Dr. Mercer keeps his attention on me, his gaze assessing in a way that makes me want to stand straighter. “I’ve heard good things about your work so far. I look forward to seeing what else you’ll bring to our little corner of medical heaven.”
I force a smile, extending my hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Mercer. I’m looking forward to learning from you.”
As we shake hands, I notice Dr. Mercer’s nostrils flare slightly, and a frown crosses his face. He glances between Noah and me, his expression curious before he brusquely turns away.
“I should get caught up on what I’ve missed. Noah, perhaps you could brief me after you finish lunch?”
“I’m finished now,” Noah says, backing smoothly away from the table without sparing me a glance. “I’ll meet you in the medical library.”
Dr. Mercer nods and exits, leaving an uncomfortable silence in his wake.
“He knows about the bond,” I whisper, panic rising in my chest. “He could smell it on us.”
“He doesn’t. Victor has always had some mild boundary issues.” Noah shakes his head, avoiding my gaze. “You’re back to smelling like a beta, maybe a little like me but not enough to arouse suspicion when we’ve been working together. I wouldn’t have let you leave the house, otherwise.”
“Let me…?” I repeat, immediately affronted. Nobody lets me do anything. But I slam my mouth shut at the look he shoots me.
I’d love to point out that he didn’t even bother to wait for me this morning. Not to mention, running out of the room without a word and locking the door behind him after I bit him and not speaking to me for over a day.
But now probably isn’t the time for me to try climbing for the moral high ground. I am the one who fucked up and got us into this mess.
Then again, nobody told him to come riding to the rescue like storybook heroes. I never asked for his help.
“I can’t really even remember what you smell like,” I inform him neutrally, picking up my plate to take it to the sink. “I don’t know if this is normal for a heat, but I barely feel like anything happened. Like a…” I want to say nightmare, if just to see thelook on his face. But that would be overselling it far past the point of believability. “Like a dream, or something.”
“Well, your dirty little secret is safe for now,” he snaps.
I stare at the plate wrapper in my hand, trying to keep my breathing steady as a wave of annoyance washes over me. I can’t tell how much of the emotion is mine and how much is his.
Noah shoves my chair back under the table. The harsh scrape against the floor makes me jump, but I make a point of not looking at him as he moves around the table toward the door.
Then he is suddenlyright there, leaning over me from behind me. His scent engulfs me—pine needles and rain—and my omega instincts flare to life despite my best efforts to suppress them.
He whispers directly into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. “Just so you know, thanks to this damn bond, I also know when you’re lying.”
“I’m not—“ I start to protest, but the words die in my throat as Noah straightens up and fixes me with a look that makes the bond between us thrum once, like a plucked string, before going quiet.
He stomps out of the room. I watch him go, unable to tear my gaze away from the empty space in the doorway even after he is long gone.
TWENTY
HOLLY
I lockthe door of the clinic with a satisfying click, the sound echoing in the empty parking lot. My shoulders sag with exhaustion as I turn the key twice, making sure it’s secure. The weight of the day—of the past several days—settles over me like a heavy blanket.
Just keep moving. One foot in front of the other.
Night has fallen early, probably normal for winter at this latitude. The streetlights cast pools of yellow light across the snow-covered ground, creating islands of visibility in the darkness. My breath forms clouds in the frigid air as I adjust my scarf and pull my hat lower over my ears.
The Frost twins’ lab results came back this morning. Inconclusive. After all the rush to get the samples to the university lab, after all the promises that they’d have better equipment, better specialists—nothing. Just more questions without answers.
And today saw another child, Maya Calloway, showing the same symptoms: fever, joint pain, the strange metallic taste in her mouth. Three cases might be more than a coincidence.
I dig through my bag for my car keys, my mind still working through possible diagnoses. Environmental factors seem most likely, but Maya lives in a different part of town than the twins, and is homeschooled while the Frosts are enrolled at the local elementary school. I can’t think of what environmental exposure site they’d have in common.
I’m so lost in thought that I don’t immediately notice the figure standing near my car. When I do, my heart leaps into my throat, and I freeze mid-step. The clinic parking lot suddenly feels very isolated, very dark.
As I watch someone tall and solid step forward into the pool of light from a nearby streetlamp, relief floods through me. The skull-patterned bandana is unmistakable.
