“Then perhaps it’s time we revisited the discussion around continuing Miss Wyeth’s experiments.” Harrod said it so calmly, as if he were making note on the state of the war rather than the continuation of a decade of torture.
Josephine’s fingers turned numb around the handle of her fork and knife. She was forced to set them down, lest she let them fall from her nerveless fingers to clatter against her plate.
“Which ones?” Her father made a dismissive sound with his tongue. “I’ve done everything I can.”
“Not everything,” Harrod argued. His long, tapered fingers smoothed a fold in his napkin as he rested it on the edge of the table. Her skin crawled as she watched them move.
Speaking with the utmost self-assurance, he continued, “I believe it is time we experimented with the effects of a witchbond on Miss Wyeth. Perhaps exposure to high levels of magic will mutate the infection further.”
Oh gods.Bile crept up the back of her throat.Say no.
“I’d forgotten we discussed that,” her father replied, sounding churlish and perhaps a tiny bit slurred. Too much wine made him more temperamental, as she well knew. “Did I not say no already? I believe I did.”
“You did, but that was before our situation changed.” He didn’t even spare a glance for Josephine as he made his case. “I am willing to test the effect of magic on her. It is the logical next step, and might help us craft an even more powerful version of lyssa: weres with the ability to use magic.”
“You would tie yourself to my daughter?” Her father leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. His expression was certainly churlish, but not nearly as displeased as she wanted him to be.
Harrod straightened his already tense shoulders. “For the sake of our work? Of course.”
“A bond would muddle things,” her father argued. “It creates intimacy. You might feel compelled to take her as a wife, which would make our work more difficult.”
“I don’t see why. If she was my wife, perhaps she’d be more biddable than she is at present.”
A drop of cold sweat rolled down her spine as Josephine waited for her father’s response. None came. Instead, he sat there, arms crossed, and appeared to be considering this point.
Slowly, as if he loathed giving up his ground but couldn’t help himself, he said, “I have had designs on seeing lyssa’s effect on children. Tell me, would you breed her?”
Harrod didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Hm.” After a moment of thought, her father shook his head and pushed his chair back from the table. “I’ll think on it and give you an answer tomorrow. Perhaps the day after. In the meantime, join me in the lab. I want you to look…”
The sound of rushing blood washed away the rest of whatever it was her father said. Both men abandoned their plates and left the room, speaking amiably as if they had not just discussed her future in intimate detail.
Harrod wants to bond with me. They’ve spoken of it before. Papa wants to experiment on children. Harrod wants me tohavehis children.
The horror was so immense, it threatened to crush her. She could scarcely draw a breath through the constricted muscles of her throat.
She couldn’t be his bondmate. She did not want his magic slithering through her veins, keeping him alive as it filtered through her and back to him. Everything in her rebelled at the idea, let alone the suggestion that he might put a child in her belly, only to be used as an experiment as she was.
I’ll die first.
Somewhere far away, she felt the deep tremors of great animal fury. It took her a moment to realize they came fromwithinher.
I will not do it. I will not allow it. No more.
The feeling of constriction eased as the beast made itself known. Josephine stared at the table, her frantic breaths slowing, as she felt her fingertips burn and her canines lengthen. Even her vision grew sharper.
No, he would not have her.
Only one man could put his hands on her now, and he wouldneverallow another to harm her. When she had the children she’d always longed for, they would behis,and they would grow up safe. Cherished. He’d made a promise to her. She would see that he kept it.
And if anyone dared stand in the way of that future, Josephine would tear them apart.
* * *
It was with a deadly sort of calm that she cleared the table and washed the dishes, as she normally did after the cook retired for the evening. Josephine took her time.
The anxiety that she might be caught at any moment had vanished. Her hands, still partially shifted to long, deadly claws, did not shake as she packed a sack full of non-perishable foods.
