

Snarling, he forced more and more of his own wolf through his veins until his hands and feet were huge, twisted, paw-like monstrosities. Claws on his toes dug through the sand, driving him forward. He met his opponent head-on in the middle of the cage. Claws flashed. Skin tore. Blood flew. Darce kept moving, staying one step ahead and chipping at his opponent’s guard.

The other guy was shit-fast, but he was wounded and favoring his side. So Darce hammered it, slamming his fist into the guy’s side whenever he could get between the solid blocks and around the lightning-fast blows.

Sadness wrapping around his heart, Darce gave in to the inevitable. He hated it, hated the extremes the Project had forced them to—fighting for dominance in a pit like animals—but some things were a matter of survival. It was kill or be killed and he wasn’t ready to meet his maker yet. He had a life to live and a mate to find.

Determination lent wings to his feet and steel to his tired body. Turning, he faced the next attack and this time he didn’t block, simply roared and charged, the change ripping through him as he met the other wolf in the middle of the cage. A clash of the titans that only one of them would survive.

The crowd roared. Cheers and whoops from the mostly male audience loud in her ears, Toni slipped through the door. The room was dark, which helped conceal her when she slipped into the shadows just as the guard— obviously stationed to watch the door but who had drifted forward to see what was going on in the center of the room—glanced over his shoulder.

Too late, dipshit.

She hooked a hand around a steel bar and swung herself up, scaling the wall and moving out of sight. The room had a high ceiling. Looked like some kind of storage facility originally. Now the space was dominated by a large MMA style cage surrounded by seating and…were those cameras?

Her eyes widened. What appeared to be a professional level recording outfit rolled and slid around the steel cage, intent on the action inside while the crowd hollered.

A roar split the air when one of the combatants stood up, his bleeding and battered opponent held high above his head. Then he slammed the moaning form over his knee. Toni winced as the sound of breaking bones snapped through the air like a gunshot.

“Shit.”

Foster rolled the body off his knee and stood, amber eyes bright with defiance and roared at the crowd. A sound of challenge and anger that deepened when the guards yanked open the cage door and poured through the gap. Toni schooled herself to remain where she was. The guards forced him to the ground with tasers and shocked him into unconsciousness.
 

Body shaking and sweat pouring down her spin, she fought the urge to go to him, to rip the guards away and stand over him to protect him. To wrap him in her arms and make sure he was unhurt. Cold rage joined the party, surging through her veins to meet the anger at her core in a melting pot of emotions. Steel twisted under her hand, mangled by her grip as she watched them carry him from the cage, other guards dragging the broken body of his opponent from the sands.

She shifted through the darkness, skirting the edge of the crowd high above their heads to keep Foster in view. Her lip curled at the callous laughter of the guards as they dumped him in a cage in the darkness beyond the lights. He groaned when he rolled over.

She needed to get to him, to check that he was okay. Fear for his wellbeing sliced through her. He’d been drugged, interrogated, beaten, drugged again, forced to fight and kill, and now shocked…how much could one man take? She’d never seen anyone take so many belts from a taser before and survive. She shimmied down from her perch, eyes on him.

Clumsy in her haste, she dropped to the floor and froze, expecting the lights to snap on at any second and catch her. But another roar from the crowd announced a new competitor. Releasing a sigh of relief, she scooted forward, running low and fast to the back of the cages.

“Foster…Darcy,” she whispered, her hands wrapped around the bars. “Wake up Foster.”

He grunted but didn’t move. Alarm rolled through her. This corner of the room was in darkness but that didn’t matter to her. She could see well in low light, a factor which had helped her bring him in. Guilt slammed into her again. She’d done this, brought him back to this nightmare. If she’d known what they planned to do—if she’d known this hellhole was even here—then she would have just let him go, Fitzgerald’s cure be damned.

“Darcy, please…wake up.” She was begging but she didn’t care. She just needed to know he was okay. “Come on, you’re a damn wolf…you’re tougher than this.”

He grunted and rolled to his back, hair falling away from his face. She winced. His skin was bruised and bloody, a vicious gash along his jaw that bisected the scar she’d given him what seemed like a lifetime ago. Biting back a whimper, she held onto the bars, despite the sting of the silver coating. Silver was bothering her less and less these days—another change she should be worried about but that disappeared under her concern for him.

“Come on, handsome. Talk to me…”

That got a reply. Of sorts. He groaned again and shifted, flopping on his side like a fish out of water and breathing hard. Toni bit her lip. His torso was decorated with cuts and bruises. No claw marks though—not like the vicious injuries she’d seen in the room outside, like the ones that had killed Hurst.

“Come on, Foster. What are you, a fucking pussy cat or a wolf?”

His eyes snapped open, making her jump. But they were human brown, not the amber she expected.

“I’m a man, but I’d be happy with a little pussy…if it was the right pussy.” He chuckled, a sound that turned into a cough that racked his body. “And only my ma calls me Darcy. It’s Darce.”

“Is that supposed to be seductive? ’Cause I gotta tell you…don’t give up the day job.” She winced with him as he held a hand to his ribs and started to drag himself to the back of the cage. “Careful…crap, they really worked you over out there.”

He reached the back of the cage and slumped against it, next to her. His body might have been abused and covered in dark purple-blue bruises but his eyes were clear of pain when he looked at her.

“For you, I’d do it all again. Even listen to Bieber on repeat,” he joked, an easy grin on his handsome face.
 

She grimaced. “Don’t even go there. Even for this lot, that’s cruel and unusual punishment.”

