"Even as adults we are constantly growing new brain cells. The sample of this man's cells showed that as his doctor attempted to suppress his past trauma with certain noninvasive treatments, a heavy collection of youthful active cells were provided to the brain. I want to try this with you, then get you back in that MRI for the seven days."
Sara stood at the edge of Gray's bed, her coat on, bags over her shoulder. It was late and she was tired, but she was hoping her words, her request would have some effect on him. Even just a hint of hope in his hopeless expression would do it for her right now.
Unfortunately, as Gray stared up at her, there was nothing but frustration in his eyes.
"Don't you see," she said, trying like hell to sound enthusiastic. "If enough new, young cells were created, perhaps they'd tamp down the memory, or rewrite it."
He looked down at his fire-ravaged hands and shook his head. A boulder of despair rolled through Sara in that moment.
"You just don't care anymore, do you?" she said, glancing out the window at the black night and the lights of the city, then back again to her brother. "Well, that's fine. I'll just have to keep caring for you."
She saw his jaw tighten, his fists too, and she nodded.
"Okay, I'm going. I'll see you in the morning."
She left the room and headed for the elevators with a heaviness around her heart she hadn't felt since those early days after the fire. Sure, she'd always experienced anger and frustration and guilt during her school years and into the first years of Gray's therapy, but it fueled her study and gave her reason to be optimistic about her abilities.
Lately this feeling of impending doom, possible failure hovered in the air around her . . .
Night loomed cold and black as she walked out of the hospital. When she spotted the town car at the curb, she headed straight for it, relief filling her, a grateful smile playing sadly about her mouth. It had been a long, difficult day, and the thought of going home to Alexander filled her with a deep sense of hope and pleasure.
The driver nodded as she climbed inside and took the seat opposite Dillon, who was wearing a white shirt, charcoal gray pantsuit, and black leather heels, and was, as usual, neck deep in the Wall Street Journal. The veana clearly loved the news.
"You're getting smarter by the minute, human," Dillon drawled.
Sara settled back against the leather seat and yanked off her scarf. "Gee, thanks, Dillon."
"Don't get me wrong--I admire your commitment to being a pain-in-the-ass renegade, but not having to force you into the car makes way less work for me."
"Well, I aim to please."
"Really?"
"No."
Dillon snorted, then tossed the paper on the seat beside her. "So what do you do in that hospital all day? Shrink heads?"
"That's a human joke. You sure you want to fall that far?"
"Can't help it. It's the company I keep these days."
"Well, you're watching me. You see what goes down, what I do."
Dillon shrugged. "Looks like a lot of pushing paper and pill-popping nut jobs to me."
Sara cocked her head to the side, narrowed her eyes. "Where are you actually going when you should be watching me? Starbucks?"
The veana grinned. "The one on 34th and Lex makes a mean carotid frap."
Sara laughed. "Nice. Vampire humor. I like that."
Dillon's grin flickered. "You do spend a lot of time with that man."
"What man?" Sara asked, glancing out the window as they passed one of her favorite delis.
"The young one," Dillon continued. "With the dark blond hair and impatient eyes."
Sara turned back. Normally, people described Gray by the burns on his hands, never by the expression in his eyes. But then again, Dillon was neither a person nor normal. "He's a patient, and some patients need a little bit more of my time and attention than others."
"That all it is, huh?" Dillon said, her tone casual.
"Of course. What else would it be?" Before Dillon could speculate, Sara changed the subject. "So, how's the training going?"
"With the guys?"
"Yeah."
She shrugged again, looking bored. "They're not totally inept."
Sara laughed. "That's good. So did you work the whole time or did they have some downtime? Do they get breaks?"
The veana's eyes narrowed. "The Romans don't require 'breaks.' "
"Okaay. Good to know."
"They stopped to change weapons, however."
Sara brightened. "Any chatting going on during that time?"
"Chatting?" Dillon repeated, pronouncing the word like a high-class Brit. "Sure there was chatting. It was during teatime and right before instruction on skipping."
The heavy sarcasm in Dillon's tone made Sara smile and shake her head. "I just wanted to know if he said anything about me, okay?"
"Who?"
"Alexander."
"Oh, fuck me." Dillon dropped back against her seat as the car made a quick stop at a light. "I don't owe him for this."
Sara put up her hands in surrender. "Forget it. Sorry I asked. And before you even go there-- yes, I am ten." She turned away, stared out the window.
