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“Okay bye.” I turn on my heel and follow my colleagues, doing my damndest not to look suspicious and doing my extra damndest not to look at him over my shoulder.

12

“Nothing?” Valen stands by my window again, his hands behind his back.

“No. I told you, the sample you gave me was no good. It’s already gone to shit. There’s nothing for us to look at, and it’s only been a day.” Frustration peppers my words as I sit down on my couch with a harrumph.

“You should try harder.”

“You should give me your blood.” I glare at his wide back, dressed in a black sweater this evening. His hair is mussed, but it’s the kind of mussed that looks so good it might be deliberate. I reach up and feel my messy bun—definitely not deliberately mussed.

“That’s not going to happen.”

“Then what the hell are you even doing here?” I flip open my journal somewhat aggressively and start penciling in how much I fucking hate Valen Dragonis.

“I’m making good on the promise of my people to yours.”

“Vague bullshit. Wow, how refreshing,” I snap.

He doesn’t reply, simply stands as still as the gargoyles downstairs as he looks out on the lights of DC, such as they are these days.

I toss my pencil down and snap my journal closed. “Look, I’m tired. If you aren’t going to help, then you can go.”

“I’m perfectly comfortable right where I am.”

I grab the nearest throw pillow and strangle the hell out of it. When I finally release my grip, I find him looking down at me, amusement tugging at his lips.

“What the fuck?” I’m on my feet in moments. “They’re gone.” I search his cheek for the wounds that should still be there. “The marks—” I lift my fingers and run them along his smooth skin.

He grabs my wrist, his pupils growing and swallowing the blue, but he doesn’t pull my hand away. “Forward of you, Doctor.”

“Once again, you need to get over yourself. Tell me how. How does it work?” I move closer, really looking, trying to find any hint of the injuries. But there’s nothing. “Holy shit.” Seeing him whole like this, knowing that he truly could be the breakthrough we’ve needed, it sends a tingle of excitement through me. I have to know more. This is like dangling a piece of red meat in front of a starved tiger.

“I heal quickly.”

“No shit.” I flick my gaze back to his and realize we’re standing entirely too close. My heartbeat kicks up a notch or twelve, though I hate myself for it. This man—this creature or superhuman or whatever Juno wants to call him—isn’t anything to me besides the answer to the entire world’s prayer. A cure. That’s all. “I needyourblood. Not some garbage half-corroded sample.”

“No.” He says it simply. It would be cruel if he didn’t seem so resigned, as if maybe there’s a shred of something other than hard stone inside him.

“Why not?” I persist, exasperation making me even more stubborn. “You could save thousands of lives, millions. That’s what you showed the entire world—a chance to live, to survive. Don’t youwantthat?”

His gaze darts to my lips. “What I want doesn’t matter.” He seems to draw back, his face going blank as he releases my wrist and steps away. “I’ll return tomorrow.”

“With a new sample?”

“You already know the answer to that question.”

“This is bullshit.” I scowl at him as he walks past me.

“Noted.” The arrogance is back, the condescension coating those two syllables like bitter syrup.

“We’re supposed to work together. This isn’t?—”

“Goodnight, Doctor.” Again, he disappears into the elevator as I say a litany of curses under my breath. I go to the window and stare down at the street. Wondering which way he goes, where he stays. I need more information about him, about what Juno is scared of, about the secret notes. Everything and anything.

But I never see him leave.

The only thing out there is a shadow crouching on a rooftop across the street. I stare at it, wondering if it’s just a trick of the moonlight. For long moments, I wait, but it never moves.