Zara’s eyebrows arched. “Eventually,” she said quietly. Her thoughtful expression evaporated and it was replaced by her usual arrogance. “As soon as he pulls his head out of his ass.” She leaned down and touched her cheek to Sofia’s. “Be happy.”
Sofia wore a wistful smile as she watched Zara disappear into the crowd. Kyle appeared beside her and slipped an arm around her waist. With his other hand, he caressed her belly. “What did Zara want?”
“Just to congratulate us. She and Danyael don’t appear to be on any better terms than they were six months ago.”
Kyle shrugged. “It’s probably Zara’s fault.”
Sofia laughed. “She implied it was his.”
“And that’s why it will take them years to sort it out.”
She glanced over her shoulder and found Kyle’s brother and his family in the crowd, mingling with their other guests. After many long conversations and not a little bit of conflict, Kyle and his brother, Robert, had managed to repair their relationship. “How’s the family thing coming along?” she asked.
Kyle grunted. “He’s not that bad actually. His kids are kinda charming, and his wife isn’t just a sorority-chick-turned-trophy-wife.”
Sofia rolled her eyes. Lauren Harrington Tyce had a Ph.D. in astrophysics, and she had abandoned a promising career in management consulting to homeschool her children. The Tyces were definitely going to rub a few rough edges off Kyle’s preconceived notions of his birth family. “We should invite them over for dinner after the baby’s born.”
“Sure. They’ll probably find a way to fit us between their ski trips to Aspen and their shopping trips in Milan.”
On second thought, those rough edges would take a little longer to smooth off. Sofia looked up at Kyle, a scowl and a rebuke forming on her lips.
He, however, was grinning. “Gotcha.”
She sank against him and relaxed into smile. “You’re going to make my life difficult, aren’t you?”
“Don’t see any reason to change now. You’re a do-gooder. You need something to fix, or you get twitchy. I figure my job is to keep you occupied the rest of your life.” His grip tightened around her, and he lowered his lips to hers.
“Oh, you will.” She breathed out the promise, and then smiled into the kiss as applause burst out and the love of their friends surrounded them.
* * *
The End
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Intrigued by the assassin, Zara, and the alpha empath, Danyael? Their tumultuous relationship begins in Perfection Unleashed (Double Helix #1)
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www.jadekerrion.com
About the Author
Jade Kerrion defied (or leveraged, depending on your point of view) her undergraduate degrees in Biology and Philosophy, as well as her MBA, to embark on her second (and concurrent) career as an award-winning science fiction, fantasy, and contemporary romance author.
Her debut novel, Perfection Unleashed, published in 2012, won six literary awards and launched her best-selling futuristic thriller series, Double Helix, which blends cutting-edge genetic engineering and high-octane action with an unforgettable romance between an alpha empath and an assassin.
Earth-Sim and Eternal Night won first place Royal Palm Literary Awards in the Young Adult and Fantasy categories respectively. Readers have clamored for sequels, and Jade will get around to them when her To Do list opens up (sometime after 2020.) Life Shocks Romances features Jade’s sweet and sexy contemporary romance series, which proves that, at the very least, she knows how to alphabetize books.
If she sounds busy, that’s because she is. Jade writes at 3 a.m., when her husband and three sons are asleep, and aspires to make her readers as sleep-deprived as she is.
www.jadekerrion.com
A Trace of Copper
Anne Renwick
A Trace of Copper © 2017 Anne Renwick
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All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
A Trace of Copper
A rogue frog on the loose threatens their future.
New recruit to the Queen’s agents, Dr. Piyali Mukherji is given a simple first assignment. Travel to the small Welsh village of Aberwyn and solve the mystery of a young woman’s blue skin lesion. A challenging task, for the alarming infection is unlike anything she’s seen before—and it’s spreading.
Evan Tredegar, the town’s pharmacist and the only man to ever capture her heart, knows more than he’s telling. Despite his efforts to push her away, her touch reawakens old desires. As more villagers fall victim to the strange disease, he’ll have no choice but to reveal his secrets, even if it means sacrificing his freedom.
Together they must move past broken promises, capture a rogue frog, and stop the infection before it spreads out of control.
Chapter 1
Aberwyn, Wales
Spring, 1885
“It bit me,” the young woman informed Piyali, hiking her skirts and rolling down her woolen hose. “Right through my stocking.” Miss Price, the shopkeeper’s daughter, plopped down on a chair and propped her foot upon a stool, pointing. “And now it’s blue.”
Dr. Piyali Mukherji leaned closer. As insane as Miss Price’s words sounded, they rang true. Her ankle was indeed blue.
Well, part of it. There was a decided lesion approximately two inches in diameter above her fibular protuberance. Piyali pressed two fingers against the blemish. She would describe it as an infection. Except it didn’t appear inflamed, and it wasn’t hot to the touch.
And it was blue.
Unheard of. But that was why she’d accepted the Crown’s commission, taken on the added duties of a Queen’s agent. The Duke of Avesbury, the gentleman at the head of this small, select group, had offered her a chance to be on the forefront of investigations into strange and unusual medical conditions. This certainly fit the bill.