They drove the last five blocks in silence, and when they came to a halt in front of the house, Sara got out quickly and hightailed it up the sidewalk. Dillon followed. When they reached the door, she released a weighty breath. "Hey. Human."
Sara glanced over her shoulder. "What?"
The veana shook her head as though she couldn't believe she was actually about to say what she was about to say. "He said, 'Let anything happen to her and I'll shackle your fangs and leave your ass in Mondrar for the next century.' "
"What's Mondrar?"
"It's like jail for vampires. Controlled by the Order." She shook her head and uttered tightly, "It's not good."
Sara grinned with pleasure. "Really? He said that? He said he'd do that to you?"
Dillon snorted. "As if he could manage it."
"Thanks, Dillon," Sara said with a laugh.
Cursing, the veana pushed past her and opened the front door. "You know, you're both fools," she muttered, waiting for Sara to enter. It wasn't a question.
"Yes, I know." Sara lifted her brow as Dillon shut the door. "See you later?"
"Not if I see you first," she called back, heading into the living room.
At nine o'clock that night, Brooklyn hummed with traffic and pedestrian life, but on Clark Street in Boerum Hill the only ones driving or walking past Ethan Dare's residence were prostitutes and those looking to score drugs. His three-story town house appeared to be a boarded-up crack house, complete with pipes, plastic baggies, and dirty spoons that littered the snow-covered front yard.
Alexander stood across the street in the shadow of a cherry tree admiring the half-breed's ability to not only vanish with a group of dinner guests, but to mask the exterior of his home so well. How the little Impure prick was managing something only a morphed Pureblood was capable of was anybody's guess--maybe he'd ask him before he killed him.
"I say we go in weapons drawn," said Lucian, who was beside him. "I doubt anyone on this block would give a shit."
Nicholas snorted. "Might even think we're cops."
"We go in fast and quiet," Alexander said in a clipped, authoritative whisper.
"One goal. Ethan Dare. I want his body brought before the Order tonight."
Jaw tight, Nicholas nodded.
Lucian too. "Yes, sir."
They nearly flew across the street. Avoiding the front of the house, they hustled around to a side window, where Nicholas made quick use of his blade, cutting through a thick layer of cardboard. He yanked the brown paper back, revealing a wall of wood planks that looked damn sturdy. He growled low in his throat. Yes, this would keep the crackheads out and the vampires in . . . He gestured to Lucian, and when Nicholas stepped back, Glock at the ready, the pair kicked the shit out of the boards until they had a hole wide enough to get through.
In a flash, Nicholas had the head of his gun inside the hole, ready for whatever lay in wait. Detecting heartbeats, Alexander twisted his mouth into a wicked grin and he gestured for his brothers to follow him.
"Aim well and spare all innocents," he whispered as he stalked, hunched over, through the crawl space and into the room. Courtesy of his species, his eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness, his retinas flipping on their internal light.
"Un-fucking-believable," Lucian uttered, taking in the art-deco room with its polished fixtures, expensive furniture, and crystal chandelier. "Just like our place. Wreck outside, palace inside." He turned to glare at Alexander. "How is this possible? Dare's got to be getting help from a Pureblood."
Alexander agreed, but he didn't have time to toss out ideas right now. He was sensing activity, slow heartbeats above him. Purebloods had no pulse, but Impures did.
And humans too--he could scent them. He motioned to Nicholas. "We take each floor together; cover me. Lucian, take Nicky's back."
Grabbing the Glock from the small of his back, Alexander took the lead as they inspected each room on the first floor, just in case Dare was hiding. When they found nothing and no one, they headed for the stairs. Yes, Alexander mused, his fangs twitching as he climbed, heartbeats and scent were stronger this way. His finger hovered near the trigger. He was a perfect shot, no way could he miss unless Dare and his recruits pulled another disappearing act.
Silent as shadows, the brothers moved up the stairs. When they hit the second floor, they ran smack into a large Impure. The male was so damn shocked to see them, he turned to run, but Lucian grabbed him by the arm and knocked him unconscious before he had a chance to react or call out a warning to his buddies. Unfortunately, the sound of his body hitting the floor reverberated down the hall, and in seconds, there were three Impures hauling ass toward them.
Come on, then, Alexander mused darkly. Let's see what you can do without your commander.
