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“Indeed.” He squinted at my neck. “There are four sets of fang marks that I can see.”
The last, and most recent, of course, was Matthias himself.
“Four,” I whispered. “Yes, of course, you’re right.”
“And all four vampires were killed from a mere taste of your blood.”
“Fire and ash, nothing left,” I agreed softly. I chanced a look at Declan, to find his expression troubled, his fists clenched at his sides, as I related my woeful tale of assault-by-fang.
If he felt nothing, if he was so emotion-free thanks to his serum, he couldn’t be having a visceral reaction to any of this. It was only more proof to fuel my theory about him.
More hope to hold on to.
Dr. Reynolds moved to an examination table to our right. “Please, Jill, take a seat. With your permission, I’d like to do a quick check of your vitals.”
“Of course.” I dutifully sat on the exam table, as if this was a regular visit to my family doctor, which is what this suddenly felt like. Thinking of it like that made it seem much more straightforward.
Dr. Reynolds used his stethoscope to listen to my heart. “Eighty beats per minute. A bit elevated, but certainly within the normal range.”
He peered inside my open mouth, up my nose, and in my ears. Then he checked my blood pressure.
Again, he proclaimed that all were normal.
“May I take a sample of your blood?” he asked.
“Of course,” I told him.
I watched as prepared the syringe, tied elastic tubing around my right bicep, and then tapped the crook of my arm to find a suitable vein. I glanced away as the needle slid in, wincing at the pinching sensation.
I’d had four sets of razor-sharp vampire fangs in my neck over the last week, but needles still freaked me out.
As Dr. Reynolds drew out the sample, his gaze went wide at the unnaturally dark shade of my blood.
“Dear lord,” he murmured to himself while numbly handing me a band-aid to cover the needle mark.
I chose not to take that as an official diagnosis. I knew it was definitely jarring seeing the visible and undeniable proof of Nightshade for the first time. I was likely the only person in the world with blood this color. At least, the only person still alive.
Declan silently looked on while the doctor scribbled his findings down for a couple of minutes, which felt more like a couple of hours.
“Well, Doctor?” he finally prompted. “Do you think there’s any way to help her?”
The doctor looked up with a frown as if he’d been lost in his thoughts and was surprised that we were all still in the room with him.
His gaze finally locked with mine, and he nodded. “Yes. I do believe I can help you, Jill.”
For a moment, I was certain I’d heard him wrong. Despite my shiny layer of hope, I knew my layer of doubt was much thicker and had far more experience.
“Really?” I asked, breathless.
“Really,” he confirmed.
My heart skipped a beat, and I was barely able to process the fact that today might truly mark the end of this nightmare. Which meant I had to be eternally grateful to the smug alpha douchebag named Jackson Gale. Actually, I was ready, willing, and able to be just that. First impressions be damned. I loved Jackson. Great guy.
“And how exactly do you think you can help her?” Declan asked.
He didn’t sound as relieved as I felt. Instead, he sounded suspicious and not the least bit friendly.
I gave him a wary look. Now he was being doubtful? What happened to him being the optimist when it came to today’s field trip courtesy of his old hunting buddy?
