by Anne Marsh
A treasure hunt across her world. For women. She was fairly certain she’d never heard of a more misogynistic plan, and she told him so. In no uncertain terms.
“Yeah. A wild goose chase.” He closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the ancient leather of the chair. “Or so we thought, until Brends bonded with Mischka.”
How would you each find one person, one perfect match? She could calculate the odds of finding one person in all the billions living on Earth—and those odds were infinitesimal. “How?” She found herself stepping closer to the man sitting in the shadows. “How did they find each other?” The words slipped out before she could stop them. He was drawing her in, despite her best intentions.
“Mischka Baran was an accident.” He shrugged, not opening his eyes. He looked decadently sexy. And cold. “Brends Duranov wanted her, so he pursued her.”
“Harem, much?” She had no intention of endorsing the Fallen’s sybaritic lifestyle. They’d made choices—just like everyone else in this world—and she figured they could live with the consequences of those choices.
His eyes opened slowly. “It is what we are. We are hunters, fighters, seducers, love. He wanted her. He convinced her. After they were bonded, however, something else happened. Something”—he shrugged—“unexpected.”
When he tossed her the slim vidpod, she caught it automatically. It couldn’t hurt to look, right? Data points were good—and the black-and-white images were shockingly clear. Male. Tall. Six-foot-plus. Good-looking bastard, but the bare skin of his back had been marked with some sort of intricate tattoo of a pair of wings stretching from his left shoulder to his right. The thick swirls of darkly inked feathers curled down his spine and were, she decided, stunningly realistic. When she punched the play button, however, she did a mental 360. Now, the tattoo writhed with life. Skin split, and bone reformed as wings tore out of the man’s back.
She replayed the vid. Impossible.
“Brends Duranov regrew his wings.” Zer stretched out his hand, and, reluctantly, she handed over the vidpod.
“The Fallen don’t have wings.” She’d have known if there were legions of winged seducers flying around M City. She’d spent enough time staring off into space when she was supposed to be working. Pigeons, yes. Clouds and the usual assortment of weather-related phenomena, absolutely. Winged angels? No.
“We didn’t,” he agreed. “Most of us still don’t. Still, Brends’s metamorphosis changes things.” He tilted the glass he held loosely in his hand, the ice cubes clinking musically as the neat squares shifted. She’d have bet that one drink cost more than her last grocery bill.
“And yet Brends Duranov suddenly sprouted wings. Does he still have them?”
“Yes, and yes.” He eyed her over the rim of his glass. She ignored the frisson of sexual awareness zinging southward as his lips parted to take a sip. “Although I’m not convinced that there was any ‘suddenly’ about it,” he volunteered. “He didn’t regain his wings until he bonded with Mischka Baran.”
“True love?” She had her own opinions on that. Her mother had spent a lifetime chasing after Mr. Right. Determined, time after time, that this time, she’d gotten the right man. It was always the right one—until the next time. When she’d last talked to Mommy dearest, her mother had been preparing for nuptials number seven.
Zer just shot her an inscrutable glance. “You’re a scientist,” he suggested. “Do you believe in true love?”
“You want me to be this soul mate of yours?”
“No.” He sighed. “I don’t have any emotions left in me. That’s part of Michael’s curse, Nessa. I don’t feel anymore. I can’t.”
Had she been hoping he might feel something for her? She was damned if she’d let him see that his words hurt. So she took refuge in hot anger. “You know what I think, Zer?” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned forward to stare at him. She’d bet he suddenly had a good idea how a lab specimen felt. “I think that’s your excuse. It’s not that you can’t feel. It’s that you don’t want to.” She shrugged. “Fine by me.”
He glared right back. “I’m way past redemption. I think most of the Fallen are.”
“You don’t believe Mischka Baran had something special that brought out hidden depths in your friend?”
He shook his head. “Not that way. Mischka Baran was—is,” he corrected himself, “special. But not, I think, unique.”