Lucian and Nicholas took off in opposite directions, while Alexander aimed and fired directly at the large black-haired Impure who was descending upon him, a sword in each fist, slashing at the air. But just seconds after Alexander's finger touched the trigger, the Impure vanished. Flash. Gone. Just like at the restaurant.
A growl ripped from Alexander's throat, but it died there. Someone was breathing near his shoulder. He whirled around. A fist slammed into his nose and he jerked back.
The Impure had reappeared! How the hell were they doing this? And inside the fucking house!
Quick, intent rage took Alexander's mind and, completely unconcerned with the racket he was about to make, he reached out for the Impure, who had his sword pulled back over his shoulder, ready to plunge the blade into Alexander's heart. In less than a second, Alexander's hands were around the male's throat, snapping his neck. He let the body fall where it had stood and glanced over at Lucian. The fierce albino had an Impure guard in a headlock, knife drawn, ready to slash his throat.
Flash. Gone. The Impure disappeared.
"They're flashing!" Alexander shouted. "Quick kills!"
Circling around behind his brothers, Alexander covered them, ready to spring when the next Impure surfaced. A moment later, Lucian's Impure reappeared just behind Nicholas. Alexander shoved the head of his Glock into the Impure's back, firing.
Heartbeat extinguished, the Impure dropped to the floor like a bag of rocks, joining his comrade in death.
"Thanks, Duro," Nicholas said, his black eyes flashing with bloodlust.
Alexander grinned. "Anytime."
The brothers turned and saw Lucian slash the wrists and throat of the third Impure, then haul him to the ground, conveniently forgetting the orders to provide a quick kill.
Grabbing the male's throat, Lucian stuck his palm over the deadly slash, managing to slow the thick ooze of blood as he said, "Where's your boss, Impure?"
The male blinked up at him. He was clearly in deep pain, but his eyes remained defiant just as his tongue stayed mute.
Lucian sneered. "Not going to tell me? Big mistake."
The Impure spoke through a bloody gurgle. "You'll . . . never get him, Pureblood witte."
"We will get him, Impure. Unfortunately, you will not be around to watch."
Lucian pushed the male away and stood, watched as the blood flowed thickly from his neck, watched as in seconds, the light died in his eyes.
"Upstairs," Alexander ordered. "Search every room for Dare."
Music, soft and seductive, met them as they reached the top floor of the house. To Alexander the music seemed to be coming from every closed door, filtering out of every crack and crevice, into the hallway as though it were a solid, living being. No Impures blocked their way this time, and the brothers moved with pantherlike quickness down the hallway, stopping at every room, checking every corner for Dare. But there was no sign of the half-breed.
At the last door, Alexander paused. He scented both human and Impure and something else that felt druglike in its powerfulness. Weapons drawn, he nodded at each brother. With a grunt, Lucian kicked open the door, then crouched, ready for action. But what the brothers found on the other side of the wall made them stop and stare.
"Holy shit," Nicholas muttered under his breath, lowering his weapon. "What kind of party is this?"
Lucian snorted. "Fuck party. This is an orgy."
"Is Dare in there?"
Alexander shook his head, his cock stirring at the scene before him. Males and females--easily twenty or so, Impure, Pureblood, and human alike--were naked and coiled together, some asleep, some moving together in a rhythm as timeless as the dance of sun and stars, and all completely unaware of the Roman brothers' presence. In fact, Alexander thought, studying the lack of movement in their eyes, they seemed to be in some kind of trance.
Alexander's gaze shifted to several females sleeping alone on beds off to one side.
Their bellies were in different stages of swell . "He's making more Impures ..."
"What?" Nicholas asked, his eyes lust-filled as he watched the show.
"He's raising an army, just as the Order said."
"To fight for control over the credentis? Or to completely destroy the Pureblood breed?"
Alexander shrugged. "Perhaps both."
Lucian sneered. "Well, whatever he's doing, at this rate, it'll be a century before he succeeds."
"The question is what do we do now?"
"Find and kill Dare," Lucian stated flatly. "That is all we are contracted to do."
True. And yet . . . Alexander lifted his chin toward the crowd and the pregnant females asleep on their beds. "What about them?"
"They're having a hell of a lot more fun than we are," Lucian muttered.
"They're barely coherent, Lucian," Nicholas said, his tone one of disgust.
Alexander nodded. "Some of them have been torn from their credentis and brought here to be either pestle or mortar."
Lucian shrugged. "Not my problem."
Alexander and Nicholas said nothing.
