Know Thine Enemy

CHAPTER Eight



In his time, Ryker had seen and experienced more than his fair share of horror. A survivor of scarlet fever, field hospitals, a nasty war, and generations of new technology, he found no surprise in the monstrous ways humans treated each other. The naked girl strapped to the table was hardly the worst thing he'd ever seen, though it empowered him with enough rage to tear this damned building to the ground before his body acknowledged a shred of pain.

Wartime gave people reasons to destroy each other. Even cold-blooded killers had cause or motivation, unless the sight of pain got their dicks hard. Izzie had committed no crime aside from being a girl at the wrong place at the wrong time, and they had her stripped and spread open as though she were an offering in a sex ritual.

Ryker had no idea how long he stared at her. He felt disconnected, short-circuited, and, for the first time in the span of memory, out of his element. Immortality provided room for growth and discovery, but nothing could have prepared him for this.

"Holy f*ck," Ryker murmured. He was moving again before he knew it, tearing off his T-shirt. "What have they done to you?"

"Subject 061, we are ready to commence."

He ignored the voice, his eyes refusing to leave the girl's. "You're okay?" he murmured, casting his shirt over her body. He hadn't realized how tiny she was until noting the fabric nearly brushed her knees. "They haven't hurt you?"

Izzie shook her head, her mouth straining around the gag. How a girl could look relieved and terrified was beyond him, but he felt it. He felt everything.

"Subject 061—"

Ryker growled and turned. Unlike his room, Izzie's was large enough to accommodate a small observation panel where, a comfortable distance from the human lab rat and the vampire they'd shoved in her cage, Dr. Briggs sat alongside his two assistants behind a heavy pane of glass.

"Hello," Dr. Briggs continued, smiling. He perched attentively over a microphone, a laptop to his right and a thick notepad to his left. "As I said, we're ready to commence the first experiment."

"What the f*cking hell have you done to her?"

"Done?" The doctor blinked and offered a lazy shrug. "We haven't done anything to her. As I explained earlier, these tests are designed to determine a variety of factors. We're studying vampiric mating habits—"

"You want me to f*ck her?" The words tasted sour. Ryker shot Izzie another concerned look, and something in his chest wrenched at the calm resignation etched across her face. He'd done terrible things in his time—truly terrible—but rape was not among them. Whatever attraction he'd felt toward the girl was irrelevant. Touching her was out of the question.

It wasn't as though he hadn't understood the implication in Dr. Briggs's introductory speech. Ryker had known they intended to have him plug the girl, but for whatever reason, the reality of those words hadn't clicked. Standing here now, his gaze roaming her bare skin—the scientists situated a safe distance away, as though the glass separating them made it easier to accept their own inhumanity—whatever happened next was up to him.

If they wanted a peep show, they'd have to look somewhere else.

"Of course not," Dr. Briggs responded at last. "Not today, at least. Admittedly, the study of human and vampire intercourse is something we will have to approach in coming sessions, but today, we're going to begin with simple touch and response demonstrations."

"Touch?" He barely recognized his own voice.

"Yes, Subject 061. Please step forward and put your hand anywhere on Subject Beta."

Ryker again searched Izzie's eyes. Again, she gave him nothing.

"No," he replied simply.

"No?"

"Having trouble hearing? No. F*ck no, in fact." Ryker shook his head and took a step back, his chest tightening. "She has nothing to do with this."

Dr. Briggs sighed. "We've been over this . . . ."

"Sorry, doc. I'm a slow learner."

"Clearly."

"You can't keep her here and hope no one comes looking."

"That may or may not be true, but it doesn't concern me." The doctor waved a hand. "As I explained to you, 061, you have no place to say yes or no. We have plenty of other vampires who would be all too glad to volunteer for these experiments. If you'd rather be placed elsewhere, it can be arranged, but the girl would be left with a stranger." He paused pointedly. "I will not repeat this again. The next objection warrants an official resignation from these tests. You would not see Subject Beta again."

Izzie's gaze didn't change. She didn't shake her head or moan or do anything to suggest she was anything but an impartial subject, but a blind man could see her panic. She did not want him gone. She did not want to be left with someone else. She wanted him where he was, in the room, at her side. While she might not trust him, he was the devil she knew. Leaving her alone would almost surely sign her death certificate.

That was all he needed. He couldn't turn away now. "All right," he murmured.

It was indiscernible, and quite possibly all in his imagination, but Ryker could have sworn Izzie's body relaxed.

