He knew how dangerous a rising could be.

Ryder simply turned away and began carrying his phoenix toward the stairs. “Always.”

The vampire shouldn’t be so certain of that, but the guy had his own choices to make. Your funeral, vamp.

Cain had his priorities. Priority one—getting Eve to safety. The paranormals were wild, some could be on their side, some . . . could just be like the vampires they’d had to slaughter in the basement. Out of control. Rabid.

“Everyone’s out,” Eve said as if realizing how dangerous that situation was. “How?”

He glanced back down the hallway. Ryder was gone. Ryder. “I think they had a little vamp help.” The vampire had wanted his phoenix, and Cain was betting he’d freed everyone in order to get to her.

“Cain . . .” Eve’s gaze was on the madness below. “What happens to them now?”

Below them, a demon had just broken a guard’s neck. Another guard fired and shot the demon in the back. Eve flinched.

“They get the hell out of here,” Cain said. It was what most of the supernaturals were doing. Running into the forest. Fighting only when they were pursued. They wanted freedom. He understood that. It was what he wanted, too. “Come on.” He grabbed her right hand. She had the briefcase in her left. The files, her proof.

It looked as if they’d both gotten what they wanted. All they had to do was live long enough to get away from the remains of Genesis.

And back to the lives they’d known.

The subjects were gone. The rooms remained empty and hollow. The guards had scattered. They’d been running for their f**king lives.

Jeremiah Wyatt leaned heavily on his cane as he made his way down the long hallway that led to his son’s office. He knew Richard still had to be at the facility. His son hadn’t contacted him, so . . .

You have to be here.

But unlike the guards and some of the supernaturals that he’d found left behind, Jeremiah knew that his son would still be alive. He’d made sure of it.

His experiments had paid off. Sure, Richard had begged and pleaded, crying for him to stop the pain, but his son had been just a child then.

The boy hadn’t understood just what sort of gift he was being given.

I made him strong.

No, Richard hadn’t understood, not until Jeremiah had tossed him into the hole with the vampires. His son had been screaming, so sure that he was going to die.

He hadn’t died.

I made you stronger.

His son’s blood was poison to vampires. The fools had realized that soon enough. They’d stayed away from him. Poison blood. Fast-healing skin. Super strength. And his own God-given intelligence.

Richard was perfect. His best creation, by far.

He had to find him. . . .

His cane thudded lightly over the floor. Blood stained the tiles. Ash. Lights swayed drunkenly from overhead. It had taken him almost a full day to reach the facility. He’d been in Washington when he’d gotten the call from one of the fleeing guards, and he’d come to Beaumont as quickly as he could.

When you were already supposed to be dead, it was hard to move fast.

His men crowded in behind him, and when he reached Richard’s office, one of them actually tried to go in first.

Fool. Jeremiah shoved his cane into the guy’s gut. He could handle this scene on his own. If Richard wasn’t there, trying to salvage their research, then his son would have left some sign showing where he’d—

Richard was there.

Jeremiah frowned and his cane hit against the floor.

Thud.

Thud.

Richard’s eyes were closed and his arms were spread wide, looking almost like an angel’s wings.

There was a giant bullet hole in his son’s forehead.

And a wooden stake had been shoved into his heart.

Thud.

Thud.

Jeremiah’s eyes burned. No, no, not his experiment. It wasn’t supposed to end like this.

He bent, his knees creaking, and his hand closed around that stake. His fingers were slippery with sweat and twisted with arthritis, but he grabbed that stake and yanked it from his son’s chest.

Maybe he’ll come back. The boy could heal so well, maybe. . .

He wasn’t healing. Richard wasn’t breathing. His body was icy to the touch.

Please, Daddy, don’t!

The boy had cried so much when the experiments started. So damn much. But the pain had been necessary. He’d transformed the boy. Made sure that he could survive anything that came his way.

Please, Daddy . . .

He hadn’t survived. “Someone knew his weakness.” A weakness that only Richard himself could have revealed. Jeremiah’s hand tightened around the cane as he levered himself up. He hated to see his son like this. Such a pitiful waste. All of that time. All of that research.