A Stone-Kissed Sea

  “Human beings are not lab animals to be experimented on.” He had taken an oath centuries before to do as little harm as he could. He was a healer and only a reluctant predator. “Why should I help this woman? Is she an ally of yours?”

  “Her people will study the humans no matter what you decide,” Saba said. “Ziri and Vecchio want you there to lead the research team. Security is already arranged, but they need a healer with some history with the Elixir.”

  He crossed his arms and looked over the cloud cover blanketing the valley below. The highlands rose above the valley, the stars a million points of light in the darkness as the clouds made islands of the mountain peaks.

  “Why don’t you and Ziri solve this?” Lucien asked. “Find Kato and Arosh. Make them help. You and your friends are the ones who came up with this scheme in the first place.”

  “I think you forget the inevitability of human curiosity,” Saba said. “Geber was the alchemist, Luka, not us.”

  Lucien stared into the silent black night, but no solution came to him. In fact, his conscience began to nibble at the corners of his mind. “I owe Vecchio, so I don’t have a choice, do I?”

  “Do you want another healer—one who might not be as honorable as you—to be in charge of this research? A cure must be found, Lucien. My kind of healing has no place in that world, but you—”

  “Fine.” He closed his eyes. “You knew I was never going to be able to say no, Saba. I’ll send the message to Vecchio. No need to go through all the political channels. Is the courier still here?”

  “She is.”

  “Tell her to wait. I’ll go and write the letter right now.” He pulled on his shirt and took off his shoes, sinking his feet into the earth he’d soon have to leave behind for the modern human world of concrete, constant noise, and wireless buzzing.

  A world that, like it or not, he was going to have to save.

  ❖

  Lucien observed the vampire for only a second before the man turned. He was eastern Asian—Han Chinese if Lucien had to guess—and of medium build. Far shorter than Lucien but powerfully built.

  And quick.

  The man’s black eyes assessed Lucien with inhuman swiftness. “You are Lucien Thrax.”

  Not a trace of an accent. This American vampire must be his new chief of security.

  Lucien nodded. “And you are Chen Baojia.”

  The man inclined his head only incrementally. “Baojia is sufficient, Doctor.”

  “Please call me Lucien.”

  Another quick nod. “I received information you would be arriving tomorrow night.”

  “That information greatly overestimated my desire to remain in the city.” Lucien shifted the old rucksack where he carried his few belongings. His books would be coming in a truck the next night. “I don’t like cities.” Though he did appreciate the custom-built plane Giovanni Vecchio had provided for the journey. Saba had insisted on that concession as a matter of pride. No child of hers would be traveling in a ship’s hold to do a favor for others. “I landed in San Francisco and told them to drive me here. There were plenty of night hours left.”

  “Very well,” Baojia said. “If you’ll allow me to show you to your quarters now, you should have plenty of time to settle in before dawn.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He let Baojia lead the way from the central guard building and into the new bunker-like structures lining the cliffside. Lucien could hear the waves crashing below and was grateful the compound seemed to be built with vampires in mind. Though there was a farmhouse near the road, the majority of the buildings were low and windowless. He suspected they were joined by tunnels underground, which suited his nature and provided good security for their human subjects.

  “The laboratory is still in the process of being built,” Baojia said, “but the first office is finished. That will be yours unless you want one of the others when they’re complete. I’m sorry if the facilities aren’t what you’re used to, but living quarters for the women were the priority.”

  Baojia didn’t sound apologetic. Lucien could almost hear the challenge in the vampire’s voice, daring the newcomer to question his decision to prioritize the human patients he was guarding. Lucien had no objection. In fact, he had a feeling his priorities and those of his security chief would align nicely.

  “No apology necessary,” Lucien said. “This facility will probably be one of the nicest I’ve ever worked in.”

  An approving nod. “It’s being built with vampire scientists in mind. Katya has multiple pharmaceutical companies with immortal staff, so this is far from her first lab, though it’s definitely her most secure.”

