Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans (9 page)

“You know we haven’t had enough trials,” said another man’s voice. Dr. Ruthers? “My preparations were for Damian. Giving it to the girl is risky.”

“How long?”

“If we’re lucky, she’ll get a month’s reprieve.”

“Damn it!” Jarred’s voice seethed with frustration and anger. “Damian has ruined everything. All that planning, all that research—all for nothing!”

“Not necessarily,” said Dr. Ruthers. “It may well be she completes the transition, which means your supposition about the theria genotype is correct.”

“So is its rarity,” said Jarred. “You know how long it took for me track down Sylvia. And it was only by chance we discovered she’d had a child. There must be a way to strip out Damian’s DNA.”

“You know how the theria genotype works. Once the shifter’s blood was introduced into her system, it activated the process.”

My heart started to thud so loud, I was sure the two men would be able to hear it. I wanted very much to believe that I was caught in yet another dream, but I couldn’t deny this seemed all too real. Somehow Damian’s bite had affected me in ways I didn’t understand. I had little faith that Jarred wanted to help me because of any altruistic motivations. Given the heavy languidness I felt, it was likely he had indeed drugged me.

“We should be glad ETAC has not discovered this anomaly,” mused Dr. Ruthers. “It’s bad enough lycans have been disappearing or turning up dead in recent months.”

“They’ve figured out the blood of a royal has different properties than commoners. That’s why they kidnapped Damian. Bastards aren’t satisfied with their mutant vampires. Now they want to fuck with the lycans, too. If only we’d gotten to him sooner, damn it!”

“They’ll want him back, no doubt.”

“Don’t worry about that,” said Jarred tersely. “Give her the serum.”

I heard the doctor sigh. “As you wish.”

I heard someone approach and the snick of a case opening. Fear bled through the stratum of my addled weariness, but I still couldn’t get my eyes to open much less get my body to move away.

“I’m sorry, my dear,” whispered Dr. Ruthers.

I felt my arm being gently extracted from underneath the stifling covers. I was still wearing the stupid camisole, so I didn’t even have the protection of a sleeve to prevent the feel of something round and cold against my shoulder.
Hiss. Pop.
Sudden, sharp pain radiated from my shoulder.

A terrible chill stole across my chest. I felt the aching tendrils worm into my heart and within moments, the sting of its cold poison invaded my veins.

Pain flared, and I cried out.

I felt hands on me, nonsensical comforts whispered as my body quaked and raged at this systemic invasion.

Then, blessedly, I slipped once again into the inky waters of unconsciousness.

 

I woke up with a clear mind and firm intentions.

I lay in bed, slitting my eyes so that I could assess my surroundings without revealing I was awake. I listened carefully for any activity, but it appeared I was alone. Certainly my bedroom was empty, and the door was mercifully closed.

Slowly, I sat up, afraid I might alert someone.

Once I had reassured myself I was alone and would remain so, I allowed myself to think about all that had transpired.

Werewolves.
I couldn’t dismiss the idea of their reality as easily as I wanted. No, I wanted to crawl into my disbelief and rout out the ridiculousness of believing shape-shifters roamed among the human population. For heaven’s sake! Wouldn’t someone notice such creatures? How would anyone be able to keep that kind of secret?

I couldn’t believe I was actually considering the idea that werewolves existed. Between my dreams and my drugged state, along with my inappropriate empathy (and attraction) to the delusional Damian, I could surely justify the need to think werewolves were real.

Jarred had told me as much, hadn’t he? And if he was trying to mess with my mind, what was the point? A test of some kind? To what end?

It was all so damned confusing.

There was one thing, however, of which I was certain.

Jarred Dante had used me as his personal guinea pig. And he’d rescued Damian from his previous incarceration to experiment on him as well. Even if I still had a sterling reputation, I would be hard-pressed to convince anyone that the billionaire was using his money and influence to conduct medical trials on helpless people with no families and no options.

The callousness of Jarred’s actions burned me to my soul.

I had no proof, and honestly, I hadn’t gotten any emotional vibes that indicated subterfuge from anyone here. The patients seemed happy and content. Those emotions might well be drug-induced, but if they were, I’d know it. Emotion rendered by a pill was distinctly different from a raw feeling pulsing in the figurative heart.

The fact remained that Jarred Dante and Dr. Ruthers had injected me with something. And while I remembered their fiercely whispered conversation, not much of it made sense, especially if I was to consider that they believed werewolves were real. And if I factored in my own strange dream of the Moon Goddess and the wolf named Tark …

Oh, please! Was I really going down into this ugly, little rabbit hole?

I was no Alice, and this was no Wonderland.

I clenched the bedspread and let the full force of my own anger soak me from skin to bone. I felt utterly betrayed, but I could blame no one but myself for my current situation. I’d bargained with the devil and now I was paying the price.

My bed was framed by two large picture windows. Sunlight darted through the gaps in the curtains, dappling the wood floors. I was reminded sharply of the dream in which the fireflies flickered like diamond speckles tucked into the velvet night.

You must help him to find his way again, Kelsey.

The Moon Goddess’s words were no doubt echoes of my own conscience. Dreams could be very important messages from the subconscious, from those hidden, dark parts of ourselves we tried to ignore. I couldn’t leave Damian to his fate here. All I had to do was rescue him and then figure out a way for us to escape one of the most secure facilities in the state, if not the nation. And avoid Sven. Oh, crap.

What if Jarred had stationed guards outside my door?

