Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Except the wolf was busy, fangs flashing, heavy body dominating the ground game, such that it was impossible to get any reliable target. The cyborg soldier still had its weapon, though, and as a bullet rippled past Cathy’s ear, she ducked and covered her head. Like that was going to help—
As a yelp cut through the struggle, a second attack unit appeared, and now was the time to discharge bullets. Aiming for the broad chest, Cathy started shooting and kept at it, the force of her bullets’ impacts halting the robot’s progress and then driving it back.
But that momentum ended abruptly as her magazine emptied.
She didn’t have anything to reload with.
Yet.
Ducking into the smoke, she ran forward instead of back where the tunnel was, scrambling between the workstations in a jagged fashion, crunching over glass, jumping over bodies that her mind simply refused to process. She needed to find one of her guards. If she could just locate one of them, they’d have backup magazines on their tool belt—
Pop-pop-pop!
As a fresh wave of gunshots rang out, she tucked herself in behind one of the counter setups. Praying that the wolf was okay, she—
Remembered what the workstations were stocked with.
Opening the cabinet below the sink, she scanned what was under there. Then pulled the knob on the set of double doors next to it—
A light came on inside the storage unit, and the lineup of glass jars and beakers was labeled clearly: There were a lot of skulls and crossbones on the containers.
“Thank you, God.”
Reaching inside, she took out a clear yellow liquid that was marked with so many warnings, it might as well have been in an opaque jar.
“Okay, you can do this. You can…”
Her breath was sawing in and out of her mouth, and her hands shook, and as she looked down at herself, she saw that her pantyhose had ripped, there was blood on her knees, and her skirt was covered in dust and smudges.
In an odd flare of pride, she realized she had done all that running in fucking heels.
And Daniel was right. Like him, she had a terminal diagnosis, but she didn’t want to go out on a morphine drip in a hospital bed, just fading away.
Fuck that. She wanted to go out with a bang.
Jumping up, she hauled back the container of liquid nitroglycerin, a substance so unstable that the slightest impact could cause it to explode. Then she waited—
The cyborg emerged from all the swirling, noxious smoke like a wraith, its frozen face locking on her and showing no emotion at all as it triangulated its gun muzzle and got ready to take out its target.
“I love you, Gus St. Claire!” Cathy screamed as she let loose with the beaker.
And braced herself to be blown apart.
FORTY-ONE
UP ON THE first level of the house, Blade was taking a little rest.
Well, not really. But his weight wasn’t on his feet anymore. Which would have been nice given his injured leg, he supposed.
Too bad it was all on his arms.
As smoke from the destruction below percolated up through the ventilation system, Kurling’s cyborg soldiers had subdued him quickly, and he hadn’t been surprised to be strung up from the banister of the stairway, his arms over his head, his toesies dangling in his shoes. His cousin had performed none of the work. Of course he hadn’t. Kurling was a gentlemale of the prime order, and thus had had one of his mechanical minions bring over a settee so he could watch the hog-tying comfortably.
The symphath was still sitting there, composed as someone listening to a concerto, his legs crossed at the knees, one hand propping a slight lean to the side.
“I truly do not know what is worse,” the symphath murmured. “What your sister did to disgrace us, or what you did to ahvenge her.”
Blade shrugged. Or tried to. With his arms in their current position, there wasn’t much shoulder movement available to his biomechanics.
“That’s a bit”—he took a labored breath—“like wondering whether you… are lazy or just incompetent.”
Kurling laughed softly. “That is a weak taunt.”
“I am a bit… compromised… at the moment.”
“True. And I shall forgive you for that. But not anything else.”
The male rose to his feet, and tugged his black combat sweater down so that it was smooth over his chest. There were guns at his hips, but he had not taken them out. Of course he hadn’t. This operation, like cleaning his quarters or preparing his own food, was beneath his efforts.
No, he was saving the glory for himself. The dirty work, for others.
“How did… you find out,” Blade asked as his cousin came in close. “About me and the labs.”
“I followed you one night. I couldn’t understand why you were disappearing with such regularity. At first I assumed that your sister’s lower standards had infected you and you were forging relations with a vampire down in Caldwell. But you were not, were you. You were out in the field. In the mountains. By the sea and in the desert. I must commend you for your thoroughness. You were quite effective.”