“Let her go.” The voice was like a bucket of ice water. Barking directions, Professor Nors shrugged out of his suit coat. He draped the clothing over her arm and tugged her out of the sunlight.
Her arm felt like an exposed nerve, and her teeth chattered. A piece of her brain recognized the shock response that inevitably followed an injury.
“Marcus!” the professor called. “You’ll be fine. I’m taking you to my lab. I can help you there. Marcus, hurry!”
“Got her.”
Briar’s knees buckled, but someone caught her. It was the man from earlier; the one with sea-green eyes and dark skin.
The one with the beautiful smile.
“Thank you,” he answered.
Aw, shoot. Said that out loud.
“You did.” He cradled her in his arms while she protected her injury.
“Call the hospital,” she stuttered, forcing her lips to form the word. “It’s a burn. Not a seizure.”
“I’m aware of the nature of your injury.” The walls blurred, but Professor Nors’s face was perfectly clear. “What were you thinking? You can’t be exposed to the sunlight.”
Her stomach roiled, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Please don’t let me yak on these guys, please. “I’m not hiding anymore,” she said.
Paper crinkled as Marcus placed her carefully on a table.
“Let me see it.”
But she couldn’t move her arm. It would hurt too much. She knew what had to happen, but everything inside her rebelled. No more wrapping and unwrapping, no more wound care, or sloughing the skin if it was dead. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see how bad it was.
“Second degree,” Professor Nors said. “Open your eyes.”
Something in his voice demanded she listen, and she did. “Oh no.” Her fingers were swollen, the ring she’d placed on her middle finger slowly turning her finger purple.
“We’re going to cut it off. Marcus get me the—”
“Not my finger!” she cried.
Sighing, he rolled his eyes, and she relaxed. If he could roll his eyes at her, things weren’t so bad. She annoyed him, and people about to lose limbs would be treated with more consideration than the way he treated her.
He snorted and shook his head. “Hydrogel, Marcus. And gauze.”
“I don’t work for you, Hud. Don’t tell me what to do.”
“Stop being an ass, and get me the goddamn metal cutters, Marcus!” A prick on her arm, and a warm hazy feeling filled her. “Morphine. You’ll probably fall asleep.”
“I always do.” Her words were slurred. “I also barf when I wake up. So watch your shoes.”
“Thanks for the warning, princess.”
The morphine hit her hard and fast, and she closed her eyes. She wasn’t sure who had spoken, because serious Professor Nors would never call her a nickname and smile at her—such a thing seemed unlikely.
“Knew you’d help me,” she thought she said, right before the darkness swallowed her up.
Chapter 2
Marcus
“What are you going to do with her?” Marcus asked Hudson as he placed hydrogel on the angry-looking burn on the girl’s arm. The smell of her blood had dissipated, but only seconds ago, it filled his nose like a garden in full bloom.
It’d been a tiny prick, quickly wiped away with the alcohol pad Hudson had used to swab her skin, but it had been delicious. It threw him back in time, back to a garden that no longer existed and a flower that had been extinct for a thousand years.
The flower appeared in his mind. White with a dark purple center, nestled in thorny green leaves. He sucked in a breath, the scent of her blood coating his tongue like he’d sipped it.
A wildflower, it had grown at the base of the rocks that littered the barren hillside where he was born. He’d passed it a million times as he’d trekked up the hill, seen and dismissed it, and hadn’t thought of it since he’d embraced this second life. But now he did, and he wondered how it was he could have forgotten it.
It took all his self-control to not bury his face in her neck and let his teeth slice her skin. He wanted more of the feeling her scent recalled—home, innocence, contentment. He had none of those things anymore, nor had he yearned for them. Yet he did now.
Snapping his mouth shut, he took in one breath and spun away, putting as much distance between him and the girl as possible. A roomful of people had seen him and Hudson with the girl. He couldn’t afford a slip that would lead to his downfall and the girl’s death.
“I’m going to wrap her arm and send her home. What did you think I was going to do with her?”
