Dark Embers (8 page)

“Is that not enough?”

“What would you do if I said it wasn’t? If I demanded more?”

“I’d pull out my checkbook and tell you to name your price.” He took a step closer, then another one and another one until their bodies were almost touching.

“How much do you need, Phoebe? Just tell me and it’s yours.” His voice was husky, his eyes intent as he leaned over her.

He was so close that she could smell the minty mouthwash he’d used before coming to see her, so close that she could hear him breathe. His heat wrapped around her like a welcoming blanket, and for one breath, two, she could think of nothing and no one but him.

Then her sense of self-preservation kicked in and she shoved away from him. Worked her way around her desk until she was once again standing on the other side of it. “So you’re just going to write me a check for three million dollars.”

“If that’s your price.”

She looked him over from head to foot, and when his eyes narrowed dangerously, she knew she’d made her point. Still, she couldn’t help asking, “And how do I know it won’t bounce? No offense, but you don’t look like the most prosperous guy around.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

“I know that.”

“Do you?” He didn’t wait for her to answer. “It won’t bounce. But I’d be happy to transfer the money directly to your bank account.” He sat down on the stool she’d recently vacated. “Can I use your computer for a minute?”

“Are you for real?”

“Absolutely.”

“Three million dollars?”

“If that’s the price we agree on.” His tone, like the words that had come before, told her he’d gladly pay more.

“You’re not much of a negotiator. You know that?”

“We’re talking about the lives of my people, the survival of my clan. There is no price too steep for that.”

“What if I can’t help you?”

“I believe you can.”

“Yes, I know that. But what if I can’t? Researching a disease isn’t a quick thing. If it’s new, as you say it is, finding out its properties, how it spreads, how it reproduces within the human body, takes time. Sometimes a lot of time—not to mention what it would entail to actually try to cure it.”

“Time is something I don’t have.”

“I kind of figured that. Which is why I’m trying to tell you this won’t work.”

“It has to work. Tell me what you need, and I’ll get it for you.”

“Dylan.” She sighed, trying to figure out how to explain to him just how complicated his request was.

“Phoebe.”

“It took months to get this lab outfitted for my research. For this, I’ll need to organize a team—”

“No team.”

“What do you mean,
no team
?”

“Just what I said. I want you to work on this—nobody else.”

“That’s not possible.”

“Sure, it is. I have a fully outfitted lab waiting for you in New Mexico. Whatever you need that isn’t there, I’ll get for you. I have researchers—doctors and medical students from my clan—standing by, willing to help you. I just need you to agree to come with me.”

“For three million dollars.”

“For three million or five million. Whatever you want. I’ll transfer it into your account before I leave today. But I need you to commit to this. Really commit to helping me find a cure. Quickly.”

His eyes were calm now, entreating. His entire body calling out to her for help. How the hell was she supposed to turn him away?

“I still have two months to go before my grant runs out here. I can’t just stop working on my research completely.”

“Bring whatever you need with you. Surely you can access whatever records you need remotely. And I’ve already told you, I’ll get you whatever you need.”

She paused, considering. This was her semester without classes—she and the university had worked out an agreement where she taught five courses during the spring semester, leaving the fall semester free for research. So there really was nothing keeping her here—

Was she really considering this? Really thinking about going three-quarters of the way across the country to cure a strange disease because some man promised her three million dollars for her research?

“You’re going to have to be completely forthcoming about the disease.”

“Of course.”

“And your people.”

He stared at her long and hard, his eyes boring into hers as if he could read every thought in her head. Then he nodded. “Of course.”

“I’d need to check you out. I’m not in the habit of running across the country with men I don’t know.”

“Run whatever background check on me that you want.”

“You’re going to need to tell me more about this—”

“I can do better than that.” He reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a black memory stick. “Everything we currently know about the disease is here. Take your time, look through it, tell me if there’s anything you think you’ll need. Whatever you ask for will be waiting in New Mexico when we get there.”

Excitement thrummed through her as she reached for the stick. The thrill of the chase, the chance to hunt down a new disease and find a cure for it. She hadn’t been able to save her mother or sister, hadn’t been able to cure lupus even after seven years of working toward that goal with a single-minded determination. Maybe in helping Dylan, she’d be able to save somebody else’s mother. Somebody else’s sister.

And get the money to continue her own fight for a few more years, as well. From what she could see, it was a win-win situation.

Plugging the stick into her computer, she pulled up the first data and started to scroll through it. He’d been right—the disease had neurological, autoimmune and hemorrhagic properties. She glanced through the list of symptoms, looked over the timetable. She’d never heard of anything quite like it.

Dylan was pacing between her lab tables, wearing a path from one end of the lab to another as he waited for her to examine the data. When he had worked his way back to her desk for the fifth time, she asked, “So, what does the CDC have to say about this disease?”

He froze, looked everywhere but at her. Then finally muttered, “Nothing,” in a voice so low she had to strain to hear it.

“What do you mean by
nothing
?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Surely they’ve given you some starting point—”

His face had closed up and the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach grew exponentially worse. “You haven’t contacted them, have you?”

“No.”

“How is that possible? You’re dealing with a disease of unknown origins. You don’t know what causes it. You don’t know how it spreads. All you know is that it kills—quickly. And you haven’t contacted the CDC? Where the hell did your clan’s doctors get their degrees? From a Cracker Jack box?”

