by Eve Langlais
Give a blind man back his sight and he complained about the suckers that appeared on his body—a little too much starfish in that one. Regrow a leg that was blown off in a war, and the patient whined about the fact he could create webs.
Surely a few side effects were worth it?
Are they? the voice asked.
And to this day Adrian still said yes.
But would Jane feel the same way?
Where are you? Sitting outside on his upper deck, he stared at the flickering flames in his fire pit, not just a pretty accessory anymore. He lit it every night to stave off the cold—and in hopes of attracting a certain fiery lady.
He’d yet to catch a glimpse of Jane, not in person and not on any of his cameras, their feed temporarily rerouted to his eyes only lest Jett give him another speech on not being an idiot.
It was probably a vain thing to even imagine Jane might be drawn to him like some of his other patients.
I am the magnet and they the metal irresistibly drawn. Like Lori-ann, who launched herself with a scream through an upstairs window. Unluckily for her, he was ready. It took two bullets—the first one grazing her shoulder, the second in her gut as she landed on him—before she slumped in his arms, doing her best to bite, the drool hanging in wet threads from her prominent canines.
Given how close that was, despite his shooting skills, he talked Jett into giving him self-defense lessons the next day. Getting tossed onto his back over and over helped him not dwell on Jane’s fate. He spent some of the time gasping for air through heaving lungs, or aching ribs, thinking of Luke and Margaret, soon to be parents of the first hybrid child.
And if the child lived…the start of a new era for humanity.
Adrian couldn’t wait to tell the world what he’d accomplished. When he began rolling out the Chimera Treatment—named in his honor of course—he’d put an end to childhood disease and severe injury. No more drugs, no more hospitals.
Perfect health for all—if you didn’t mind the tail or the teeth or the urge you had to run through the woods chasing things.
No worse than the drugs they had nowadays. He’d heard of one drug recently that had a possibility of penile necrosis. Made a tail seem like a good thing.
Adrian shifted, the evening deepening, leading him to maudlin thoughts. Wondering about Jane. It had been a week since he’d left the city. And every single day he thought about going back.
To do what? Set more fires and hope she came by? Perhaps had he brought along a bag of marshmallows for roasting it would have added some allure.
I should return. Try harder. Pull out all the stops.
He tempered his urge with the reminder that Jane was probably gone. Monitoring the news, he knew there had been few blazes of note and no sightings of the naked redheaded woman. Could be she’d moved on or that she’d died. For real this time.
Except he refused to believe it.
Shifting away from the propane fire feature with its perfect flames and slight radiating heat, he took in a deep lungful of air, the feel of it cold and crisp.
Winter crept closer. Soon he’d wake to frost in the morning. Would Jane know to find a warm place to hide?
He tossed back the last of his scotch, the heat of it no longer burning as it went down. He’d already had a few too many given the pleasant buzz.
Adrian wondered if his drunkenness was to blame for the sudden change in the scent of the fire at his back, as if cinnamon and cloves had been dumped on it. It was an intoxicating smell. He whirled to see what caused it. Had something fallen onto the flames?
He saw nothing in the fire bowl, only the shiny lava rocks providing a bed for the dancing flames. They stretched higher than before and, like fingers, stretched to grasp him.
Recoiling from the heat didn’t help. The burning scent of spice increased just as a hand grabbed hold of his neck and tossed him hard enough that he hit the side of his house and fell to the deck. Before he could recover, the alcohol making his movements sluggish, he was grabbed again and rammed against a wall. He might be pinned, but his feet remained flat on the ground given the rather short stature of the woman holding him there.
Not all that intimidating in a sense, but he didn’t fight back. He gaped in wonder, for wearing her long hair—and nothing else—so it dangled over her breasts was the lovely Jane.
“Hi,” was his suave greeting to the naked woman on his deck.
Hers was to toss him as if he weighed nothing. He flew, sans wings, and landed with a clumsy slide that rammed him into the glass railing. Face first. Smushed like a cartoon bug.