  “Good to know,” he muttered as they descended steps into a low concrete structure. “The humans’ quarters?”

  Baojia shot him a look. “They are secure. Doctors and researchers do not have access to the humans’ living quarters, only to the medical facilities. It was one of the protocols I put in place. The women need to have a measure of privacy and autonomy, or they will not cooperate.”

  “Very good.” Oh yes. His priorities and Baojia’s should line up nicely. Far from the cold predator he first appeared, the vampire was clearly an advocate for those he protected. Lucien approved. He also wondered how old Baojia was, but he wasn’t rude enough to ask.

  “Baojia?” a voice called from outside. “Are you in there?”

  Lucien’s brain clicked on.

  Human female. American. Accent indicates California, most likely southern.

  Footsteps on the stairs, and Baojia went on guard, placing himself between Lucien and whoever was walking into the sunken office.

  “George, are you— Oh! Sorry.” A slight Caucasian woman appeared in the doorway.

  Lucien tilted his head and watched her walk the last steps into the office. She was pretty enough, with pale skin, auburn red hair, and a face full of freckles. Her eyes were sleepy, but she was mortal, and it was the middle of the night.

  “I had no idea you had company,” the human said.

  Thirty to thirty-five years of age. Recent trauma to both legs, but a more serious injury to the left.

  One of his new patients? There was no scent of the Elixir from her. No aroma of the sickly-sweet pomegranate he’d tasted in Rada’s blood.

  Baojia was in front of her in a heartbeat, making no pretense of human speed. “Natalie, this is Lucien Thrax, the researcher here to help with the girls.” Baojia turned to Lucien, clearly on edge. “Lucien, this is my mate, Natalie Ellis.”

  A human. And he called her mate?

  How very… unexpected.

  For the first time in years, Lucien felt interest tug at his mind. This pair piqued his curiosity. And curiosity was an itch he’d been numb to for a very long time.

  Lucien felt the draw of water in the air and knew it came from the vampire standing at the doorway. Impressive control for such a young immortal. He felt the answering tug from his own instincts and reached out with his amnis.

  He was underground. Whether the young immortal realized it or not, Lucien was old enough and strong enough to call the earth, even from within a concrete building. The wild energy of this rough land whispered to him, dancing along his skin. He could draw it close, collapsing the building from the outside, smothering anyone foolish enough to attack him with a deadly shroud of rock and soil.

  The assassin and his little human mate would be gone in seconds.

  But Lucien stepped away from the woman, relaxing his posture and reining his instincts. Aggression did not interest him. Instead, he plucked at the new curiosity, enjoying the vibration of it in his mind.

  A human for a mate? No wonder the assassin’s energy had spiked. This Natalie Ellis was ridiculously vulnerable.

  “I’m sorry if I interrupted you,” Natalie said quietly. “I just woke up and you weren’t in the house, so I wondered if one of the girls—”

  “Everything is fine.” Baojia reached up and brushed a single finger over her cheek. “I
was doing a quick sweep. Heading back to the house when Dr. Thrax arrived.”

  “Lucien,” he interjected. “Please, call me Lucien. Doctor is a very recent title, from my perspective.” Lucien relaxed his shoulders, making himself as nonthreatening as a vampire of his size could be. He heated his skin to human warmth and held out a hand slowly. “Miss Ellis, it’s very nice to meet you. I assume you are not one of my patients.”

  The energy in the room dissipated, though the assassin remained alert. Natalie didn’t just take his hand, she enclosed it, wrapping both her small hands around his large one. She was so warm. So very alive. Her warmth traveled up his arm and spread over his skin.

  “You assume correctly,” she said, releasing his hand after a pleasantly long moment. “Though I’ve gotten friendly with most of the girls, so if you need a familiar face to put them at ease, I’m available.” She smiled. “I warn you though, Baojia’s Spanish is way better than mine.”

  “Do all the patients speak Spanish?”

  Baojia answered. “Yes.”

