Project Rebellion

Chapter 2-1

It was like kicking a puppy.

Lips still tingling from the kiss he’d given her before Wilson had clocked him with the rifle butt, Antonia pressed the plunger and started to shove the sedative into the lycan’s vein. She felt the slight resistance when she pushed but schooled her movements to avoid shattering the delicate syringe. She’d broken a lot of things when she’d first been turned—glasses, mugs, even a shower handle once—so she knew to be careful.

Her nose wrinkled at the slight hint of silver hanging in the air, the trace elements of the small stream of fluid she’d let escape with the air bubbles. Bloods weren’t as susceptible to silver, but it didn’t mean she wanted any on her skin—or getting into her bloodstream if she crushed the glass syringe in her hand.

Her patient gasped, closing his eyes as the stuff hit. His head jerked back and slammed into the side of the truck so hard she winced. His back arched, the arc one of pain while every muscle and chord stood out in high relief on his bare chest and neck.

Toni moved with him, hand hard on his arm to keep the needle in place. He wasn’t trying to buck her off. The movement was instinctive—a reaction to the sedative. His feet scrambled on the metal floor, trying to find purchase while she pushed the plunger home with a click.

At the sound, she pressed her lips together, unwanted memories assaulting her of the days after her own infection. Memories of lying on a trolley, scared out of her mind while the scientists ran endless tests and gave her antidote shots. The soft click of the plunger as she held on to the hope that for once, fate would be kind. That the collision in the corridor, which had left her with more holes in her arm than a sieve, had been harmless. That somehow the sharps scattered about her feet and those of the medical technician didn’t contain what was stamped in big, black letters on the side.

BD15.

The guy had freaked out, brushing the needles embedded in his arm with something akin to a moan of terror. The blood had drained from his face as he looked from her to the door behind them. It was yanked open, armed guards piling through the gap. Their weapons weren’t held at their sides anymore, but trained on the two of them.

She’d known.

Instantly.

Even though they’d run all the tests and reassured her the virus didn’t take every time—and back in the first days of the camp it hadn’t—she’d still known. As she lay studying the ceiling, she felt the virus moving around her body, like ice circling her blood. Then it had started to burrow into her tissues.

The foot traffic had slowed, the faces around her changing, becoming grim. She’d ignored them, preferring to look at the backs of her eyelids rather than see the mixture of pity and scientific interest. So she pretended to doze when guards had entered the room to stand silently by the door.

It had been all downhill from then. Medical personnel had given way to lead scientists. By the time the virus had begun to chew at her insides, turning her guts into a seething mass of fiery snakes, she’d gone from a patient to a subject.

And she’d been a subject ever since.

The slump of her prisoner’s body brought her back to the present. Trying to be gentle, she kept an eye out for movement as she withdrew the needle. He might be sedated but her words to Wilson held true. Out of it or not, he was still a lycan. While he drew breath, he’d be dangerous. It was dark in the back of the transporter but that made no difference. She could see just as well in pitch black as in daylight.

He didn’t move. His tall, leanly muscled body was lax and at her mercy as she pulled the sharp point from his flesh. Only the smallest curl of his lip indicated he’d felt her movement. She wasn’t naive enough to believe he was unconscious. Instead, she knew the battle was focused inward, on the drugs racing through his system.

She sat back on her heels and resisted the urge to make comforting noises. What was the point? She was transporting him to base, and the Project knew he’d been holding out on them. The best he could expect was intense interrogation, Project style. Which meant they’d beat the s**t out of him while his animal was locked down with silver. The worst was a silver bullet to the back of the head, and then an unmarked grave out in the desert somewhere.

No noble end for a Project soldier.

Her own grave would be out there.

She bagged the used needle with quick movements. No sense in taking chances. Grimly, she ignored the bead of blood that detached itself from the injection site and rolled down his arm. A big, fat ball, bright and luscious. Like a cherry just waiting for her to take a bite. No matter how much she needed to feed, no matter how good that drop of blood smelled, she couldn’t. Had he been human—one of her men—then yes. She’d have been all over him like a bad rash. Wrapping herself around him and rubbing her body against his before sinking her fangs into the thick vein at his throat.

He’d taste good. She knew he would. Despite the fact he was lycan, his scent continued to taunt and tease. Her lips compressed and she shifted on the hard floor to stop the checker plate from biting into her knees. She should have worn knee pads. But no one had told her she’d be in the back of one of the transporters, shooting up a captured lycan.

