He headed toward the bed.
Eve’s body stiffened in his arms. “Um . . . wait . . . what—”
Carefully, he put her down on top of the covers. She looked right in his bed. She’d look even better naked. The woman did need to get out of those burned clothes. “Genesis is gone.” Did she remember that part? The flames? The screams?
Her eyes widened. She glanced down at her clothes. Had to see the ash. The fire had burned part of her clothing, but the flames hadn’t marred her flesh. “You . . . took me out.” Her voice was stronger. Still husky. Still like a hot stroke right over his groin. “Got me out of the flames after . . .” She sat up slowly, sliding over the covers with a hiss of sound. “After that bastard shot me.”
Anger sharpened her words. But who wouldn’t be pissed after getting shot?
He reached for her.
She flinched away from him.
Cain’s jaw clenched. Right. Just because he’d saved her, just because she could handle the flames, didn’t mean her opinion of him would be any different from anybody else’s. She’d still look at him and see the freak who could burn.
The man who touched hell.
“I’m just checking your wound,” he snapped. Like she hadn’t been kissing him before. Rubbing her body against his. Acting like she wanted him.
But they’d had an audience then, and maybe every moan, every stroke of her body against his had been nothing more than an act.
The woman is one fine actress. He’d have to remember that. She’d just been playing a role.
When he’d been f**king desperate to take her. To finally be with someone who could handle his power.
Her hand lifted slowly and slid over her stomach. The bottom of the shirt had been burned away. The tranq had caught her in the stomach, he knew that, but her hand slid over smooth, unblemished skin.
Not that the tranq ever left much of a mark, anyway. Wyatt had designed it to be a subtle but painful attack. Easier to take out prey and then deny any action later.
“What was it?” she asked as her fingers pressed against her stomach. Smooth flesh. Pale.
Lickable.
“A tranq.” His voice sounded like ragged gravel, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “A special mix Wyatt made. It can knock out even the strongest paranormals.” And kill the weakest.
Good thing she hadn’t been weak.
What was she?
“Can you create the fire?” he asked because maybe—his heart raced faster—maybe she was just like him. He’d always been an outcast in the paranormal world. A freak, even among the monsters. But if she was like him, if he wasn’t alone . . .
She shook her head. “N-no.” Her gaze darted around the room. “What happened to Wyatt?”
“He burned.”
Another flinch from her.
Why wasn’t she looking at him? Cain caught her chin in his hand and made her focus on him. “Forget him. He deserved a fast trip to hell.” Did she have any idea how many paranormals that bastard had tortured? Cain had heard their screams. He knew.
“What about the others?” Eve asked. “Did they get out? Did they—”
“A lot of them did.” Not everyone, not all the paranormals and not all the humans. Those explosions had been timed too perfectly.
Wyatt hadn’t minded killing his lab rats or his own research teams.
And the guy thought Cain was the monster? Wyatt was as sadistic and twisted as any killer could possibly be.
Her breath rushed out. “I have to—I have to call this story in—I need to tell—”
He remembered what Wyatt had said about her. Eve wasn’t another scientist out to poke and prod her prey. She was a reporter. A woman after a story. I won’t be her story. “You’re not telling anyone anything.”
She pulled away from him.
“Not yet,” he said, trying to soften his words. “Not until it’s safer.” Not until he’d had his fill of her.
She’s afraid of me. So what? Everyone is. He could work past her fear. He had to.
He’d been held captive for too damn long.
And he wanted her too much.
“You can stand the fire,” he whispered.
Her gaze came back to his. Still laced with fear, but . . . was that a flash of awareness in her eyes? “Yes.”
His stare dropped to her lips. He wanted to taste her again. Cain leaned forward, bringing his mouth closer to hers. Eve didn’t pull back.
Did she—hell, did she lean toward him? He sure thought that she did.
He pressed his lips against hers. He wanted to ravage her mouth. To take and taste and hear her moan. But he touched her lightly with his lips, carefully . . . at first.