His secret breeding labs had produced a Gen One army of homegrown assassins, so why not this?
But what was his intention with her? It seemed obvious now that Tavia had been unaware that she was anything other than human. Her true nature, and its physical manifestations, had been somehow suppressed. By medications? Was her professed "sickness" actually her body struggling to deny the part of her that was Breed?
"Jesus Christ," he hissed, making a quick cleanup of himself and the basin. The Order needed to be informed ASAP.
The problem there was he didn't even know where they were, or how to reach them. He'd made himself persona non grata with Lucan and the rest of the warriors. Worn out his welcome, possibly for good.
But he did know someone who might be willing to intervene. Someone who might be willing to take Tavia Fairchild under his protection as well. God knew Chase was a poor candidate for that duty.
Which meant he was going to have to call in a big favor - possibly the last he had coming to him - from his former Enforcement Agency colleague Mathias Rowan.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
SHE COULDN'T SLEEP. After a long, hot shower, Tavia dressed in her own clothes, then lay on her bed staring up at the ceiling in a state of quiet anticipation. Of what, she couldn't say. But no matter how she tried to close her eyes and take a much-needed rest, her body seemed to be running at a strange new calibration.
Her blood rushed in her ears and through her veins. Her muscles were tense with power, everything prickly and twitching with idle, unspent energy. She was about to sit up and work off the feeling with a brisk pace around her room when she heard the front door open.
Voices in the foyer: Aunt Sarah bringing Dr. Lewis inside and giving him a quick summary of why she'd called him to the house. The two of them spoke in hushed tones, from all the way up the hallway and around through the living room, but Tavia caught the basics of their conversation.
"Two full nights since she last took her medications," Aunt Sarah informed him, stress in her quiet voice.
Dr. Lewis's usual baritone was subdued, little more than a rumble that carried through the walls and into Tavia's room. "Any outward indication of systemic distress?"
"No. But she said she noticed ... changes." This last word was whispered, yet heavy with significance.
Tavia sat up on the bed, concentrating on catching everything that was said.
"These changes occurred while she was with him?" Dr. Lewis asked.
"That was my assumption, yes."
A pause. "Was there contact with him, physical or ... intimate in nature?"
Oh, God. Tavia winced, hating how every aspect of her life was open for discussion and dissection by everyone around her. She hated her prolonged medical condition the most for that reason alone. True privacy was something she'd never known.
"I don't know precisely what occurred between them," Aunt Sarah replied. "She said she was physically restrained. He asked a lot of questions. She mentioned nothing more than that."
"Mmm-hmm. And how did she present to you when she arrived back here today? Anything peculiar?"
Floorboards creaked softly as the pair began to move through the house, farther inside, still careful to keep their voices low. They stood near the head of the hallway, if Tavia could trust her hearing.
"She was warm to the touch but not fevered. And flushed in the face. As for the rest, I noted nothing unusual."
"Nothing else?" Dr. Lewis grunted. "That in itself is unusual. Forty-eight hours without medical suppression of the condition should have produced some kind of marked reaction.
We've seen it in all the others."
All the others? Tavia held her breath as a jolt of alarm went through her, as cold as ice. What is he talking about? What others?
"She complained of being tired," Aunt Sarah added. "I sent her to take a shower and rest a while."
"Is she still asleep?"
"Yes. In her bedroom down the hall."
"Good," Dr. Lewis said. "I'll go in and have a quick look before we wake her to assess her for in-clinic treatment."
Every tendon and nerve ending in her body was firing off like small explosions inside her as the footsteps neared her closed bedroom door. Her senses were hyperacute now, skin tingling as though rained upon by thousands of tiny needles. She jumped as the knob twisted and Dr. Lewis appeared in the slowly widening wedge of space behind the door.
"Oh. Tavia, you're awake." He smiled, a faint curve of his mouth, which was partially hidden within the whiskers of his graying beard. "Your aunt told me you had gone to take a little nap. I hope I didn't disturb your sleep."
She was too uptight to bother with being polite. "What's wrong with me, Dr. Lewis?"
"Don't you worry. That's why I'm here," he said, stepping inside. He carried the big leather case that held his house-call medical supplies. Tavia had seen that bag of cold instruments and bitter medicines more often over the course of her lifetime than she cared to recall.
"No, no. Sit," he said when she started to get up from the bed. "No need to trouble yourself with a thing. It's all under control now. You'll see, I'm going to fix you right up."
Tavia eyed him warily. "Something's happening to me."
"I know," he said, nodding soberly. "But there's no cause for alarm, I assure you. I'm going to administer a small booster treatment that's going to make you feel good as new. Even better than a week at the spa. How does that sound?"
Tavia barely resisted the urge to tell him she'd never stepped foot in a spa. Things like that were off limits to her on account of her delicate physiology and her extensive skin issues - a fact he well knew, having been her sole care provider since she was an orphaned infant. He was trying to be light and humorous, but there was a flatness to his voice. A dull gravity to his gaze. It made her shudder a little, deep in her bones.