"All right?" Dr. Briggs prodded.

"Yeah. I'll do it. Whatever it is you sadistic f*cks need to hear." Ryker exhaled slowly. "I just touch her, yeah?"

"Correct."

"Anywhere."

"Correct."

Ryker nodded shakily and stepped forward. His right hand stirred, fingers brushing against the soft skin at Izzie's ankle. She jerked as though shocked, and so did he. Shit, why did everything suddenly seem so f*cking complicated?

"Shh," he cooed.

He supposed he thought it comforting, though it seemed a little useless with the gag wrapped around her mouth. He knew he should apply his focus elsewhere—on the labyrinth of hallways outside the door, to consider the odds of making it out of here with his life. Maybe gamble on whether or not Connor would consider it odd if he never returned to The Wall, and what good stirring one antisocial pub owner's concern would actually accomplish. F*ck it, he needed to think of anything but the trembling girl under his fingertips and how whatever happened here would change her life forever.

Izzie just stared at him. Every time an emotion approached her eyes, she blinked and it disappeared. Ryker had to hand it to her; she had the whole business of concealing herself down pat. He should have recognized it sooner—in the alley the other night, a thousand years ago, when he'd first stepped out of the shadows and made his presence known. Izzie hadn't given herself away, though he'd patted himself on the back and made like the night was a success. She was always very closed, very internal, and he didn't want to consider what might be going through her gorgeous head.

Another place, any other place, this might have been nice. Touching her without meaning or motive, feeling her skin beneath him. Her legs were smooth, recently shaved, her body soft and inviting. She seemed so young but at the same time older than even he could claim. At times she sparkled with youth and adventure—the way her eyes lit up during their verbal trades hadn't been an act. Neither was the lost look he'd so often seen on her face during those nights he'd stalked her. The one that gave her away as a warrior without a cause, or at least no cause she believed in. And now—right now—with his hands on her, his thumb rubbing what he hoped were soothing circles into her skin, Izzie occupied both worlds. Young and frightened, old and jaded. Terrified but accepting. Confused but aware.

Murmuring meaningless words wouldn't help her. He'd still led her here.

I didn't want this.

Ryker swallowed hard, his gaze breaking from hers. He wanted to voice the words, but he couldn't risk their captors knowing more than they knew already. Dr. Briggs had obviously pieced together that Izzie was the ultimate bargaining chip, which likely meant any other attempts at subterfuge were useless, but there seemed little harm in keeping some things to himself.

Aside from the fact that he wanted her to know he hated this as much as she did.

"Good," Dr. Briggs said loudly. "Now, stroke her higher, please."

Ryker's hand froze on her ankle. "Sorry?"

"Higher, 061."

He sucked in his cheeks, his fingers slowly sliding up the length of her leg. F*cking perverts, he thought, stopping at her knee. For a wild second, he thought she might be ticklish, which would be either awkward or absurdly hilarious, but she didn't crack a grin.

"Higher, please."

Ryker bit back a growl. "Why don't you just say it?"

"Say what, 061?"

"You want me to palm her cunt."

Izzie flinched. He willed himself not to react.

"Hmm," Dr. Briggs mused. "Interesting proposition."

"Not my f*cking proposition." Ryker glanced up, another growl scratching at his throat. "What's the problem, doc? Never figured out how to pull up a dirty website?"

"This is not about gratification."

He rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Just have a girl stripped and bound and you're forcing me—"

"No one is forcing you to do anything, Subject 061."

Ryker hazarded another glance to Izzie's face. There he saw that same acceptance, hard-lined and gritty, and the pain in his chest magnified.

If she could do this, he could as well.

"I won't abandon you," he whispered, his resolve hardening. Any number of other vamps would gladly rip out the Pope's throat for the chance to caress her silky skin, especially on threat of death. He wouldn't desert her to those odds.

"Very well, then," Dr. Briggs said, his tone bored. "Please stroke Subject Beta's sex. Prepare her as you would for intercourse."

Ryker snickered. "As I would? Not the kinda guy who likes an audience, doc."

"I suspect you'll manage just fine."

He sighed and nodded, his shoulders tensing. "Right, then," he said, sliding a trembling hand up her thigh. Strange how he'd imagined touching her so often over the past few days only to see fantasy meet reality, but on terms no one could have anticipated.

"Stay with me," he whispered, his hand disappearing beneath the t-shirt he'd spread across her in an ineffective attempt to preserve her modesty. "Just look at me, all right? Look."

