Armed with the news Foster was in custody, Colonel Fitzgerald hustled off toward the lycan labs in a happy mood. With a sense of unease, Toni watched him go. Even if she’d wanted to follow him, she couldn’t. Not into the lycan labs. They wouldn’t let her because of the risk of cross-infection. A minute danger, but possible all the same. Perhaps more. Although she’d told the two med-techs earlier hybrids were an urban myth, she wasn’t entirely convinced herself.

There had been a rumor, way back when, about a hybrid. An accident in the labs with the serums or something, a drop of the wrong virus in a vial, or someone making a mistake and reusing a needle. The stories were all different. The end result was the same. One of the subjects had gotten a mixed dose of the blood and lycan viruses and it had created a hybrid—a creature so powerful the Project had freaked out.

According to some stories, the hybrid had killed the entire medical staff on duty before tearing through the camp, only to be put down by the machine gun towers. And in others it had been cornered by four armored cars and taken out with heavy weaponry. In all of the stories, the body count was high and the hybrid had taken massive damage before being killed.

Shaking her head at her own foolishness for considering the story, she put the thought to the back of her mind and walked down the corridor in the opposite direction of the lycan labs. She grimaced, rubbing a hand over her stomach and trying to smooth away the uneasiness. There was nothing she could do to help Foster, and with the amount of sedative she’d shoved into his system, he’d be out for at least another couple of hours. That’s if he were sensible and didn’t try and sweat the stuff out. If he were sensible, he’d play dead. There was no point torturing a man who couldn’t answer questions. Even Fitz wasn’t that sadistic.

Her long strides ate up the distance through the maze of corridors in the base’s main building as she made her way to the RA labs. Like with the lycan labs, strictly speaking she shouldn’t have been anywhere near them. Useless rules and regulations regarding cross-infection. She shuddered at the thought, glad there was no chance of RA cross-infection on any blood or lycan. The virus already in their bodies shielded them from its effects.

She turned the last corner and the main double doors to the lab came into view. A swing shutter affair, the opaque plastic material obscured what was going on within, but she could just make out technicians moving around inside. For a top secret lab, the security was a joke. No guard on the door, no keypad or card swipe locking system, but the virus itself was the security system. One splash transferring it and it was all she wrote. No second chances. No one with an ounce of sense in their heads would break in and try to steal the damn stuff.

Her steps faltered as she shot a glance up to the corners of the ceiling. Cameras covered the door from both directions, the monitors in the main security office. If she was unlucky, someone would be watching them but she doubted it. There were more important things to watch than a lab no one would dare steal anything from.

Judging the distance and overlapping arcs of view of the two cameras, she took a few more steps and then ducked out of sight. The slight recess in the wall housing a fire extinguisher and a fire axe provided enough of a gap for her to tuck herself into. Then she froze—stilled all movement until anyone looking at her would think she was nothing more than a lifelike mannequin.

Not a moment too soon. The double doors swung open to disgorge three med-techs into the corridor. She didn’t move a muscle—didn’t even blink, just in case. They walked down the corridor, chattering away about some reality show. One looked her way and time slowed, adrenaline and something else—a strange high pitched buzzing—poured through her veins, energizing every part of her body. Tension coiled in her legs, her body preparing to leap. Her fingertips throbbed, the retractable claws hidden beneath her fingernails aching to punch free. She could have them in his throat in half a second…

He didn’t bat an eyelid, his gaze sliding over her. Like she wasn’t there. Turning back to his companions, he chuckled at a joke and they carried on down the corridor before turning the corner. Then they were out of sight and Toni slumped against the wall, leaning her forehead against the ancient plasterboard to drag a deep breath into her lungs. She had been sure the last guy had seen her. He’d looked directly at her, for fuck’s sake. Most times she could fool a passing glance, but direct attention or electronics like the cameras were beyond her. Or so she’d thought, but the tech had looked right through her and carried on. Then there was the weird buzzy feeling, like she’d injected boiling champagne right into her veins. Even now she felt antsy, as though she couldn’t keep still. Apart from the fact she hadn’t moved a muscle since she’d slid into the gap between the wall and the extinguisher.

