Chapter 5

The medical wing was a nightmare of sterile white light and gleaming chrome.

Cassandra hated it instantly. It smelled like bleach and cold metal.

Dr. Elias Vance stood waiting for them. He was an older man with thinning gray hair and a white lab coat. But it was his eyes that made Cassandra's stomach churn.

He didn't look at her like she was a patient. He looked at her like she was a winning lottery ticket. His pupils were dilated, his gaze darting over her body with a frantic, obsessive hunger.

He spoke rapidly to Jefferson in their native tongue, his hands gesturing wildly toward Cassandra.

Jefferson's posture went rigid. He replied in a low, clipped tone, stepping slightly in front of Cassandra.

"He... scan," Jefferson said to her over his shoulder, switching to his newly formed, broken English. "No touch. Just... light."

Cassandra nodded nervously.

Dr. Vance guided her toward a massive, ring-shaped machine. She lay down on the cold metal table. The ring hummed to life, passing over her body from head to toe, bathing her in a warm, green light.

It took less than thirty seconds.

Dr. Vance rushed to a nearby monitor. As the data populated the screen, his breath caught. He let out a strangled gasp, his hands trembling as he touched the screen.

He spun around, his face flushed red. He started shouting at Jefferson, pointing at the screen, then pointing at Cassandra.

Jefferson's jaw clenched. The muscle in his cheek ticked violently. He stepped toward the doctor, his voice dropping to a dangerous, vibrating growl.

Cassandra sat up on the table, her heart rate spiking. "What's wrong?" she asked, her voice shaking. "Jefferson, what is he saying?"

Jefferson didn't look at her. He kept his eyes locked on the doctor. "He says your biology is... different. He wants a blood sample."

Cassandra's blood ran cold. "No. No needles. You promised."

Dr. Vance ignored Jefferson. He turned his manic eyes on Cassandra. He grabbed a device from a metal tray. It looked like a thick, silver pen, but a long, wicked-looking needle slid out from the tip.

He marched toward her, his face twisted in scientific fanaticism.

Cassandra screamed. She scrambled backward on the table, pressing her spine against the machine. "Get away from me!"

Dr. Vance reached out, his hand aiming for her bare arm.

He never made it.

Jefferson moved faster than the human eye could track.

His large hand shot out, wrapping around Dr. Vance's wrist like a steel vise.

Dr. Vance let out a sharp cry of pain.

"Drop it," Jefferson snarled. He didn't speak English. He spoke his native tongue, but the lethal threat in his voice transcended language.

The air in the room seemed to freeze. The ambient temperature plummeted. The sheer, oppressive weight of Jefferson's Alpha presence flooded the room, suffocating everyone in it. It was an instinctual, uncontrollable eruption-a biological failsafe triggered only when a Prime faced a direct, physical threat. Verbal offenses could be ignored, but the sight of a weapon aimed at her skin unleashed the monster within him entirely.

Dr. Vance's face drained of color. His fingers went limp.

The needle device clattered to the floor.

Jefferson didn't let go. He squeezed harder. Dr. Vance dropped to his knees, whimpering, his earlier arrogance entirely shattered by pure terror.

Jefferson stared down at him for three agonizing seconds. Then, he shoved the doctor's arm away in disgust.

Jefferson turned his back on the trembling doctor. He looked down at the needle device on the floor. He lifted his heavy combat boot and brought it down hard.

The metal crunched, shattering into dozens of useless pieces.

Jefferson took a deep breath. The oppressive weight in the room vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

He turned to Cassandra. The lethal predator was gone. His eyes were soft, filled with a deep, aching concern.

He walked to the table and crouched down so he was at eye level with her.

"I am sorry," he said softly, his English slow and deliberate. "I promised you. No one will harm you."

Cassandra stared at him. Her chest was heaving. She looked at the crushed needle on the floor, then back to Jefferson's face.

He had protected her. Violently, decisively, without a second thought.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice cracking.

Jefferson nodded once. He stood up and offered her his hand.

Cassandra took it. His grip was firm and grounding.

As he led her out of the medical wing, leaving the terrified doctor on the floor, Cassandra's mind raced.

Why was the doctor so desperate for my blood? she thought, her fingers absentmindedly tracing her own pulse. What is wrong with my body? What kind of disease do I have that they can't even recognize?

The feeling of safety Jefferson provided was real, but the seed of a new, terrifying doubt had been planted deep in her gut.