Her breath choked out. She’d seen a box like that before. On another story that she’d worked on. A box like that had been found in the aftermath . . .
“I taught my son so much,” Jeremiah said as he lifted the box in his bloodstained hands. “About genetics. About life. About the possibilities before us . . .”
In the aftermath of an explosion that had wiped out a home. A family.
“I also taught him about destruction. About how easy it can be to kill.” His fingers hovered over the small switch on the side of the box. “With just one . . . touch . . . of a finger . . .”
He’d wired the building. Eve could only shake her head. He’d wired this place, the same way that his son had wired the chocolate shop.
No wonder Jeremiah had wanted Roberts to lure them to this warehouse. Get them in . . .
Then watch us explode.
“Bombs are all around us,” Jeremiah said. “This is the end.”
“Get the f**k out of the way!” Cain snarled, but he wasn’t sending out his fire to blast Jeremiah. If he did, Jeremiah might hit that switch.
The whole building could explode then. Would explode, because she didn’t think the guy was bluffing. Eve didn’t even know how powerful the explosion could be. There were humans close by. How many would be hurt?
The pain in her chest was easing. Numbing. She could barely feel anything. Even her fingertips.
Her hands slumped down, dangling uselessly, but she made her eyes stay open. Open.
“They’ll think your fire destroyed this place,” Jeremiah said as his fingertips caressed the small, black case. “Subject Thirteen strikes again. He just couldn’t let the woman he loved go—obsession drove him.” His hand lifted, his fingers curling around the detonator. “And he killed . . .”
“You’ll kill yourself!” Cain yelled at him. “The fire won’t kill me. It won’t kill her! Just you, bastard!”
“I’m ready to die.” But he wasn’t pushing the detonator.
Eve tried to pull in a deep breath. Couldn’t.
“The vampire blood should have made me younger, given the years back to me.” Jeremiah shook his head. “Not trapped me like this! And now that you’ve taken Richard . . .”
Thud. Thud.
It sounded like the old man’s cane. But he wasn’t using it. That too-slow thud was Eve’s heartbeat. “Cain . . .”
He spun away from Jeremiah and raced for the other side of the building.
“Now I’m ready for death.” Jeremiah’s voice followed them.
So did the explosion. A fast, driving blast that lifted Cain and Eve into the air even as a furnace of heat swept over them.
The walls and the roof shattered. Debris rained down on them. The hungry flames consumed everything in sight.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Cain crawled from beneath the rubble. A slab of concrete had broken his leg. Gritting his teeth, he shoved the heavy stone aside. He was bleeding. Pain swept through him in driving waves of agony.
Internal injuries.
The fire hadn’t killed him, but he’d be dead soon—the impact of the explosion was too much for his body to handle. His right arm was shattered. His head concussed. And inside . . .
His organs were f**king mush.
Focus on her.
Eve was in his arms. He’d used his body to protect her as best he could. He’d taken the hits, the full force of the explosion, for her.
But she wasn’t moving.
He couldn’t walk, so he dragged her with him. Cradled her as best he could. “Help!” He screamed out at the night not because he wanted to be saved, but because he needed someone to come and help her.
Eve couldn’t die. If she did . . . she won’t come back to me.
His body was shutting down. He felt it. Felt the surge of the fire inside him. No. He couldn’t leave her yet. She needed him.
He put his hand on her chest, trying to stop that blood flow. The bullet had torn through her delicate body. So much blood. It soaked her shirt. Poured through his fingers.
Beautiful Eve. She looked broken. A cut sliced across her forehead. Her eyes were closed, her lashes casting heavy shadows on her cheeks. She was so . . . still.
“Don’t do . . . this,” he grated out as he kept dragging her. They were almost clear of the wreckage, and he could hear sirens in the distance. Help was coming for her. She just had to hold on for him. A few more moments . . .
But she didn’t stir at his words.
Another few desperate inches. Glass cut into his legs. Dammit. He hadn’t just broken one leg. He’d f**king nearly lost the second leg.