What the fuck was going on?

She didn’t get time to think about it. Seconds after the techs rounded the corner, the doors were pushed open again from inside the lab. Without moving, she opened her eyes, using her peripheral vision to watch the figure that emerged.

There was nothing remarkable about the lead scientist on base, Doctor Bruce Jacobs. Of average height and build, he wore a white doctor’s coat over a white shirt, cream sweater and pale slacks. With gray hair and beard, pale skin and washed out blue eyes, the only other splashes of color about his person were the red of his tie and the polished chestnut of his shoes. He had a distracted air about him, like his mind was always somewhere else, mulling on a problem outside the comprehension of normal mortals. A weight, a gravity that made his staff treat him with respect and deference.

But Toni didn’t give a shit about deference. And respect? This man and those like him had developed the three viruses. If it were up to her, they’d have been locked up months ago for crimes against humanity.

Sliding out of her hiding place, she blocked his path. Her sudden movement from unnoticeable statue to living, breathing being didn’t get a reaction because he didn’t look up, his attention focused on the notes in his hand as he muttered to himself.

“Uptake is slow… It has to be linked to the cellular regen—”

“Doctor Jacobs, do you have a moment?”

“Huh?” The doctor’s head snapped up and he blinked at her. The round glasses he wore gave him the look of a confused owl. “Oh, yes…Subj…err, Major Fielding, isn’t it? What can I do for you?”

Anger welled at the fact he had to stop himself calling her a subject, or using her case number, but she ignored it. She needed information from the guy, so pissing him off or threatening to rip his throat out wasn’t going to help her cause.

“It is.” Plastering a smile she didn’t feel on her face, she nodded. “I wanted to talk to you about the RAs we’ve been using on the cleanup operations.”

The doctor’s attention, which had been wandering back to his notes, transferred completely, the pale eyes behind the glasses fixed on her. She suppressed a shudder. Now she knew what a bug under a microscope felt like. It wasn’t a pleasant sensation at all.

“What about them?”

“Well…” She paused for a moment and considered how to phrase her request. “Have you ever noticed anything strange about the latest batches? Say…intelligence?”

“Hmm…” Jacobs pressed his lips together, his long gray beard wiggling as he did. She wondered if he had to wear a hair and beard net in the sterile areas. “You mean traces of, or full-on intelligence? Sometimes we have one or two with vestigial traces of intelligence but it seems to be more of a knee-jerk reaction. Once advanced decay sets in, those traces disappear. We think it might have something to do with medication the subjects took in the months beforehand. We’ve never noticed any traces in known drug-users for example, yet those on certain brands of SSRIs…” He paused at her blank look and elaborated. “They’re a type of anti-depressant.”

“Ah, okay. Thank you,” she said but he had started talking again, enthusiasm written into every line of his expression.

“So those on SSRIs seem to display the most vestigial intelligence, which is perhaps something to do with the action of the medication within the brain. We definitely need further study on the subject…” He stopped and blinked. “I’m sorry. Did that answer your question, Major?”

She frowned and shook her head. “Yes and no. Have you ever had a subject display real intelligence and show evidence of retention of memory?”

Another blink, but she didn’t miss the sudden flash of interest. The notes hung ignored in his hand.

“Memory? Why?” His voice was sharp. “Have you seen any with intelligence? Out in the field? Oh my lord, naturally occurring self-awareness. We’d theorized it was possible…we need tox tests, dissection of the brain to isolate any structural abnormalities. For this to happen with the standard—” He stopped, visibly reining in his excitement. “Did you bring the body back?”

“The standard what?” Toni’s eyes narrowed. “No, we didn’t bring it back. You know the operating procedures, Doctor. All RAs are terminated on site.”