Well, I’d just have to pretend like everything was fine and that I didn’t know about Jarred’s nefarious endeavors. For the first time I considered that perhaps the man really didn’t have emotions. Quite possibly he was a robot. Humph. I nibbled my lower lip as my thoughts whirled. I had never really been very good at comportment (not that my mother hadn’t tried to turn me into an obedient milksop). I had learned to hide my empath abilities rather well, and that ability to smile while feeling another’s pain had taught me guile in nearly all things. I was, I’m almost sorry to admit, an excellent liar. No doubt all those theater classes in college had helped with this flaw of my character. I sighed. If I had mastered my gift, instead of just the hiding of it, Robert’s poison would’ve never seeped into my soul. Since that moment, I had tried to live honestly. Forthrightly. But even before my vow to be … well, good, I had the annoying habit of speaking my mind, which made Mother cringe. (That, and my impulsiveness. I was definitely a let’s-push-the-red-button kind of girl.) Granted, I had learned the value of shutting up every now and then. When I got really upset or angry, the words tumbled out of my mouth before my brain had processed the consequences. During one of my mother’s lectures on my lack of sophistication and my wayward nature, my stepfather, Ames, had interrupted to say that he thought I was a “delightful smartass.”

Thus far, that was the nicest compliment I’d ever received.

My thoughts circled back to my escape plan. I wish I knew some karate or at the very least that I’d paid closer attention to those Steven Seagal movies that Ames so loved.

Trepidation spun through me, but I wasn’t going to stay in bed and wish the world was different. I had to act, and fast, if I was to save myself and Damian. I wasn’t sure what I could do about the other patients. If only I had some proof about Jarred’s illegal activities! Then maybe the authorities would believe me and I could shut down the clinic and see justice done.

A knot clogged my throat.

Jarred was too rich and too clever. The moment he realized I’d disappeared and taken Damian with me, he’d no doubt use his considerable resources to track us down. Maybe even silence us. I felt dizzy, and as I swung my feet over the bed and let my soles rest on the floor, I had a terrifying vision of Sven and his team aiming monstrous guns at us and firing. I sucked in a steadying breath and stood up. I had to take the chance. Besides, I knew I could live with the fear already blossoming inside of me.

Terror and I were old friends.

I discovered the scar while toweling off from my hasty shower. It was just above my left breast, its shape distinctive enough to be mistaken for a tattoo. It sorta looked like a hook bent in two directions with the ends straightened. A small, upright slash bisected the slanted middle. It seemed almost pagan. I remember distinctly feeling Dr. Ruther’s injecting me with something in the
shoulder
.

I stared into the mirror and traced the odd marking, frowning.

Whoa. In the dream, the Goddess had zapped me in order to bestow her symbol. I didn’t know what to make of it all. How could I gain a scar from
that
? If this … this branding was real, then I had to believe that the socalled visitation of the Moon Goddess and Tark were also real.

Okay. Whew.
Okay.

I sucked in a couple of deep breaths. Well, I had to keep an open mind about everything at this point, didn’t I? I could hardly judge the worth of psychic phenom beyond my experience. Still. This was not an issue I could deal with presently, so I tucked it away for later.

I couldn’t arouse suspicions, so I took care with my appearance, as though I were merely returning to work after a bout of the flu. Yes, that lie fit nicely with what had happened. I realized I had no idea how much time had passed, or if Jarred had made other excuses about my absence. Hell, I didn’t know if I was going to be able to walk out of my apartment, much less if I’d be able to make it to wherever they’d stashed Damian.

I put on light makeup and, unable to get my trembling fingers to create the French braid, I decided to just blow-dry it and leave it down. After dressing in a blue lace bra and matching panties, I slipped into a pair of black pants and a blue silk blouse, along with a pair of simple, comfortable flats. Normally I’d wear my ankle boots with the ensemble, but if I had to run, I wanted shoes I could shuck off. Unfortunately, walking around with my Nikes on might prompt suspicion. And so would wearing a coat. Sven noticed details like that. I grabbed a sweater, which wouldn’t offer too much extra warmth, but it was better than nothing.

I wasn’t much of a jewelry person, especially after having to sell all my previous baubles to pay bills and creditors. The only adornment I allowed was a pair of silver hoop earrings. Carrying my purse would seem out of place since there was no real reason to have it on me. The clinic was its own little town where currency wasn’t used, much less needed. However, another of my mother’s “life lessons” had led to the personal habit of keeping some sort of cash on me at all times. Since my salary was so generous, I had five hundred dollars stashed in my wallet. I took it, and my driver’s license, and tucked it all into the right cup of my bra. No way would I leave it in a pocket to bulge or to be discovered if Sven didn’t buy my ruse and decided to search me. I had no doubts Sven wouldn’t spare my cleavage if he thought I was hiding anything.

Yet another chance I would have to take.

I went to my nightstand and scooped up the key card as well as my cell phone. I hesitated, staring at the BlackBerry. I had seen far too many movies where the intrepid heroes were tracked by their cells. Had my paranoia reached the level where I believed my BlackBerry could lead Jarred right to me?

Yes. Yes, I had.

And if he could (or did) the BlackBerry might prove useful as a red herring. No. I didn’t want to risk it. I stuck the key card in my pocket and returned the phone to the nightstand. My heart started to thud, and I suddenly felt so reluctant to follow my plan (and therefore my principles) that my knees threatened to buckle.
What am I doing?
I plopped down onto the unmade bed and dug my fingers into the covers.

Surely,
said a tart voice that sounded suspiciously like my mother,
I have the good sense and moral fortitude to confront Jarred with my concerns.
Did he not deserve to hear my accusations so that he could allay my fears? Or at least lie to me convincingly enough that I would no longer feel it necessary to leave with a mental patient in tow?

I had ignored my instincts with Robert. No matter how much dread balled in my stomach, I continued to treat the man. I told myself over and over again it was not my place to judge, but to heal. I had purpose, strength, hope—all things I could give to him. And I did. I used my power to push them all into his heart, where they took root and flourished. Oh, yes. I gave him all that he needed to take his first victim, and the five after that, too.