Petrov set his fork down and fixed Dimitri with a penetrating stare.
"Dave waited a long time for you to come down," he said. "Eventually, they gave up and left."
Dimitri arched a brow even though he had known that. "Why?"
"They had questions."
He had a good idea what those questions had been about, but he asked anyway. “What kind of questions?"
"They wanted to know if you'd been experimenting with the enhancement drugs and modifying the formula for humans so you could use it yourself."
Dimitri said nothing and kept his expression blank, but his mind was racing with ways he could explain what Dave had seen.
"I told them that I didn't know what they were talking about," Petrov continued. "I said the very idea was absurd."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome." Petrov leaned forward, his eyes boring into Dimitri's. "Dave described what he saw you do at the harbor. He said you were fighting four trained immortal warriors and holding your own. You should have been dead in two seconds."
"They didn't want to kill me. They were toying with me."
That sounded like a good explanation, at least to someone who hadn't seen the fight.
"That wasn't Dave's impression." Petrov wasn't buying it. "I want the truth, Dimitri, and I'm not going to accept 'the power of love' as an explanation."
Petrov needed the truth because the situation was about to become much more complicated, and they couldn't navigate it if they weren't on the same page.
"I've transitioned," Dimitri said finally. "Into immortality."
Petrov went very still. "What?"
"Turns out I had the immortal genes." He let out a breath. "According to Dave, it's not uncommon for humans to carry them without knowing. Anyway, they were dormant, and they got activated when Tarik bit me. The immortals' venom is the catalyst for the transformation." Dimitri met Petrov's eyes. "When Tarik attacked me that night in the bar and bit me, he pumped me full of the stuff with the intention of killing me, but the others pulled him off before he could finish the job, so instead of dying, I transitioned and became immortal."
"Immortal." Petrov breathed the word like a curse.
"The immortals on this island are not born immortal. They're born human and transition into immortality at puberty using thesame method. The venom bite." Dimitri chuckled. "Tarik wanted to kill me, but instead he made me immortal."
Petrov was silent for a long moment, and Dimitri could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes, the scientist in him analyzing the information, looking for flaws in the logic, searching for alternative explanations.
"Is there anything in your family history?" Petrov asked. "Anything out of the ordinary? Were you adopted, perhaps?"
Dimitri shrugged. "As far as I know, I wasn't adopted. The dormant genes must be more prevalent among humans than anyone realizes. Think about it. These immortals have been around for thousands of years, breeding with humans, producing offspring who may or may not carry the genes, and I bet they didn't follow all the kids they had fathered to check if they carried the genes or not. Without activation, the offspring live out their lives as humans, but some of their descendants inherit the special genes and give them to their descendants in turn. Over many generations, the genetic material would have spread far and wide through the human population."
"But most humans never transition because they never get bitten by an immortal." Petrov leaned back. "It makes a strange kind of sense."
Dimitri nodded. "The fangs and venom are mostly used to fight other immortals and to induce the transition of pubescent boys who carry the special genes and need to be activated. Immortals don't go around biting humans. They don't have to get so close and personal to kill physically inferior males."
Petrov absorbed this, nodding slowly. Then he stood.
"I need a drink to think clearly."
He ducked into his room and returned a moment later with a fresh bottle of vodka. Sitting back down, he cracked the seal and poured a generous measure into the empty cup that had come with his dinner tray.
"To your immortality," he said, raising the glass in a mock toast. "May it bring you nothing but joy and prosperity."
"Somehow I doubt that."
Petrov drank, grimaced, and poured another. Then he laughed—a short, sharp sound that held more resignation than humor.