“You don’t subscribe, I take it, to the theory that every human is unique and special?” She didn’t even bother to hide the mocking lilt to her voice. “Science would disagree with you. We’re all genetically unique.”
“Evolution.” The dark purr of his voice did unspeakable things to her insides. “You’re programmed to be different, no two alike. But that still doesn’t explain why there were fireworks when Mischka and Brends hooked up.”
“Why don’t the rest of you have soul mates?” She dared him to answer her. There had to be a scientific reason.
“Because we haven’t found them.”
“Explain.”
“You want the short version or the longer version? When the Archangel Michael booted us from the Heavens three millennia ago, he exiled us here.” She knew that. There were books on the subject. “He took back our wings.”
Zer smiled, and there was no mistaking the cool menace of that grimace. “Forcibly.
“Of course, none of us was eager to take this deal. But the alternative was even less pleasant.” He didn’t elaborate, but Nessa could fill in the blanks just fine.
“Michael claimed there was an out clause. All we had to do was find our soul mates.” Zer looked away from her.
Nessa had a sickening idea where this conversation was headed.
“Soul mate being another euphemism for a needle in a haystack,” she murmured.
Zer nodded, and she figured the Titanic’s captain hadn’t looked more bleak when he’d gotten his first eyeful of the iceberg headed his way. “Might as well have been. Michael promised there would be such females out there, one for each of us. All we had to do was find them.”
“You were supposed to single-handedly canvas every female human on this planet? Over multiple generations? No wonder you never found any matches.” It was a Sisyphean task. Rolling boulders endlessly uphill would have been a walk in the park in comparison.
Zer shot her a wink. “Searching hasn’t been all hardship, love.”
“Sex? You searched for soul mates by having sex with every woman you met?”
He shrugged. “You have a better idea?”
“There has to be one,” she scoffed, the wheels in her head already turning. “How many have you found? Honestly?”
Zer looked over at her. “Two. Mischka and her cousin, Pell Arden.”
Two. That certainly redefined needle in a haystack. “You thought I was one.”
“Yeah. Cuthah’s hit list”—he rolled his shoulders—“should have been a list of soul mates.”
Should have been. Because he sure as hell didn’t have his wings back.
“You’ve found these women?”
He shrugged. “Not yet.”
Mischka Baran had read as paranormal on her DNA testing kit. If Nessa knew her genetic codes, that meant Mischka’s cousin, Pell Arden, also had. Now, here she was. What if there was a genetic marker? She didn’t buy that one-man-for-one-woman, happily-ever-after line, as nice as it would have been to believe. What she would believe, however, was that these males were biologically programmed to be attracted to women carrying a certain DNA strand.
After all, she’d been sent here to find DNA evidence.
“I’m not a soul mate,” she said again, because it had to be said. “You need to hear me out on this one.”
“You were on the list.”
She wanted to smack the patronizing smile off his face. So she dropped her little conversational bombshell and prepared to stand the hell back. “I’m a ringer.”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing h
is arms over his chest. “Right. Nice try, baby. I appreciate the effort you’re making here.”
“Check it out.” She slapped her hands down on his desk. “Do your mental voodoo. My name was added to your list. Deliberately.”
He shifted, coming to attention. “Explain.”
Fine by her. Maybe if he’d insisted on a little more conversation and a little less sex, they wouldn’t be stuck in this boat together. Genecore had played the lot of them, but she was the one who was going to be paying the price. All the pieces were falling into place. A day too late.
Which sucked.
“Look,” she said, “what you don’t know is that I’d gotten put on probation that day you came to my lecture hall.”
“I know about that.” Zer’s level gaze didn’t waver. “Who do you think put the pressure on your dean?”
“Right. You decided to upend my life—so you could get what you wanted.”
“I offered you something in exchange. This wasn’t a freebie,” he growled.
