“She’s your type,” Anya noted, her perfect lips taunting him with a smile. The woman adored flirting, hence the revealing dress she wore displaying all her ample assets. The dark beauty held nothing back. Aidan was a lucky man. “We all know how you feel about natural blondes,” she added.
“Except this one seems conflicted.” Clara frowned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman react to you like this, Issac. It’s quite phenomenal, really.”
He started. “I thought you couldn’t sense her?” From what he’d surmised, Astasiya was impervious to supernatural gifts.
“Well, no, I can’t, but this one doesn’t stare at you in adoration like all the others do.”
He followed her gaze to the blonde in question and grinned when he found Astasiya glowering at him. Yes, this woman had spirit. One of her many positive traits. The elder Fitzgerald caught him looking and lifted his brow, his curiosity clear. Brilliant. That marked Issac’s secondary goal for the evening as accomplished.
Aidan cocked his head to the side. “She might be useful, Issac.”
“Yes.” In more ways than one. He could enjoy her company while also using her to exact revenge, and if she lived, he’d give her to Lucian. The Hydraians would be thrilled with the addition of her persuasive power.
“Perhaps you should try not to get her killed?” Aidan suggested over his glass of brandy.
Issac studied the man he considered to be his father, the one who always seemed to know his thoughts and plans before they were fully contrived. “Casualties are a consequence of war, Aidan. You know that better than anyone.”
“Ah, but is it her war to fight?”
Issac didn’t hesitate. “It is now.”
5
Security Clearances Are Bullshit
“Lizzie?” Stas called as she dropped her purse by the door. “Why does it look like Valentine’s Day threw up in your condo?”
There were flowers everywhere.
All shades, sizes, and scents.
“Liz?”
No reply.
Stas ventured into the formal dining area, then the kitchen, and down the corridor to the master suite. Lizzie sat inside with her bare feet kicked up on the desk, her computer keyboard in her lap. She didn’t glance up from the screen as she asked, “Did your parents make it to the airport okay?”
“Yeah.” It took some reassuring, but they eventually got on the plane. She understood their concerns. However, Stas had never been the type to hide from her fears.
Which was exactly why she’d agreed to date a demon.
He came from a world that fueled her nightmares, but he also possessed all the answers. If he wanted to harm her, he would, with or without her permission. She might as well use him in the same manner he intended to use her.
“So, uh, why does the condo look like a flower shop?” Stas asked, her nose crinkling from the floral aroma.
Lizzie shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe ask your boyfriend.”
“What?” The flowers are for me? From Issac? “Why?” Was he trying to give her Valentine’s Day–themed nightmares?
Her roommate moved the keyboard to her desk. “There’s a card by the vase of exotic lilies in the kitchen. Why don’t you go read it?”
Right, still mad about the Issac thing.
“By the way, he’s not my boyfriend,” Stas grumbled as she left for the kitchen with Lizzie right behind her.
“Uh-huh.”
“I didn’t lie to you, Liz.”
“No, you omitted it. I’ve been trying to get you to go on a date for six years. What happened to I’m not interested in my MRS degree?” Lizzie’s tone went high as she parroted Stas’s favorite excuse for not dating. She went out sometimes and didn’t mind sex.
Well, occasionally.
Okay, hardly ever.
To be fair, her experiences weren’t something to brag about. With the exception, maybe of last night, and that’d only been a kiss.
Stas found the card on the counter and read it.
I’ll pick you up at six o’clock tomorrow. -Issac
Cocky much? Tomorrow was her security interview. What if it ran over?
“For the record, this”—she handed the card to Lizzie—“will be our first date.” Assuming she agreed to the high-handed proposal. Of course you will, idiot. “And I didn’t tell you I met him because I didn’t realize who he was until yesterday.” Something she already explained after dinner last night.
Lizzie chewed her lip, considering. “What are you going to wear?”
“I don’t know. Jeans and a tank top?”
Manicured nails clicked on the counter. “Try again.”
“A skirt?”
“And?”
“A tank top.”
Lizzie sighed dramatically. “What am I going to do with you?”
“Help me get ready for my date?” she offered, knowing her best friend lived to play beauty consultant. Stas enjoyed fashion as much as the next woman, but no one knew clothes better than her roommate. The woman lived and breathed high society, and if anyone could prepare Stas for a night with Issac Wakefield, it was Lizzie Watkins.
“You need me,” her best friend said.
“I do,” Stas admitted.
Lizzie tapped her jaw, pensive. “All right, you’re forgiven pending an afternoon of chick flicks, wine, and leftover pizza.”
That sounded like a horrible way to spend her Monday off. Not. “Deal.”
Lizzie held up a finger. “And you wear the outfit of my choosing on your date tomorrow. I’ll put it on your bed before I go to work.” She managed an after-school program for underprivileged kids, meaning she wouldn’t be home when Stas left tomorrow. And the wicked gleam in her best friend’s eyes said whatever outfit she had in mind would double as a punishment.
“You drive a hard bargain, Liz.”
