Chapter 1
CHAPTER ONE
Sydney, Australia.
Regan Thomas hated the dark. The dark kept secrets.
Hideous secrets. Secrets of pain and torture and human brutality.
The dark allowed man to commit all sorts of horrendous acts in the name of progress.
In the name of science. The dark allowed rich men to get richer on the corpses of creatures unable to defend themselves.
Men like Nathan Epoc.
Turning the narrow beam of her flashlight on the solid, steel door before her, Regan felt her hackles rise.
Of all the arrogant men of power in this country, Epoc was the worst. Every day his labs in Sydney discarded close to a hundred animal corpses—all maimed, sliced, injected and tortured to death.
A snarl curled Regan’s lip. Science. To this day, she still could not decipher what Nathan Epoc produced in the name of science, apart from dead animals.
Despite only arriving in the country two years ago, he was now one of the wealthiest men in Australia.
No one, however, seemed to know what the hell he actually did.
Mystery shrouded what went on behind the electrified fences and impenetrable walls of his windowless buildings, out here in the southern suburbs of Sydney.
Regan placed her black-gloved fingers on the door’s security panel—flashlight beam a narrow point of illumination in the pitch black of the corridor—and keyed in a five-digit sequence.
It had taken five tedious dinners with Epoc Industries’ chief of security to procure the password: one night of bad food, bad personal hygiene and very bad wandering hands for each digit.
A chill of revulsion shot up Regan’s spine at the memory but she shoved it aside.
What was on the other side of the door was worth it.
Seeing the animals running free from Epoc’s building was worth it.
Seeing the bastard’s normally smug and composed face twisted with rage tomorrow night on the six o’clock news was worth it. Completely.
A soft click sounded and the door’s locking mechanism deactivated, followed by a faint hiss of escaped, artificial air—rank with animal faeces and disinfectant.
Regan’s lips spread into a grim smile. Bingo.
Muscles and nerves coiled, she gave the door a gentle and oh-so-minute push. So far, her “romance” of the security guard had landed her all the codes and schedules required to get to the main lab undetected, but she wasn’t stupid. Being stupid led to being caught. Or shot.
She stood frozen, on the balls of her feet, ready to run. Or fight.
Nothing.
Except the low and mournful whimpers of animals locked in cages awaiting a slow and agonizing death.
“Not anymore.”
Her voice was barely a breath. She pushed the door wider and stepped into the guts of Epoc Industries’ Scientific Division, flashlight seeking those she had come to rescue.
The animals.
“Oh, shit.”
A German Shepherd cowered in a cage before her, tail tucked between its bent hind legs.
The sharp outlines of its ribs jutted out beside the hollow pit of its gut, the raw pink skin of its shaved neck and chest festered with weeping sores.
It turned a sunken brown stare on her, its misery and pain clear in the liquid depths.
Various tubes punctured its neck and chest, feeding something in and out of the emaciated dog.
“Epoc.” Regan shook her head. “You bastard.”
Stomach heavy, she took another step into the lab, moving her flashlight from one poor animal to another, throwing each into stark illumination as she did so.
Here a bank of nine white cats, strapped into a device rendering them incapable of movement, eyelids wired open, a murky orange liquid dripping in slow, even drops onto the exposed eyeballs of each.
Here a chimpanzee in a small cage, wires protruding from four stitched incisions on its spine, connecting the primate to what appeared to be a Geiger counter.
Over there another bank of cats—these ones with their mouths braced shut around fat tubes filled with a black, viscous fluid.
Regan’s stomach rolled and her grip on the flashlight grew hard. Fury surged through her. Fury and burning helplessness.
It didn’t take a Zoology degree to see the animals in this lab would never run anywhere again.
Their eyes—their miserable, beseeching, dying eyes—held her. And asked for help.
Regan swallowed down the sudden lump in her throat and she thought of the small vial of Rimadyl in her backpack. It wasn’t enough. Nothing would save these animals from their pain. Nothing. Epoc. You inhuman bas—
A low groan to her far right cut the dark thought short. Fear and adrenaline scorching through her veins like electricity, Regan swung around. “Holy shit!”
The wolf was massive. Bigger than any Regan had ever seen.
At least half the size of a buffalo, it stood on all fours in a heavily barred cage, bound by multiple leather straps completely restricting its movement.