“You took away my choice. Or you thought you did. I had that meeting with the dean, and you know how that ended up for me? He gave me an ultimatum, Zer. Three days to secure the funding I needed to finish my research on the thirteenth tribe of Israel, or he pulled the plug on the whole thing. My life circling the drain.”
“You’re more than just your research.”
Was she? “I am my research.”
“No. You’re not,” he bit out. “Let me be the first to assure you that you are way more than that.”
“Right,” she mocked. “Because I’m this soul mate you’ve been searching for. News flash. Ringer, remember? When the dean pulled the plug on my career—at your instigation—I called in my backup plan. Genecore Foundation had been after me to do some independent work for them. They had DNA samples, Zer. Samples that could prove my theory of a thirteenth tribe. I said yes. What else was I going to do? I had absolutely no idea then that they were anything other than research scientists. That my name was on some list they’d leaked.”
“You agreed to work for Cuthah,” he said flatly.
“I’m a researcher. I research. Genecore offered me that opportunity—and I took it.”
The room was deadly silent. Then, “Fuck.” He scrubbed his forehead with his hand. “You made a deal with the devil, darling. Your buyer’s remorse is understandable, but pardon me if I don’t give a damn. It’s not my problem. It’s yours.”
She stared at him, stunned. “This is not my fault. Genecore came to me—before all this shit hit the fan, I might add—and put a genuine research proposal on the table. I took it.”
“And then you found out your new boss was a wee bit psychotic. Right.”
“I didn’t know he’d added my name to that list you found,” she argued.
“Yeah. Finding that out must have been a bitch.” Anger churned through his gut. He couldn’t lose this advantage. Wouldn’t lose it.
Her research had to be the key, after all. If Cuthah wanted those answers, Zer wanted them, too. And Cuthah would be back for them, he was certain. This could work to his advantage, after all. Thanks to their bond, she was all his. She couldn’t refuse him. Not now.
“Way I see it,” he drawled, “you get to work for me now, baby.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Close your eyes.” The gruff rasp of Zer’s voice sent shivers zinging down Nessa’s spine and lower. Definitely lower. Nessa had never been playful. Ever. Still, she closed her hands over his and let him lead her forward, one tentative step at a time. “There aren’t any walls to bump into,” he rebuked her, and she could only hope he wouldn’t find it necessary to read her mind. Ever. “Now. Open.”
God. His command had her remembering last night. The sweet, hot pleasure and the male who wouldn’t allow her to hide from those unfamiliar, overwhelming feelings.
Instead, she opened her eyes and discovered heaven. He’d led her into the heart of a small but state-of-the-art lab. All gleaming stainless steel and glass, the room was crammed full of enough equipment to keep an entire team of scientists out of mischief. “Yours,” he said.
Mentally, she compared the new space to her laboratory on the university campus. She’d ruled there. Now, he’d handed her the keys to a new kingdom. It was no little blue box from Tiffany’s—it was much better.
“You like it.”
God. She loved it. Wordlessly, she nodded.
“Good.” He leaned against a wall, folding his arms over that broad chest she’d explored last night. “I’ve brought your files. Your hard drive.” He indicated her aging hardware with a wave. “So, you have everything you need.”
To do what? “Why?”
He looked at her. “Why what?”
“Why this? Why give me a lab?” Her eyes narrowed. “Especially since I already have a lab, Zer.” Did Zer want her—or did he want a world-class scientist?
“Across town.”
“It’s my lab.”
“You work here now.” There was no mistaking that uncompromising tone. The lab wasn’t a personal gift. It was an edict. “You’ll be happy here.” He shrugged. “Have something to do. You want to study the twelve tribes of Israel. I want you to do it here.”
“Thirteen,” she said, unable to let his inaccuracy stand. If he was going to upend her entire life, he could at least get the details of her research correct.
He stopped, arrested. “You know that for certain?”
“I’ve been tracing that diaspora through history.”
“Yes, but why, exactly?”