He didn’t remain there long. He scrambled to his feet and held out his hands as the woman strode to him, hips undulating, a distracting sight that no one could have resisted. But he did his best, keeping his gaze on her, noticing the glowing kaleidoscope color in her eyes.
“Jane.” He tried to keep the word low and reassuring. It didn’t stop her stalking. He shifted to the left in an attempt to remain out of reach. “I know you’re probably mad.” No probably about it. He’d left her to die in his condo. She should have died when the explosion went off or in the subsequent fire. But tell that to the pissed-off woman who kept pace with him, an aura of danger rolling off of her.
She still wore no clothes, and yet she wasn’t dirty. She glowed, her skin bearing a rosy tint, and she exuded warmth in spite of the low temps outside.
His sluggish science brain started making the connections. “You woke up because of the fire in the condo.” Had instinct kicked in and forced her to run from the danger?
Except that didn’t feel right. He added in the other facts he knew. “You like heat.” And heat liked her. The flames followed her as she moved around the fire pit, her head turned to keep an eye on him, but her fingers trailed through the hot stones. Yet she didn’t recoil or flinch. Her lips parted on a happy sigh.
Impervious to heat and, in turn, craving it. How could this be? Fire was supposed to destroy. He didn’t know of a single creature that wouldn’t succumb. Certainly nothing he’d given her should have allowed this kind of evolutionary change.
Tell that to Jane, who leaned down and embraced the flames. He could only stare. Jaw on the ground—and oddly aroused, too.
Jane was hot. Her eyes reflected all the colors in the fire. Her lips were parted and soft, inviting. Her hair dangled in the flames and glowed like embers, piping-hot red. And her breasts…he wondered if he’d burn himself touching those red-tipped berries.
What a way to die.
He shook his head and tried to keep his gaze on something other than her body.
“You found me,” he said.
She’d yet to say anything. A glance in her direction showed her not even paying him attention. She nuzzled the flames.
A little disturbing. “How did you find me?” Was she, like the others, drawn to him by some sort of scent? Yet surely any kind of odor wouldn’t leave a trail that far.
She cocked her head, finally staring at him, yet he saw no sign of recognition. There was nothing cognitive in her gaze.
“Do you remember your name?” he asked, taking it as a good sign she was no longer trying to choke him. The effects of the alcohol dissipated as his brain fired with interest. It helped that the blood in his body was pumping—in the wrong direction.
She straightened from the fire and took a step toward him.
Adrian held his ground. “Your name is Jane.”
Her full lips moved, but she didn’t say a sound.
“I’m Adrian. Adrian Chimera. Do you remember me?”
At the query, she blinked. “Aaaaaadreeeaan.” The moan-like quality of his name made him shiver. But her repeating it was a good sign. A very good sign.
“Yes. Adrian. We used to go to school together.”
The blank expression remained.
“Do you want to come inside? I really should examine you.” He reached for her, and she hissed. More disturbing was the sudden glow and lift of her fiery hair.
“No touching. Very well.” He tucked his hands behind his back. “If you’ll just follow me.” He didn’t like to give her his back, but in order to lead, he’d have to show her a direction.
She didn’t pounce on him, which he took as a good sign. He entered his house, the living room a vast two-story affair with grand windows overlooking the forest, but she made a beeline for the fireplace. The flames danced merrily behind the glass screen.
Smash. Her fist went right through it, and she grabbed the flame. Literally grabbed fire and then stood with it dancing on her palm. She didn’t look at Adrian, rather grinned happily at the impossibility in the palm of her hand.
Did she not feel pain at all? The scent of cinnamon and cloves filled the room, and understanding hit him.
She’s the one exuding the smell. Some kind of pheromone he’d wager, given his intense desire. They’d have to find a way to tamp it down. His arousal hurt.
