Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(28)

Directly opposite her was a pair of windows, covered by hideous paisley curtains. They had potential as an escape route, she decided. Always assuming she could somehow distract her dangerous captor long enough to attempt an escape.

Sensing Dylan’s growing impatience, Angela sucked in a deep breath and turned her head to meet the crimson gaze.

“Fine. I’ll need to start with a blood sample.”

The Sentinel strolled forward, offering Angela a sneer as she reached for one of the unused slides. “Not that I don’t trust you, but I’ll do it.” Using her claw, she poked the end of her finger and smeared the drop of blood on the slide. “Here.”

Angela took the slide and grudgingly headed for the table.

It was ironic, really.

There wasn’t a scientist alive who wouldn’t sell their soul for a glimpse at this rare blood. Some would even be willingly kidnapped (okay, that was an oxymoron) for the privilege.

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.”