It only took me a second to respond, a heaviness sinking into my gut. “Purple.”
He must’ve seen something on my face because his eager expression smoothed into sympathy. And that was what confirmed my assumption.
I sank back against the counter, the tops of my swords clinking against the glass cabinets.
“You think Lucille’s blood created this new strain.”
He picked up Rodderick’s blood sample, twisting it between his fingers with an expression that almost bordered on admiration.
“Yes.”
“And?”
He quickly set the vial down and composed his face back into neutrality.
“I know that knowledge may be hard to stomach, but if I’m right, then we are one step closer to figuring out a way to at least stop their ability to spread the infection, maybe even halt transitions.” He gestured to a pile of syringes and empty vials. “If she’d allow it, I’d love samples of her blood. It created this second infection, so I believe it may be the answer to stopping it.”
She wasn’t going to like that. Any of it—knowing Lilith stole her blood and used it to create the new strain of the demon infection. Or someone else did. Nor the fact that supplying blood entailed the use of Sam’s sharp syringes, and my tough little hellion had a phobia of them.
Still, she’d help. I knew she would.
“I’ll bring her in.”
Looking a bit too eager, Sam picked up a syringe.
“I’d also like yours.”
“Mine?”
“Yes, you two are connected. I might need it. My goal is to use the magical properties within your blood to eliminate the blood-bind that causes the mutation and kill the infection completely.”
“Alright.”
After supplying Sam with more blood than I’d thought he would need, a knock sounded at his door. He frowned, crouched behind the counter where I couldn’t see him, and quickly stashed my blood vials away.
The counter beneath my hand suddenly hummed with energy, prickling my fingers.
Another knock sounded.
Sam grumbled beneath his breath and walked toward the door.
While he opened it, I peeked over the counter and found four cabinets with glowing yellow knobs.
Knowing how deadly it could be if my blood fell into the wrong hands, I appreciated his extra precaution.
Sam peered through the crack in his door. He opened it wider, enough for me to see, and searched left and right.
Oliver, surrounded in a wavering darkness, squeezed through the opening. He kept his attention completely on the oblivious healer, unaware of me. He ran his hands through his hair a few too many times, as if working up the courage for something.
Sam didn’t see him at all.
Oliver was shadowing.
Sam shrugged, closing the door.
“May have been Bree?—”
Oliver released his power, exposing his state of undress right in Sam’s line of sight, grabbed the back of his head, and kissed him. Boldly. Shamelessly. Without hesitation.
