Marked by the Moon (Nightcreature 9)

His eyebrows lifted, then his eyes slowly narrowed. “You’re Alex,” he said.

She stiffened. “How do you know?”

“You should have just told me. I can take care of this quickly. You’ll be out of here in no time.”

With a speed that blurred, even to her eyes, he snatched her foot and pushed it aside, coming nimbly to his feet, still favoring the knee she’d wrecked.

Alex brought up her hands, already clenched into fists, but he turned away, moving back into the room he’d just come out of.

“I’m going to grab some pants.” He vanished through a doorway at the far end, and his next words were muffled. “Probably a shirt.”

She’d taken one step forward, wondering if there was an escape route and he was using it, when he returned, pulling a geeky white lab coat over a pair of wrinkled black trousers.

The pronounced limp with which he’d walked away was already fading to a small hitch in his giddy-up. He was healing damn fast. Which meant he was a helluva lot older than he looked.

Around here, everyone was.

“Follow me.” He strode past her and into the hall.

“Why?”

He disappeared around the corner just ahead without answering.

Alex glanced at the door that led outside, caught sight of the sword, and picked it up. The weapon was heavy, obviously very old, with an intricately carved but well-worn grip. She took it with her. She didn’t plan on being surprised again.

But she was. How could she not be when she turned the same corner he had and found herself in a huge, glaringly bright laboratory?

“Hello, Dr. Frankenstein,” she murmured, gaze touching on the bottles and beakers, the test tubes and Bunsen burners, many of them sporting a liquid that shone scarlet beneath the fluorescent lights and explained why the place smelled like a slaughter house. She wondered if Elise knew about this.

Or if he knew about her.

“Cade,” the man said, his back to her as he messed with something atop a long, shiny black table to the rear.

“Huh?”

“Not Frankenstein.” He turned, a large needle in his hand. “Not yet.”

Alex brought the sword up. “What do you plan to do with that?”

Confusion dropped over his face. “Draw your blood. What else?”

“Take your own. I’m not sharing.”

“But—” The creases in his forehead deepened. “Didn’t Julian tell you?”

Barlow had told her a lot of things. None of them had involved giving Herr Doctor her blood.

“No,” she said, figuring that answered his question and told him what she thought of his poking her with that needle. But she waved his sword back and forth just in case he didn’t get the message.

Cade—was that his first name or his last?—sighed. “He forgot again. He has a lot on his mind.”

Alex lifted a brow. No doubt.

He motioned for her to come closer. “Just a little prick—”

“Don’t sell yourself short, pal. I’m sure it’s not that little.”

He blinked, clearly not getting the joke. Then shook his head dismissing it. “No, really.” He stepped forward. “I promise. It’ll be over before you know it.”