Jacobs tutted, annoyance and frustration washing over his face. “Yes, yes…I know. But when one of them exhibits unusual behavior, you should bring them back to me for further study. You shouldn’t destroy important scientific evidence. I can’t stress the importance of that enough.”

She shrugged. “Tell it to the colonel, Doctor. You want ‘em back, I’ll bring ‘em back.”

“Hmmm, okay. That’ll have to do, I suppose. Do you know which subject it was? Perhaps I can pull the medical records from the pris—”

“It was Garry Stevens.”

The name dropped into the sudden silence between them like a brick down a well.

“Oh…” Jacobs blinked again, his dry eyelids sweeping over his eyes with an audible “snick,” and looked away. A slight flush hit his cheeks—a pale pink that seemed, like the rest of him, to be a washed out version compared to his bright red tie. “Yes, I heard about that. A most…regrettable incident.”

Toni’s temper snapped.

“Regrettable. Is that it? That’s all you have to say after one of your staff was deliberately infected? You’re a freaking scientist, Doctor. You know what the virus does. And it was no secret Garry was terrified of RA infection.” She took a step forward, managing to loom over the older man despite the differences in their height. “Can you imagine what he went through, waking up to find he’d become his worst nightmare?”

“I—I…” He refused to meet her gaze, the flush on his cheeks deepening. “I should be getting back. Test results, you understand.”

“Of course, Doctor.” Toni stepped back. She wasn’t going to get any more out of him. “Thank you for your time. I’ll let you get back to your work.”

 “Thank you. Good day, Major.”

The doctor bobbed his head, still not looking at her, and made good his escape. Toni watched him go, concentrating on keeping her face impassive to conceal the emotions and thoughts rolling through her mind. She was in full view of the cameras. Sure, it was visual only but she didn’t want to give any impression other than the cool, professional soldier. Anything else and Fritz would find a way to use the smallest hint of unprofessionalism against her.

The doctor’s well-worn but expensive shoes were almost soundless on the freshly mopped floor. She didn’t think he was a bad guy. He’d been embarrassed when she’d called him out over Garry, but what counted as evil? Was she evil? She fit the description of Vampire—traditionally evil creatures—but she was just a product of the experiments Jacobs and people like him had conducted. So had they allowed evil to occur by dint of their science, then turned a blind eye to how the end result was used?

All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.

Someone had said that, hadn’t they? Probably some stuffed shirt, sitting in a book-lined study filled with tomes on highbrow things a grunt like her had no business even trying to comprehend. But that singular point she got. If no one stood up against evil, it would flourish.

Flourish and grow until there was no stopping it. Like a cancer.

Her eyes narrowed when the doctor shot a glance over his shoulder, caught her looking at him and sped up to round the corner, deeper in the bowels of the labs. She replayed the conversation in her mind, analyzing it. He’d seemed way too interested in intelligence occurring with the RA serum—no, wait. He’d started to say something…

For this to happen on the standard—

Standard what? Standard serum? If there was a standard serum, did it mean there were others? The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. Fuck. What other horrors had the Project hidden?

Her instincts screamed at her. She had to get out of the labs. Forget what she’d heard and what she’d thought she’d heard, and not ask any more questions in case someone caught on to her. If anyone figured out what she was thinking, she’d end up with a one-way trip out into the desert and some extra ventilation in the back of her skull.

She turned and walked away, breathing a sigh of relief when she reached the door. The air was dry and arid but still better than the antiseptic stench of the labs. Anything was better than the air in the labs, loaded with the scents of experimentation and, buried beneath it, terror and despair.

She shuddered as her long strides took her down the paths between the labs more by memory than conscious direction. The path led to the blood barracks and she trudged her weary way, feeling the call of her bed. She didn’t sleep often, no, but every creature—even one near dead like her—needed to rest sometimes.

