Page 94 of Property of Crypt Keeper

Until someone decided biology was merely a suggestion.

Mako’s voice was barely audible. “This isn’t crossbreeding.”

“No,” I whispered. “It isn’t.”

Boomslang’s jaw tensed enough I could see the muscle bunch beneath his mask. He clenched it so tightly, I thought he might actually crack a tooth.

“This is genetic alteration,” Zeus softly observed.

Hack slowly shook his head. “Worse.”

He gestured toward one of the creatures whose flesh seemed to ripple beneath its skin, as though different muscles were competing for control. “This is cellular meshing.”

Nobody spoke because no one knew what to say. In a world where we knew the things that went bump in the night, that said something.

Hack continued quietly. “They’re forcing completely incompatible DNA to coexist…” His voice trailed off as he swallowed hard. “…and making the cells fight until something survives. Or doesn’t.”

A heavy, horrified silence ensued.

Zara reached for my hand, and I glanced down. Except I could see it wasn’t because she was frightened. It was because somehow, even at her young age, she pitied them. She looked up at me with tears shining in her eyes. “They called them failures.”

Firmly, I held her small hand. Not because I knew what to say, but because I absolutely didn’t. And suddenly, for the first time in years, my heart was aching… because I wasn’t thinking about revenge.

I was thinking about mercy.

23

CRYPT KEEPER

Consciousness returned one sharp breath at a time. Pain came first. Not the burning agony of broken bones. Something smaller. Sharper. Like thousands of tiny wounds scattered across my body.

My arm throbbed. My chest burned. The back of my hip ached. The inside of my mouth tasted like copper.

With difficulty, I opened my eyes. White light flooded my vision, and I immediately closed them again. Cautiously, I cracked them.

The ceiling above me wasn’t concrete anymore. It was strangely immaculate. Bright. Clinical. Almost beautiful.

Stiff, I tested my wrists. Metal bit into my skin. Unable to move my head, I glanced down the best I could. I saw the steel restraints that held my arms spread wide against a reinforced medical table. It was angled upright like some twisted examination chair in a horror movie.

My ankles were locked. My chest cinched down beneath broad restraint straps. My head turned only a few inches before another padded restraint stopped it.

That’s when my fingertips grazed the deep gouges on the surface of the table. Somehow, feeling those sharp indents, I knew the full moon had passed. Inside, my wolf exploded. The collar around my throat flashed with what I knew had to be glowing runes. Pain slammed into every nerve and, teeth clenched, I froze.

Someone chuckled softly. “Excellent.”

I looked toward the voice. The Doctor. I remembered him from when I came to after Rafael captured me. Yet, my brain was fuzzy. Another effect of my Rougarou transformation.

He stood beside a stainless-steel tray, arranging glass vials with almost obsessive precision. He didn’t look at me. Not immediately.

He seemed to be labeling each of them. Carefully. Methodically. As though he were organizing wine instead of pieces of me.

One vial read: Blood A-23. Another: Marrow. Then, Dermal Sample, Saliva, Hair Follicles.

There were dozens. Dozens. Most I couldn’t make out. Jesus, how long had I been unconscious?

The Doctor noticed me watching. “Ah.” He smiled pleasantly. “You’re awake again.”

“I was trying to sleep, but your bright lights rudely awakened me,” I sarcastically replied.