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The young nurse climbed out of the silver Toyota and slammed the door. I glanced at the clock. In half an hour, the nurse on duty would head home, and we’d start this dance again in the morning, not long after sunrise.

  A cold wind picked up a few hours later. I cracked open the door in the dark and climbed out. Three nights I’d waited, and still there was nothing.

  A snap of a twig cut through the night. I cocked my head, inhaling the cold night air…and found nothing.

  But the unseen fist around my gut refused to release. I scanned the darkness from the corner of the building and stepped to the side.

  The sweet scent of fresh blood licked my nose and fell away. I raised my head and dragged in the wind. Gone…the bastard was… Darkness moved to my left. I couldn’t see a damn thing, but I could feel it.

  Blood in the air came again, stronger this time, moving closer…and downwind.

  The rush of air was a blast inside my head. Light cleaved my mind like a bolt of lightning as the Saint rushed to the surface.

  He’s here…

  The snap of a twig came again, carried on the wind. My thighs tensed, fists clenched. I eased backwards one slow step at a time and moved along the brush. Something moved in the darkness, pale, fast.

  But not fast enough.

  I slammed my heels into the ground and ripped through the hedge to slam into something on the other side. Sharp needles punctured my shoulder and I was thrown.

  I hit the ground hard, knocking the wind from my lungs and shoved to my feet as the blur cut behind the destroyed hedge and slipped from view.

  He was getting away.

  “The fuck you are.”

  I dropped my head and charged, tearing through what remained of the brush to hit him again. This time I was prepared.

  I swung my arm around his body, clamping us tight and drove my right fist into his stomach. The ooff was goddamn music to my ears, until my feet left the ground. Stars blurred in one magnificent arc as I was thrown end over end and hit the ground once more.

  “Enough,” the command echoed through the dark.

  I tried to suck in a breath and managed a wheeze. “Like fuck it is.”

  The shadow loomed above me as I rolled and shoved to my feet.

  “I do not want to fight you.”

  I swiped the dirt and filth from my pants and found my breath. The undead bastard thought he’d come here, threaten what was mine and leave without so much as a scuffle?

  I shook my head and forced the words. “You came for the wrong mortal, Vampire.”

  “Really?” Caustic words cut the night air. “Seems to me I’ve come for exactly the right one.”

  He moved fast, limping with the right leg, and then he was gone. The blow came from nowhere, and found a home in the middle of my stomach. I doubled, clutched nothing but air and heard the whoosh at my left.

  I dropped my weight, squatting, only to drive my body upwards. “You want to play dirty? Fine, let’s play dirty.”

  Twigs crunched on my right, only this time I was ready. I lifted my hand as he rushed and dropped my control, and it was all the Saint needed.

  Light from my hand sliced the darkness to hit the Vampire in the face. He cried out, slammed his hands across his eyes and stumbled.

  I dropped my shoulder and charged, slamming into the hard wall of his body, and took him to the ground.

  If it was a fair fight he might’ve had a chance.

  If it was between me and him he might’ve had a chance.

  But this was neither fair, nor just with me.

  Fire lashed my shoulder, cutting, shredding skin and muscle. I stumbled under the weight, taking the bloodsucker with me.

  “Get the fuck off me.” Muffled words came from underneath as we hit the ground.

  And I was overcome.

  Pain shredded my spine, ripping me apart from the inside. Something pushed inside me and a savage snap of bone followed.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  I clung to the Vamp’s voice in my ear. I held onto all I could. The scream ripped from my chest and lashed my throat. I fisted his shirt and curled around the cold, stony form as one wing pierced the air, followed with the other.

  The weight dragged me sideways. We rolled, slammed, and stopped. I punched his body into the ground and forced myself to my knees.

  The Vampire never fought, never screamed. All I could see were the whites of his eyes, until one tortured word slipped free. “Guardian.”

  “You…” My throat burned with rage. I swallowed the heat and tried once more. But my words were no longer my own…my body paid the price. I danced with the Saint, with one foot in Heaven and the other here. “You threatened what’s mine.”

