He led her from the vault, closed and locked the door behind them, then pulled out a chair by his desk. “Sit.” He stooped, opening the small refrigerator beneath his desk. “I think I have… Yes, one soda. The sugar and caffeine will do you some good.”
She shrugged. “I’m good.”
“Drink it for me?” he asked, the concern in his tone was too much for her wolf to resist.
She nodded, taking the cold soda and sitting back with a sigh. The hiss and pop of the can made her nerves jump, but she took deep calming breaths. Her wolf calmed down instantly. It enjoyed touching the artifacts, remembering those from their past and tracing their travels across the globe. The book was a genealogy of sorts. A log of the various packs. It connected dots, filled in holes in her memories, and brought new questions to the front.
Pain was part of the process. Faces she’d never known returned to her, wrapped with such love and joy, it was impossible for her not to react. Healing was only part of what her pack did, hunting those who went against the wolves’ way was another. Her pack had been dedicated and unwavering, even when it cost them dearly. Sometimes it was too hard. But reaching for Hollis, a single stroke of his skin or brush of his fingers against her, calmed both her and her wolf, and allowed her to keep going.
Cyrus had taught her to control her emotions—bottling them up so he couldn’t use them against her. And even though Hollis would never do such a thing, being free with her feelings—being vulnerable—was still a challenge.
She took slow sips of the soda and stared right back at Hollis as he continued to study her. “I’m good, Hollis. No hovering. I know you have work to do. I’m sitting, drinking, behaving.” She grinned.
“And I’m assessing my patient,” he argued.
“You’re testing my patience.” She wrinkled her nose at him. “Stop.”
One copper brow arched, but he nodded. “Fine, I do have some work to do,” he agreed. His lips brushed her forehead before he crossed the lab, picked up a tablet, and returned to the desk.
Watching Hollis work was interesting. His mind was a veritable playground of detailed analysis and creative solutions. He could study a problem, chemical or biological, find its working mechanism, and break down how to disable or tweak it. With one exception. The lupine infection. It was a puzzle he couldn’t solve—one that directly impacted those he loved. And his frustration showed.
“The vaccine?” she asked, noting the furrow on his brow. “Not going well?”
“I thought things were progressing. But I was wrong.” Hollis pointed at several petri dishes lined up on the counter along the far wall. “The tissue samples turned necrotic this morning. That was the most promising strain so far.”
Ellen eyed the dead mice. “What happened?”
“The first two hours, nothing. Then the cells began collapsing. Oxygen deprivation. Cell wall collapse. Turning the blood septic.” He shook his head. “In a live specimen, this would lead to full organ failure in a matter of minutes. Or worse. Some of the cells actually ruptured.”
“Whose blood did you use?” she asked. “To infect the tissue.”
“Mine.” He studied her. “Why?”
“Have you studied Oscar’s blood? There is a slight difference in the cellular composition of those turned versus those bitten, is there not?”
Hollis nod was slow.
“Use mine,” she said. “I don’t believe your pack can be cured, but maybe, possibly, it could save those most recently turned by Cyrus.” She sighed. “As my mate, the need to make you happy can be quite…confusing.”
Hollis smiled.
“What?” she asked.
“You.” His smile grew. “Calling me your mate. I like it.”
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop her own smile.
His green gaze remained fixed on her. “Are you sure?”
She held her arm out. “Under the circumstances I mentioned, I’m sure,” she added. “Maybe it will make a difference.”
Hollis tied a rubber tourniquet around her arm, collected a needle and three empty tubes for her blood. He’d just slid the catheter into her vein when Kim walked in, pausing inside the door to stare at them. Ellen saw the fear in the woman’s eyes, the way Kim seemed to recoil into herself. Her heart picked up, her breath hitching at the sight of Ellen’s blood.
Something was off. Wrong. Very wrong. It was more than being territorial over Hollis, even her wolf saw that. The coffee cup clasped in her hand was trembling so that liquid dripped onto the immaculate white floor.
“Come in,” Hollis called out, too focused on what he was doing to look up.
Kim jumped, then realized Ellen was watching her. Her face paled chalk white as she crossed the room, holding her manila files like a body shield. The coffee cup was outstretched—still shaking—still leaving a trail. She set the cup of coffee on the desk and stepped back.