“A frog bit you.” Piyali’s eyebrows rose, hoping she’d heard wrong. “A blue frog. With teeth.” Did frogs have teeth? And frogs—at least in Britain—were supposed to be green. Or brown.
Miss Price bit her lip. It didn’t bode well that she needed to consider her story.
Hoping for an explanation, she looked to the man who loomed beside her taking up far too much space in the small parlor. Time had turned familiar into foreign. Mr. Evan Tredegar wore his dark, tousled curls longer, no cravat wound under his collar beneath the rough shadow of his beard, and a small, curved scar cut through the edge of his right eyebrow. Under her study, a muscle twitched at his jawline, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He refused to meet her gaze. Perhaps it was just as well, for his eyes never failed to ignite a slow burn beneath her skin, and she needed to focus.
Still, a certain unease gave her pause. Once she’d been able to read his every mood and would have labeled his expression as concerned. Except the man she’d known wouldn’t withhold information vital to a patient’s treatment. What wasn’t he telling her?
“Miss Price?” Piyali prompted.
The young woman nodded. “Then it hopped away and disappeared into the woods.” Sticking her lower lip out in a pout, she looked up at her mother. “Is this really necessary? Besides, she can’t be a real doctor. How can a woman hold such a degree?” With a sidelo
ng glance at Piyali’s clothing, her voice dropped to a whisper. “An Indian woman.”
A real doctor. Piyali resisted the urge to roll her eyes. If she had a shilling for every time she’d heard that sentiment… Instead, she lifted her chin and replied, “I attended medical school at the Université de Paris where women have been accepted since 1860.”
Never had Paris seemed so far away. Four of the best—and worst—years of her life. She’d earned her place there by being twice as good as the other students, most of them men. Any who had sneered at her inclusion swiftly adjusted their opinion as she collected one award after another, graduating first in her class. As to the prejudice, she no longer felt the need to justify the traditional clothing she wore. If a person could not appreciate the richness and intricacy of Indian designs, then it was their loss.
With an unsteady hand, Mrs. Price patted her daughter on the shoulder and threw Piyali a nervous look. “Lister University’s choice of medical practitioner is alarming. No doubt Dr. Mukherji was all they could spare, but I have every confidence in Mr. Tredegar’s ointment. The blue stain has barely spread since you first applied it. In fact, I think it’s grown smaller.” From the pinched expression on her face, the woman clearly wished Piyali elsewhere. “But your father worries and wanted to consult a board-certified physician in case amputation becomes necessary.”
“Amputation!” Miss Price’s chest began to heave, her eyes growing wide, her fingers digging into the cushion of her chair. “It’s just a spot!”
“A very unusual spot.” Evan finally spoke, though his words were tight and strained. “One that must be examined by someone with more expertise than myself.”
Resentment sparked. His defense of her skills was unwelcome. Both by her and, judging from the deep frown upon her face, Miss Price.
Piyali glanced again at the blue lesion. Could it be no more than a stain of blue ink? Had she interrupted a hoax, a bizarre courtship trick designed to lure a handsome, young pharmacist into this parlor? For upon her arrival, her purported patient had been fluttering eyelashes and casting Evan glances drenched with unfulfilled longing. Or—she narrowed her eyes—did the fault lie squarely on Evan’s shoulders? Did he toy with the young shopkeeper’s daughter, making promises he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—keep?
For once he’d made her promises, ones she’d clung to for four long years abroad. Promises he’d failed to keep when he returned from his overseas voyage some three months ago. Upholding her own vow, she’d sent him a message, then pounced upon the daily post for days—weeks—hoping for word of his imminent arrival, but… nothing. Save a devastating silence.
Heartache must have shown upon her face, for her mother had hunted down coconuts and banana leaves before taking herself down into the kitchens of their London townhouse to personally oversee the preparation of Piyali’s favorite dish, bhetki macher paturi—marinated steamed fish—in an effort to coax her to eat something… anything. Food wasn’t her mother’s only crisis response. Gentlemen of all kinds had begun to appear around the dining table. At first they were Bengali, then merely Indian. She knew her mother grew desperate when a six-foot-four, blond Swede had joined them.
“Choose a husband, Piyali,” Ma had begged, reminding her that if her father were still alive, he would even now be arranging her marriage. Even Piyali’s British stepfather conspired to assist Ma, making noises about grandchildren. But no other man, no matter how accomplished or handsome, could mend the rift in her life.
An acidic pain had lodged itself beneath her heart, slowly corroding all of her hopes and dreams. Though she’d buried herself in her work, establishing a research program in her laboratory while training to become a Queen’s agent, nothing eased the ache.
Which was why she’d cringed when Mr. Black, the duke’s right-hand spy, had handed her this first assignment. “Aberwyn, Wales?” she’d read. Evan lived there.
“Two birds, one stone.” The agent’s eyes had sparkled with mischief. “A competent research pharmacist and a specialist in infectious disease reconnecting over a mysterious and peculiar illness.” He’d laughed. “What could go wrong?”
