“What?” My stomach seizes.
“I wasn’t able to study any of the samples, because the blood appears to be years old.” He launches into a boring explanation of the multitude of tests he couldn’t carry out using words like flow cytometry, electron microscopes and protein expression. Although the concepts are foreign, the problem is clear: the moment our blood cells leave our bodies, they die.
“So that’s it?” Parker asks, placing his hands behind his head. “Isn’t there anything more you can do?”
“Not without a live sample. Analyzing deceased cells would yield inaccurate results. But I’d like to continue working with you.” He retrieves a fountain pen and a small black journal from his briefcase and opens it to a fresh page. “I still have many questions. What was the exact date we first met?”
His pen hovers over the blank paper for a beat before his sharp gaze darts between Parker and me. We stand in silence and McGregor raises his brows. “The date?” he repeats.
Parker opens his mouth.
“Parker,” I growl, silencing him. I want to scream. Break something. Six months of hiding with relentless headaches. Six months torturing my mind and body fornothing. McGregor can’t help us; he wants touseus for information. Cash in on our bargain without holding up his end.
“This meeting is over,” I say, striding toward the front door.
“Wait,” McGregor says. He gets to his feet. “Rose, if I could please—”
“Get out.” I rip open the front door.
McGregor exhales through his nose and places his journal back in his briefcase. “If you change your mind, you know where to find me,” he says, and he steps out into the corridor.
I slam the door shut and storm toward the bedroom.
“Rose,” Parker calls to my back.
“What?” I reply, rubbing my eyes.
“McGregor can’t useourblood, but it doesn’t mean he can’t use someone else’s,” he says, speaking quickly. “We need a blood sample from someone else.Someone here.”
“No,” I say immediately, turning to face him. “No way.”
Parker splays his hands out by his sides. “We have no other option.”
“It’s too dangerous,” I say. “We agreed not to mess around in each other’s past. Plus, it breaks our oath.”
“We’ll be careful. Approach her when she’s alone, ask for her blood and leave. No harm done,” he says with a shrug, as if his words aren’t dripping with desperation. “She’d want to help us. If we just talk to her—”
“I said no, Parker.” I clutch my head, willing my breathing to slow.
Parker strides toward me, and I edge backward. “Then we leave,” he says in a raised voice. “Go home and wait for Matthews to find us. Is that what you want?”
His chest is almost touching mine, cramming me against the wall beside our bedroom door. My pulse jumps and I thrust my hands into his chest, shoving him away. “There is nous,” I yell.
“Fine,” Parker yells back, throwing his hands in the air. “Send me back, then. If you hate being around me so much.”
He disappears into the bedroom and I grimace, his words stealing the tension from my body. I rub my hand over the thickness in my throat and step into the room after him. He’s sitting on his bed, leaning back against the wall, shoulders slumped and eyebrows tight.
“Stop being so dramatic,” I say.
He lifts his head. “I’m serious,” he says, the fire in his voice replaced with icy defeat. “Send me back. Without her blood, I’m as good as dead anyway. Unless you want to carry me around for the rest of our lives.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. We both know I can’t do that. And it’s only a matter of time before my brain takes another impromptu vacation in my past.Fuck.
“Fine,” I say. “We’ll ask her for her blood. But we do it my way, with minimal impact. We’ll be a tiny blip in her timeline.”
“Miniscule,” Parker says with a shit-eating grin.
10Mariella