Marcus sighed, staring at the girl lying on the table in Hudson’s lab. He’d come here for one reason only, to get the shot that allowed him to walk in daylight, and he didn’t want to stay in his brother’s lab longer than necessary. Every moment with Hudson was painful, dredging memories to the surface that he tried hard to keep buried.
But for some reason, he didn’t want to leave until he was sure the girl was all right.
“How the hell should I know what you do?” Marcus snapped back.
The girl gave a small moan, and he eased forward. “Does she need more morphine, you think? A second longer in the sun…”
“I know. She’s lucky not to have nerve damage.”
“She’s covered in scars.” Marcus crept forward to point a finger at the one he’d seen earlier on her cheek, then another above her eyebrow. The hat she’d worn currently rested on a seat nearby, along with her white gloves and the sleeve of her shirt.
“Yes. I noticed.” Hudson’s voice was tight, and when Marcus glanced up at him, he caught him staring at Briar’s lips before jumping to the pulse in her throat.
“When did you last eat?” he heard himself ask.
“None of your business, brother.” Hudson flung the words at him like a knife, and it found its mark. In time past, the word had meant they were family. Now it served to show how far apart they’d grown. “This is why I don’t announce lectures. I have every pathetic human in the world turning up to beg me to heal them.”
“They couldn’t find someone further from being a saint,” Marcus said.
Hudson spun, striding toward a small cooler and opening it to withdraw a syringe and scalpel. “Tilt your head,” he directed, and Marcus did, exposing his jugular. He would heal quickly, so Hudson had to be fast. Cut and pump. His cold heart would pump the medicine through his veins, shooting him full of a drug that would allow him to walk in the light for six months or so before it wore off and he had to return to Hudson for another dose.
After a hundred years or more of not seeing his brothers, this new six month regime was hard to stomach. Often, Marcus left Hudson determined never to come to him again. He’d let the medicine wear off and go back to living at night. But then he’d watch a sunrise, and all his good intentions went out the window.
The cold steel sliced his skin before the burn of the medicine seared his veins, almost as if Hudson had filled the syringe with liquid sunlight and not hormones and peptides. He hissed; his fangs descending. The desire to snap, rip, and tear at the being hurting him was hard to quell, but he did it. His skin knit back together, and he pushed away from his brother, edging closer to the still unconscious form on the table.
“You should leave before Sylvain and Valen arrive.” Hudson turned his back, and Marcus was again tempted to attack. He was an apex predator, and such a position left Hudson vulnerable.
But he needed Hudson’s brain to keep perfecting the medicine that let them have a normal life. Marcus’s own research into cloned human blood which would allow them to survive without killing, was progressing well. Between the four of them, they’d never been closer to defeating the curse they’d suffered from for centuries.
Perhaps it would be possible for them to live as men, and not vampires. Marcus sighed. A breakthrough seemed within his grasp and yet so far away.
“I know what you want to do, and I can assure you, d
espite my age, I can still best you,” Hudson muttered.
“You have no idea what I want,” Marcus retorted and slapped his palm against his neck, rubbing at the blood he scented there and then licked it from his palm. “And I’m not leaving here to let our brothers attack this girl. A crowd of people saw us leave with her Hudson. The last thing we need is for her body to roll into shore with the tide.”
“Whose body?” Sylvain burst through the door like a cowboy into a saloon. Marcus narrowed his eyes. Their youngest brother was all bluster and brashness, walking like his cock dragged on the ground. Neanderthal.
Sylvain inhaled deeply and smiled, fangs descending. “Thanks, Hud. I haven’t eaten since crossing the border.”
Without thinking, Marcus leapt across the room, pushing Sylvain hard enough to shove him back into the door which groaned against the hinges. “Leave.”
“What the—” Sylvain shook his head then growled. “Get your hands off me.”
“Hey,” Valen interrupted, “it’s the girl.”
Confused, Marcus let up on Sylvain, who swept his arms out and knocked him away. “Don’t touch me. And what girl?”