Though she’d wanted to cry, orders were orders. She’d packed a trunk with the essentials and boarded the first train to Cardiff, enduring lewd stares and bawdy speculations about the bedroom predilections of exotic young women. Aether, how she hated that word. In Cardiff, she bought a ticket for a rickety steamstage, one that had broken down twice en route to Aberwyn. There, despite her exhortations to be careful, the driver had tossed her trunk from the roof onto the muddy street where a grumbling stable boy had dragged it—bumping up each step—to a small, cramped room above the town’s only tavern, Yr Ysgyfarnog Wen—The White Hare. Later, a short walk along the rutted main street had brought her here, to the shopkeeper’s cottage.
“Are you all right?” Evan’s voice was soft and considerate.
“Merely contemplating treatment options,” she lied.
The long hours spent traveling had jarred every joint and coated her with a film of dust, all while doubts gnawed at her mind. But deceitful hopes kept whispering that perhaps Evan’s missive had gone astray and so, though exhausted, she’d taken special pains for their first meeting in five years.
Shaking the travel wrinkles free, she’d donned a favorite green lehenga—skirt—with a simple, paisley embroidered border edging the hem. Buckling her corset atop the matching half-sleeved choli, she’d brushed her long, wavy hair to a shine before twisting a green, satin ribbon into a plait over her shoulder. But his eyes hadn’t flashed with desire, his pulse hadn’t jumped in his throat, and his fingers hadn’t twitched—as they once had—with a need to touch her skin. Evan had barely looked at her at all.
The ache settled back into her chest. It was no use, clinging to the past. She kept her gaze fixed upon her patient, trying to anesthetize her response, for it hurt too much to gaze upon Evan’s once familiar face, to fight the urge to smooth his unkempt curls and drag her palm over the roughness of his cheeks.
“Ointment?” she asked, pulling a decilamp from its loop upon her leather corset, shaking it to activate the bioluminescent bacteria within. She bent over Miss Price’s foot, directing a beam of light at the lesion. There. At its center, a tiny, curved, pink line. A scratch—bite? —that had already healed. Possibly the entry point of whatever organism had invaded her skin.
“An ointment of khu-neh-ari,” Evan replied, speaking a foreign word that likely originated deep within the Amazonian rainforest, “made from the Caniramon divaritum, a climbing shrub.”
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. “Have you encountered this particular ailment before?”
“I’ve been unable to identify it.” He shifted on his feet. “Though the outward progression of its margins is reminiscent of a fungal infection. Hence the ointment.”
“Infection!” The older woman yanked her hand from her daughter’s shoulder.
“Fungus!” In a move worthy of Drury Lane, Miss Price threw herself backward upon the chair and tossed an arm across her forehead.
“Possible, but—” Piyali shifted the beam of light and the lesion… sparkled? She flicked the light away, then back. For a second, the skin shimmered, flashing pink and silver. Then, once again, it was blue. Not good. “I’m going to need a biopsy.”
“Biopsy?” Miss Price’s voice quivered, and she squirmed on her seat. “What’s that?”
Turning to her bag of medical equipment, Piyali extracted a glass aetheroscope slide, a few eyedropper bottles of stain and a sterile razor, arranging them all upon the small side table. “I’m going to shave away a tiny portion of the surface of your skin so that I might analyze it beneath my aetheroscope. You should feel no more than a slight pinch.”
Miss Price whimpered.
With a long-suffering sigh, Evan reached out to take Miss Price’s hand. Odd that he wore gloves inside the parlor. “Squeeze as tight as you feel you must.”
Minutes later, the
skin sample was prepped and loaded within her small, portable aetheroscope. Once the light source was activated, Piyali screwed in a pressurized canister of aether, listening to the gas hiss as it filled the chamber of the device. Perched on the edge of a chair, she bent over, peering through the eyepiece to adjust focus and magnification.
“Interesting,” she murmured under her breath, then changed the angle of illumination. The color shifted.
A brush of feet on carpet. The faint disturbance of the air around her as Evan crossed the room to her side and leaned close. “What is it?” The heat of his breath swept across the bare skin of her neck and sent uninvited shivers across her skin.
How was it one man could affect her so?
She took a deep, steadying breath before answering. “A pearly luster.” Still, her voice caught. He was much too close. “One that tends toward iridescence of the pink and blue variety. It could be…” She dialed in to the highest resolution and stifled a curse. As feared, the jolting of the steamstage—or the tossing of her trunk—had indeed broken valuable equipment. Shaking her head, she stood and stepped back from the aetheroscope—and away from Evan. “My objective, the one with the highest resolution? Its crystalline lens is cracked.”
She could guess, but she wouldn’t. Not even for Evan. Especially not for him. He knew something, and he wasn’t sharing. Childish of her, but now that she too knew something, she wasn’t sharing either. Resolve stiffened her spine. He could wait—they all could—until she confirmed her findings with cold, hard evidence.
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