7. Chapter 7 - Evan
I 'm on my feet before her scream even finishes, and I yank Dahlia behind me and face the window. My heart hammers against my ribs as I spot it a grotesque face pressed against the glass; its features twisted in a way that's not quite human.
"What the fuck?" I push Dahlia further back.
The bedroom door crashes open as Detective Boy Scout barrels in, gun already drawn. "Get away from the windows!" he shouts.
"No shit," I snap, keeping my body between Dahlia and whatever's out there.
The thing starts banging its head against the glass like actual fucking head-banging like some deranged metal fan. With each impact, spider web cracks spread across the supposedly reinforced window. So much for my security upgrades.
"It's trying to get in," Dahlia whispers behind me as she digs her fingers into my arm.
"Not happening," I growl, scanning the room for a weapon. I'm only half-shifter, but right now, my wolf side is howling for blood.
Byers is already moving toward the window, his gun aimed at the creature. "I'm going outside. Lock this door behind me."
"Leo, no!" Dahlia calls after him, but he's already gone.
I turn to her, gripping her shoulders. "Stay here. Lock the door."
"But…"
"For once in your life, just do what you're told!" I snap, then immediately regret my tone when I see her flinch. "Please," I add.
She nods, and I sprint after Byers, slamming the bedroom door behind me. I hear the lock click as I race through the house and out the front door, circling around to the side where the bedroom window is.
I arrive just in time to see Byers tackle the creature to the ground.
It's a man or was once. His body convulses unnaturally, limbs bending at impossible angles as he struggles.
His face is covered in blood from repeatedly smashing it against the window, but what stops me cold is the partial transformation happening across his body.
Patches of fur sprout from his skin, then recede, only to appear elsewhere.
His jaw elongates into a snout, then snaps back to human form.
The Crimson Plague. It has to be.
Byers has him pinned, but the infected shifter is strong. He bucks and writhes, nearly throwing the detective off. I rush forward, grabbing the creature's legs as they kick wildly.
"Hold him down!" Byers shouts, his forearm pressed against the man's throat.
The infected shifter howls and then snaps his teeth at Byers' face, missing by inches. His eyes are blood-red, and his pupils are dilated to pinpoints.
"We need to end this," I say, watching as Byers pulls a knife from his boot with his free hand.
"No! Stop!" Dahlia's calls out from behind us. Of course she didn't stay put.
"Get back inside!" I yell, not taking my eyes off the thrashing creature.
"Don't kill him!" She's running toward us, barefoot across the lawn. "We need him alive!"
"He's too far gone," Byers argues, knife poised. "Look at him…"
"That's exactly why we need him!" Dahlia kneels beside us, her face flushed with excitement despite the danger. "He's the perfect test subject. I can study how the virus affects his transformation, maybe even develop a treatment!"
"Are you insane?" I stare at her in disbelief. "This thing just tried to break into your bedroom by smashing its face through a window!"
"And now he's subdued," she counters. "This is a research opportunity we can't waste. I'm supposed to find a cure, remember? This is my chance to understand what the virus is doing firsthand."
The infected shifter bucks again, nearly throwing us off. His skin ripples as another partial shift tries to take hold.
"We need to decide now," Byers grunts, struggling to maintain his grip.
I lock eyes with Dahlia. Her expression is pleading but determined. This brilliant, stubborn woman is going to be the death of me.
"Fine," I concede. "But if he so much as twitches wrong once we get him inside, I'm ending him myself."
Relief washes over her face. "Thank you."
Byers looks at me like I've lost my mind. "You can't be serious. This is too dangerous."
"He's restrained now," I argue. "And between the two of us, we can handle one infected shifter."
"And when he wakes up?" Byers challenges.
"He won't be a problem," I say with more confidence than I feel.
Byers snorts. "Right. And I should trust what you say? Why? When you literally told us this was a fucking safe house'… I see how very secure it is."
My jaw clenches. "This place has state-of-the-art security. I don't know how this fucker got past it, but I guarantee it won't happen again."
"You guarantee a lot of things," he mutters, but finally sheathes his knife.
We haul the now-unconscious shifter to his feet. He's stopped convulsing for the moment, but his skin still ripples occasionally.
"Where are we taking him?" Byers asks, supporting most of the man's weight.
"The lab," I answer, nodding toward the house. "In the basement."
Dahlia's eyes widen. "There's a lab here?"
"I told you I'd give you everything you need," I remind her, unable to keep the smugness from my voice. "Follow me."
I lead them back into the house and to a door of the kitchen that opens to a staircase. At the bottom, I punch a code into a keypad, and steel doors slide open to reveal a fully equipped research laboratory.
Dahlia gasps beside me, and I can't help the surge of pride that rushes through me.
"This is... incredible," she breathes, taking in the gleaming equipment, the computer stations, the medical supplies.
"Only the best for you, Dr. Baldwin," I say, enjoying the wonder on her face.
"Put him there," she directs, pointing to an examination table in the center of the room.
Byers and I maneuver the infected shifter onto the table. His body is heavy, dead weight now that he's unconscious.
"There are restraints built into the table," I tell them, pulling out thick leather straps from underneath. "Military grade. He won't be able to break these."
We secure his arms and legs, then add an extra strap across his chest for good measure. His breathing is shallow but steady, and blood still oozes from the wounds on his forehead.
"I need to clean those cuts," Dahlia says, already moving toward a cabinet that - yes, she guessed correctly, contains medical supplies.