“The one from outside.” Valen had somehow managed to get closer without Marcus tracking him, though Hudson stood close, watching him warily.
Interesting.
Valen hissed. “What happened? Who hurt her? Why does it smell like blood?” Valen’s eyes darkened, the blue draining away to leave only the blown-out black pupil. The air crackled with electricity.
“How do you know her?” Hudson asked, diffusing the tension.
“She was in the way.” Sylvain crossed his massive arms and cracked his neck. “I told her to move.”
“You were rude,” Valen added.
“I’m always rude,” Sylvain countered.
Sylvain and Valen were night and day. Valen was light skinned, with long golden hair and bright blue eyes—every inch the Viking warrior. He towered over most humans. Ancient tribal tattoos ran down his neck and shoulders. Decades ago, he’d covered them up, but now he liked the looks he got. Of all of them, Valen was the most easy-going, but not now. He was eyeing Sylvain like he was ready to rip his head from his shoulders.
All over one unconscious girl.
“Whatever.” Sylvain faced Hudson. “Can we do this thing so I can leave?”
Hudson nodded, and reached into the cooler for a vial of medicine. Like he had for Marcus, Hudson made a shallow cut and pumped the medicine directly into his vein. One heartbeat was enough to spray blood across the room before Sylvain’s lightning fast healing began. He wiped his neck against his sleeve and, glaring at the rest of them, slammed out of the room.
“Hurry up.” Valen’s voice spurred Hudson on. “I need to catch him before he snacks on one of your colleagues.” A second later, the medicine was administered, but Valen lingered by the door. “She smells like snow and ice,” he mused, shaking his head as if to clear it of memories. “Like the sea. Who is she?”
The words stuck in Marcus’s throat, but Hudson answered for him.
“No one.” Hudson’s voice was hard. Emotionless. “She’s no one.”
Chapter 3
Hudson
She was no one, so why did saying so feel like a lie?
Marcus watched him, and Hudson had to pretend to be busy with test tubes and syringes. He pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and examined the girl’s arm again. The hydrogel was taking down the swelling, but she’d still be dealing with pain for the next week.
“Who is she, really?” Marcus asked when the door closed behind Valen.
“How the hell should I know?” Hudson answered. “Clearly she has EPP, but that’s all I’ve got.”
There was a shuffling sound behind him, and then a zip. When he turned, Marcus had taken out the girl’s wallet and was rifling through the pockets. “Briar Hale.” Green eyes met his. “Know her?”
He did. She was the girl who’d sent him the question about bone marrow transplants. Her messages were smart, and he found the way her brain worked to be fascinating. The hypotheses she’d proposed were unique, and she was the first person in a long time he’d been tempted to write back.
But he shook his head. “No.” It was a lie, and from the noise Marcus made, it was obvious he’d been caught.
“Semantics, Hudson.”
“She’s sent me emails. I’ve never met her.”
“Asking for help?” Marcus asked.
Surprisingly, no. Briar had never asked for help. She’d asked to help. She’d asked about his research, his theories and techniques, but she’d never told him she had EPP or asked to participate in any of his studies. He should have known, though, from the depth of her knowledge that she had a personal stake in the research.
“No,” he answered.
“How does she smell to you?” Marcus asked him suddenly.
“I wouldn’t know.” Hudson gestured to his nose, tilting his head back to reveal the nose plugs he’d inserted earlier. If he was going to be surrounded by humans, he couldn’t smell them. He may have control over his instincts, but it was better not to tempt his determination. “Why?”
“Valen.”
Hudson rolled his eyes. Valen had always been the most poetic. “Ice and snow, and the sea. Pathetic.”
“She scents familiar to me as well, Hudson,” Marcus whispered.
He whipped around. “No,” he ground out. “There will never be anyone for all of us again. We are not a family anymore. This?” He held up an empty vial. “This is the only thing I will share with any of you. Once your research, and mine, is complete, we can go our separate ways and never see each other again.”
