Primal Instincts (16 page)

“Sir?”

“I really believed you were interested in the genetics project.”

Saffie managed not to point out that she
was
interested. It looked like she was about to be given an out. She’d been afraid she was going to be told she was being sent to specialists for medical testing, but if her teacher thought this was a prank, it was better to let him think so.

“How did you manage to fake these results?”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she answered, trying not to sound convincing. Oh, if only she had a vampire’s talent for altering thoughts. She had to rely on cleverness and acting talent, and she wasn’t sure how much she had of either.

“You’re going to make me prove that you’re pulling a practical joke on me, Saffron?”

He didn’t wait for an answer but took a fresh gene-testing kit off his desk and handed her a cotton swab. “Give me some spit.”

She wondered if she should protest that this was an invasion of privacy but decided not to argue about it. Being retested would buy her time to come up with a plan.

The teacher watched her carefully as she rubbed the swab around the inside of her mouth. “You can go now,” he told her when she handed it back.

Oh, I’ll go, all right.
She’d come up with the only plan that was really viable: she was getting out of there and going back where she belonged.

How hard could it be to run away from a fancy high school?

“I’ve traced the sips sent by this Saffron kid to a private high school in upstate New York,” the male hacker told Gregor.

“I so do not care,” Gregor said.

“But the Master said—”

“I know I need the information, but the whereabouts of teenage girls doesn’t interest me.”

“He prefers real women?” the female slave muttered under her breath.

“If by
real
you mean mortal females, the answer is no.” He hadn’t fought his way high enough in the Tribe hierarchy to win a vampire female, but it was well known that was in his plans. “I don’t settle.”

Gregor saw the male looking jealously at the female. Perhaps the male thought his fellow slave was interested in Gregor when he wanted her for himself. Gregor knew the female to be more willing to stand up to her vampire overseer but sensed no attraction from her. He noted the mortals’ interaction but would interfere with them only if their behavior jeopardized his own agenda.

These thoughts were useless and unproductive and Gregor realized he was only trying to put off concentrating on yet another assignment he didn’t want. Doing the Master’s bidding was the name of the game, the only way to get where he needed to be, at the top tier of the Tribe hierarchy.

Who was Dragomir? Why was the Master interested in a high school student? If he was being sent off to fulfill some private vendetta he was going to be very annoyed.

“I live to serve,” Gregor grumbled. “Tell me about this St. Sebastian’s school.”

“Secluded place,” the male answered. “Set in a hundred wooded acres on a lake near the town of Cageville. It’s surrounded by a wall with a guarded gate and covered by the latest in electronic security. There are dogs.”

“Sounds like they’re watching over a lot of rich people’s little darlings.”

“Exactly.”

“Won’t be a problem.”

The male’s fingers flew over his keyboard. “Weather.com says there’s a blizzard blowing in over that area. That ought to help.”

Gregor had just spent a year in Southern California.
He did not see how snow could be anything but a nuisance. He turned to leave the hackers’ cell.

“Do you want me to download the school’s location for you on Google Maps?” the male called after him.

Gregor paused long enough to show his iPhone to the slave. “No need. I’ve got an app for that.”

Tobias rolled onto his back and wiped hair out of his face. He stared at the ceiling and murmured, “I really didn’t have time for this.”

“Your romantic words send chills through me,” said the naked female beside him. “Or maybe it’s from lying on this cold floor. Your phone’s ringing again,” she added.

He was wrecked—he had never felt more alive or satiated—and he really did have to get back to work.

“Saving the world’s a bitch,” he said as he sat up and looked around for his clothes. “You ripped my shirt off,” he complained as he picked up the ragged cloth and felt around for the pocket holding the chiming BlackBerry.

If he was a Clan Prime he’d have been helping the lady up now and assuring her how wonderful the experience had been. Maybe he’d already have flowers for her.

“I have to take this,” he said, and put the phone to his ear.

Flare didn’t sneer at him but got up and gathered her own shed clothing.

“Where are you going?” he asked when she turned toward her bedroom. “There’s a bomb in there.”

