by Tamara Hogan
“So much for confidentiality,” she groused.
“They’ll be leaving soon and won’t have access to the lab after they leave,” Lukas replied, looking at her far too closely. His nostrils were twitching up a storm.
Damn his incubus hide. “Will you back off?” She felt ornery enough to take him on today, and damn the consequences.
“Lover’s spat?” Lukas asked, amusement lacing his voice.
“We are not lovers,” she snapped.
Gabe’s head jerked up to the gantry, and then he glanced away again.
“Yeah, right. The pheromones pumping off the two of you are off the charts, and you’re about to twitch out of your skin.” Lukas tucked his thumbs into the front pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his booted heels. “Drag him off somewhere and do something about it.”
“We are not sleeping together,” Lorin bit out. Anymore. “I’m fine.” His raised eyebrow flat-out called her a liar. “Shut up,” she said. “I’ll be fine—” Shit. As soon as the words slipped out of her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back.
“Lorin—”
Ignoring him, she plucked her phone out of her jacket pocket and peered conscientiously at the screen. The thing wasn’t even turned on, but he didn’t have to know that. “Lukas, we have a lot of work to do here today. Let’s just get on with it.”
Down on the floor, Gabe pulled off his glasses and tiredly rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Lukas stepped closer to Lorin. “Is this how the two of you communicate?”
Lorin refused to think about some of the ways she and Gabe had communicated, and quite successfully too. “Would you quit”—she pushed at his big shoulder—“sniffing me!”
“Hard to avoid; you’re reeking the place up something fierce.”
Even though she knew Lukas was speaking figuratively—as an incubus, Lukas inhaled emotional energy for sustenance and could discern emotional nuances by smell and taste alone—her cheeks flamed with heat. What were her emotions telling Lukas? Maybe she should ask him, because Freyja knew she was coming up empty.
Jack approached. “Coffee, Lorin?” Before she quite realized what was happening, he’d drawn her away from Lukas and toward the refreshment table, where plates of fruit and glistening pastry surrounded an industrial-sized coffeemaker. “How are things going?”
Lorin choked back a hysterical laugh. She was in the doghouse with Elliott and Wyland because she hadn’t followed procedure opening the box in the first place. Her mother was here, observing every move she made. She was more worried about Paige than she’d let on to either Mike or Gabe.
Gabe. She was even more pissed off at him today than she’d been yesterday. She’d met Chadden at his restaurant last night, with every intention of using his finely honed body to work off some of this outrageous energy building up in her system, but she’d inexplicably backed off.
She’d gone to bed alone, and it was all Gabe’s fault.
“Lorin?”
Jack’s hand was on her shoulder. Pull it together. “Let’s just say I’m overdue for some time in the cage,” she admitted. She’d feel better if she could just whale on something—or someone. She eyed Jack, who she knew from experience sported some serious muscle under his impeccably tailored suit. Though he was bigger and taller, her stamina was better. In a fight they were pretty evenly matched.
“Name the time.”
“I’ll call you.” She raised her clenched fist for a knuckle knock.
“It’s a date.” Jack tapped back. “Oh, hi, Gabe. You look like you could use a refill.”
“Jack.” The werewolf rumble at the edge of Gabe’s voice vibrated straight to her core. Jack stepped aside, giving Gabe room to refill the mug he carried. Jack was right; Gabe definitely looked like he could use some coffee. Despite the crispness of his executive-casual wardrobe, he looked more visibly worn around the edges than he had an hour ago. His skin was drawn tightly against his cheekbones, and his hair stood on end.
Behind his rimless glasses, his ice floe eyes burned.
“Oh, here you are, Gabe,” Julianna said, heels tapping as she joined them at the shiny coffeepot. The auburn bun on the back of her head sagged just a little, which was understandable. Going head-to-head with Anna Mae Whitman for any length of time was enough to take the starch out of anybody. Julianna consulted her watch then her clipboard, which clenched a familiar-looking spreadsheet between its teeth. “Mr. Sebastiani,” she said as Lukas joined them. “Do you have Wyland’s ETA?”