Emerging from the back of the labs, she crossed the clear area between the main buildings and the residential ones. Everyone called it the “green” but out there it was anything but—the grass having long ago given up the ghost under the glare of the sun. Sticking her hands in her pockets, she flicked a glance at the series of broken down barracks on the left, each surrounded by miles of razor wire and steel fencing.

The lycan barracks. Little more than shells of buildings for the creatures they contained. Which one had her wolf been kept in? She shuddered to think of Foster living in squalor. The other lycans she’d had dealings with seemed more animal than man, so the conditions they endured had never bothered her. But Foster was different. More like a man.

Yeah, he was all man, a small voice sniggered at the back of her mind.

Vicious snarls erupted from the two end barracks. Furred bodies slammed against the barriers, rattling the wire and metal as the packs tried to get at each other. The shouts of the human guards filled the air. Soldiers ran, firing Tasers and rubber bullets into the pens. Yelps and cries of pain, both animal and human, filled the air as the spat was suppressed with more violence.

Disgust rose sharply in Toni’s throat but she kept walking. Once she’d been one of those soldiers and would have thought nothing of doing whatever she needed to keep the animals under control. Would have, even a couple of days ago…

The pitiful sounds receded behind her as she approached the blood barracks. These were in better condition. In fact, apart from the locks on the doors and the barred windows, they were identical to the barracks the human staff was housed in.

Letting out a sigh of relief, she stepped through the door and out of the glare of the sun. Although weak, the light was still over-bright for her sensitive eyes. The blessed darkness and coolness from the corridor’s air-con washed over her, making her aware of just how hot and grubby she felt. Perhaps she could collapse in a puddle on the floor and absorb the cold of the tile like some sort of reverse lizard, shedding heat instead of basking on a rock.

“Well, well, well…if it isn’t the Ice Queen herself.”

Her head snapped up at the mocking voice, every fiber of her being on alert as her vision altered in the dim light. A familiar male figure detached itself from the shadows up ahead. Toni fought back the urge to curl her lip and snarl.

Captain Brent McCoy. Tall, blond and all American—he was too pale for the jock he obviously had been. Now he was a blood, like her but from a newer batch. A different version of the serum. There was a darkness in McCoy, which attracted and repulsed her at the same time. The repulsion was aided by the fact the guy was an absolute grade-A dick.

He sauntered forward, careful to stay out of range. His eyes glittered in the darkness and swept over her figure with far more interest than was healthy for his continued wellbeing.

“Heard you brought in a mutt. Mind you, you are a bitch so it probably thought you were its mother.”

“Right into the name calling today, McCoy? Normally you can manage at least one civil exchange. Now, if you’ll excuse me, we’ll have to finish this conversation when I have far less time.”

Brent’s lip curled back, a snarl rattling in the back of his throat. Forget the lycans outside—this idiot was far more of an animal. She’d seen the state of those he’d been sent to deal with. Even for a blood, it didn’t make for easy sleeping.

“You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Fucking bitch rug-muncher.”

Hate ringing in his voice, he took a step closer, squaring up to her with murder and bloodlust in his eyes. Toni sighed. And there was the root of Brent’s problem with her. He was cut from the same cloth as Fitzgerald. She was a woman and a superior officer, which was enough to generate deep contempt, but his hatred ran deeper.

She knew why. They’d been assigned to the base within weeks of each other, way back when. From the moment they’d met, he’d made no secret of his interest. She’d turned him down, politely, but he couldn’t leave it. Unable to accept a woman was immune to his charm, he’d started a campaign against her. Her kit damaged, things stolen, then the rumors. Anything from gang-bangs in her room to the latest…that she was a lesbian.

“Rug muncher?” She chuckled, using words to cover the slight movement when she shifted her weight. The threat of violence hung in the air between them, the tension so thick a mere spark would be enough to set it off. Darkness uncurled from the black space that was her soul.

“No, I like cock too much. Wait…” She blinked. “That could have been why I turned you down. Gee, fancy that.”