  Natalie’s sleepy eyes warmed when she looked at her mate. “And they all trust Baojia. So it’s very nice to meet you, Lucien, but we probably won’t see each other much unless you want to come over to watch wrestling and have a beer.”

  Lucien frowned. Was she joking?

  Baojia seemed to read his thoughts. “She’s joking.”

  Natalie elbowed her mate, and he captured her in a playful hold that belied his solemn expression.

  “Maybe I’m not joking,” Natalie protested. “It’s not like our social calendar is jam-packed, George. Besides, I’ve already made friends at work—it’s time you have some too.”

  The vampire raised a single eyebrow at her, but Lucien could see the twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth. This was a familiar lover’s game. The emotional tie between the two was evident in their body language. Now if he could just figure out why the human was calling her mate “George.” The look on the assassin’s face told him that story would have to be offered in its own time.

  “Natalie, if you are inviting me to your home, I am honored by the invitation,” Lucien said, liking this couple the more he saw them interact. “Though we should probably allow your mate to become accustomed to me before I intrude on his territory.”

  Natalie let out a sigh. “Vampires.”

  “Horrible, formal creatures, aren’t we?”

  “Yes.”

  Baojia leaned into Natalie and whispered a barely audible endearment before another suggestion Lucien was certain the vampire had not meant to share. A slight flush rose to Natalie’s cheeks.

  Increased heart rate. Arousal. Pleasure. The mortal enjoyed her mate.

  “I’ll just head back to bed,” Natalie said, nodding toward the door. “Bedtime for humans and all that. Lucien, it was very nice to meet you. After you two sniff each other’s butts and make friends, come over for that beer.”

  Lucien watched her leave with a smile on his face and decided any vampire who had mated with a human like Natalie Ellis was a vampire worth knowing, and one he might even count as a friend one day.

  Baojia cleared his throat as Natalie’s footsteps were lost in the sound of the night surf. “Yes, she is always like that.”

  “Ah.”

  “And no, you cannot have her.” Baojia let slip the first smile Lucien had seen from the man. “She’s mine.”

  “Lucky you.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dr. Makeda Abel was reading a journal article by a Taiwanese researcher when she heard the childish giggle. She looked over her shoulder and saw Rochelle, one of the youngest patients in the sickle cell treatment wing, peeking around the corner. The girl was small for her age, as many of Makeda’s patients were.

  “What are you doing here?” Makeda asked. “You were taking a nap when I stopped by your room. Isn’t it lunchtime for you? Does Nurse Mimi know where you are?”

  Rochelle only giggled more.

  Makeda bookmarked the article and turned her chair toward the little girl, who walked into the small office and toward Makeda’s desk.

  “So”—she held up her arms and Rochelle scrambled onto her lap—“what are you giggling about?”

  The delicate girl had been coming to the hospital for blood transfusions since she was a year old. She was as comfortable with the doctors and nurses as she was with her family. And Makeda, though she had no children of her own, was a very practiced auntie. It was one of the reasons she continued to keep an office at the hospital. Her office at the lab was far more spacious, modern, and quiet, but she didn’t have random little girls with bright smiles wandering in to say hello.

  “Dr. Mak, you have curly hair like me.” Rochelle’s small hand reached out and patted Makeda’s hair.

  Makeda smiled. “I do.” She’d left her tight curls to air-dry that morning since it was Saturday and she didn’t want the bother of straightening it. “But I don’t have any beads in mine.”

  Rochelle popped a thumb in her mouth and laid her little head against Makeda’s shoulder, still patting her hair. “I like it. It’s pretty like my mommy’s.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you should get beads.”

  “I’ll think about it.” Realizing she’d have company for a while, Makeda brought up the article again and found her place.

  “You should wear your hair like that so Serena can see it.”

  Serena was another patient. A five-year-old with a thick shock of dark brown curls and loads of freckles that stood out on her pale skin. “Well, I usually straighten it for work, but maybe I’ll leave it in for you and Serena one day.”

  “Why do you make it straight for work?”

