Kazdan’s slender, dark-haired wife appeared around the corner. She carefully picked up the cannon.
“I’d love to kill you right here and now,” Kazdan said conversationally. “But unfortunately, you have something I want.”
Gabriel hadn’t a clue what that could be, but he wasn’t about to argue about anything that saved his life. “Then maybe we could make a trade.”
Kazdan smiled, revealing bloodied canines. Gabriel hoped the neck he’d been feeding on wasn’t Sam’s.
“She’s mine, Stern. She always was.”
Maybe. And maybe Kazdan was misjudging the depth of Sam’s strength, the depth of her will and honesty. She couldn’t join with Kazdan—not willingly. If there was one thing he’d learned over the last few days, it was that evil simply wasn’t a part of her makeup.
“If you believe that, then you are a fool.”
Kazdan’s eyes narrowed, and Gabriel knew he’d guessed right. Sam wasn’t a willing partner in anything.
“Where are the disks, Stern?”
He raised his eyebrows. Sam had obviously hidden them. He wondered when she’d found the time. “Somewhere safe.”
Kazdan’s growl was a low sound of anger and frustration. “I can shoot you right here and now.”
“Then you’ll never get the disks, will you?” He studied Kazdan steadily, wondering just how important those disks were to his schemes. “I want to see Sam. I want to know she’s okay before I tell you one damn thing.”
Kazdan considered him for a long moment, then glanced at his watch. “Can’t hurt, I suppose. Suzy
, check him.”
He watched the woman approach, debating whether he should grab her and use her as a hostage. But he wasn’t entirely sure Kazdan wouldn’t just shoot them both and be done with it. Suzy patted him down briskly and efficiently, but she made no attempt to undo the knife sheath. It was empty and useless, anyway.
“Clean,” she said, stepping back.
Kazdan nodded. “Keep moving, Stern. And remember, one wrong move and I will kill you. I’m not that desperate for the disks.”
Gabriel smiled grimly. The mere fact that he was still alive proved how desperate Kazdan was to get those disks back. Hands raised, he continued down the corridor, taking note of the twists and turns as he was herded down several sets of ramps. They approached a series of holding cells, and a sentry opened a door as they neared. He was relieved to see Sam asleep on the bunk inside.
“You have until dusk. Then I want those damn disks.”
The door slammed shut, and the lock rasped home. Gabriel listened to the sound of their footsteps fading into the distance, then he knelt beside the bunk. There were bruises on Sam’s face, and on her arms and shadowing her neck, contrasting starkly against her half-unbuttoned white shirt. They were not the sort of bruises that came from a beating; these seemed to come from an internal source rather than an external one. It might have puzzled him had he not seen photos of men and women with similar bruising. Ten years ago, in a vague attempt to understand the mechanics behind shapeshifting and shapechanging, the government had run a series of investigations, using well-paid volunteers. Though the machines were specifically designed for the task, the tests themselves were too invasive. Ninety-eight percent of the volunteers died after several hours, their hearts simply exploding under the pressure—and both the dead and the few who survived had bruising like this. To this day, no one really understood why. Similar tests had been performed on humans, with no such casualties, and certainly none of the bruising evident on Sam.
So were the tests done at Sethanon’s request, or were they Kazdan’s idea? Given that he’d heard Kazdan say that Sethanon wanted Sam left alone, Gabriel suspected the latter, but even so, why would the bastard risk her life and put her through these tests? What did he hope to achieve?
He gently touched her swollen cheek. She stirred, murmuring something he couldn’t catch.
“Sam,” he said, carefully brushing the sweaty strands of red-gold hair away from her eyes. Though she obviously needed the sleep, they had to figure a way out of here before Kazdan came back.
Her eyes opened, but her gaze was unblinking, that of a sleeper still caught in a dream. The shadowed ring around her irises was stronger than ever before, the gray almost consuming the blue. “Ten minutes,” she mumbled, reaching out and touching his hand, her fingers as cold as his were warm.
He glanced at his watch. If she wanted ten minutes, then she would have ten minutes. Entwining his fingers with hers, he sat on the floor beside the bunk, leaning his head back against the wall as he waited for her to wake.
GABRIEL’S WARM HAND GRIPPED HERS, callused and strong, and somehow very comforting. Rather like the man himself, Sam thought. She opened her eyes. Gabriel was watching her, his gaze intense and concerned.
“You okay?” His voice was soft, yet she sensed the anger in it. Not at her, but perhaps at what had been done to her. Which was odd, really, when they were neither partners nor friends.
“Yes.” She felt like shit, but there was little to be gained by stating the obvious. Besides, she was alive, and that was more than she’d thought possible an hour ago. “How did you get here?”
“Karl bugged the men who took Jan. We arrived at the first camp in time to see you loaded into a truck. I followed you here.”
And had obviously gotten caught. She wondered what had stopped Jack from killing him outright. “Did you see Jan and Lyssa?”