Razor raced up the stairwell with the others. Chase split off at the seventh floor. Tavia slipped through the door that opened onto the eighth. With a grim nod at Razor, Knox disappeared through the door leading to the research labs on nine.
Despite the fact that he was moving with all his Breed velocity and agility, to Razor everything felt too slow. Part of the feeling stemmed from the bone-deep dread that Willow was slipping further and further away from him. His bond to her was thinning, stretching, as fragile as a gossamer strand now . . . but it was still there.
She was still alive.
And unless his UV-scorched mind was playing tricks on him, she wasn’t far from where he stood now. She was somewhere in this building.
“I’m coming for you,” he whispered under his breath. “Hang on, baby. Don’t give up. I’m going to find you.”
He stepped onto the tenth floor from the stairwell door. Bright lights illuminated the hospital-like area full of white tile floors, stainless-steel medical equipment, and room after room of laboratory workers and humming electronics. The sterile, repulsive sight was so reminiscent of his own upbringing he could hardly contain his rage.
A security guard posted near the entrance spotted him and made the mistake of raising his service weapon at him. In a blur of motion Razor had his hands around the man’s neck and poised to snap it. Recalling Chase’s instructions about stealth and limited casualties, he tranced the guard instead and let his unconscious body slide to the tiled floor.
He stepped forward, cutting a swift line down the long hallway through the center of the research unit. Human lab workers in white coats scattered in every direction the second they saw him coming. Like rats on a sinking ship, they fled the floor in moments.
When another security guard came charging at him like a hero, Razor deflected the attack, breaking the man’s weapon in two before knocking the guard into the far wall.
Several of the glass-windowed rooms had semiconscious occupants strapped to the beds. Breed males suffering Bloodlust and in various states of physical decline, all too weak or too heavily sedated to do more than lift their eyelids as he stalked by on his search for Willow.
She wasn’t on this floor.
At the same time, Chase radioed in over the team’s comm unit that he and Tavia had the seventh and eighth floors contained, but no sign of Willow there either.
“Nine is negative too,” Knox reported.
Nikolai and his comrades advised they had tranced the staff in the west wing of the building and were in the process of downloading data off the UWSI servers. “We should have everything zipped up in about ten more minutes.”
“I need more time,” Razor snarled into his comm unit. “Willow is here somewhere. I can feel it.”
He didn’t wait for anyone’s permission or agreement. The Order had the situation under control on their end, but he still had his own business to finish.
Stay alive, Willow. I need you to stay alive.
There were thirty floors in the building. If he had to search them all one by one to find Willow, he’d damn well better get started.
CHAPTER 29
Willow felt submerged in darkness, her body heavy and cold.
Her limbs were impossible weights that would not budge, even though her mind urged them to move. To fight. To escape whatever was holding her down, sapping every last ounce of strength she possessed.
Like a tide of thick tar, the world around her continued to close in. She swam and struggled against it, instinct warning her if she gave up and let it drag her under she would never emerge from it again.
And it wasn’t only her own voice she heard demanding that she keep fighting, keep living. It was Razor’s deep voice echoing in her head too. She heard him in her heart.
Don’t give up . . .
I’m going to find you . . .
Stay alive, Willow. I need you to stay alive.
Even though she knew it had to be a trick of her suffocating mind, Razor’s desperate, pleading words were like a beacon reaching out to her through the endless, black void that held her. She latched on to the ghost of his voice like a lifeline, holding fast and fighting to resurface.
Her eyelids slowly peeled open, feeling as leaden and uncooperative as the rest of her.
Blinding white light seared her vision from overhead lamps shining down on her from the ceiling of what appeared to be some kind of hospital room. A machine beeped softly from somewhere beside her. Its sluggish tempo began to increase in speed as she blinked and inhaled a rasping breath.
Her eyes were the only thing she could move. Glancing wildly at her foreign surroundings, she saw electronic monitors, wires, and slender tubes running from her body to several other machines positioned at her bedside.
