“Charles . . .” Jamie rasped. “He asked how I hooked up with you. I told him about my brother . . .”

“And Charles told you about the primal here.” Dammit. She’d been so rushed to get back to her research that she hadn’t taken time for detailed instructions. She should have been more clear with Charles about the boy.

“He told me . . . to stay away from this room because of the guy in there.”

So Charles had been trying to protect Jamie.

It looked like Jamie hadn’t wanted protecting. She remembered the stake that had rolled across the floor.

“I swiped the access card after I saw Charles open a few doors with it.”

“And you came inside to kill the primal.”

“My brother is dead! All of them should be dead, too!” Jamie swiped a hand over his eyes. “Tim was all I had! We were going out to LA! Going to start a life . . . His life is gone! It’s all gone! Because of those fanged freaks.”

No, it was gone because of her father and his experiments. More lives destroyed, all in the name of science.

“I’m sorry,” Cassie whispered.

“If you’re really sorry, you’ll go back in there and stake that bastard.” Jamie spun on his heel and stalked away. “Send him to rot with my brother.”

Cassie watched him storm out of sight.

“Are there . . .” Dante began quietly, “any more . . . experiments . . . here that the boy needs to watch out for? I’d sure hate for him to stumble onto something that might feel the urge to eat him.”

Cassie shook her head. “Only Trace and Vaughn are here. The rest of the place is empty.” Cassie tried to brush by Dante. “I need to get back to work—”

He caught her, caged her between his body and the wall. “What happens if you can’t cure them?”

Cure . . . or kill . . .

She didn’t want to think about Trace’s words then. “I told you, I will cure them.”

“If you can’t? Will you kill the werewolf?”

Her chest ached. “Why does it always have to be about killing? Can’t I save someone?” She pushed against Dante’s chest.

He didn’t back away. “Still trying to atone for the sins of others, aren’t you?”

“No. It’s my own sins I’m atoning for.”

Trying to, anyway.

Failing.

“Fine.” He bit out the word, and finally—thank you!—backed away. “You want to cure ’em? You want your shot at this? Then let’s go.”

What?

The guy was half-dragging her down the hallway and back toward her office. Apparently, they were going.

“You think a phoenix is the key, then go ahead, slice me. See if you can find the key in me.”

They were in her workroom. He walked to a tray of instruments near the left wall and picked up a scalpel.

She tried not to remember the feel of a scalpel slicing into her own skin.

“Where should I get?” Dante sat on the gurney in the office. “Will this work? And don’t worry about strapping me down. I won’t fight.”

As he’d fought before, when the Genesis scientists had spent years slicing him open. Dissecting him while he’d still been alive.

“Dante . . .”

“That was the point of me coming here, right? So you could use me? To save them?”

Cassie swallowed. Took the scalpel from him. Put it away.

“You’re gonna have a hard time getting your samples with your bare hands,” he muttered.

Her lips wanted to tremble. How had everything gotten so messed up? “I just want to help.”

“No, sweetheart, you’re trying to take the stains off your hands. But that blood isn’t there because of you.” He was definite.

“Yes, it is!” Why doesn’t he see that? “I was there, Dante. For years. I should have stopped it. I should have helped those people.”

But she’d been afraid.

Trapped.

“You helped me.”

He was still on the table.

As he’d been so many times.

As I was.

Cassie pulled in a deep breath. “You escaped when I was twenty-two . . . because I killed you.”

A death that the guards and doctors at Genesis hadn’t been expecting, so they hadn’t been prepared to deal with him as he rose.

She’d cleared the exits. Even drugged a few of the men on patrol outside so Dante could get away scot free.

He’d come back. Years later, but . . . he came back.