“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” She blinked at him and stretched her arms over her head, the lithe yoga move full of sleek, feminine strength. “I’m one of them. The real question is: Where do you fit in?” She’d like to have the Fallen under her microscope, but she’d always found the Bengal tiger at the M City zoo interesting, as well. No way, though, had she waltzed into its cage to collect a specimen. Did the Fallen deserve the same measure of respect? No. They were the ones who’d forced her into their lair.
She pulled on a pristine white lab coat and added a pair of latex gloves with a decisive snap.
Reaching forward, she plucked several hairs from his head and dropped them into a test tube. “I know I’m part paranormal. You, however—you’re a mystery. No one’s gotten a good look at your DNA yet.”
Hell. He was jealous of the covetous tone in her voice. His dick hardened, demanding he find a way to make her pay attention to the rest of him with that kind of thoroughness. He wanted her lips curved around him, wrapping her mouth around him with the same kind of pleasure she’d reserved for his DNA.
While he was standing there, staring at her like the worst kind of fool, she was already moving around the lab, her movements precise and economical. Yeah, she was in her element here. He was the one who didn’t belong. This was what she did day in and day out, picking apart genetic puzzles the rest of the world had no idea existed.
“Basic biochemistry. We’re going to purify you.” Her hands moved confidently, adding unfamiliar liquids to the tube from the bottles lined up on the workbench. Discarding pipette tips between liquids. Precise. Pristine. He shouldn’t have found watching her work so damn sexy. “You can’t be all that complex, Zer.”
“You don’t think so?” He couldn’t keep the amused smile from his face. Maybe they weren’t soul mates, but there was something between the two of them. And he was fairly certain she didn’t hate him. Even, he frowned, if she apparently had decided he’d make the perfect lab rat.
Capping the tube, she held it up. “Here you go. Your DNA sample. Reaction buffer. A little primer. Purified water.” She made it sound like a witch’s brew. He sure as hell wasn’t drinking her Kool-Aid.
“That’s it?”
She smiled, the unexpectedly mischievous grin lighting up her face. “A few other ingredients. Don’t get me started, or I’ll bore you to tears.”
He gave in to the urge and grinned himself, leaning his hi
p against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. “You do that often?”
“See? You can smile. And boring others to tears is an occupational hazard,” she admitted cheerfully. “You came to my lecture. Didn’t you notice the meager audience? Plenty of open seats.”
He’d had eyes for no one but her, hadn’t been able to take his eyes off her, but he figured she didn’t need to know that. Instead, he watched her handle the test tube with cool confidence, as if that narrow piece of glass was the focus of her entire universe. When she finally slid the damned thing into a centrifuge and shut the lid, the soft whir of the tube spinning rapidly filled the air.
“Crap falls to the bottom. The good stuff rises to the top. Plus, this cools things down.”
Just like life.
Using a pipette, she swiftly transferred his sample from the first tube to a smaller, second tube. She could have been deliberately damaging the sample for all he knew about the scientific process, except he didn’t think she had it in her. She had her own code of honor, true. But it was a code, and it wasn’t worth any less than his.
Moving confidently, she extracted liquid and dropped colored dye onto slide plates. “Stops the reaction,” she explained, sliding the newly christened plates into an oven.
The temperature she punched in made his eyebrows rise. “You want to boil them?”
“Incubate them.” She shrugged, sliding off the used gloves and disposing of them in the trash can.
“Now what?”
“Now we wait. You’ve got five minutes to kill.”
And he knew precisely how he was spending each and every one of those minutes. Winning her over was the smart thing to do, and kisses were part of any man’s arsenal. Hell, maybe he was winning himself over. To her.
Stepping forward, he pinned her between the lab table and his body. Gently slapped his hands down on either side of her so he could wrap her in the heat of his body. Her shiver wasn’t born of fear. Opening his senses, he let himself have just the smallest taste of her soul. Sweet arousal. A delicious uncertainty. Her body tuning itself to his, melting just a fraction.