Eve held great power over the fire.

He had been watching her every move through his binoculars. He’d seen the blood dripping from her wounds. Seen the way Cain cradled her. While the fire might not be able to hurt Eve, she was still very, very vulnerable. Eve could be hurt. Just not with fire.

The drugs he’d used at Genesis—and again last night—had a definite effect on her. And her skin cut open all too easily.

But she was immune to the flames.

Interesting.

A puzzle . . . and he did love a good puzzle. Once he got Eve in his lab, strapped to his table, he’d learn every one of her secrets.

She’d beg to tell them to him.

“Was that place rigged?” Trace asked quietly as he faced Cain, “or did you start the fire?”

They’d gotten out of Atlanta. Driven a few hours, crossed the South Carolina border, and kept going. They’d finally stopped at a small motel on the outskirts of Charlotte. Water from the shower pounded steadily, muffled slightly by the closed bathroom door.

Cain had been left alone with the shifter while Eve washed the blood away.

Trace raised a brow as he studied Cain. “She’s not here—and she doesn’t have shifter hearing, so just talk straight with me. Drop the bullshit, man.”

Cain didn’t like the wolf.

“I know what you are, and I know exactly what you can do,” Trace told him.

I doubt that. In Cain’s experience, few people actually knew what he was—and even fewer understood just how powerful he was. He stared steadily back at Trace. He’d washed Eve’s blood off his hands, but he could almost still feel that blood coating his fingertips. “And you think I would hurt her?”

“I think you’ve got a monster inside, one that you can’t control.” Flat, hard words.

Cain held that cold stare. “I guess you’d know all about having a beast inside.” He didn’t like this bastard. Just what was his relationship with Eve? They were far too close.

Too close.

Jealousy burned in Cain’s gut.

Trace bared his growing fangs. “Yeah, I f**king would know.” He dropped his arms and stalked toward Cain. “She helped you, so now do her a favor . . .”

If Trace really knew what he was, then the wolf should be backing away, not coming closer. Unless he just wanted an ass-kicking.

The knot of jealousy spread within Cain.

“Get the hell away from Eve,” Trace told him bluntly. “Before she’s hurt again.”

The guy had him confused with someone who gave a shit about what he had to say. “She wants me close,” Cain murmured, not about to back down. Time to clear the air here. “So I’m not going anyplace.”

“Even if you put her at risk?”

Were the shifter’s claws starting to come out? They were. Fool. Fire trumped claws any day of the week. “I’m the one who can keep her safe.” The only one.

“Because you’re the big, tough, nightmare-myth, right?”

Myth. The word almost surprised him. It appeared that Trace did have a clue about just what Cain was. “Myths aren’t real.” Monsters were.

“Before my house—the house I damn well loved—got torched, I hacked into Wyatt’s computer.” Trace’s eyes showed only his cold rage as he studied Cain. “I read the files on you. I know what he did.”

“Good for you.” Cain tried not to let any emotion show on his face. He didn’t want to think about those days at Genesis.

“He killed you at least a dozen times.”

More. But Cain had stopped counting after a while. What had been the point?

“And each time you died, you rose back up. You burned and you rose.”

The shower had stopped. He could barely hear the faint drip, drip of the water.

“Silver bullets. Dismemberment.” Trace was rattling off a brutal list, and with every word he spoke, the memories flashed through Cain’s mind.

I was alive when they started dismembering me.

The bathroom’s wooden door opened. Eve stood there, dressed in the jeans and T-shirt that they’d picked up from a thrift store down the road. Her hair was wet, and her eyes were on Cain.

Trace locked his jaw and stopped talking. Finally.

Eve shook her head. “I want to hear this.” She was still pale, but she didn’t look as shell-shocked. Had she cried in the shower? Dammit, he hated that she hurt.

Wyatt would think nothing about the bombing at that shop. The people who’d died would just be collateral damage. Necessary sacrifices to achieve the big picture. Wyatt was all about the big picture.