  His eyes widened. Fear shone through, but it was swallowed by a fierceness that took me by surprise.

  “If you mean the doctor, then you’re mistaken. I’m not here to threaten, only to…” His voice softened. A killer didn’t do that. A killer didn’t care. “I only wanted to make sure she was safe.”

  “Safe?” I shoved upwards, and dragged him with me.

  My muscles screamed under the weight as my wings settled. But part of me sighed with relief, like it was an old skin, only forgotten for a moment in time—and now we were reborn.

  “If your last visit was your way of making sure she was safe, then you need to adjust your communication skills, Vampire.”

  “If I came here before I might have cause to take offense. But this is the first time I’ve come to see her, Guardian.”

  There was something about the way he looked at me, something hauntingly familiar. I searched his face, his pale hair, and tried to find the words. “You’ve never been here before?”

  He jutted his chin in the air in an act of defiance. “No.”

  “Three nights ago, about this time.”

  His brow furrowed, lips curled. The guttural word cut the air. “No.”

  Truth stained his words. But the Saint wasn’t done, not by a long shot. “Your name, Vampire.”

  “My name is Gabriel Connor.” His name spilled with a regal tone.

  “You came here. Went in there, and threatened the Doc.” I stabbed the air toward the building and moved in close. “I smelled you.”

  Gabriel shook his head. “What the Hell are you talking about? I never threatened anyone. I’m the one who saved her damn life.”

  And suddenly that familiarity hit me. My fingers tightened over his shirt. I searched his face, finding the same hard jaw, the same high cheekbones. He was the Vampire from the cabin. The one who covered Doc with his own body. My mind raced with questions. “If you didn’t come here, then who the fuck did?”

  Dark eyes searched mine as he answered. “That, Guardian, is a very good question.”

  16

  Doc Angel

  “Now, eat.”

  I stared up at the fork in his hand, and then down to the plate.

  Blackened pancakes spilled over the side. I nudged the edge, watching the uncooked middle wobble and swallowed hard. “You…shouldn’t have, Leon. This is far too much.”

  “Nonsense. At least this way I know you’ll have something decent in your stomach.”

  I swallowed acid in the back of my throat and reached for the fork. Eight hours passed by in an exhausting slumber. I woke just as tired, just as defeated…and now I had…this. “Mother’s recipe I take it.”

  “One and the same.” He grinned. He actually looked pleased with himself. He lifted the yellow tub of butter and the squeeze bottle of honey. “Both?”

  I nodded. “Please, lots.”

  His grin spread wider as he craned his large body over the table. I took one sneaking glance toward the doorway to my lab before he straightened.

  “There.”

  The thick slab of butter sat in the middle of the undercooked pancake. I forced a smile and carved the edges, spreading it through the honey to coat the edges before I carved.

  He wasn’t going away. Not until I…

  I stabbe
d one portion with a fork and hacked with the knife.

  The blade wasn’t sharp enough. My mind jumped to the scalpel in the consult room and decided even that wasn’t going to help.

  The skin on the back of my neck crawled with his focus. I picked up the edges and ripped the massacred piece before shoving it in my mouth. My stomach clamped tight, as if to say Hell, no.

  I pressed my lips together and gave him a smile. “Mmm, so good.”

  “I know right? I make this for all my roommates. It’s my way of making sure everyone gets a healthy start. You know without the honey, buckwheat pancakes have zero gluten.”

  And zero taste. I swallowed the words with the hard wad in my mouth. “How are Henry and Dan?”

  The spark died in his eyes. “They moved out. Got a gig up in Stones Corner. So I guess I’m on the hunt for new roommates again.”

  It wasn’t that bad, if the butter and honey was the main part on your fork. “How many times is this now?”

  “Don’t ask,” he muttered. “Okay, enough chatting. This…thing, that’s got you so worked up. Spill.”

