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Vengeance for the night death had been ready to receive him with gentle, comforting arms, only to be torn from them. To be given blood that had tainted his own, that had created a fever inside him he couldn’t endure. A feral rage he couldn’t exist within.
Gideon tensed at the memory, still so clear and vivid, the agony of so many years ripping through his senses and causing an involuntary growl to pass his lips.
His muscles bunched as if preparing to move in for the kill and he felt his mouth water for the taste of blood.
An enemy’s blood.
A primal snarl rumbled in his chest, scraping his throat as he bared the sharpened canines at the sides of his mouth.
He was rewarded with a whimper of terror, and panic. The fear scented the air around him but did nothing to ease the primal violence swirling inside him.
Control was hard won. It was won only because it was now his turn to inflict the pain. His victim awaited him. The scent of his terror wafting through the room. Though it was an addictive aroma, it did little to appease the rage building inside him.
Gideon twirled the scalpel between his fingers as he rested his arms on his upper legs, his wrists lying over the edge of his knees as he watched the former research technician. He barely felt the rasp of his denim jeans against the underside of his arms where the sleeves of the white shirt he wore were folded back. Normally, the thin white scars that lay over that flesh didn’t tolerate the rasp of clothing well. But this time, he barely felt it.
Blood would spray, he thought as he contemplated his victim. It would stain the shirt and jeans, but stealing more clothes wouldn’t be a problem.
“Gideon, please,” Scott wheezed from his position, flat on his back, naked to the chill of the air conditioning that Gideon had set at its lowest setting.
Any sensation that touched the flesh or the organs would be amplified because of the drug. Reactions to each sensation would be purer, stronger, allowing the scientists to better predict how each wound affected the body.
The bastard couldn’t even shiver, though his teeth did chatter on occasion. That sound was another sign of success, of hard-won vengeance, and helped to restrain the animal prowling beneath the flesh.
“Please what?” Gideon rasped.
The sound of his own voice never failed to enrage him.
How many times had it been broken from his screams of pain?
How many times had he begged, pleaded, and cried for mercy?
He was a Prime, a primal male Breed. His pride was as intense as his natural strength and inborn animalistic abilities. To be driven by such agony, such horrific torture to beg, to shed tears and plead for death, had broken that pride to its core and all but destroyed it.
Even in the labs he had been created within there hadn’t been such horrific pain that the Breeds were driven to beg unless the scientists intended death to be the final conclusion to that experiment.
The scientists that had created the Breeds in the Denali Labs in Alaska had prided themselves on the strength and power that filled their creations. They’d had no desire to bow the shoulders of their Breeds by damaging them to such an extent.
The scientists, research assistants and techs, the soldiers to the janitors in the lower depths of Brandenmore Research, had found great pleasure in doing just that. In turning their Breed victims into whimpering animals that begged for mercy.
And Scott had taken more pleasure than most in torturing the two Breeds held in what Gideon suspected was the pits of hell.
“Beg me,” Gideon whispered to the research assistant. “Shed tears, Scott, and plead for mercy from the monster you helped to create.”
The horror intensified in the man’s eyes as his lips trembled with the knowledge of what was coming. His gaze centered on the scalpel and Gideon couldn’t help but smile.
“Shall I tell you what it feels like?” he asked, lowering his voice until it sounded gentle, reassuring. It was nothing less than horrifying to his victim.
Because he remembered. Sweet God, he remembered the agony, every day, every second of his life.
His abdomen tightened with the scalding sensations of the scalpel slicing into it as the remembrance tore through his senses.
He snarled in fury, causing Connelly to cry out in horror. His eyes widened, the certainty of death flashing in his gaze.
“Please, Gideon . . .” Scott choked on his own tears, gagging for a second as he fought for breath. “Please don’t do this. Just kill me. Just kill me now.”
Gideon knew what Scott felt in that moment. The way the stomach clenched and spasmed, recoiling in terror as he fought not to vomit. The struggle not to beg, because begging didn’t help.
Yet the terror had a mind of its own after a certain point, and the words spilled from the lips anyway.