Easy words to say. He wasn't the one being explored. Instinct rivaled need, and every time he encountered an internal roadblock he pushed ahead without looking back. When his skin met the warmth of her p-ssy, his fingers didn't hesitate before roaming through her soft curls and dipping between her vaginal lips. Ryker willed himself not to react, even when the hard tremors wracking her body intensified. He wanted to calm her but didn't know how, and before he could explore his options, his thumb instinctively landed on her * and a hard gasp sounded around her gag.

Oh God. Too much.

"Too much?" he asked softly, searching.

"No," Dr. Briggs answered. "Very good. Continue whatever you're doing."

F*ck. He'd nearly forgotten the bastard. Ryker's jaw hardened. "Right."

He'd never been so aware of himself. Every move he made, every breath he released, every ripple that surged through his body. His moral compass didn't often decide to steer his actions, and over the years, it had grown a little lazy on the gray areas. Right now, however, every tiny voice of his psyche had banded together, bellowing a chorus of this is wrong. Ryker shoved those protestations aside, his gaze trained on Izzie. His thumb rubbed soft circles against her *, his index finger tenderly stroking her vaginal opening.

After a few moments, he realized she was responding to him. Her moon-pale cheeks flushed with color, the tension in her legs relaxed. Realization seized him by the core, urging him to stop—it felt wrong, too wrong—but he knew he couldn't.

The air thickened with her scent, a hot spicy tang that teased his tongue and stirred his cock to life. Ryker winced but he couldn't prevent his response anymore than he could prevent hers. Some things were ingrained, learned by the body long before the mind got in the way. Reaction to stimuli was something no one could repress.

Her eyes became wider, her teeth clamping around the gag. She likely didn't realize the needy jerks her hips made, or the small mewls that tickled the air. Ryker hated himself then—true, unabashed hatred for being too weak to refuse their captors or stifle the sudden ache in his groin. Izzie panted and he stroked, nudging her slippery pearl as his fingers dipped inside her. She was hot—Christ, she was hot. Hot, wet, and tighter than any haven his cock had ever known.

If they weren't here, if they were a world away, he wondered, could he have touched her like this? Would she want him freely? His vivid imagination saw her straddling his waist, riding him, swallowing him into her slick p-ssy over and over again. Her breasts bouncing in his face, offered to his hungry mouth and loving hands. She'd feel so good, so warm, so completely his in a way no woman ever had.

The images came faster, setting his teeth on edge. His fingers pumped deeper into her cunt. Her cries, hampered as they were by the gag, became louder, and her twists against her bonds more violent. Ryker growled, not caring now, massaging her * with learned tenderness, and she couldn't help it. No, she couldn't help it anymore than he could.

Her p-ssy clenched around him and she came hard.

A trembling sigh fought Ryker's lips. She was so beautiful . . . and so far away. He had his fingers inside her, yet they were miles apart.

I'm sorry.

"Very good," Briggs said over the intercom. "That will be all for today."



* * * * *



The second his cell door shut behind him, Ryker tore down his sweats, took his cock into his right hand, and began pumping.

I'm one sick f*ck.

God, he couldn't help it. Her scent, her sounds, the liquid heat on his fingers, her soft cry as she spasmed around him . . . no, he couldn't help it. Whatever control he had pretended to have disappeared. The knowledge she deserved better from him did little to slow him down. She was perfection in a thousand ways, resolute, courageous, and she hadn't shut her eyes. No, the entire time he explored her body, invited or not, her gaze had been on him.

His hand was a poor substitute for what his body craved.

Izzie. My Izzie.

It didn't last long. It couldn't. He was too tightly wound, too desperate for touch. White ropes of semen hit his stomach, cold and hollow, and the vat of self-loathing he'd created for himself grew larger.

A normal man wouldn't jack off to what he'd just seen, what he'd been forced to do. And though he'd never been normal, he'd always thought himself better than this.

A dull buzz filled the air. Ryker looked up. At some point, he'd crashed against the floor, his back to the wall, his cock still in his hand. The pain in his gut exploded.

"Very interesting," Dr. Briggs said over the intercom. "Thank you. These observations will be most helpful."

From where the voice originated he didn't know. Hell, Ryker hadn't even known his room was being visually monitored, though now it seemed foolish to think otherwise. Of course they watched him. Every move he made was being catalogued . . . every sound he created, every expression he entertained.

And he'd played every role they set out for him. Every goddamn one.