“Call me Lukas. Please.” He drew a vibrating Bat Phone out of his pocket and looked at the tiny glowing display. “They’re here. The transport just pulled into the underground loading dock.”
Lorin rolled her eyes. Lukas could ladle on the charm when it suited him. Why couldn’t he cut her some of that same slack? “So you’ll be leaving soon, right?” she muttered.
Julianna gasped at her tone, but Lukas? His eyes were dancing, damn it.
“Despite the… very interesting things going on here, yes—I do have other work I need to see to.”
Jack looked down at the lab space still swarming with people. “We need to clear this area.”
It took about twenty minutes for the workers to finish last-minute tasks, to gather their things, and finally leave. Anna Mae Whitman lodged one final protest and was finally escorted out—urbanely, and with a promise of a meeting—by Elliott himself. Finally, only Gabe, Julianna, Bailey, and Council members remained. “We’re clear,” Jack said.
When the heavy steel door between the loading dock and the lab space opened, Wyland wasn’t pushing the cart as Lorin had expected. That honor went to Chico, who still sported a smudge of a black eye from their impromptu sparring session up at the dig. Behind him, Wyland escorted Valerian on a courteously extended arm. The Vampire First moved slowly but didn’t allow his posture to be affected by his great age. Valerian had dressed for the occasion, resplendent in an Edwardian frock coat, narrow-legged, striped wool pants, and a wing-collared shirt. Slightly large at the neck and shoulders, the loose coat exposed how much weight he’d recently lost.
Annika Fontaine’s death last fall had hit all of them hard, but Valerian most of all.
Pinning a cheerful look on her face, she enfolded Valerian in a gentle hug, inhaling the familiar mix of bergamot and cedar. “Great-looking kicks, V.” He’d paired his suit with crayon-red athletic shoes that looked fresh from the box.
“Thank you, my dear. Wyland’s always urging me to wear more supportive footwear. Even he can’t complain about these.” Standing at his side, Wyland merely blinked. “Congratulations, my dear.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, pretty girl,” Chico greeted her, kissing her on both cheeks and then on the tip of the nose for good measure. But even here, in the secure confines of the lab, he didn’t remove his hand from the dolly carrying the wooden crate. “Today’s the big day.”
“Yeah, I guess so.” And every eye would be on her… and on Gabe, who was suddenly standing way too close to her, being introduced to the newcomers.
Gabe bowed his head before extending his hand to Valerian. “It’s an honor, sir.”
“Gabriel,” Valerian said, taking Gabe’s hand in both of his and holding it instead of offering the customary handshake. “How nice to finally meet you. Are your parents enjoying their trip?”
Gabe’s surprise was etched on his face. “Yes, very much, thank you.”
“And how is young Glynna?”
“Much better now, thank you.”
Lorin froze. Glynna had been sick? His parents were out of the country, his brother was working overtime hunting for Annika’s killer, and Glynna was sick? Guilt slammed into her like a Mack truck. Her… little misadventure had pulled Gabe away from his family. Damn it, why hadn’t he said anything?
Why hadn’t anybody said anything?
“Are we ready to proceed?” Elliott asked.
“Um, yeah.” Lorin gestured
to the box. “Mom?”
Alka simply gestured back, her face glowing with pride.
Okay. This was it. Taking a deep breath and squaring her shoulders, Lorin accepted the handle of the dolly from Chico and led the group down the hall to the lab space that would be their home away from home for the next week or so. Gabe was suddenly flanking her on her left, and she thought she felt the slightest reassuring touch of his hand at the small of her back—there, then gone—before he opened the door and flicked a switch.
She squinted against the lighting as she and Gabe entered the lab. The studio-bright lights were a pain in the ass. She couldn’t argue that it was important that their work be recorded for posterity, but she’d fought Lukas long and hard about his recommendation that the activity in the lab be recorded 24/7—and she’d finally worn him down, thank Freyja. Given her luck, the cameras would catch her digging a wedgie out of her ass, or itching her nose at such an angle that it looked like she was picking it, like in that episode of Seinfeld. She snickered at the thought.