“It’s not that easy—”

“Sure it is. Medical protocol in the United States clearly states that if you’re dealing with an unknown disease, it goes through the CDC. If you’re dealing with an unknown, contagious disease, it definitely goes through the CDC. And if you’re dealing with a disease that is contagious and can kill a person in”—she stopped her tirade long enough to glance at the computer screen—“sixty hours, you rush the information to the CDC with a warning label a mile wide. There’s nothing complicated about it.”

“My clan has to be protected—”

“The people of New Mexico have to be protected.” Her heart was beating so fast, she was beginning to worry about having a heart attack. “No wonder you’re offering three million dollars. You need a doctor willing to put her license and the entire country at risk.”

“Nobody is at risk except my clan.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do know it.”

“How?” This time it was she who crossed over to him, she who got right up in his face. “How can you possibly think that you know—”

“Because we’re different. What affects us doesn’t affect other people.”

“That’s absurd.”

“No, Phoebe. It’s the truth.” He pulled back so that she could see the sincerity on his face. The honesty in his eyes. “We can’t catch a cold or the flu, can’t contract cancer or lupus. We never have to worry about vaccinations for measles or tetanus or anything else that you have to worry about. And this disease, whatever it is, only kills my kind.”

CHAPTER FIVE

S
he should have kicked him out of the lab when she had the chance. Should have screamed until security came to take him away. Should have done anything but stand here and talk to the man, because obviously he was one hundred percent insane.

She was alone with a certifiably crazy man, one who seemed absolutely determined to secure her help. And she’d thought her week couldn’t get any worse.

“Look, I know what you’re thinking,” he began.

“I don’t think you do.”

“I’m not crazy, Phoebe.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“It’s written all over your face.”

“Is it?”

He sighed, thrust a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. “My people and I are more different than you might expect.”

“Different how?”

“Body makeup. Blood chemistry.”

“That’s not possible.”

“It is.”

“Look, who’s the doctor here?”

“You are, of course.”

“Right. And I’ve been studying the human body for twelve years, and I can tell you with utmost certainty that the differences you’re talking about don’t exist.”

“You’re wrong.” His voice was as calm as hers was agitated.

“I am not.” Outwardly, she kept herself collected, but inside she was reeling. How could he stand there with a straight face and assert that he and his people had a different body chemistry, a different makeup than the rest of them? It was patently absurd.

And yet he seemed so sure. Not to mention sane.

“Look, standing here arguing isn’t going to solve anything. There’s an easy enough way for me to prove it.”

She watched him warily. “And how, exactly, can you do that?” He shrugged out of his leather jacket. “Easy. Take my blood.” He grinned in what could only be called a dare as he held out to her one very muscular and tattooed arm.

Dylan watched as Phoebe’s tongue darted out and licked her lips. It was pretty obvious that the good doctor didn’t know quite what to do with his confidence, and he couldn’t help getting a perverse pleasure out of disconcerting her.

From the second he’d stepped into the lab he’d been off his game, his head messed up by the strange and powerful attraction he felt for the luscious Dr. Quillum. It was nice to see the very calm, very competent doctor suffering a little bit of the hell he’d been going through.

It didn’t last—of course, he hadn’t expected it to. Within seconds, she had visibly pulled herself together. Her eyes were calm, her hands in her coat pockets, and she had assumed what he could only refer to as her academic face. Stoic and unapproachable, it said she could handle anything he threw at her and keep on swinging.

His dragon—and his cock—stirred at the thought. They were both as hungry as he was, and dying to find out just what lay beneath those still waters of Phoebe’s.

“You want me to take your blood.” It wasn’t a question.

“I do. If you think you can handle it.” It was a deliberate taunt, and he was thrilled when her hands clenched into fists so tight, he could see them through her pockets. When she turned away from him, her spine was ruler straight and just as tight.

He wanted to ask where she was going, but knew doing so would make him look weak—something he could not afford. Not here in front of Phoebe, and definitely not back with his clan, where his strength and power—and that of his sentries—were the only things that kept the Dragonstars from falling to their enemies.

When she stopped at the back of the lab, he was glad he hadn’t given in to his curiosity. She gathered up a sterilized needle kit, a couple of vials with purple lids and a few microscope slides.

It looked as if she was going to humor him.

Phoebe marched back toward him, hands full, face set, lips pressed together. Everything about her screamed that she thought this was a waste of time, but he was okay with that. Hard not to be, when he was trying to convince a scientist to believe in things that went bang in the night.

“Let me see your arm.”

He braced himself, but was still thrown for a loop when she stepped close to him. She ripped open a packet, then grabbed his arm and ran an alcohol wipe over the inside bend of his elbow.

“You’ll feel a pinch,” she murmured as she tore open the packet that held the disposable needle.

“I think I can handle it.”

“I would hope—” Her voice broke as his extended arm brushed against her breast.

He froze, though his entire body strained to touch her again. Inside, his dragon roared and knocked itself into the wall of restraint he’d built to hold it back. He ignored it. It was hard enough to keep himself under control without dealing with the dragon, too.

“I would hope,” she continued breathlessly, “that you could handle it.”

She reached for him again, and this time her hand was shaking as badly as her voice. He wanted to pull her against him, to nuzzle open her lips, slip his tongue inside and explore her mouth until he’d gotten his fill. Wanted to run his tongue down her neck to the pulse at the base of her throat, to wrap himself in her scent until every breath he took was of her.