Jane was his patient. A doctor should never be untoward. Which was funny considering when the disease started its debilitating trek through his body he would have welcomed anyone touching him. Especially some of the prettier nurses. But that only happened in movies. Truth was no one paid him any mind until he was out of the wheelchair and declared he was a doctor.
And now he was the one with ethics. Staring at the woman he’d tended for close to a decade, he had to remind himself of the fact that while he might know her intimately as her physician, he was a stranger to her. She’d been asleep while he did his best to bring her back.
“Do you remember your name?” he asked, approaching her slowly.
She played with the tiny flame, bouncing it from hand to hand then raising her arm so it slid the length of it and perched on her shoulder.
“Can I see your hand?” he asked, knowing what he’d see but still needing to be sure. He mimed holding out his hand.
She aped him, revealing a smooth palm, not a single mark or bubble.
“Utterly incredible,” he breathed, and, until Jane, he would have insisted completely impossible. While Adrian had created many wonderful things, including hybrids capable of breathing under water, this manipulation of fire was not biological in nature by any stretch of the imagination. Her evolution was a miracle.
The fire flickered at her shoulder, and suddenly curious, Adrian reached out. The flame flared in alarm, the heat of it very real. Enough he drew his fingers sharply away.
She grinned, showing perfect white teeth that parted to better pop the flame into her mouth. Her lips sealed, but she didn’t swallow. Probably absorbed the flames.
“You’re fireproof,” he stated aloud. An explanation for how she survived the fire. “The flames—or is it the heat? —feed you.” His mind whirled with the sudden possibility. Had it been the fire itself that revived her? Something in the cleansing burn that woke her from her slumber? It could explain her affinity for infernos since. She needed it to fuel the change in her DNA. But how? How had this happened?
He HAD to know more. “I wish you could talk.”
She canted her head and blinked.
He also wished she’d put some clothes on because her naked body was beyond distracting. While Adrian had gone a little wild when he first recovered, bedding every woman who said yes, he’d pretty much stopped once he got a hold of Jane. Somehow it seemed wrong that he enjoyed himself with another woman while the woman he’d loved and wronged lay in a coma in another room.
But he’d not minded the abstinence. Sex, while pleasurable for the moment it lasted, left him feeling oddly empty after. Not ever completely satisfied.
And once the madness hit, the urge to hurt things growing daily, he didn’t dare get that intimate. What if he lost control?
What’s wrong with losing control, boyo?
Another voice answered. He doesn’t like using cold water to clean up.
I say lick the blood clean.
The cackling wasn’t easy to ignore. Times like this, he wondered how Luke handled it. How had he returned from the brink? Once a feral patient, feared by his guards, Luke managed to push back the madness. Hell, the man got married. Somehow finding within him a core of gentleness. But Luke and Margaret’s pairing had a little help. The manipulation of their dreams was something Adrian used to be able to do. Until the patient who helped him play with minds slipped over the edge. Literally. Into the lake Zane went, taking his ability to join minds with him.
Problem was being in the water didn’t stop Zane from manipulating dreams. After the first nightmare, Adrian took to having a wave-cancelling machine by his bedside. The bad dreams stopped. But he had to wonder if Zane still lived in the lake Adrian had left behind or moved on through one of its river tributaries. The goods news was none of them led out of the Rocky Mountains.
Movement drew him back to the present and the very naked Jane, who prowled his living room, her backside just as gorgeous as the front. He averted his gaze. Maybe he should just close his eyes? Or how about dressing her? “Let me get you some clothes.”
His attempted departure led to a singe of heat flashing past him and Jane blocking his way. A low growl emerged from her, and her eyes flashed dangerously.
Rather than resort to the gun tucked in the back of his pants, he held up his hands. “I’m not planning anything bad. I swear. Just getting you a shirt to cover yourself.”
Jane glanced down at her body, and he could have fist pumped when he realized she must have understood him.
“Remember clothes?” he asked softly. “You wear them on your body.”
“Hhhhiiide,” she said slowly.