“What’s so funny?” Gabe asked.
“Nothing,” she responded as she approached the stainless steel table equipped with the biohazard hood.
“Over here,” Gabe said.
“We’re not using the hood?”
Gabe shrugged. “You already breached the box, and the tests came back clean. Biohazard containment isn’t a factor any longer.”
“Okay.” Looking around, she didn’t recognize half of the equipment Gabe had requested be set up on the tables surrounding the perimeter of the room, but her own simple workstation was set up in the corner. Not that she’d have much to do initially but watch Gabe work. Today, he’d work with the exterior of the box, getting precise measurements and running some initial metallurgical, chemical, and photolithographic tests.
When she reached the waist-high table Gabe had indicated, he took a position on the other side of the dolly. Though she was more than capable of lifting the wooden crate onto the table herself, she nodded her head to indicate that she’d accept his help.
It seemed… the right thing to do.
“On three,” he murmured.
After they lifted the crate onto the table, Gabe handed her a crowbar with a distinct sense of ceremony. The eyes of her mother, her Council, and her president prickled into her back.
“This is it,” Gabe said softly. “Congratulations, Lorin.”
Her throat slammed shut at his words. After a pause, she mouthed “thank you” in response. Speaking was beyond her capabilities at the moment.
Gabe seemed to recognize her difficulty, if not the reason for it. “Recording on,” he said. “Go for it.”
Lorin wedged the edge of the crowbar into a narrow crevice separating the top of the protective box from its sides and carefully pressed down. Nails squeaked. As Gabe carefully lifted the cover off, she looked down—and a soft snort of amusement escaped.
Wyland had cocooned the priceless object in bubble wrap.
After poking her finger against one of the bubbles until it broke with a pop—and receiving a deadpan look from Gabe in response—they lifted the box from the crate. Gabe bore the other pieces of the storage crate away, and then helped Lorin unwrap the box.
Finally, there the box stood, glowing green-tinged platinum under the bright lights. Though Lorin overheard snippets of conversation from the other side of the room—“the color”… “next to no surface drag, imagine the manufacturing possibilities”… “are you certain opening the box is safe?”—Gabe had the bulk of her attention.
It was his reaction she was interested in.
He extended a hand toward the box, then blinked and snatched it back. As he wandered around the table, muttering about photoluminescence, phosphorescence, and tensile strength, Lorin went to the supply container and snatched two pairs of gloves, handing him the XLs. He accepted them with an absent “thank you” and snapped them on.
When Gabe lightly stroked his fingertip along the box’s edge, her core clenched like a fist—and Lukas’s knowing and amused expression made her want to throttle him.
“Let’s get to work,” she said to Gabe. “What can I do for you?”
Gabe’s head jerked up. The answer she saw in his eyes… shocked her.
***
Lorin was driving him nuts.
Somehow, she’d brought the scent of the north with her—pine, wind, wood smoke—and he’d almost reached for her several times during the long hours it had taken to run initial tests on the exterior of the box. Her hair was loose, spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall. She sat across the room, at the small desk she’d requested to perform her own work, fingers moving lightly over the keyboard. In the lab’s bright light, Gabe could see the double-grooved rumble strip of concentration—or was it annoyance?—that creased the skin between her eyebrows.
She’d ignored him all day, so he was pretty sure he wasn’t the cause.
While her back was turned, he removed his glasses and carefully rubbed at his eyes, not that it would dissipate the subtle, milky haze slowly but surely filming his remaining field of vision. Cataracts. He’d known what the diagnosis was before Dr. Mueller had opened her mouth—they’d expected it, they’d been watching for it—but… damn. As if the macular degeneration wasn’t enough to freaking deal with.
He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Working in the lab this morning had been a reality check, revealing just how much his fine visual acuity had deteriorated. The tricks and coping mechanisms he used for computer work—increasing the screen brightness and font size, and tilting his head slightly to the left to compensate for the gaps in the center of his field of vision—just didn’t lend themselves to microscopic work.
