Predatory

Page 4

Pacing across the living room, she peeked through the curtains at the empty street below.
It had started this morning.
She’d spent the entire day with the sensation she was being watched by some unseen lurker.
And she laid full blame on the shoulders of Dr. Nikolo Bartrev.
Not because of his abrupt arrival and equally abrupt departure from the club last night, although the aggravating man had taken away any hope of enjoying the night. Oh, she’d gone through the routine for Megan’s sake. She’d danced, she’d sipped her gin fizz, and laughed on cue, but the evening had gone flat.
No, she was used to wishing for things she could never have.
It was his warning of a mysterious stalker that had her jumping at shadows.
Seeing nothing but the usual joggers and occasional car drive past, she gave a shake of her head.
What had she expected?
A stranger wearing a hockey mask and lurking on the sidewalk?
Or maybe a car in the parking lot with a sign that said STALKERS “R” US?
“This is stupid,” she muttered, stepping away from the window and heading into the kitchen.
Spring break had officially started. Classes were out, the majority of the students were even now fleeing town for warmer climes, and she would have a blessed, uninterrupted week to work on her private research.
No doubt Megan would toss her hands up in defeat, but as far as Angela was concerned she’d rather be concentrating on her work than wasting her days on an overcrowded beach.
Okay, maybe if the beach included Professor Hottie she might consider—
Entering the kitchen, Angela came to a halt, a strange sense of alarm tingling down her spine.
Someone had been in here.
She didn’t know exactly how she could be so certain. Perhaps the microscope had been shifted ever so slightly. Or maybe there was a lingering scent she didn’t quite recognize.
Whatever the cause, her vague unease became full on, adrenaline-charging alarm as she whirled around, intent on fleeing the apartment.
A wise decision that came too late.
She barely managed a step before the door was blocked by a slender figure.
Angela’s heart slammed to a halt as she took a swift inventory of the intruder.
The stranger wasn’t much taller than her, and was dressed from head to toe in black. Black leather pants. Black turtleneck sweater. Black ski mask.
Good grief. Did stalkers have a uniform code?
She swallowed a hysterical urge to laugh, sternly reminding herself that she was in danger.
Despite the fact the intruder was more or less the same size as herself and clearly female, she wasn’t fooled. Beneath the tight clothes she could make out hard, lean muscles that warned the intruder could tie Angela into a painful pretzel.
Or worse.
“Who are you?” she managed to croak, her mind sluggishly trying to shift through her limited options.
No. Not limited.
Nonexistent.
Her cell phone was in her purse that she’d left in the living room. There was no doubt a knife was tucked in her silverware drawer, but it was across the room. And there was nothing close enough at hand to use as a weapon.
For now her options were talking her way out of danger or hoping for a miracle.
Neither seemed likely.
Casually leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb the intruder revealed she was in far better control of her nerves than Angela.
“Would you believe a friend?”
“No.”
A nonchalant shrug. “Then let’s say I’m a potential customer.”
“Customer?” Angela frowned before she gave a small gasp of understanding. “Oh. I get it.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. But I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
The woman adjusted her black glove. Preparing for violence?
“I rarely make mistakes,” she drawled. Her voice was oddly beautiful. Almost hypnotic.
Angela licked her lips, flicking a brief glance toward the expensive equipment that was piled on the kitchen table.
“I know it must look like I manufacture drugs, but I’m just a scientist,” she said, her palms damp. Had the temperature gone up? Or was it sheer terror that was making her feel as if her sweatshirt and jeans were smothering her? “There’s nothing here that will get you high.”
“Just a scientist?” The stranger gave a chiding shake of her head. “Now, now, Angela. There’s no need for such modesty. You’re already considered the brilliant star in the world of genetics.”
Angela took a shocked step back. “You know me?”
“Of course. I’ve been following your career with breathless anticipation.”
Okay. The whole encounter had just shifted from scary to terrifyingly creepy.
“Who are you?” she repeated the question that had never been answered.
The intruder straightened, taking a step into the kitchen. “A devoted fan.”
Fan? Did scientists have groupies?
Well, beyond Stephen Hawking?
“Look, I’m not sure what’s going on, but I’m just a postgraduate student struggling to finish her dissertation,” she said, her voice quivering. “If you want to speak with an actual researcher—”
“It’s you I want,” the woman interrupted.
“For what?”
“A job.”
The simple words caught Angela off guard.
Was that why this woman had snuck into her home?
She’d been warned that recruiters could be aggressive when trying to capture the top graduates. Especially recruiters from pharmaceutical companies. But this was beyond ridiculous.
“Actually, I haven’t really considered what I plan to do after graduation, but—”
“I’m afraid it’s something of a rush job.”
With a lift of her hand the stranger yanked off her stocking hat and Angela nearly went to her knees in shock.
“Holy crap,” she muttered, trying to make sense of what she was seeing.
The . . . woman (yeah, she was still convinced the intruder was female despite the fact she was completely bald) had eyes that were as red as rubies and a nose that was oddly flat. Like a snake. And worse, her visible skin was patterned with large, dark spots that went way beyond freckles.
The intruder smiled. Not a pleasant smile. More a stretching of her thin lips.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.”
“Were you—”
“Born this way?” The woman pulled off her gloves, revealing her hands that were spotted like her face and tipped with claws. “Yes.”
Angela tried to clear the mammoth-sized lump from her throat.
“So you’re a—”
“Freak.”
Everyone knew of high-bloods, or freaks, as most people called them. The special people born with some sort of mutation that made them different from others.
Not that the general population truly knew much about them. There were rumors of witches and psychics and necromancers. And the strange Sentinels. Then there were the whispers that there were true monsters being hidden behind the walls of Valhalla.
As a future geneticist, Angela devoured the bits and pieces of information on the high-bloods. Unfortunately the Mave who ruled the residents of Valhalla and the satellite communities refused to allow her people to be studied. Only scientists who were a part of their community were allowed any research. Even local doctors were forced to contact Valhalla if a freak turned up in the ER. And anyone trying to collect genetic material was subject to punishment by the Mave.
Not something anyone would be willing to risk.
Now, however, she realized that her clinical fascination with high-blood DNA hadn’t taken into account the brutal truth of what it meant to be . . . different.
The personal cost was written in the bitter glow of the crimson eyes.
“I’m sorry,” Angela whispered before she could halt the impulsive words.
The female snorted. “Not nearly as sorry as I am.”
Yeah, Angela got that.
“What do you want from me?”
“Simple. I want you to fix me.”
“Fix you?” Angela parroted, her brilliant brain trained to comprehend logical facts, not . . . this. “I’m not a doctor.”
“Do I look like a fucking doctor could cure me?”
Angela took another step backward, her ass hitting the edge of the sink.
“What do you expect me to do?”
“Your gift is to alter DNA.” The woman pulled off her other glove and tossed it on the ground. Then she ran her fingers over her bald head. “I want you to make me normal.”
Through her fog of fear, Angela felt a stab of sympathy. She understood the woman’s desperation. She truly did.
But, sympathizing with the stranger didn’t mean she could help her.
“That’s impossible.”
The crimson eyes narrowed. “Nothing in this world is impossible.”
“Maybe not, but the technology isn’t anywhere near advanced enough. At least not yet.”
“Technology?” Something that might have been amusement rippled over the strange, exotic face. “I’m not talking about test tubes and microscopes.”