Her roommate held out her hand and wiggled her fingers. “Deal?”
I’m so going to regret this, but what choice do I have? She shook Lizzie’s hand. “Okay, deal.”
“Have you ever committed a serious crime?”
Stas swallowed. Don’t think, just answer. “No.” Breathe in, one, two. Breathe out, one, two. Her reflection in the one-way mirror gave nothing away. She remained poised, confident, and aloof.
The polygrapher—Agent Stark—wrote something down beside her while the machine ticked loudly in her ears.
Don’t think, she repeated to herself. If she allowed herself to consider—
No. Stop thinking.
“Have you ever met an Ichorian?”
Oh, this again. The first time he’d given her this question, she’d asked him to define Ichorian. He’d stopped the test and reminded her that some of the questions were meant to throw her off, hence the made-up phrases and words.
Now she knew how to answer. “No.”
Again with the ticking.
And the scribbling.
They’d been doing this for hours, round and round, question after question.
Does he know about Ow—
Stop thinking!
She focused on her reflection again, studying her blouse. So much more conservative than the outfit Lizzie had picked out for her date later.
Oh, much safer.
Stas pictured the dress as she answered all the same queries.
Have you ever traveled to Greece?
No.
Have you ever manufactured, purchased, or sold drugs?
No.
Have you ever met a Hydraian?
No.
“This now concludes round six of the security interview for Astasiya Davenport. Recording to end in three, two, one…”
A click resounded through the room, causing her shoulders to sag. The contraption around her abdomen dug into her bra, but she didn’t care. This whole ordeal was far more exhausting than she anticipated.
“We’re done,” Stark said, his tone emotionless. He pushed away from his desk and helped extract her from the polygraph ins
truments without a word. “Follow me” was all he said.
Man of many words.
His muscular stature reminded her more of a military man than a business professional. He possessed a commanding air, one that sent a chill down her spine. This was not a person to defy or piss off.
If he suspects I lied… She swallowed. No. She couldn’t think about it. Or Owen. Or the fact that lying to the authorities was most definitely a serious crime. It’s over. It’s fine. Everything’s going to be okay.
And what would he do anyway? Drill her about a crime she may or may not have committed?
Except, lying could cost her this job.
Better than ending up in prison for omitting information.
Stark stopped abruptly to knock on an all-white door that matched the pristine corridor. It felt so clinical in the lower levels of the CRF, reminding her of a vacant hospital. No one wandered down here. No paintings or door signs. Just vapid walls revealing a maze of rooms with the occasional security camera dotted above.
The marketing department upstairs was an entirely different world, filled with windows overlooking Manhattan, colorful cubicles, and smiling faces. Perhaps Stark should pay the floor a visit. His stern features could use a little brightening.
A petite woman with darker features and caramel skin opened the door, her gaze lifting to Stark without faltering. “Sentinel.”
“Doctor,” he returned flatly. “Astasiya Davenport is here for her medical examination.”
She gingerly lifted the sleeve of her lab coat and blinked down at her watch. “You’re early.”
“Her polygraph finished sooner than expected.”
Does that mean I passed? Or failed? Stas wondered.
The doctor studied him for a long moment, his expression as stoic as ever. “I see,” she said slowly, joining them in the hallway and closing the door behind her. “Then I’ll proceed with the exam, if you wouldn’t mind…?”
He nodded.
Something passed between them. Something unpleasant.
Clearly a history here. Maybe they used to date?
Stas suppressed a shiver at the wrongness, chalking it up to their clinical surroundings. It just felt so cold down here.
“Astasiya, I’m Doctor Patel.” The doctor held out her hand. Despite the smaller size, she delivered one hell of a shake. “If you’ll follow me, please.”
Stark didn’t say anything, but Stas could feel his light eyes on them as they walked down the hall. A glance back at him confirmed her suspicions, the knowing glint in his gaze causing her stomach to churn.
It’s just nerves.
Or I failed spectacularly.
But he couldn’t know about Owen. No one did except for her demon.
“This way,” Doctor Patel said, opening a door to the left.
Stas followed her inside, swallowing the bile rising in her throat. Everything about this felt wrong. It’s the guilt. There was no other explanation. Yet, what was she supposed to do? Admit everything during the polygraph? She’d come off as a lunatic and would definitely not obtain her clearance for the job afterward.
“All right, have a seat.” Doctor Patel gestured to the exam table. Such a simple request, yet Stas’s feet resembled lead as she moved across the room. Goose bumps pebbled her skin, her insides twisting at some subtle threat she couldn’t diagnose.
What the hell is wrong with me? It’s just a physical exam.
“Let’s start with your medical history,” Doctor Patel said from her computer in the corner. She asked a few standard questions, none of which were all that intrusive, yet Stas still felt that prickle of unease at the back of her neck. Something that told her she was being watched. Carefully.
Paranoia.
It had to be.
This was the CRF, the company she’d interned with for almost a year. The renowned humanitarian agency owned by Doctor Fitzgerald, who had been nothing but a mentor to her for the last six years.