Now was the absolute worst possible time for him to have surgery, but his work today had exposed how much he needed it.
Suddenly Lorin stood and stretched, long and lithe. “Gabe? I’m not doing anything here but watching you work. Do you really need me here?”
He slipped his glasses back on as she strolled toward him. Unfortunately—fortunately?—he could now see that little slice of belly her stretch had exposed. Her luscious scent perfumed the sterile air.
“I thought I’d hang around in case you needed something, needed some tests logged, needed water, needed something—but you haven’t needed anything. Mumble, mutter, rub your eyes. You’re doing fine without me.”
Right. “Thank you for staying,” he said. “I know you can’t start working until I finish. I’m working as fast as I can.” She was visibly fidgety and twitchy. Whomever she’d shared her bed with last night hadn’t done a very good job. “If you have something”—or someone—“else to do, please. Go ahead.” Okay, that was surly. Throttle back. “Wait. I do need your help with something. I need a small scraping.” He indicated the box glowing under the lights like the priceless treasure it was. “Where the hell do I take it from?” Her gaze met his with an expression of horror. “Yeah. It’s like deciding where to deface the Mona Lisa.”
“Oh, man.” Lorin raised her hand to her mouth and dropped it as she squared her shoulders. She took another breath. “How much do you need?”
Why did she have to keep talking about need? He needed, all right. He needed to strip her bare, spread her out on that spotlighted table, and feast on her delicious body. He needed to twine his limbs with hers, fill his lungs with her scent. Know that she belonged to him, and only him.
But she didn’t—and even if his mindless body didn’t recognize the distinction, his brain certainly did. “Help me turn it over,” he growled.
Lorin speared him with a look. “What is your damage?”
He took a deep breath, scraping back the hot embers of his temper. He was going to suffer whether she was here or not, albeit in very different ways. It wasn’t her fault he’d let his feelings get involved. “I’m sorry. I realize this… situation is uncomfortable.”
She stepped closer, so only the table and the box stood between them
. “Gabe, I’m a big girl. I can take being dumped. But you have to shake off the bug that’s crawled up your ass so we can work togeth—”
“Dumped? Please.” Gabe laughed harshly. “Be honest. I just beat you to it.”
“What?”
“Don’t bother to deny it. Our ‘relationship’ was casual, strictly physical, and—”
“—and your problem is?” Her incredulous expression said louder than words that she couldn’t understand a man not being happy with no-strings, casual sex.
Of course she couldn’t.
“Gabe.”
Damn it, this was not a conversation he wanted to have. “I know you needed… assistance when we were at the site, and I was the only reasonable choice. But now that we’re back home, you have other options, and I—I can’t sleep with you when you’re sleeping with other men. I’m just not wired that way.” He forced himself to shrug in a way that he hoped looked worldly and sophisticated rather than hopelessly old-fashioned and pathetic. “So go ahead and call Rafe or Chico or Jack. Not that you weren’t free to do that anyway. You don’t have to slum it anymore.”
Lorin stared at him. “Slum it? What are you talking about? I haven’t slept with anyone else since we’ve been together. Why do you assume I have?”
She looked angry and… hurt. What the hell? Without quite knowing why, he reached out with his hand, but she stepped back, out of range, fists clenched and lips pinched and bloodless.
“I need to go.” Her voice cracked.
“Lorin, I—”
“Back. Off.”
He disobeyed, stepping closer. When he touched her shoulder with his hand, she shook it off with a snarl, rearing back like a wild mare.
“I need to go.” She whirled away—but not quickly enough to hide her glistening eyes.
“Lorin—” Ah, damn. He’d hurt her. He hadn’t known he could hurt her.
What the hell had he done? Was it possible she—
The door slammed. “Damn it!” he shouted to the ceiling. Whose bed had he driven her to with his act of epic stupidity? Rafe Sebastiani? Chico Perez? Jack Kirkland? Someone else he didn’t even know about?