“Along with all my possessions,” she told him. “The bomb’s dead and I’m a mess. If you think I’m leaving here without fixing my makeup, you’re crazy.”

He let her go. He had a lot to do, reports to assess, orders to give. They did need to be on their way. He went about being brisk and efficient.

But the whole time, despite keeping his attention on business, he marveled at the fact that he was bonding with a female who had to fix her makeup after every crisis. How the hell was he supposed to survive that?

“What’s this?” Strahan asked.

Francesca patiently didn’t point out that the black garment she was holding up was obviously a shirt. “I raided Barak’s closet. He’s a big guy,” she said of the bondmate of the Shagal Elder. “This ought to fit you.”

Strahan didn’t seem to make the connection that he was shirtless and that the garment was for him; his attention was obviously elsewhere. She doubted
that this was simply his normal reaction to midmorning sex after disarming a bomb. But then, she hadn’t known him long.

“Get dressed. Police your gear. Let’s move it.” She tried to sound as firm as any Matri or drill sergeant, which at least got a smile from him.

He took the shirt. “Yes’m. My mind’s on two calls, a text message and a sip,” he told her as he put on the shirt.

It was matte black silk and molded to his hard muscled body perfectly. Francesca appreciated the way he looked. Not that it was easy to make a Prime look bad, but he looked damn good.

She also appreciated Strahan’s explanation, since he didn’t owe her any. She’d assumed he’d be the strong silent secretive type, but he’d turned out to be open and vulnerable enough to pique endless curiosity in her.

She didn’t want to be curious about him, or worried, but she was both.
Stick to business
, she told herself.
Stick to important stuff.

“Did Ed sniff out any more bombs?” she asked.

He shook his head. “We’re clear.”

“Damn!” she complained. “Because that makes me solely responsible should the house have blown up,” she explained at his curious look.

“You would have gone with it,” was his stoical answer. Which made her laugh. “Save your temper
for whoever planted the bomb on you,” he added.

“I like that thought.”

He took her hand. “Let’s go tear the clinic apart, shall we?”

“Sounds like a plan.”

The fact that he automatically included her—Clan female and heiress—in his Dark Angel op pleased her more than words could say. She’d been offered every luxury the minds of Primes could think of, but nothing thrilled her heart like this chance to kick some butt at Tobias Strahan’s side.

She kept quiet on the drive, afraid he’d recall who she was and she’d lose this chance to be of some use in her world. She took out her e-reader and tried to concentrate on a book while rain continued to pour outside. Tried, but she was too physically and psychically aware of Strahan to pay any real attention to words. The Prime took up a lot of space both ways.

He ought to make me claustrophobic
, she thought.

I’m told I give off comforting vibes.

This was their only exchange during the entire drive. After this one thought from him, Strahan’s mental shields slammed up and his gaze never once left the road.

Francesca thought she knew why he was keeping his distance. He was upset because they’d had sex.
Not that he was regretting the act—no Prime ever regretted having sex. He hadn’t been completely in control. Not just of her but of the situation and himself. It had definitely been the wrong time and place. She was in complete agreement. She wouldn’t even have blamed Strahan if he was furious with her for initiating the first kiss.

He was on duty. She hadn’t respected that. She’d reacted on instinct—the pure lust-inducing joy that he was alive, that she was alive, had carried her into his arms, and she’d had her way with him.

It had been wonderful.

Her body told her it was still wonderful and urged her to do it again as soon as possible. She fought down a smile, along with the craving to cuddle up against him with her head on his broad shoulder.

She wondered how he’d look in leather pants.

Then she reminded herself that not a single member of the Dark Angels had been in sight when they left the Citadel. Maybe immortals didn’t have the same inhibitions as mortals, but Strahan’s Crew couldn’t have approved of his behavior in the middle of an emergency.

All right, the specific emergency had been over, and his people were likely to put all the blame on Flare Reynard’s femme fatale seduction of their beloved boss—at least this time. And they’d be right—at least this time.

