Kissing Sin

I tried to delve further, get more information, but the air was so thick and rich with the reek of rot that I was gagging, and couldn't concentrate.

I withdrew my thoughts, and met his gaze. Death roamed in his eyes, and it approached fast. It was then I realized his face looked gaunter, as if in the last few minutes he'd lost a huge amount of weight. The press of his skin against my shins and butt felt like the touch of fire.

Then it clicked, and the look of death in his eyes made sense.

Misha had once asked me to imagine the super soldier that could be built if the secrets of vampires, wolves, and other nonhumans could be unlocked. There'd be little you could do to stop such a force, he'd said. What he'd forgotten to mention was the added improvements—that if they did get caught, they could kill themselves, and therefore stop any efforts of getting information.

This man was growing hotter because he was about to spontaneously combust. Only there wasn't anything spontaneous about it.

I rolled away from him, the gun held at the ready should he try and move. He didn't. Couldn't.

His gray eyes were wide, and the death I'd seen earlier was all-consuming. Only this time it was his death I saw, not mine, and the realization of it had wiped away the faint amusement so evident only moments before. His thin lips were open, as if he were screaming, but no sound came out, only a gush of bloody liquid. Water was beginning to pool under his entire body and steam rose from both legs. He was melting, disintegrating, from the inside out. What a God-awful way to die.

I couldn't sit here and watch it. Couldn't sit here and just let it happen with such agonizing slowness. This wasn't death. This was torture, and no one—not even a lab-developed freak—deserved this sort of ending.

I touched his arm, flinching a little at the heat. His flesh rolled under my touch, as if it were molten fluid barely contained by skin. 'Do you wish a quick ending?'

His gaze found mine. 'It shouldn't be like this.' His words came out hoarse, interspersed with shudders of pain. 'They said it wouldn't be like this.'

So they'd lied to their creations. No surprise there, really. The people behind all this had shown little in the way of morals so far, and lying was undoubtedly the least of their sins.

And Misha was one of them. I couldn't afford to forget that. Not ever.

The shadow creature's body was beginning to close in on itself, collapsing like a tent in extreme slow motion. Steam was rising from his torso now, and the stench of stewing flesh was thick enough to carve.

'Do you wish a quick death?' I repeated, swallowing bile and barely resisting the urge to run from this man and his death.

'Yes.'' It came out little more than a hiss of pain.

'Then tell me why you killed that woman.' It was a horrid thing to do, but I needed at least one answer.

His gaze flayed me with his pain, and I briefly closed my eyes against it.

'Directorate too close,' he gasped. 'Chopping off limbs… to save head.'

I didn't bother asking him to name the head. He was only a weapon, and a dispensable one at that. Instead, I rose and stepped away from his melting, steaming body. His gaze met mine, the gray depths pleading. I answered that plea and pulled the trigger.

His brains splattered, ending sensation. Yet still his body continued to disintegrate, until there was nothing left but scorched grass, damp earth, and the memories that would haunt my nights for months to come.

I grabbed the backpack, wrapped the shadows around me, and walked away before I lost total control over my stomach.

But perhaps the thing that revolted me most was not the stranger's death, but the ease with which I'd pulled the trigger. It was in me to kill—I'd proven that at Genoveve two months ago. Not that I'd actually thought much about the ease with which I'd used that laser. Maybe because it was simply a matter of me or them. This situation was a whole lot different. Even though I'd killed in mercy, I'd still pulled that trigger without qualms, and without hesitation. And more than that, I'd watched it.

The instinct to kill was a base part of every wolf, but one long controlled by the rules of civilization. With Rhoan and I, those controls seemed to have slipped. Rhoan had acknowledged it long ago, and channeled his desires into guardian duties. I'd ignored it.

But maybe not for much longer.

Or was I making mountains out of molehills again? Rhoan would probably say yes, I was, but I wasn't so sure. The sick sensation that I'd unleashed something two months ago that couldn't be retrieved would not go away.

I shivered, and thrust the thoughts away. Killing for the sake of mercy was completely different to killing because I was ordered to do so.

I had to believe that. I really did.

Blowing out a breath, I stopped, broke down the rifle and shoved the bits in the pack. Throwing it back over my shoulder, I looked around, searching for the nearest phone. I'd left mine in the car, and while it would only take me a few minutes to run back there, I needed to call Jack fast and warn him that the man behind all this was killing—

I stopped abruptly.

He was killing the main limbs of his organization in order to protect himself.

Misha was one of those limbs.

If I didn't get to him before they did, our last chance of discovering the name of the leader was gone. As dead as that woman in the restaurant. As dead as the man who had shot her.

I got my clothes then ran on to the car with every ounce of speed I possessed. Unlocking the door and grabbing the phone seemed to take forever, as did dialing Misha's number and waiting for a response. All I got was a recorded message.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I slammed the door shut, started the car, and threw the gears into drive. After planting my foot on the accelerator and taking off with a squeal of tires that undoubtedly had the nearby cops scrambling to note my plate number, I thumbed Rhoan's number into the phone, and hit the call button. His phone was engaged. I swore softly, and sent him a text message instead. Hopefully, he'd look at it before it was too late. Jack's number got the same response. I sent him a message, telling him what I was doing and why, then threw the phone onto the passenger seat and concentrated on driving.

It took me twenty minutes to get to Lygon Street, and to say I broke the land-speed record would be something of an understatement. I stopped in a loading zone, grabbed the backpack and my phone, then ran toward the Rocker.

The security guard glanced my way as I neared, one bushy brow raised in query. 'You seem to be in an awful hurry.'

I slid to a halt. 'I need to find Misha Rollins. Is he inside, by any chance?'

'I've only just come on shift, so I can't—'

'Thanks,' I cut in, then pushed past. The main bar wasn't full, though quite a few people were waiting for drinks. Misha wasn't one of them. Swearing softly, I pressed his number into the phone again as I made my way toward the back stairs.

Misha answered as I reached the top. 'Riley,' he said, voice filled with cold amusement rather than passion. He wasn't here, then. Or at least, not in the process of mating. 'This is a pleasant surprise.'

'Where are you?' I stopped on the top of the stairs and scanned the shadow-filled room. There were a good twenty wolves up here, but Misha wasn't amongst them.

'My, you sound awfully anxious—'

'Cut the crap, Misha. Your life is in danger. Where the hell are you?'

'At work.' His voice was flat. 'Why do you think my life is in danger?'

'What does Nasia Whitby look like?' I countered. 'And is she one of the Helkis who can take male and female shape?'

'You have been busy.'

I headed back down the stairs. 'Just answer the goddamn question.'