Chapter 2 #3
Jenesis wanted to escape him, but he was everywhere at once. He was probably one of the biggest men she’d ever come up against. Certainly one of the most intimidating. He was also Kincaid Gregory, the man in charge of Dark Philadelphia and her entire future. He owned this lab. He owned her.
So when he ran a sudden and fierce hand from her waist to her backside, gripping hold of her ass and hauling her into the bend of his body as tightly as if he’d glued her to himself, she was paralyzed into inaction.
He growled fiercely, the sound chilling and savage, like nothing she’d ever heard from anyone before.
Her heart seized, every latent instinct in her body coming suddenly to life in a classic flight-or-fight reaction.
“My guilt does not permit you to use me like this!”
She hauled off and belted him hard across the face as her whole body lurched backward from his hold on her.
But there was no escape for her. He was far too strong and much more determined than she would ever have thought.
And while slapping another man that hard across the face might have sent a significant message to his conscience, this man recoiled from the strike with a savage sound and a flash of ivory fangs that had not been present an instant earlier.
And as terrified as she was to find herself in this situation, a back part of Jenesis’s brain was utterly fascinated by the mechanics of the clearly retractable fangs he was sporting.
That was how she found herself torn by the possible option of kneeing him between the legs to reinforce her message that she wasn’t going to let him maul her like some piece of meat …
or reaching up to touch those magnificent fangs.
For some reason, she gave in to the latter impulse, her fingers shaking as she touched the tip of the lower bicuspid.
“Do they retract fully into the jaw? Does it hurt when they do so?”
Her curiosity had the power to do what her slap had failed to do.
It took him aback, made him hesitate, even though his body was hard with need and hungers.
He felt his own pulse as it shot through the seat of his testicles and down the length of his rigid cock.
The sound of it was raging in his ears, making him realize he was listening far too keenly to voices that were far too formidable within him.
Kincaid recognized that he’d allowed the beastly Morphate to command him and the situation.
“Fuck!”
He spat the invective an instant before shoving her away from him. He snarled at her viciously, a gnashing of those fangs that so fascinated her. The curse sounded funny, a little lisped because it was no easy trick to make the “f” sound around a mouthful of fangs.
“Do you see? Are you fascinated?” he demanded of her as he reached for a rack of specimen tubes and threw them violently against the far wall.
“Does it pique your scientific curiosity to know that this man who used to live and breathe the law as a Federated officer could lower himself to molestation and possibly even rape thanks to your brilliance?”
“Do you think this pleases me on any level?” she railed back at him.
“But I can’t sit here and wallow or beg your forgiveness for things I can’t change, and you are clearly in no frame of mind to forgive!
And before you say anything, I have never even asked for your forgiveness or your understanding!
I have never even suggested that I deserve it!
But you brought me here for a reason, and whatever those motives are, I have to start by fully understanding what it is that Paulson did to you.
Blood chemistry is the smallest portion of this, albeit the keycode to what was done.
But unlocking that code will be nearly impossible if I don’t have a hypothesis about where to start looking. ”
Kincaid was breathing hard, like an enraged bull she had swatted in the face a few times.
And to be technical, she had swatted him in the face at least once.
But he was clearly and visibly drawing himself back together, gathering his civil self back up again instead of letting the bestial half hold reign over him.
From the look of him, from what she had seen and felt so far, it was something of a monumental effort.
“I don’t know anything about you that I haven’t seen in the news or read in someone else’s editorial about you,” she said quietly. “But your record of valor and achievements as a cop say a great deal about the man you once were and, somewhere, still are.”
“Now who thinks they know everything,” he accused bitterly.
“Hardly that,” she assured him. “And I don’t presume for even a second to know how difficult this struggle you are fighting with yourself must be. But I do know it is in my power to help … if you’ll only tell me what it is you want from me.”
He took a deep breath, his stone-cold blue eyes pinning her in place once again, no hands necessary.
“I want two things, Dr. DeBruehl. I want to figure out how to control this thing inside of me. In seven years I’ve learned that there are no longer any guarantees that the man of law and morals I once was and, at my core, still am is strong enough to stop me from hurting someone while I am caught up in the urges of the beast I now harbor. ”
“I can understand that. You might not like some of the solutions that immediately come to my mind. And what is the second thing?”
“I need to learn how to kill a Morphate.”