He fought not to beam as she showed signs of cognizance. “Yes, it hides certain attributes. Keeps you warm as well. Surely you’re cold.” Then again, maybe not. When she’d dashed past him, he’d felt the heat rolling off her skin.
“Ko. Ko. Cold.” She frowned as she struggled to speak.
“Let’s get you a nice robe. I have one in my bathroom. Hanging on the door.” A plush thing that would swamp her and cover everything a good doctor shouldn’t look at.
Good. Ha. Been a while since I’ve been able to say that.
She stepped aside, which he took as assent. He led the way to his bedroom, deliberately keeping his gaze from the rumpled bed. He quickly grabbed the robe and held it out to Jane. She looked at it. Then him.
He sighed as he spread it open and held it aloft for her to step into, sliding her arms into the sleeves, snuggling into the plushness of it. When she turned, the front of it gaping, he reached for the sash.
He ignored her hiss of warning and tied it securely around her waist. Temptation out of sight, just not out of mind.
He stepped back. “That’s better.” For him at least.
She frowned down at the robe. “Hide.”
“Yes. And not burning, I see, which is good.” He’d wondered if the heat she harbored might react to the flammable product.
Since the bed in the background proved a bit distracting, he wandered out of the room, not looking back to see if she followed but assuming she did. While he was tempted to draw her down to the lower level where he might convince her to let him do a few tests, he had a feeling that might be pushing things too far too fast.
Rather, he wandered into the kitchen and opened the fridge, drawing a yowl from her.
He turned to see her glaring at the fridge. Or was it the cold? He drew out a covered dish and closed the fridge.
She lost a bit of her scowl. He yanked the fridge open again. She sprang back, her mouth wide on a yowl of discomfort.
The cold set her off. Good to know.
She remained on the other side of the kitchen island as he bent down and stuck the meal in the microwave. While it cooked, he talked.
“How much do you remember? Do you know your name?” He repeated some of his questions from earlier. Mostly because now she seemed calm enough to listen.
Her lips pursed.
“You are Jane.” He pointed at her. “I am Adrian.” He jabb
ed his chest.
“Adrian.” The word emerged slowly but understandable.
“Yes, Adrian. We used to go to school together.”
Her brow wrinkled.
“I’m a doctor now.”
That earned him a blink from incredibly long and thick lashes.
“Do you know what a doctor is? We examine people. Make sure they’re okay,” he explained to her continued blank look.
The microwave beeped, and she startled, the scent of burning spices filling the air. A reaction to certain stimuli.
“It’s just the food. Hold on.” He needed a dishcloth to pull out the piping-hot dish. He placed it on the counter and peeled off the lid, releasing an aromatic steam. “Leftover lasagna. Let me grab a fork.”
He turned to grab one from a drawer. When he turned around, it was to find Jane stuffing the pasta into her mouth. “Or not.” He let the fork clatter onto the island and watched her.
She was obviously hungry, which made him wonder how she’d been feeding herself since the condo explosion. She didn’t show signs of emaciation.
“You thirsty?” He eyed the fridge then ignored it in favor making her a cup of coffee.
He set the mug in front of her, and she eyed it, leaning down to sniff. Wrinkled her nose but still brought it to her mouth for a sip. Spat it right back out and glared at him.
“Hold on. I think I can fix that for you.” He brought out the sugar bowl and dumped a spoon in. She arched a brow. He dumped in two more. Only after the fourth did she bring the cup to her lips again and take a sip. Then made a noise of pleasure as she guzzled it down, slapped it on the counter, and eyed him.
“More?”
“Mawrr,” she exclaimed.
It took two more cups of coffee and loads more sugar before she wandered from the kitchen back to the living room. She paused by the couch before sitting on it gingerly. “Sew. Fa,” she enunciated slowly.
“That’s right.” He stayed just far enough out of reach she didn’t tense up. Something he’d noticed she did if he strayed too close.
“Do you know what this is?” He nudged the coffee table.
She glanced at the glass surface and grinned. “Der. Tea.”