“Is that what you truly want?” Marcus asked, eyes boring into Hudson’s.
A groan sounded from the human before he could answer. “Briar?” Marcus said her name low, and Hudson swallowed the urge to growl. What did he care if Marcus said her name? It was nothing to him. “Briar, you’re safe.”
Hardly. She was in a basement lab with two cold-blooded killers who were as likely to drain her dry as hand her a glass of water.
“Watch out,” she said before she retched. He heard the splatter of vomit on tiles.
“You did warn me.” Marcus chuckled.
Which unsettled him. Marcus didn’t laugh.
“I’ll get the mop,” he heard himself say.
“No. Wait,” Briar called out to him. “I’ll do it.” The paper on the table crinkled as if she was trying to sit up. Forcing himself not to glance back, he found a mop and bucket in a supply closet and wheeled it to the mess. “I can do it,” she repeated.
“With one hand?” Hudson asked, making sure his voice stayed cold and remote.
“Yes,” she answered. She slid from the table, and her feet slapped against the floor. “Here.” Hand outstretched, she waited, but he didn’t give it to her. Finally, she wrestled the mop from him with one hand. Shock was the only excuse he had for how she was able to get it away from him.
“You don’t have to do that,” he said and reached for towels to scoop up the puke. Her pale skin was flushed, and she held her wounded arm tucked tight into her side. But as he watched, he had to admit she was able to work just fine with one hand. “Not the first time you’ve done this, is it?” He realized.
“No,” she answered, and the flush deepened. Like earlier, his gaze was drawn to her neck and the skipping pulse point.
Marcus reached for the handle. “Let me.”
She shook her head, impressing Hudson with her stubbornness. “I can do it. It’s gross.”
Swiftly, she mopped the spot and pushed the bucket back to the closet. Resting the handle on her shoulder, she struggled to open the door, but wrestled it open before either he or Marcus could help her. “Again. I’m really sorry,” she said. “I just need a plastic bag or something to put around my arm, and then I’ll be out of your hair.”
“I’ll take you home,” he offered. What was wrong with him?
�
��I was just leaving,” Marcus interrupted. “I know how busy you are with your research, Hudson. I can see her home. Safely.”
Ah. Marcus wanted time with her. Why was that? “I’m finished here.” He wasn’t, but he would come back.
“It’s okay,” Briar replied, glancing between the two of them, confused. “I got it.”
Marcus moved fast, picking up her bag and then hoisting it over his shoulder, but Hudson snagged her wallet from the counter. “I’d like to hear more about your hypotheses, Briar. I read your emails, and your ideas were interesting.”
Marcus’s mouth dropped open, but Briar smiled.
“You read them?” Her eyes opened wide, and he could see flecks of gray in them. Briar looked like a strong breeze could blow her away. Slight, she was half a foot smaller than him, with tiny bird-like bones, narrow shoulders, small wrists. Not classically pretty, but wholesome, with freckles across her pale skin, and blue veins visible beneath her eyes and at her temples. Even her hair was wispy. Long, golden-brown strands curled at the ends and grazed her shoulders.
“Yes,” Hudson answered, tearing his eyes from hers and focusing on the wallet he still held in his hands. “Here.”
Instinctively, she reached for it with her burned hand and sucked in a breath.
“Give it here, Hudson.” Marcus pulled it out of his hands and stuffed it into the bag. “I can drive you home if you’re intent on leaving.”
“I am.” She smiled, a small gap between her front teeth. “But I’m good.” Holding out a hand, the uninjured one this time, she meaningfully eyed the bag in Marcus’s hands.
“She wants her bag,” Hudson told him helpfully, earning a glare.
“I’ll drive you home,” Marcus told her, still staring at him.
“I took the T. I don’t need a ride.”
“The T is full of germs, and is busy. You could get bumped.”
Marcus made a good point. So—“Let me drive you home, Briar. I can tell you all about the research I’ve started.” Hudson smiled blandly at Marcus, and tilted his head—daring Marcus to challenge him.
Briar Page 2
