Predatory (Immortal Guardians #3.5)(89)

“At night? After Jenna got home from work, while I was still out hunting?”

“Yeah. Why?”

Cursing, Richart practically tore the door off its hinges in his hurry to get inside.

Clad in a T-shirt and striped pajama bottoms, Jenna looked up, pallid face brightening, when he burst into her bedroom. “Hi.” Her smile faded as he sat beside her on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Just give me a moment.” Leaning in close, Richart buried his face in her neck just above her carotid artery. He drew in a deep breath. Held it. Found her scent. But not the scent he feared most.

“Richart?” Concern crept into her voice.

As John entered the room, Richart leaned back and palmed one of his daggers. “I need you to trust me, sweetheart.”

“Okay,” she answered, winning his heart all over again.

Taking her hand, he pressed the tip of the dagger to her palm and applied just enough pressure to produce a tiny nick. A single bead of blood welled.

Richart raised her hand until it almost touched his nose, again drawing in a deep breath.

And there it was. The virus.

A growl rumbled deep in his throat.

She frowned. “Richart?”

“You’re infected.”

John took a step forward.

Jenna stared up at Richart, fever blazing in her eyes. “Infected with what?”

“The vampiric virus.”

“No. I told you. It’s the flu.”

“I can smell it, Jenna. You’re infected.”

Her face grew paler. “That’s not possible. You’ve never bitten me. I haven’t blacked out. And you’ve been watching over me at the store.”

He would figure it out later, after he took her to the network doctors. If she was this sick already . . .

He swallowed. It may be too late to prevent a transformation.

Rising, he wrapped the blankets around her and scooped her up into his arms.

John stepped forward. “Wherever you’re going, I’m going with you.”

Though teleporting two at a time would sap his energy, Richart didn’t argue. “Grab my shoulder.”

A second later they stood in Dr. Lipton’s office.

Weakness struck. He staggered to the right, bumping into John.

John tightened his grip and helped Richart remain upright. “You okay, man?”

Leaning over her desk, Dr. Melanie Lipton jumped and spun around. “Richart. Hi. What—?”

“Jenna’s infected.”

Melanie paled. “What?”

“He thinks I’m infected,” Jenna corrected. “I think it’s the flu.”

Melanie met Richart’s grim gaze and motioned for them to follow her. “Let’s go to the infirmary.”

Chapter Six

Jenna did everything she could to convince herself that Richart was wrong, that it was just a bad case of the flu. Hadn’t Debbie even come down with it? And Jed in Lawn and Garden? Harry in Automotive?

But it was hard to ignore the looks Richart and Dr. Lipton kept exchanging. Looks that said Jenna was screwed.

“It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Jenna,” Dr. Lipton said as Richart lowered her to an exam table. “Richart talks about you all the time.”

“Nice to meet you, too. This is my son, John.”

“Good to meet you, John.”

“Nice to meet you,” he murmured.

“Richart,” Dr. Lipton said, “you and John go wait out in the hallway so your hovering won’t distract me.” She winked at Jenna. “Plus, if Richart isn’t in the room, I can share all kinds of embarrassing stories about him with you.”

Richart narrowed his eyes in warning, then kissed Jenna. “We’ll be right outside if you need us.”

Jenna smiled and nodded.

As soon as the door closed behind them, Dr. Lipton shook her head. “That man is so in love with you.”

“I love him, too.”

Dr. Lipton’s gaze sharpened as she donned a pair of latex gloves. “Enough to transform for him?”

“I thought I couldn’t do that safely.”

“If he’s right and you’ve been infected, you may not have a choice. How many times has he bitten you?” There was no mistaking her disapproval.

“That’s just it. He hasn’t.”

Her brow furrowed. “Ever?”

“Ever. A vampire bit me once a couple of months ago. He caught me leaving my job and Richart stopped him. But Richart has been there every night since and made sure the vampire didn’t return. I can’t be transformed by just one bite, right?”

“Not unless he drained you almost to the point of death, then infused you with his own blood.”

“Richart said he didn’t do that; so it must be the flu.”

Dr. Lipton didn’t seem convinced. “Let’s start with your symptoms.”

Jenna rattled them off and answered questions about severity, onset, and the like as Dr. Lipton took her temperature and engaged in various and assorted poking and prodding.

She was pretty in a girl-next-door kind of way with brown hair, brown eyes, and a trim figure encased in jeans, a T-shirt, and a lab coat.

“I’m going to level with you, Jenna,” she said finally. “I think Richart’s right. I’ll run a blood test to be sure, but I already know what it’s going to tell me.”