That’s why that glimmer of doubt, of regret, in his otherwise emotionless expression troubled me. Just a couple of days off his original serum last week was enough for him to experience emotion—all kinds of it. Once you experienced something you’d never had to deal with before, was that something you could just forget?
“When Jackson contacted us to meet with you,” I began, “you would have known Declan was with me, that he was protecting me. They’re friends.”
“Yes. I knew.”
My chest felt tight. “So is that what this is? A lie saying you could help me just to get us here so you could drag an apology out of Declan for what happened to your wife?”
It wasn’t that I didn’t empathize with his pain—I did. But the relief I’d felt, the hope I’d allowed myself for my own solution, was fading with every second that passed. I hated being used, no matter what the motivation was.
Dr. Reynolds’s face tensed. “I didn’t lie to you. I had—I have every intention of helping you to the best of my ability. The fact that you’re aligned with the dhampyr who murdered my wife is an unfortunate complication.”
It was difficult to breathe. “So what now?”
“I need to make my peace with what has happened and find a way to move on.” He glanced at Lawrence.
The vampire nodded. “You can do this.”
“My research has always come first. If I would have had to choose between Clara and my work, I would have had a very hard time with that decision. In the end, I think I would have chosen the research over love. She knew this. She accepted how important it was to me. It’s everything. My research is me.”
I watched him, feeling a swell of pity. “Sounds lonely.”
“It can be.”
Declan crossed his arms. “I hope you can put your feelings about me aside, even if it’s only long enough to help Jill.”
“Like I said, my research is everything.” Dr. Reynolds held his hand out to Declan. I was surprised that he seemed so ready to shake the hand of the man he held responsible for slaying his vampire wife.
Declan hesitated only a moment before he grabbed hold of Dr. Reynolds’s hand and shook it. “If there’s anything I can do for you . . .”
“There is. You can help in my research.”
“I can?”
“Yes.” Dr. Reynolds pulled a syringe out from his pocket and plunged it into Declan’s chest. I watched in frozen shock as Declan batted his hand away and immediately ripped the needle out, glaring fiercely at it before casting it to the side.
“What the f**k do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.
“Research,” Dr. Reynolds said again, backing up a step.
Declan fell hard to his knees and braced his hands against the ground. It was a tranquilizer. He’d been injected with a tranquilizer.
I’d stopped breathing. “What’s going on? Why are you doing this? Research? What does that mean?”
Lawrence grabbed the back of Declan’s jacket and pulled him up to his feet. Declan’s eyes were already glazed, and he now moved like a rag doll. Lawrence pushed him down into the chair. Around it was the scattering of gray ash—all that was left from the vampire, other than the lingering burning scent.
Dr. Reynolds moved closer to him, his gaze flicking to my stunned expression. “Stay where you are, Jill. Don’t come closer to Lawrence, just in case he’s affected by the Nightshade. We don’t want any accidents here.”
I ignored him and ran toward Declan, but Dr. Reynolds caught my arm. I tried to pull away, but his fingers dug into me painfully. I glared at him. “Explain to me what the f**k you’re doing to Declan. Now!”
“I need him.” There was a steely look of determination in his eyes. “I’ve seen what your blood can do to a vampire, but I don’t know what it will do to a dhampyr.” I noticed with horror that he had the silver gunlike device in his hand again, which he tossed to Lawrence. “And I want to find out.”
Before I could say anything, before I could take a breath or even scream, Lawrence jabbed the needle into Declan’s neck and pulled the trigger.
SIX
Now I screamed. But it was too late to stop this.
A gasp caught in Declan’s throat. His face tensed, and his teeth clenched and then parted as a roar escaped from him.
“No!” I pushed away from Dr. Reynolds with all my strength, then ran directly to Declan and grabbed hold of his arm. The vampire stumbled back from me to keep his distance. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. “Declan, no! Please—”
When he looked at me, I could see the pain in his single gray eye. “Jill . . .”
My name sounded broken, jagged.
His head slumped forward.
“No!” I scrambled to touch him, fumbling to feel for a pulse at his throat, scared to death that there wouldn’t be anything there. Scared to death that my blood had killed him.
It had been a big question up till now and we were about to learn the answer—what did my blood do to a dhampyr?
Declan was half vampire and because of this, he was affected by the scent of the Nightshade inside me—drawn to it. To me. He hid it well, but I knew it troubled him. He’d never drunk blood before, he had no need to. But just because there wasn’t a need didn’t mean his vampire side didn’t still crave it.
For all I knew the Nightshade could kill a dhampyr as easily as a full-blooded vampire. It wasn’t something I’d wanted to put to the test.
But here we were anyway.
His heart was still beating, too erratic and too fast, but it was strong beneath my touch. Fear was still a bitter taste in my mouth. I was afraid that the next moment his heart would stop and he’d be taken from me forever. He was unconscious, either from the pain my blood had caused him or from the tranquilizer, but he was still alive. I wanted to sob with relief, but I couldn’t allow myself the luxury.
I turned to Dr. Reynolds and the look on my face must have showed every bit of the rage I felt. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
He actually took a step back from me, which was a surprise. I wasn’t the scariest thing on the planet, not compared to somebody like Declan, but he reacted as if I might be a threat. “He’s alive.”
“And you’re damn lucky he is.”
“Or what would happen? Would you kill me in revenge?”