Two clear tubes jutted from a neat, little cut high on the base of its neck—one pumping in a thick, black liquid, the other empty, as if waiting for its use to commence.
Regan took a step forward, moving her flashlight over the wolf’s muscled form.
It was sick. Possibly dying—the rapid, shallow breath, the dullness of its steel grey coat told her the animal was suffering.
Big time. Yet even unwell, it still exuded primitive strength—a wild power almost frightening to behold.
Regan’s heart pounded in her chest and she slid the flashlight’s beam to its head, careful to avoid shining the narrow but powerful light directly in the animal’s eyes.
The wolf snarled silently, long teeth glistening, the twin silver discs of its eyes fixed on her.
Silver?
A slight frown pulled at Regan’s eyebrows and her apprehension vanished immediately. A canine’s eyes reflected green light in the dark, not silver, regardless of the genus. She shook her head, despair making her heart ache. “You poor thing,” she whispered, throat tight. “What has Epoc done to you?”
The wolf’s strange eyes stared at her. Seemed to delve into her soul. She pulled in a long, slow breath, unable to look away. Wolf? Is it really a wolf?
The wolf watched her from its cage, radiating power and rage.
And pain.
Regan blinked, shaking herself. What the hell was she doing standing around? God, did she want to get caught?
She placed the flashlight’s barrel between her teeth before pulling her backpack from her shoulder. The heavy-duty bolt cutters tucked away inside would free the animals—she tossed a quick look at the still-staring wolf—all the animals of their metal-barred prisons.
Her hand brushed the hard plastic case of her anaesthetizing kit and she turned to the shepherd. At least the poor thing wouldn’t die behind bars, even if its freedom only lasted a few moments.
On silent feet she crossed to the caged dog, holding her head down and to the side, right hand held out. She doubted the animal had the strength to bite but she wasn’t taking any chances. Everything about her body language was by design: I am not a threat to you.
The dog’s sad, brown eyes watched her approach, its tail giving a small, almost desperate wag as she drew closer and Regan’s heart clenched again.
She let her lips pull into a soft smile, careful not to show her teeth.
“Yes, I know, boy,” she murmured. “I’m going to take the pain away.
I promise.” Tail wagging weakly, the dog watched her.
As did the wolf.
Regan felt its silver gaze study her every move.
It was unnerving somehow. Like the wolf judged her actions.
She gave it a hurried look over her shoulder, butterflies flapping into frantic activity in her stomach.
It looked like it could tear her apart with one simple snap of its jaws, sick or not.
Lord, was she really going to set it free?
Of course you are. Would you really leave it behind? After seeing what Epoc is doing?
She turned back to the shepherd and quickened her pace.
No. She wouldn’t leave it behind, regardless of how it unnerved her.
Reaching the dog, she placed her right hand through the bars of its cage, slowly raising it to the level of the dog’s muzzle, allowing it to smell her scent.
“It’s okay, mate,” she soothed. “I’m going to help.
” The dog’s nose—drier than parchment—touched the small strip of exposed flesh between her glove and sleeve and its tail thumped weakly again.
Damn, I hate you, Nathan Epoc.
A soft snarl shattered the tense silence and Regan turned her head, the wolf catching her eye in the powerful glow of her flashlight. Its steady, silver stare bored into her before flicking to the left.
Her stomach twisted with unease. Pulling her bolt-cutters from her backpack, she severed the chain on the shepherd’s cage, the noise like a gunshot in the silent lab. Hurry, Woman. Hurry. Pulling the chain free, she unlatched the lock and swung the door wide.
The dog stared at her, sunken eyes unblinking, tail wagging weakly.
Time pressing down on her, the weight of the wolf’s gaze like a branding iron on her back, she withdrew her hypo kit from her backpack.
“This won’t hurt,” she whispered, reaching into the cage.
“I promise.” The dog cowered, tail thumping in nervous swipes against the bars, its eyes fixed on her.
With gentle fingers, she pinched a fold of skin on the back of its neck and injected the painkiller directly into its blood system.
Tucking her torch under her armpit, she placed the hypodermic between her teeth and ran her hand down the dog’s chest, feeling its wildly beating heart.
“I’ll do this as painlessly as I can,” she said, her throat growing tighter at the animal’s implicit faith.
She moved her hands to one of the thick tubes inserted into dog’s neck, readying to withdraw it.
A low grumble sounded behind her. Like a warning.