I caught it and quickly drained the contents, transported to heaven as the cold liquid rushed through me, cooling me down. One of, he’d said. Lord, how many did he have? “I seriously hope your former buddies don’t know about it.”
Erik turned and leaned his back against the refrigerator’s frame. “They don’t. I made sure of that.” Drinking, he strode to the far wall and placed his palms at the bottom of the left corner. Another hand scan—which amazed me since I couldn’t see an ID box on the wall—and other pop. The wall split down the center and slid apart.
“Sweet baby Jesus.” A large computer screen, several keyboards, and many things I didn’t recognize came into view, all pulsing with different colored lights.
“The entire building is monitored twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.” A stack of papers caught his eye and he bent down, picking them up. He straightened, frowning.
“What is it?”
“I keep these here as a reminder. See, I was too late one night,” he said, as if in a trance. “A woman died.”
I could hear the pain and self-deprecation in his voice. “I’m sorry.”
“This is what happens if I fail.”
My throat tightened. “May I see them?”
He glanced over at me. “Sure you want to?”
I nodded and held out my hand. Slowly he stretched out his arm. I drew in a breath and claimed them, then drew in another and closed my eyes. You can do this.
Finally, I looked.
The images were as horrific as the photos I’d seen in my dad’s office. An Arcadian female was doubled over, her expression one of frozen agony. Her fingers were curled unnaturally, her elbow bent at an odd angle. Her skin was tinted red, vessels having burst beneath the surface.
“There are hundreds of them in need of the drug,” Erik said. “Maybe thousands.”
“You can’t save them all.” Guilt swam through me. I’d never even tried to save one.
“But I can try,” he replied softly. He wheeled one of the chairs to the keyboard and punched in a series of numbers.
Beside me, I heard another pop. I set the photos aside and spun around in time to see another wall split, this one showcasing three tiers of guns, knives, and other killing devices I didn’t want to contemplate.
My mouth fell open.
“At A.I.R. training camp, we learned to be prepared for anything,” he explained.
“War, from the looks of it.”
Erik chuckled. “War, definitely.” There was a heavy pause and he lost his air of amusement. “Don’t freak out on me, but we’re going to have to alter our appearances. I’ve got the necessary supplies in the bathroom.” He flicked me a glance. “You’ll look good Goth. Promise.”
I nearly choked. Me? Goth? “That’ll make me stand out even more.”
“Yeah, but people quickly look away from the extreme.”
“You sure?”
“Sure. A.I.R. isn’t looking for Goths. They’re looking for an average, dark-haired guy and a beautiful brunette.”
My mouth fell open at his words. He kept saying things like that, calling me sexy and now “beautiful.” No wonder I was so hot for him.
As if he hadn’t just rocked my world, he punched a few more buttons on the keyboard. “Ever handled a pyre-gun before? And I don’t mean holding one or grabbing one from an assailant—or a friend,” he added with a frown, clearly thinking of the time I’d grabbed his and pointed it at Cara, “but actually firing it.”
“Uh, no.”
“Want to?”
“Sure.” Might be fun. Not.
“Pick one.”
Wait. What? “Now? You want to start target practice now?”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “No better time.”
“I—I—okay.” Please don’t let me kill myself or Erik, I silently prayed.
He stood and closed the distance between us. Hands on my shoulders, he spun me around, facing the weapons. He smelled familiar, good, like pine and sunshine and that spicy scent that was all his own.
His body heat enveloped me, reminding me of this morning, of our kiss, but I didn’t allow myself to shiver. He’d notice, probably ask me about it, and I’d have to admit that I couldn’t get his kisses out of my mind.
Remaining behind me, he reached over my shoulder and palmed a silver gun. The crystal perched between the barrel and the handle winked in the light. With his free hand, he positioned my fingers at the right angles, but didn’t let the gun near me. Yet.
“Be careful of my arm,” I said, because I was nervous and didn’t know what else to say.
“Always,” he replied, and then the cool steel was pressing against my skin.
I jumped. I don’t know why.
“Easy,” he said, fitting me and the weapon together. He kept his hands over mine. “Good.”
“This is lighter than I expected.” In fact, if I closed my eyes I could pretend my hand was empty.
“The metal is special, but all pyre-guns are made so that they don’t melt while spitting fire.”
I wouldn’t have to worry about burning my fingers when I pulled the trigger.
“Aim for me.”
I stretched out my arms, aiming as commanded.
Erik twisted me so that I was aiming at a wall, not his other weapons. I could feel the muscles in his arms and chest bunching with each movement.
“Fire it,” he said.
“No. No way.” I shook my head for emphasis. I’d burn the entire building to the ground.
“Fire,” he repeated firmly.
“But—”
He closed his finger around mine and squeezed the trigger. A yellow beam shot from the tip of the gun, propelling forward, slamming into the far wall. I nearly screamed and had to bite my tongue to hold the sound inside. There was no recoil, though, just smooth and easy-as-breathing stillness.
Didn’t matter. Hello, freak out. “I just fired a gun.”
“The lower half of the building is comprised of the same metal as the gun, just like the A.I.R. building. Nothing will melt it.”
“But the front door looks like it’s made of wood.”
“It’s painted to look that way so no one will suspect the truth.”
I glanced from the weapon to the unaffected wall, then back to the weapon. He was right. There wasn’t even a hint of smoke or ash. “You said A.I.R. is made of this stuff, too. How did you burn that window then?”