They didn't have to. Lucian's gaze was traversing the room, resting on the females and their bellies. His lips thinned. "Dammit! I don't do rescue ..."
Alexander knew that Lucian hated the idea of further assisting not only the Order, but members of the credenti, but he also understood firsthand what deep pain a forced swell and an unwanted balas wrought. With a grumble of annoyance, he pushed past Nicholas, who was now staring unblinking at the orgy in front of him, and tried to get to the females on the other side of the room. Not even halfway there, he froze, cursed. "I can't get to them," he called back. "There's something blocking the air around them."
Alexander closed his eyes and attempted to take down the invisible shield with the power of morpho, but he could sense nothing there, nothing in Lucian's way. His lips curled back as he opened his eyes. This wasn't the mission he'd agreed to, the mission he'd been forced into. He rubbed a hand over his face, felt his brands grow hot. No matter how much he despised his species and the Order who ruled them, he could not turn his back on those innocent females and the balas they carried.
"Fall back," he ordered, pushing away from the door and heading down the hall and toward the stairs. His mind jumped and devised. He knew what had to be done.
Tonight, he would dive deep into his mind, and though it made his skin twitch with revulsion--though Cruen had warned him against it--he would attempt to connect with the Order once again.
The study had been on rats, but what the hell, Sara reasoned, curled up in a chair on the second floor of the Roman brothers' library, there was always a jumping-off point.
Shock treatments to induce fear, followed by a drug to bring about temporary amnesia, followed by a new, gentle memory to take its place. A little thrill ran through her. What if this was the answer? Or at least got her infinitely closer to it? Sara glanced at the clock on the wall. It was close to midnight. Tomorrow she would run the idea by Pete, get his thoughts. Gray's memory of the fire would need to be reinforced somehow, simulated, which would be pretty hellish, but then again, so was the life he was living now. The amnesia, she thought--would she have to go with hard drugs? She didn't want to go the drug route again, not yet. She could use hypnosis or sodium Amytal, but would either be strong enough to calm the fear center of the brain? Her gaze scanned a row of books on the wall in front of her, not really seeing anything but ancient cloth spines. Hypnosis was a thought, but then again, Gray always fought the relaxed state--hell, he was fighting everything these days. He still refused to get inside the MRI machine . . .
Sara stilled, cocked her head to one side as though she'd heard something. But there was nothing there, nothing her ears picked up anyway. Suddenly a wave of anxiety moved through her, a feeling of dread so powerful she stood up and ran to the top of the stairs. For a moment, she wondered if her reaction was about Gray, the thoughts on testing and drugs, and the ever-present fear that every one of Gray's memories would die off along with the memory of the fire and he'd be left with a blank history. But then, just as quickly as it came, the anxiety faded away and a heady sensation of pleasure wrapped around her body like a blanket.
Alexander.
She practically leaped down the stairs and ran out of the library. She saw Evans hustling out of the living room and down the hall, and she called after him.
He stopped and turned, looking a bit preoccupied as he said, "Dr. Donohue?"
"Is Alexander home?"
"No, but he should be returning soon enough. Anything I can help you with?"
Disappointed, she shook her head. "No, no, thanks."
He looked relieved and quickly turned away, started down the hall again.
"Wait a sec! Hey, Evans?"
She caught up with him, noticed that his eyes held a bit of frustration in their depths. "Yes, Doctor?"
She sighed. "I don't know how I know this, but Alexander's here. In this house."
Evans paled. "What?"
"I can feel him ..."
Shock registered in his eyes.
Sara rushed ahead. "I need to see him."
Evans shook his head. "I'm afraid that's not possible."
"Why?" She shrugged, her eyes imploring him for answers. "What is it? Why can't you tell me where he is?"
It took a moment for Evans to give her an answer, as though he were searching for the right one. "He wouldn't wish it."
Her heart squeezed in her chest. "Did he say that? Did he say he didn't want to see me?"
"Please, Doctor. He will come to you when he's ready."
Sara opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself. She read people very well and she knew when it was time to ease off--knew better than to keep pushing a loyal employee for answers that might get him into trouble. She pressed her lips together in acquiescence and nodded. "I'm sorry. You're right, Evans. It's no big deal. I'll see him tomorrow."
He gave her a grateful smile. "Very good, Doctor." Then turned and resumed his course down the hall.
Sara watched him go, and when he was far enough away not to hear her footfalls, she followed him.