But Angela would have traded the opportunity in a heartbeat if it meant being safely tucked in Niko’s arms.
Turning on the microscope, she settled on the lone stool in the room and adjusted the settings, unnervingly aware of Dylan’s impatient stare.
On the wall a clock ticked and more distantly a dog barked, but what felt like a threatening silence was wrapping around Angela, making it almost impossible to concentrate.
At last she had to do something, anything to slice through the thick air.
“How did you learn about me?” She glanced up to see a puzzled expression on Dylan’s exotic face. “I mean, none of my work has been published yet.”
“Oh.” Dylan shrugged. “Your professor contacted Calder when it became obvious you were more than just another grad student.”
Angela froze, not certain what part of the explanation bothered her the most.
“Which professor?” she finally managed to croak.
“I think his name was Appold.”
The fact that the woman knew the name of the professor who’d taken Angela under his wing and had become a trusted mentor shook Angela more than she cared to admit.
Could it be true?
God almighty.
Was her growing skill at manipulating cells actually a result of some mutation?
The thought was almost too overwhelming to even contemplate.
Not because she was prejudiced against high-bloods. Or even horrified at the thought of becoming one of them.
It was quite simply impossible to spend twenty-six years of her life believing herself to be one thing, and then in the space of one day being forced to accept she was another.
She was a logical, pedantic type of gal.
She needed time to process the data.
Clearing the lump lodged in her throat, she wiped her damp hands on her jeans.
“Who is Calder?” she asked.
“The Master of Gifts,” Dylan readily explained. “His order is in charge of seeking out high-bloods who either don’t know they’re special or those who are trying to blend in among the norms.”
“And he knows my professor?”
“Yes, he’s one of Calder’s order who keeps his eyes open for high-bloods in this area.”
She briefly wondered why Appold hadn’t told her of his suspicions from the beginning. Had he intended to spring the good news on her along with her diploma?
“Here’s your doctorate, Angela, oh, and by the way, you’re a freak. . . .”
She thrust away the futile thought.
She was more interested in the future. Hey, there was a minuscule chance that she might survive the night. She needed to be prepared.
“Do they force all high-bloods to Valhalla?”
Dylan’s humorless laugh echoed through the empty trailer. “Let’s just say that they strongly encourage people to travel to the mother ship.”
“Why?”
“They need to know if you are going to be a danger to yourself or others.”
“Oh.” Angela slowly nodded. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“Fantastic,” her companion mocked. “Now that we’ve shared our little heart-to-heart, will you get to work?”
She heaved a sigh, knowing she’d put off the inevitable for as long as possible.
“Fine, but I’m warning you . . .”
Her words came to a stuttering halt as she glanced into the microscope and actually concentrated on the blood sample.
“Good . . . Lord.”
Dylan moved to stand at her side. “What?”
“I’ve never seen cells like this,” she muttered, distracted in spite of herself. “Fascinating.”
“I don’t want to be fascinating,” Dylan snapped. “I want to be normal.”
Angela lifted her head to watch Dylan’s expression harden with bitter self-hatred.
“You know that none of us are normal?” She tried to squash the woman’s expectations. Every woman wanted to look like Megan Fox, but the reality was that fate was rarely that kind. “There are differences in all of us, some are just greater than others.”
The crimson eyes flared with fury. “I don’t need a lesson in biology, I need a cure.”
“But—”
A claw pressed to her throat, bringing her words to a sharp halt.
“Let me make this simple, scientist,” she snarled in lethally soft tones. “Do it or die.”
Chapter Nine
This wasn’t the first time that Niko had stared death in the face.
Years before he’d fought off a group of morons who were in the process of lynching a young female psychic who’d been trying to make a living as a traveling gypsy.
Another time he was tracking a witch who was convinced she was destined to trigger doomsday and got caught in her lethal spell.
But he’d never teetered so close to the edge.
And certainly he’d never debated whether it would be preferable to battle through the pain so he could live. Or simply slip into the waiting darkness.
It was the image of dark, serious eyes and a lush, feminine mouth that had driven him to madness only hours before that gave him the grim determination to crawl back from the abyss. And, of course, the persistent sound of his name being shouted in his ear.
Scowling in annoyance, he forced open his heavy lids, not at all surprised to discover his fellow Sentinel crouched beside him with a worried expression.
“Arel?” he managed to croak.
Fierce relief flared through the golden eyes. “Welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”
Pressing a hand to his aching head, Niko struggled to a sitting position. Shit. He was as weak as a kitten.
“Why the hell am I lying on the floor?”
“A good question.” Arel’s gaze was watchful, no doubt assessing whether he needed to call for a healer. “I’m assuming it has something to do with Dylan.”
“Dylan.” The memory of the crimson-eyed bitch who’d tried to crispy-fry him seared through his mind. “She was here.”
“Yeah, I got that,” Arel growled, his fury barely leashed. “What did she do to you?”
Even though his mind was fuzzy, Niko had a vivid recollection of the pain that had halted his heart.
“She shot me with a shockwave.”
Arel frowned. “I thought they’d all been confiscated?”
“She claims that she built her own.”
“Of course she did.” Arel curled his lips in disgust. They’d all known Dylan spent her free time tinkering with her inventions. A pity they hadn’t kept a closer eye on just what she was building. “Bitch.”