And they’d shared blood! This had to stop before they had more than a drop or two mingling in each other’s hearts, for the sake of keeping the bonding at bay. More importantly, to keep Strahan focused on his duty. She wasn’t going to be the cause of his becoming careless, of his doing anything stupid or fatal.

She’d come to Los Angeles to get pregnant, and she’d stubbornly refused to leave when the other females were sent to safety because Francesca Reynard wanted what Francesca Reynard wanted. She’d stomped her foot and the leader of the Dark Angels had been coerced into being her bodyguard.

She hadn’t considered that her selfishness would put a Prime in danger. Maybe she wouldn’t even have cared if famously heroic Super Prime Tobias Strahan hadn’t turned out to be—so damned
real.
Nice. Wonderful.

Oh, hell!

She was going back to Idaho as soon as she finished talking to Rose Cameron for Strahan. She’d do that for him because he’d asked it of her. Then she’d go back to her gilded prison, get out of his way, because she needed to do that for him.

She’d have vowed to never set eyes on him again, but that was too teenage and melodramatic for even
her current mood.

She managed to pull her thoughts away from the situation and remembered she was holding a book, but she’d gotten only a page read by the time they arrived at the clinic.

The head of the clinic was waiting in the reception area when Tobias walked in with Flare.

“Casmerek, I want to personally interview every mortal on your staff,” Tobias said.

“So your text message informed me,” Casmerek answered. “Good morning, Francesca.”

The scientist was even less enthusiastic about the Dark Angels’ involvement in local affairs than the Primes and werefolk. He’d been adamant from the first that no one who worked at the clinic could be involved in the attacks. He hadn’t been openly obstructive or refused protection, but he sure as hell hadn’t welcomed any investigation into the workings of the clinic. It didn’t help that Casmerek worked with ailing vampires all the time and was totally unimpressed by threats or demands. He had to be tougher than his patients to be able to boss them around.

“I have proof that someone here planted a bomb at the Citadel,” Tobias said.

“He does,” Flare assured the blank-faced mortal. “It was planted in my bag, and this was the only place where I brought the bag. I’m really sorry, Cas, but someone here is a bad guy.”

The effect Flare’s sympathy had on the mortal surprised Tobias. Casmerek’s shoulders slumped and disappointment showed in his expression.

“Someone tried to kill you?” Casmerek asked Flare.

She nodded.

“Nobody tries to kill one of my patients,” he said. “Not after all the work I put into keeping you people healthy.”

“It would be a waste to lose us after all the work you’ve put in,” Flare agreed.

To Tobias’s surprise Casmerek smiled, which was something he hadn’t thought the dour doctor even knew how to do. Flare in charming and sympathetic mode could prove to be a useful asset.

“Dr. Casmerek—” Tobias began.

“I’d like to have a talk with you, Francesca,” Casmerek said, cutting him off, then gave him a significant look. “Alone.”

Flare noticed that Casmerek was about to explode and thought at Strahan,
Don’t push him. Just do what
you need to with the staff and I’ll keep him out of your way for a few minutes.

Her way made more sense than having an argument with the clinic director. Tobias nodded. He waited until Casmerek and Flare left the reception area before activating his Bluetooth. “Ali, I’ll be in the break room. Bring me some humans.”

Dr. Casmerek closed his office door and faced Francesca. “How many times have you mated with that Prime?”

She’d never been more surprised in her life. Too surprised even for outrage. “What are you talking about?”

“Sex. Copulation. Mating. Bonding, too, I suspect. What were you thinking? Are you trying to completely ruin your chances at getting pregnant?”

Francesca took a step back. Her legs hit a chair and she sat down hard on cold, unyielding plastic. She looked up blankly at the scientist and said, “What?” again. Which was a ridiculous way to react to his inappropriate statements.

“Are you sexually and emotionally involved with Strahan?”

“You’re a mortal. How can you even tell that?”

“The pair of you walked in holding hands.”

We did? She remembered noticing that the rain
had stopped as they entered the clinic and cloud shadows scudding over nearby hills. She recalled seeing guards patrolling the grounds. She remembered how the fresh breeze had lifted her hair and the sense of . . . being protected and safe in the warmth of . . .