Shifting to lean straighter against the bars, he threaded a hand through them, then froze when she reared back. It was an instinctive move. He was a wolf, she was a Blood. By rights they should be at each other’s throats. Despite that, she knew she could trust him. That the hand he held out wouldn’t sprout claws and slice through her jugular.

She relaxed and his fingertips whispered over her cheek in as gentle a touch as she’d ever received. It was all she could do not to turn and nuzzle into his palm. Some bad-ass vampire bitch she’d turned out to be.

“You’re beautiful.”

His voice was deep and low, the pitch and tone raising the hairs on the back of her neck. In a good way though. She’d always liked men’s voices, but his hit her on levels she wasn’t ready for, dragging a shiver of feminine appreciation from the depths of her soul.

“Do I get to know your name…finally?” His lips quirked and he distracted her by sliding a hand into her hair. She tensed automatically, but the touch was gentle. Seductive.

Dangerous.

“Fielding. Antonia Fielding.”

Her voice was a bare whisper as his grip tightened, pulling her toward the bars in a slow movement. He moved at the same time, twisting in a lithe motion that made a mockery of the injuries decorating his body.

“My friends call me Toni…”

His eyes dark and fathomless, he threaded the other arm through the bars and wrapped a big hand around her wrist. Capturing her gently…
can you capture the willing?
Her heart pounded. Power coiled around him, the energy of his beast. It should have repulsed her, but instead the darkness within her reached for it, wrapping and winding around it like a cat looking for attention.

“Toni,” he repeated, all his focus on her. As though she were the only thing in the world. “Pretty name for a pretty lady.”

He leaned closer, tilting her head up to look deep into her eyes. The bars were wide, but even so, he bore the sting of silver without a flinch as he leaned down until their lips were millimeters apart.

“I’m going to kiss you…”

God, yes.

He needed to get on with the kissing part already.

A frustrated growl broke from her throat and she wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and dragged his lips down to hers. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was an explosion of heat and desire. He groaned and parted his mouth, his tongue sweeping over the full curve of her lower lip, demanding access. Pressing against the bars to try and touch as much of his body as possible, Toni opened up to accept the thrust of his tongue with eagerness.

He kissed like he fought, with aggression and dominance, both sparking a reaction within her. She kissed him back. Slid her tongue against his in an embrace hotter than the fires of hell. Heat blazed between them, rolling through her body and racking the tension in her core ever tighter. She needed to get closer, to touch more of him, have him touch her…

He broke away, panting, and leaned his forehead against hers.

“Fuck… Lady, you’re killing me.”

The ghost of a smile whispered over her lips and she played her fingers through his long hair. She rested against the bars, her free hand on the broad plains of his chest. His strong fingers wrapped around her nape while the other hand massaged the small of her back. Somehow he’d gotten his fingers under her top and found skin.

The maddening touch over the small of her back, the hard bar of his cock pressed against her softer stomach, tightened her body almost to the point of pain. Her nipples beaded, the plain fabric of her bra like steel wool against her sensitized flesh as she pressed against him, her pussy clenching hard. She wanted to tear through the bars separating them and ride his lean, hard body down to the ground.

“Toni…” He groaned. The scent of her arousal wound around them, matched by the deeper musk of his. Longing and raw desire sharpened his features. Lust sparkled in his dark eyes and he bent his head again to claim her lips.

A feral howl echoed through the air before he kissed her, followed by screams of pain and terror. Darce closed his eyes, resignation on his face.

“Doll, you have to get out of here. If they catch you…” He shuddered, pain flitting across his face. “Believe me, death would be a blessing.”

Chapter Eleven

“I won’t leave you.”

Darce smiled fondly, cupping Toni’s face as she glared at him with a stubborn expression. Toni. His mate. Even now, he couldn’t quite believe she was real. Any moment now he expected to wake up to find it had all been a dream, and that she was a figment of his fevered imagination, loneliness and desire for a mate of his own.

Sure, the fates had thrown him a curve-ball with the fact she was a Blood, but no odds were insurmountable. Not where love was concerned. After all, she’d found him, hadn’t she? Even though she’d brought him in, handed him over to the Project, she hadn’t been able to stay away. She’d seen him in the hangar and had tracked him into Hell.

Pleasure and worry warred within him. She couldn’t be discovered. Her rank and position wouldn’t help her down here if she got caught. His gut clenched at the thought. She’d end up as more grist for the mill. Just another body for the bloodbath on the sands of the cage.

Shame hit him hard and fast, punching him in the gut and stealing his breath. Had she seen him in there? Seen him lose it and kill? He’d slaughtered all those put in front of him—Reanimate, Blood and Lycan alike. All of them. Kill or be killed, law of the jungle. Survival of the fittest, because at the end of the day he was what he was—an animal.

Did she see him as an animal?

“You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “Stubborn, but beautiful.”

He caressed the delicate curve of her face, content for the moment to just know she was there. His body raged for more. To tear apart the bars between them to hold her in his arms and kiss her until they didn’t know where he ended and she began. His soul, his heart—his cock—ached to make her his in every sense of the word. Even with lust and the power of his wolf charging his blood, he couldn’t do anything about the cage. The Project had made them, and knew how to hold them.

“Who says the two have to be mutually exclusive?”

Her voice soft, she nuzzled his rough palm. The instinctive movement stole a little bit more of his heart. Her eyes were the color of midnight, but they weren’t the soulless pits he’d once thought a Blood’s eyes to be. Instead they sparkled with humor and intelligence.

For a moment he felt a pang, deep in the center of his chest, mourning the fact he’d not seen her eyes when she was human. What color had they been? Blue, brown…green? Then he realized it didn’t matter. She wasn’t human. He couldn’t keep ascribing human norms and values to either of them.