Free Broken Heart 08 Must Love Lycans by Michele Bardsley Page B

haven’t had enough trials,” said another man’s voice. Dr. Ruthers? “My preparations were for Damian. Giving it to the girl is risky.”
    “How long?”
    “If we’re lucky, she’ll get a month’s reprieve.”
    “Damn it!” Jarred’s voice seethed with frustration and anger. “Damian has ruined everything. All that planning, all that research—all for nothing!”
    “Not necessarily,” said Dr. Ruthers. “It may well be she completes the transition, which means your supposition about the theria genotype is correct.”
    “So is its rarity,” said Jarred. “You know how long it took for me track down Sylvia. And it was only by chance we discovered she’d had a child. There must be a way to strip out Damian’s DNA.”
    “You know how the theria genotype works. Once the shifter’s blood was introduced into her system, it activated the process.”
    My heart started to thud so loud, I was sure the two men would be able to hear it. I wanted very much to believe that I was caught in yet another dream, but I couldn’t deny this seemed all too real. Somehow Damian’s bite had affected me in ways I didn’t understand. I had little faith that Jarred wanted to help me because of any altruistic motivations. Given the heavy languidness I felt, it was likely he had indeed drugged me.
    “We should be glad ETAC has not discovered this anomaly,” mused Dr. Ruthers. “It’s bad enough lycans have been disappearing or turning up dead in recent months.”
    “They’ve figured out the blood of a royal has different properties than commoners. That’s why they kidnapped Damian. Bastards aren’t satisfied with their mutant vampires. Now they want to fuck with the lycans, too. If only we’d gotten to him sooner, damn it!”
    “They’ll want him back, no doubt.”
    “Don’t worry about that,” said Jarred tersely. “Give her the serum.”
    I heard the doctor sigh. “As you wish.”
    I heard someone approach and the snick of a case opening. Fear bled through the stratum of my addled weariness, but I still couldn’t get my eyes to open much less get my body to move away.
    “I’m sorry, my dear,” whispered Dr. Ruthers.
    I felt my arm being gently extracted from underneath the stifling covers. I was still wearing the stupid camisole, so I didn’t even have the protection of a sleeve to prevent the feel of something round and cold against my shoulder. Hiss. Pop. Sudden, sharp pain radiated from my shoulder.
    A terrible chill stole across my chest. I felt the aching tendrils worm into my heart and within moments, the sting of its cold poison invaded my veins.
    Pain flared, and I cried out.
    I felt hands on me, nonsensical comforts whispered as my body quaked and raged at this systemic invasion.
    Then, blessedly, I slipped once again into the inky waters of unconsciousness.
     
    I woke up with a clear mind and firm intentions.
    I lay in bed, slitting my eyes so that I could assess my surroundings without revealing I was awake. I listened carefully for any activity, but it appeared I was alone. Certainly my bedroom was empty, and the door was mercifully closed.
    Slowly, I sat up, afraid I might alert someone.
    Once I had reassured myself I was alone and would remain so, I allowed myself to think about all that had transpired.
    Werewolves. I couldn’t dismiss the idea of their reality as easily as I wanted. No, I wanted to crawl into my disbelief and rout out the ridiculousness of believing shape-shifters roamed among the human population. For heaven’s sake! Wouldn’t someone notice such creatures? How would anyone be able to keep that kind of secret?
    I couldn’t believe I was actually considering the idea that werewolves existed. Between my dreams and my drugged state, along with my inappropriate empathy (and attraction) to the delusional Damian, I could surely justify the need to think werewolves were real.
    Jarred had told me as much, hadn’t he? And if he was trying to mess with my mind, what was the