"I'll do it," Byers offers, taking the antiseptic and gauze from her hands. "You shouldn't get too close until we know more about how this virus transmits."
She looks like she wants to argue but nods instead. "Fine. But I need blood samples. And tissue samples. And…"
"Slow down," I interrupt. "Let's make sure he's secure first. Then you can play mad scientist all you want."
She shoots me with a glare that could melt steel. "I'm not 'playing' anything. This is serious research that could save lives."
"I know," I say, softer. "That was a poor choice of words."
She seems surprised by my concession, and she raises her eyebrows slightly before she turns away to prep her equipment.
The detective hovers nearby, and the uneasy truce between us hangs by a thread. I'm still fighting the urge to punch him again for touching what feels inexplicably like mine.
A low groan from the examination table interrupts my murderous thoughts.
"He's waking up," I warn, moving closer to Dahlia.
The shifter on the table starts to stir, his eyes fluttering open. The moment he realizes he's restrained; he begins thrashing against the leather straps.
Boy Scout whips out his knife faster than I can blink and positions himself between the table and Dahlia.
"Where am I?" the man croaks, voice raw like he's been screaming for hours. "What's happening?"
Dahlia steps forward, but I catch her arm, pulling her back.
"Don't," I mutter. "We don't know what he's capable of."
She shakes off my grip with an irritated huff. "You just said he can't break those restraints."
"I'd rather not test that theory with your pretty neck in biting range," I reply.
She rolls her eyes but stays put. "We're not trying to hurt you," she says to the man. "You appeared at my window and tried to break in. Do you remember anything?"
The man stares at her. "Break in? No, that's impossible. I wouldn't..." His gaze darts around the lab. "I need to go home. My wife, my kids…"
"What's the last thing you remember?" Leo asks, knife still ready.
"I was... walking. Just taking a stroll after dinner." The man's brow furrows. "Then I smelled something... something incredible. Like nothing I've ever experienced before. I needed to find it, to have it. After that... nothing."
My stomach drops. He probably smelled Dahlia in her heat. That's what drew him here.
"Where do you live?" Leo questions.
"Pinewood Estates. 437 Maple Drive. Please let me go, my family will be worried sick."
I exchange glances with Leo. That's less than a mile from here.
"We can't let you go," I say
"What? Why the hell not?" The man yanks against his restraints.
"You're infected with the Crimson Plague," I explain. "You could harm your family or others without meaning to."
His face drains of color. Then he snarls. "No. That's not... I can't be…. You're lying! Let me out of these fucking straps!"
As his anger spikes, the transformation begins again. Patches of fur sprout along his arms, his teeth elongate into fangs, then retract, then grow again. His eyes flash between human and beast.
"Jesus Christ," Leo mutters, tightening his grip on the knife.
The man howls in pain, his back arching off the table as his bones crack and reshape themselves. The restraints groan under pressure, but they hold.
"Let me go!" he screams. His voice distorts between human and animal. "LET ME GO!"
Leo steps forward and brings the hilt of his knife down hard against the man's temple. The shifter slumps, and he is unconscious once more.
Silence falls over the lab, and the only sound is our heavy breathing.
"Well," I finally say, "that was enlightening."
Dahlia moves to the table, checking the man's pulse. "His heart rate is elevated but stable."
"Did you notice what he said?" Leo asks, sheathing his knife. "He smelled something that drew him here."
I nod. "He smelled her."
Dahlia looks between us. "Me? I brought him here?"
"It's the only explanation," Leo confirms. "He lives nearby, caught your scent on the wind, and couldn't fight the instinct to find you."
"But he's married with children," she argues. "Wouldn't that... I don't know, give him some immunity?"
I laugh, "Darling, when an alpha catches the scent of an Omega in heat, nothing else matters. Not marriage, not morals, nothing."
"That's barbaric," she whispers.
"Well…" I shrug "Except he's not an alpha though."
"So, the virus doesn't just cause unstable transformations, it heightens their response to smell."
"Bingo," I confirm.
"This changes everything," she mutters. "I need to adjust my approach entirely."
"How so?" Leo asks.
A phone rings before she can respond. Dahlia frowns, patting her pockets before locating her cell.
"It's Emily," she says, glancing at the screen.
"Don't answer it."
She doesn’t even look at me. “It’s my best friend. I’ll be quick.”
“Hey Em.”
“Oh my God, are you alive? Did the sexy detective eat you or what? I’ve been texting you for hours!”
I hear Emily’s cherry voice from where I stand.
“Sorry. It’s been… a night,” Dahlia mutters, glancing at the unconscious shifter strapped to the table.
“Well, good, because you need a night. Guess what?”
“What?”
“I got us VIP passes to Exedra … you know, the Axl-freaking-Valentine’s band. Front row and we get access to the after-party and fan sign. We’re going.”
“Wait, what?” Dahlia perks up. “Seriously?”
“Yes… it cost me an arm and a leg, but you need this, and you’ve been dying to go for ages.”
I grit my teeth. “What now?”
“It’s a concert,” she says.
“No.”
She keeps talking like I didn’t just speak. “We’re going to Exedra. Emily got us VIP passes to the concert and it’s Axl Valentine… the rockstar.”
“I don’t give a damn if it’s The Rolling Stones resurrected,” I snap. “You’re not going.”
She turns to me with a stubborn tilt of her chin. “I am.”
“This is insane. There was an infected shifter trying to bust through your bedroom window tonight. You’re not going club-hopping while half the supernatural world is hunting you.”
She looks at me for a while and she turns back to the phone. “I’m in, Em.”