  “Some people think straight hair is more proper for doctors,” she said carefully. “More professional.”

  Rochelle giggled again. “That’s silly.”

  Makeda glanced down at the little girl with the brightly colored beads in her hair. Somewhere in the years of medical school and residency, the dark brown hair Makeda’s mother, Misrak Abel, had crooned over when she’d been a girl, the mane she had braided and twisted with brightly colored thread, had become an unprofessional mop her daughter had learned how to brush and straighten into submission.

  She leaned down and kissed the top of Rochelle’s head. “You’re right. It is silly. I’ll wear my hair curly for you and Serena next week, okay?”

  Rochelle said, “If you don’t want beads, Serena has lots of pretty bows. Silver ones. And purple ones. And red ones…”

  Makeda smiled and tried to imagine the makeover her tiny patients would give her if she let them.

  Maybe she would let them.

  She was a respected thirty-eight-year-old physician and researcher with years of experience on her resume. She was second in charge of one of the most prestigious hematology research facilities in the country and had coauthored numerous journal articles on the subject of sickle cell treatment. If she wanted to dye her hair purple and wear giant gold bows, no one should say a thing about it. After all, if her colleagues could put up with Andrew Kominski’s ever-widening comb-over, nothing should be off-limits.

  Quick footsteps coming down the hall had Rochelle’s head lifting from Makeda’s shoulder.

  “Uh-oh,” Makeda whispered. “She found you.”

  Mimi Ocampo put her fists on her hips in a mock gesture of disapproval. “Dr. Mak, are you stealing my patients again?”

  Rochelle giggled.

  “Is this a patient?” Makeda looked down at Rochelle. “I could have sworn this was a kitty cat. I’m so sorry.”

  “I’m not a kitty!” Rochelle slid off Makeda’s lap. “I’m a… bunny!”

  And with that, the little girl bounced out of the office and down the hall. Mimi turned to Makeda. “You weren’t in the middle of anything, were you?”

  “Just doing some filing before I head to my mom and dad’s.” Makeda nodded toward the door. “Her energy is good.”

  “Yep. The c
helation therapy is going well. I think this will be her last inpatient treatment for a while.”

  “Good news.”

  Mimi smiled. “Your mom is so pleased you still keep an office here.”

  Mimi and Misrak had been fast friends and colleagues for nearly thirty years. Mimi, a new immigrant from the Philippines. Misrak, a new immigrant from Ethiopia. They’d bonded in their first hospital and had been friends ever since.

  “My mom knows I need the reminder.”

  “Of what? Burned coffee and constant interruptions?”

  “No.” Makeda turned off her desktop and grabbed her bag from beside the desk, glancing at the wall of photographs and drawings her little patients had given her over the years. “I need to remember it was worth it to bury my life in a lab.”

  ❖

  Makeda never felt buried at her mother’s house. The high-pitched squeals from her nieces pierced her ears as she chopped the mound of onions for the doro wat her mother was preparing for Sunday dinner. During the week, her mother cooked a medley of dishes she’d learned in over thirty years living in an international city like Seattle—dumplings and fish, pasta, and curry—but Sundays were for “home cooking,” which meant Ethiopian food.

  The spicy smell of garlic and berbere filled the kitchen of her parents’ house as the chatter of little girls and low voices from the den filled Makeda’s ears. Her mother was chopping the chicken while her older sister made the injera. Her younger sister, Adina, eyes watering, stood at her side, wiping away onion-fume tears.

  “You’re quiet today,” Adina said. “Work?”

  “Hmm?” Makeda grabbed another onion. “No, I’m not thinking about… anything, really. Just enjoying the background noise. It’s kind of nice.”

  Adina laughed. “That’s because you only visit the noise.” A squeal came from the stairs. Adina shouted at her daughters in clipped Amharic, and the girls quieted down.

  “Why do you and Fozia always yell at the kids in Amharic?” They’d always spoken a mix of Amharic and English at home, leaning more toward English the older they got.