  And just like that, every happy, normal thought died. I eased my fork onto the plate and reached for the napkin, swiping the sides of my mouth before answering. “It’s nothing you can help with.”

  “Bullshit. Don’t play me for a fool. You can lie all you want about the pancakes, Angel. But not about this.”

  Tell anyone, Doctor. Involve anyone, and the kid is as good as dead.

  The warning rang loud and clear in my head.

  Maybe I could tell him without the objective? Maybe I could ask simple questions to get the answers I needed?

  But what answers could he give that I didn’t know on my own?

  The answer hung like a heavy cloud over my head. None.

  “The sickle cell proton. I can’t seem to break the code.”

  He leaned back, studying me for a good long while before he spoke. “And that’s what had you worked up?”

  I nodded. I’d broken that strand a million times in as many ways. I could break it with my eyes closed, half-asleep, even on a sugar high with buckwheat pancake sitting like a rock in my stomach.

  “Hmm, well. What species of shifter?”

  Lie.

  “Hellhound.”

  “That’s a hard one. Personally I’d follow the protocol for a wolf.”

  Then you’d be wrong.

  I nodded. “I thought about that. I’ve tried bear, thinking it could be closer.”

  “So that’s it then? That’s what had you working yourself to an early death?”

  I nodded. “I guess with everything it just overwhelmed me. I couldn’t seem to break myself out of the cycle.”

  “You were frenzied. I’d never seen you so… You scared me, Angel. You scared me a lot.” He took a step, narrowing the gap between us.

  I was aware of his every move. Aware of the slip of space between us as the weight of his hand settled on my head.

  I moved under his touch. His desire leaked all around him. “Leon. I…”

  “I know…you’re not ready.” His voice was husky and strange. “It’s just when I saw you the other night, with that man…I thought… I dunno. I just… I don’t do well with jealousy, Angel. Never have, never will.”

  Here was my moment. Act offended and risk ruining what was left of our professional relationship, or take his affection knowing I’d never feel the same.

  “Michael’s just a…”

  The white winged beast filled my head, and stared at me with those goddamn perfect eyes. My pulse sped, heart fluttered. Warmth spread from my chest and into my veins, like the slow drag of a finger.

  “Just a…?” Leon prompted.

  I shuddered under that touch, remembering the way his warmth kissed me. “A friend. He’s a good friend.”

  “And is this friend the reason why you were missing for days and almost killed? Is this friend the reason why you have a ruptured spleen and about a dozen other injuries?” He glanced to the floor.

  No, not to the floor—to my feet.

  “And is this friend the reason you were shackled like a fucking dog, and savaged?”

  And suddenly I was back in that cabin with the beasts at my door, only this time the beasts paraded themselves as friends.

  He couldn’t have known any of this, not unless…

  “Elon.”

  Satisfaction smothered the heat of anger in his gaze.

  I dropped the napkin to the table and shoved the chair out as I stood. This was more than a breach of privacy, more than a quarrel between friends. This was a violation of every ethical code we abided by.

  My voice was cold, hard. “For the sake of our patients, I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened. But from now on, Leon, this is a strictly professional relationship. I have never and will never see you as anything other than a colleague. Thank you for the pancakes. But if you’ll excuse me, I have a job to finish.”

  I grasped the plate and headed for the trashcan, dumping everything—ceramic, cutlery, my fucking self-respect—into it and strode for the sterile safety of my lab.

  My legs shook, my heart ached. I shoved through the doors and headed for my desk. Tears blurred the mess of vials and pages. I swiped away the drops. I was stronger than this. I sucked in a breath and let it out in a shudder. I was stronger than this.

  Leon hit a nerve. I touched the dressing at the side of my neck and waited for the stab of pain. I tried not to think of what I did in that cabin, instead glossing it over, just like soldiers did in the middle of war.

  And I had been at war, but it wasn’t just my survival at stake. It was my boy’s. I could still hear the savage hiss of hunger when he could no longer howl. I pressed harder, searching for the flare of agony, and found nothing but a dull ache.

