Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(7)

The intruder straightened, taking a step into the kitchen. “A devoted fan.”

Fan? Did scientists have groupies?

Well, beyond Stephen Hawking?

“Look, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m just a postgraduate student struggling to finish her dissertation,” she said, her voice quivering. “If you want to speak with an actual researcher—”

“It’s you I want,” the woman interrupted.

“For what?”

“A job.”

The simple words caught Angela off guard.

Was that why this woman had snuck into her home?

She’d been warned that recruiters could be aggressive when trying to capture the top graduates. Especially recruiters from pharmaceutical companies. But this was beyond ridiculous.

“Actually, I haven’t really considered what I plan to do after graduation, but—”

“I’m afraid it’s something of a rush job.”

With a lift of her hand the stranger yanked off her stocking hat and Angela nearly went to her knees in shock.

“Holy crap,” she muttered, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.

The . . . woman (yeah, she was still convinced the intruder was female despite the fact she was completely bald) had eyes that were as red as rubies and a nose that was oddly flat. Like a snake. And worse, her visible skin was patterned with large, dark spots that went way beyond freckles.

The intruder smiled. Not a pleasant smile. More a stretching of her thin lips.

“Yeah, I get that a lot.”

“Were you—”

“Born this way?” The woman pulled off her gloves, revealing her hands that were spotted like her face and tipped with claws. “Yes.”

Angela tried to clear the mammoth-sized lump from her throat.

“So you’re a—”

“Freak.”

Everyone knew of high-bloods, or freaks, as most people called them. The special people born with some sort of mutation that made them different from others.

Not that the general population truly knew much about them. There were rumors of witches and psychics and necromancers. And the strange Sentinels. Then there were the whispers that there were true monsters being hidden behind the walls of Valhalla.

As a future geneticist, Angela devoured the bits and pieces of information on the high-bloods. Unfortunately the Mave who ruled the residents of Valhalla and the satellite communities refused to allow her people to be studied. Only scientists who were a part of their community were allowed any research. Even local doctors were forced to contact Valhalla if a freak turned up in the ER. And anyone trying to collect genetic material was subject to punishment by the Mave.

Not something anyone would be willing to risk.

Now, however, she realized that her clinical fascination with high-blood DNA hadn’t taken into account the brutal truth of what it meant to be . . . different.

The personal cost was written in the bitter glow of the crimson eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Angela whispered before she could halt the impulsive words.

The female snorted. “Not nearly as sorry as I am.”

Yeah, Angela got that.

“What do you want from me?”

“Simple. I want you to fix me.”

“Fix you?” Angela parroted, her brilliant brain trained to comprehend logical facts, not . . . this. “I’m not a doctor.”

“Do I look like a f**king doctor could cure me?”

Angela took another step backward, her ass hitting the edge of the sink.

“What do you expect me to do?”

“Your gift is to alter DNA.” The woman pulled off her other glove and tossed it on the ground. Then she ran her fingers over her bald head. “I want you to make me normal.”

Through her fog of fear, Angela felt a stab of sympathy. She understood the woman’s desperation. She truly did.

But, sympathizing with the stranger didn’t mean she could help her.

“That’s impossible.”

The crimson eyes narrowed. “Nothing in this world is impossible.”

“Maybe not, but the technology isn’t anywhere near advanced enough. At least not yet.”

“Technology?” Something that might have been amusement rippled over the strange, exotic face. “I’m not talking about test tubes and microscopes.”

“I don’t understand.”

The woman waved a hand toward the kitchen table. “Why do you bother with this junk anyway?”

Was this some sort of trick?

“I need it for my research,” she said slowly. “Although I admit it can’t compare to my lab at the university.”

“Come on, Angela,” the intruder scoffed. “You don’t have to hide the truth from me.”

Angela went rigid with a strange sense of wariness.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The woman gave a sharp laugh. “You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Figured out what?”

“You, Angela Locke, are a freak.”

“No.” Angela shook her head, squashing the ridiculous urge to slap her hands over her ears. The woman was nuts. A full-blown wackadoodle. “No way.”

“How do you think you’re able to manipulate cells that no one else can?”