The movement had her brushing against his leg, and his scent billowed up like a sheet to wrap her in its embrace. Reaching deep inside her to reawaken the interest she’d thought dead, like her humanity. An interest she didn’t want to have to deal with at the moment. Not with the possibility of a cure almost within reach.

Shaking her head to banish the maddening scent, she tucked the yellow sharps disposal bag into a side pocket on the med-kit. Leaving the main compartment open, she shifted the kit to the other side of the truck bed. Always aware, even a slight flinch from the guy spread out over the cold metal floor got her instant attention.

As she watched, his muscles bunched and twitched, and his eyes rolled into the back of his head, like a dog in the middle of a running dream. But she knew better. This was no dream. Snarls slipped from his mouth as he fought the drugs, the corners of his lips curled back to reveal canines sharp enough to rival hers.

Her heart skipped a beat and sped up. Energy punched through her system. Should she load up a second shot? He looked asleep now but lycans could be unpredictable. One moment they’d be so far under that the sandman would have trouble finding them, and the next wide awake and ready to go toe to toe with anything standing in their way.

Blood and energy surged around her body. If that happened, she would have a fight on her hands to contain him. There was no way she could let him out of there, not with Wilson and the other members of her team about. She’d seen how he moved when they’d fought—how fast and lethal. They wouldn’t stand a chance. She had to keep him in here. But an enraged lycan, pissed off with the silver in his veins, in such close confines? Yeah, she’d be in for a world of hurt. Blood she might be, but a bruise was still a f*****g bruise and would be just as painful as it had been when she was human. Especially one inflicted with the bone-crushing intensity a lycan could muster.

Despite all that, despite the fact she knew how dangerous he was, Toni didn’t care. Her heart thundered at near human levels. Excitement, adrenaline and something else—something she didn’t want to name—filled her veins. She wanted this, wanted it all to kick off to ease the restlessness within her.

It wasn’t to be. With a rattling sigh he slumped to the side, like someone had pulled the plug and drained all the life from his limbs. Ever wary and suspecting a trick, she waited, every line of her body tensed and ready for an attack. Ready to defend herself. But the attack didn’t come. Instead he turned his head, as though the slow movement was difficult, and then dropped it back. His long, dark hair spilled over the cold metal beneath his shoulders.

Slowly she leaned forward, extended a finger and prodded his shoulder. He didn’t move. She breathed a sigh of relief. He was unconscious.

Almost.

As she moved back, the energy in her body ebbing away, he opened his eyes to look at her. They were dark, but with a warning ring of amber. Suppressing a shiver, she matched him look for look, not prepared to back down. It didn’t matter how much silver she pumped into him—even if she used all seven shots left in the bag, the creature inside him would still be there. It would always be there. Watching. Waiting.

You’re mine.

You’re mine.Unbidden, his words to Kelwood chased each other around her mind like an over-active puppy chasing its own tail. She tried to ignore them. How did she know this was the lycan who had pinned Kelwood and issued a warning for her?

He smiled, the smallest quirk of his lips, which rocked her to the core, and she knew.

This was the same lycan, and she’d become the prey.

The journey passed swiftly but time had become relative for Toni. She could zone out for what seemed like five minutes only to come to and find hours had gone by. It had freaked out the medical technicians the first time they’d ventured into her room to see why she’d missed her check-up. They’d found her staring at the wall, hairbrush in hand, frozen in mid-stroke while she pondered the meaning of life, her continued existence and why the hell she could hear a fly on the wall three rooms down.

The rhythmic sway of the vehicle and the darkness helped her semi-trance as she watched the lycan opposite. Half slumped against the side of the truck, his occasional twitch between periods of blessed unconsciousness told her he still fought the drugs. Admiration filled her. He was a stubborn one for sure. But at least when he was unconscious, he wasn’t in pain. Everyone knew lycans were monsters, but now she found the idea of him in pain distasteful.

Heat crawled over her cheeks, shame rolling through her with the unstoppable force of a tidal wave. She didn’t like the idea of him in pain, yet she was taking him back to the Project. She planned to trade him for a cure, knowing what would happen to him. Knowing they would beat him to within an inch of his life to get the answers they wanted and then execute him in the cold light of dawn.

She was taking a man to his death to get what she wanted.

Who was the real monster?

The scent of the forest filtering through the vents on the sides of the cabin gave way to farmland. The wilder smell would disappear when they crossed into the drier, arid wastelands around the camp. Which suited the Project fine. Miles after miles of dry, empty scrubland meant no one could watch the base. Nothing lived out there. Nothing wanted to live out there.