“I just don’t see not-getting-sick as an ability. It isn’t something I do. Not willfully.”
“You’re likely descended from healers,” Richart explained. “Healers have remarkable regenerative capabilities. Remember how swiftly my wounds healed after Sheldon transfused me?”
“Yes.”
“Healers can do that even before their transformation. It’s what enables them to heal others. But the more their DNA has been diluted with ordinary human DNA over the millennia, the weaker their abilities. Were you born a hundred or even fifty years ago, you might have been able to heal with your hands. Instead, your body can fight off any illness to which you’re exposed, save the vampiric virus, and probably recovers from injuries abnormally fast.”
She was quiet for a moment. “I did recover from childbirth quickly. But . . . you’re sure about this? How do you know I’m not just really healthy? Dr. Lipton hasn’t done any blood tests yet.”
He told her about the revelations that had arisen from the paternity test years ago.
Her lips began to tilt up. “So I’m not going to go insane?”
“No.”
She threw her arms around him and squeezed him tight, then leaned back. “But I am transforming.”
He glanced at Dr. Lipton.
“You’re transforming,” Dr. Lipton confirmed. “The fact that your body is reacting the way it is tells me that if we try to halt the transformation, you’ll end up with no viable immune system. Your best option at this point is to let us give you a rapid infusion of infected blood to speed and complete the transformation.”
Richart willed her to choose the latter. The only alternative was death.
John, who Richart hadn’t even realized had followed him back into the room, drew in a breath and held it.
“I’ll transform.”
John surged forward and hugged Jenna before Richart could embrace her again.
Richart met Dr. Lipton’s gaze. “Call Roland.”
Raising one eyebrow, she left the infirmary.
Jenna stared up at Richart, who smiled as John’s hug went on and on and on.
“I’m sorry,” John murmured.
“Why?”
“It’s my fault.”
She frowned.
Richart shook his head. “It’s the vampire’s fault.”
“Right,” Jenna said, not sure what her son was thinking. “Besides, I’m going to be immortal. That’s not such a bad thing, right?”
John actually laughed. Straightening, he backed away. “Right.”
Jenna couldn’t seem to wrap her mind around it. She could potentially live forever. Forever young. Forever strong. Perhaps with Richart?
How often had he told her that he loved her? Did forever with her sound good to him?
His smile said it did.
“Does this mean Mom is going to be hunting vampires?” John asked.
Sheesh. She hadn’t even thought of that.
Richart shifted uneasily. “Probably. The way things have been going lately . . . I would be very surprised if Seth didn’t want you to train and fight alongside the rest of us.”
“You don’t look happy about that,” she said, unable to imagine it herself.
“Times are more dangerous than ever. I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll speak with Seth and obtain permission to train you myself. Perhaps by the time you’re ready we will have eliminated this latest threat.”
“My mom, the vampire hunter,” John said with a grin. “That. Is. Awesome!”
Jenna laughed.
“It pays very well, too,” Dr. Lipton said as she returned. “Roland is on his way.”
“Good.”
“You know you’re going to have a fight on your hands, right?”
“You didn’t tell him why I wanted him to come?”
“No. I just said you needed him. He thinks you’ve been injured.”
Roland, nearly a millennium old, was a powerful healer. And notoriously antisocial when it came to everyone but his wife, Sarah. She alone could coax smiles and laughter from him.
While they waited for Roland to arrive, Richart and Dr. Lipton explained what Jenna could expect from the rest of her transformation. Constant migraines. Intensifying nausea and vomiting. A dangerously high fever. And “the worst freaking toothache of your life,” as Dr. Lipton put it. Richart had forgotten that part. His own transformation had taken place so long ago, he had difficulty remembering the details.
The door slammed open and Roland Warbrook strolled in, Sarah at his side. Both wore the standard hunting garb of immortals and were splattered with blood.
“What happened?” Roland demanded, scowl in place, his usual dour appearance hampered by the fact that he held Sarah’s hand and tenderly stroked the back of it with his thumb.
A foot shorter than Roland, Sarah had no difficulty keeping up with his brisk pace and eyed Richart with concern.
Roland noted Richart’s pristine appearance, took in Jenna, John, and Dr. Lipton, looked again at Jenna, and narrowed his eyes. Drawing in a deep breath, he held it, then glared at Richart. “Oh, hell no. You did not summon me here to transform your girlfriend.”
“First, how did you know she’s my girlfriend?” Richart demanded.
“Almost every time I’ve seen you in recent weeks, you’ve carried her scent.”
Oh. Right. “How did you know I want you to transform her?”
“I can smell the virus on her.”
“Wow,” Jenna said, “you guys really know how to make a girl feel self-conscious.”
Sarah laughed. “It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?”
Richart shook his head. “Why couldn’t I smell the virus on her?”
Roland shrugged. “Her gift must dampen it. My senses are sharper than yours and I’m a healer, so what may have escaped your notice, wouldn’t escape mine. The point is moot anyway. I’m not going to change her.”
“You already know my arguments. Younger immortals are always weaker than those who are older. Sarah is far stronger than she should be because you transformed her. I don’t know if it’s because you’re older or a healer, but if you transform Jenna—”
“Not in my job description.”
Sarah stepped forward and offered her hand to Jenna. “While they bicker, let me introduce myself. I’m Sarah Bingham.” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I meant Sarah Warbrook. I think this is the first time I’ve introduced myself since we married.”