She’d pushed too far. Brent’s expression twisted, the hate no longer confined to his eyes. His roar of rage bounced back from the whitewashed walls and he charged. She was ready for him, the blackness within her flowing freely with joy as she met him halfway.

The fight was fast and brutal. Blow after blow traded and blocked quicker than the human eye could see. Even for a blood, Brent was damn quick. Toni grinned as she foiled an uppercut and let fly with a right hook. Her fist slammed into his jaw, blood splattering over the wall, but she didn’t give him any respite. She twisted to slam her elbow into his abused jaw, a grunt escaping her lips.

Her stomach muscles tightened as she reversed the movement, driving the back of the elbow into the other side of his jaw and hammering her fist home in the same spot. Brent’s head snapped one way and then the other under the force of her blows, impacts that would have driven a human to his knees and ended the fight.

But Brent wasn’t human.

He shook his head, recovering faster than Toni anticipated. A curse escaped her lips and was cut off halfway when he lashed out, booted foot slamming into her solar plexus to drive her back. She crashed into the hard surface behind her, all the breath forced from her lungs. The steel-reinforced wall groaned at the blow, plaster dusting her head and shoulders. Pain flared through her body. Fuck, the bastard had a kick on him.

She had less than a second to recover. Brent charged her and she read her death in his black eyes. Behind him the flicker of movement, doors opening, told her they were watched. She had to win this. No two ways about it. This wasn’t about Brent being pissed she’d turned him down. It wasn’t about jealousy or anger, or anything remotely human anymore.

No, this was about the side of them that came from a test tube. It was all about the inhumanity that infected their cells along with the virus…the sick lust that reacted to violence, pain and death. It was about proving once and for all which one of them was better, faster, stronger.

She sidestepped and Brent’s fist slammed into the wall where her head had been a moment before. Plaster broke, falling away to reveal raw brickwork. He started to pull back, already tracking her movements, but she was too fast. Her fingers stole around his wrist, thick and corded with muscle. Her talons punched through the skin, seeking the gaps between the wrist bones, and he screamed. The heady scent of blood bloomed on the air. Tantalizing. Distracting. She ignored it in favor of spinning him around and then slammed his face into the opposite wall.

He kicked back. Pain flared in her knee, sending red-hot pokers up her leg. Losing her grip, she stumbled back. She protected her face and soft abdomen from his claws as he backed her up along the corridor. Fuck. How had he come back so fast?

She couldn’t afford to be weak. Weakness meant death. She had to win this, even with no hope of any help. The doors were open but none of the other bloods would step up to her aid. If they did, they risked Brent and his bully boys coming after them in the night. Nor would the guards outside bother. Even if they did hear the commotion, they wouldn’t come in here. It was all very well breaking up a lycan fight when the combatants were safely behind razor wire made of steel and silver, and quite another to walk into a nest of vipers.

Her wolf would. The thought snuck in as Brent grabbed her wrist in a copycat of her move. His claws scored her skin and fire wrapped around her arm. He roared, other hand hard on the back of her neck as he propelled her into the wall.

She got her feet under her, ran up the wall and over his arm to drop behind him. Her hands moved in a blur of speed. She punched his back, open fisted and with claws extended. With each blow, the sharp talons sliced deeply into the flesh either side of his spine. He howled and jerked as she sliced and diced his internal organs, black blood flowing down his back and legs.

Finally he fell forward, slumping against the wall to slide down it into a small heap. Toni looked at his body. He wasn’t dead. Not yet. She could still feel the darkness coiled within him as his body sought to repair the damage she’d done.

A snarl curled her lips. Pinning him with a knee in the middle of his back, she grabbed his hair and yanked his head up. His face was splattered with blood, his eyes wide and panicked as he looked up at her.

“Remember this.” Her claws tickled his throat, her voice little more than a low hiss. “Whenever you think you’ve got the balls to take me on again, remember this. Next time I won’t let you off so easy. I’ll tear your fucking throat out and feed your body to the goddamn crows.”