She clearly needed more sleep.
“Vitals,” Doctor Patel continued, taking Stas’s blood pressure, checking her lungs and heart, and drawing blood for a panel.
All standard.
All completely acceptable.
Until she revealed a tray of syringes.
“What are those for?” she wondered out loud.
“A few common vaccines.” Dr. Patel explained as she retrieved a clipboard from the desk. “It’s mandatory for CRF employees. You never know when you might have to travel for a work assignment.”
“I wasn’t aware my position required travel.”
“It’s standard procedure here.” Dr. Patel handed Stas the clipboard with a few documents attached. “These are the consent forms. They explain the three different types of shots that will be administered today and their potential side effects. Review and sign, please.”
Stas’s brow furrowed. It seemed more prudent for an employer to inoculate employees after they were cleared for hire. Or maybe even wait until the first business trip. Vaccinations weren’t exactly cheap.
“You can always deny them,” Dr. Patel added, her near-black eyes eerily observant. “But I’ll have to note that in your medical exam records.”
Meaning Stas might not be given a security clearance if she didn’t agree. Add that to a potentially failed polygraph, and, well, she could kiss her job offer goodbye. Not even Doctor Fitzgerald could fix that problem for her—all of this was mandated by the government, not his company. And those contracts were what kept the CRF alive.
Might as well at least see what vaccinations they were requiring.
Hepatitis. Pretty standard.
Typhoid fever. Not as familiar, but she’d heard of it.
She frowned at the last one. “Nizari fever?”
“It’s a recent development.” Excitement lit up Doctor Patel’s features. “We’re seeing a lot of cases in Asia right now, actually. Hence the requirement.”
“Oh.” It all seemed a bit extreme, but this was the CRF. Globally renowned and respected, and also the company Doctor Fitzgerald had founded. He wouldn’t inject his future employees with anything life-threatening. Besides, Stas had never been sick in her life. Not even a common cold. A few shots wouldn’t kill her.
She signed the documents and removed her blouse, leaving her clad in a thin tank top that did nothing to protect her from the cool, sterile air.
“Perfect.” Doctor Patel readied Stas’s arm for the first injection. “Hepatitis is given in three doses, so you’ll need to come back for the next two. The details will be with your new-hire paperwork.” She administered the shot while speaking and finished with a Band-Aid.
“Okay,” Stas replied, noting the requirement to follow up later.
“This might sting a bit,” the doctor warned as she inserted a needle with a peculiar-looking green liquid. “This is for typhoid.”
Why is it gre—
Ow!
Sting was an understatement. It felt like the woman had just inserted ice directly into Stas’s vein. She bit her lip to keep from crying out. Nerves frayed as the medicine worked its way through her body. It took significant effort not to shiver when the coolness settled around her chest.
“What did you say that was for?” she asked, her voice higher than intended.
“Typhoid. And this last one is for the Nizari.”
Another syringe filled with green.
Odd.
She opened her mouth to ask for more time, when Dr. Patel injected her with a shot of liquid fire.
Fuck!
Stas shook from the impact. Cold met heat, causing her mind to fracture beneath the conflicting directives from her nerves.
What in the ever-loving…?
Wow, she was dizzy.
The room swam around her, the lights blinking in and out of sequence. She blinked, her lips parting on a question that her numb tongue refused to help her deliver.
This can’t be a normal reaction.
“All done.” Dr. Patel’s voic
e sounded far away.
Stas squinted at the tiny woman. What? Had she just given her a fourth inoculation? No, only three on the table. Right?
“How are you feeling?”
Horrible. Somehow, Stas forced the word “fine” through her dry lips.
“Good. I just need to chart a few things and then Agent Stark can escort you back upstairs.”
Stas mouthed, “Okay,” welcoming the distraction. Because walking right now was a no-go.
A numbing sensation slithered over her, centering in her chest and expanding outward. She stole a deep breath, hoping to dispel the feeling.
It only worsened.
This can’t be a good sign.
But the doctor remained blissfully unaware as her fingers flew across the keyboard in the corner.
Stas closed her eyes and focused, willing her body to accept whatever had been injected into her veins. She could lie down when she returned home. Not here.
It was probably just her nerves catching up to her.
Yes, that had to be it. The guilt brought up by the polygraph coupled with her general unease in the underground of the CRF. She’d feel better as soon as she stepped outside the building. Hell, even off the elevator onto the first floor.
Stas rolled her shoulders, her limbs tingling. But she could feel her arms again—a good sign. Clearly, all just in her head.
She slid from the table to test her ability to stand, and her hands locked onto the exam table to keep her from swaying. Dots danced before her eyes, but she remained upright. A few blinks later and her wits returned, just in time for the doctor to face her.
“You’re a little pale. Are you feeling okay?” Frown lines marred Doctor Patel’s forehead, but her gaze held a touch of eagerness that sent a chill down Stas’s spine.
There is something not right with this woman. How Stas knew that, she couldn’t say, but she’d never denied her instincts. Ever.
Vote Then Read: Volume I Page 126