  I stepped toward the cryohood and stared at my reflection in the stainless steel. The three-day-old dressing stuck hard against my skin. I picked the corners with the edge of my nail and yanked.

  The tape came away under a blaze of heat. I leaned closer staring at the puckered edges of the wound and stopped.

  That can’t be right. No.

  I skirted the side of my desk and yanked open my drawer. The compartment was full of pens, a bottle of deodorant, three thousand fucking hair ties and a half-eaten chocolate bar stuck to the side. I speared my fingers under the mess and rifled through the contents. I was sure I had…I skimmed the round metal frame.

  Yes.

  As I dragged the small mirror free, I shook the gunk from the surface before I held it up. The wound danced in the reflection. My damn hands shook. I licked my lips and moved to the centrifuge machine, splaying the legs of the mirror wide before I leaned in.

  There were no crusted edges, no darkened suture marks. I turned to the side, staring at the white lightning marks over my vein. That wasn’t possible. I probed my fingers into the scar, feeling the dull ache. This was a two-month-old scar, not a week old wound. I dropped my gaze to my stomach.

  I moved different, easier…not like a person with multiple wounds should.

  No…that can’t happen. This can’t happen.

  My fingers trembled as I gripped the bottom of my shirt and dragged the hem high. Nails scratched my skin as I peeled the corner of the dressing from my ribs and snatched the mirror. The tip of the scar was smaller, thinner, barely visible from where I stood.

  “That’s not real. Not…”

  I pressed my fingers to the wound and found a deep flare of pain. I wasn’t totally healed, but gauging by the time, a few more days and this would be nothing more than a memory.

  “Jesus…Jesus.” I dropped my hand. The mirror smacked my thigh.

  How did this happen to me? How did this…

  The blood.

  The attack. Maybe I was bit by a wolf? A panther? Maybe I’m immortal?

  I slid the mirror to the desk. My breaths came in a shudder, and then stopped, caught in my chest. A tortured sound ripped free
. “It’s okay. I’m going to be okay.”

  I’d worked with them, dissected them…and now… I dragged my hand high. I didn’t feel any different. Not stronger, not faster. Hell if anything I was weak, letting Leon treat me like that.

  My computer beeped, data waited for review. I left my fears behind and stumbled for my desk. If tomorrow I woke up with fur and claws, I’d deal with it then. But tonight, nothing else mattered.

  Genomes filled the screen. I hit play and watched the sequence. “Come on, just one strand. That’s all I need…just one.”

  The double helix strand broke, rejoined, and healed before my eyes, and then right at the last second it withered and died—just like every strand before.

  I hit forward and watched the next sequence. Hour after hour they died, right at the last second. No matter how many times I ran the data—no matter how many different shifters I tried it was always the same.

  “Fuck!” I shoved from the desk and stood.

  I’d tried everything, every gene, every shifter. Joslyn filled my head. But not her—not Joslyn. I half stumbled, half ran toward the cryoroom, snatching my gloves and the sheet from the desk.

  “It has to be, there’s no other way.”

  I moved to the tank and hit the valve. Why didn’t I think about this? Why didn’t I run the damn sequence with her before? “Fucking stupid, that’s why.”

  Liquid nitrogen fumes filled the space with a hiss. I checked the numbers and lifted the tower. Her batch sat on their own. One bank of human cells amongst all the other beasts. I pulled the vial from the side and replaced the center, and made my way into the main room.

  I set to work painstakingly thawing, securing the cells in the solution before I started the sequence. Last night’s episode hovered at the edge of my mind. I was becoming more like that version of myself, than the placid, happy woman I used to be.

  That woman was long gone. All that remained were scraps, shredded bits of skin—scars that healed almost overnight.

  And an ache that never went away. I pressed my hand into my chest and felt something, a warmth, like the remnant of a kindness—like the traces of love.

  I grasped the bottle of water and drained the contents before grabbing another. In a way Leon was right. If I fell apart, how would I get Thorn back?